#Absolute pressure sensor

[dvid2van]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/semiconductors--analog--sensors--pressure/bmp388-bosch-sensortec-1097861

High pressure sensor, low pressure sensor, Water pressure sensors

BMP388 Series 125 kPa 3.6 V Digital Barometric Pressure Sensor

[prosourcediesel]

Discover Hitachi's reliable Manifold Absolute Pressure (MAP) Sensor, designed to provide precise engine performance data. Explore our MAP sensors renowned for accuracy and durability, ensuring optimal vehicle functionality.

[chadobi]

Girl Dad or Boy Dad? Breaking Down the Bayverse Turtle Dad Vibes

I’ve been kinda wanting to post something like this for a while, so here it is!

What do you think - agree or not?

Leonardo – Boy Dad

•Leo would absolutely thrive as a boy dad. There’s something deeply fulfilling to him about raising a son who he can teach discipline, honor, and the art of being a protector.

•His son would probably be a mini-Leo - all serious stares, polite manners, and big heart behind a tough front.

•That being said, Leo would try not to pressure his son to be a little ninja, but let’s be real-he’s 100% training him from the time he can walk. “Just for defense,” he insists.

•They meditate together in the mornings, do push-ups at night, and Leo lowkey tears up when his son starts quoting bushido code back to him.

•He’d be a little strict, but not unloving - he wants his son to grow up with strength and wisdom, not fear.

•But catch him sneaking into his son’s room to tuck him in and whisper “You make me proud every day” when he thinks the kid is asleep.

Raphael – Girl Dad (but thinks he’s a Boy Dad)

•Why Girl Dad? Raph swears he wanted sons to roughhouse with - but the moment he holds his baby girl, he’s toast.

•She’s got him wrapped around her little finger by the time she can coo, and everyone makes fun of him for it. He pretends to hate it but secretly loves it.

•Turns into a giant teddy bear with her. She’ll be riding on his shoulders, wearing his bandana like a cape, calling him her “hero” while he tries not to cry.

•Super overprotective - teaches her how to punch by the age of three and threatens to “accidentally” throw her boyfriend off a rooftop when she’s sixteen.

•Has tea parties wearing a tutu. Don’t ask. Donnie has pictures.

Donatello - Girl Dad

•Something about raising a daughter taps into the most protective, tender side of Donnie.

•He’d be absolutely smitten with her - not in a coddling way, but in the “you are the most brilliant creature in the universe and I will move mountains to see you smile” way.

•He teaches her tech skills from the time she can hold a screwdriver. They build LEGO robots together and wear matching goggles while tinkering in his lab.

•He constantly hypes her up: “You are smarter than any boy I know - including me, and that’s saying something.”

•He builds her gadgets like a personal AI tutor, anti-bully backpack sensors, or a voice-activated lamp that responds to her lullaby singing voice.

•And when she’s older and dating? Oh boy. You best believe he’s scanning that poor soul’s entire digital footprint and running a background check.

Michelangelo – Boy Dad

•Why Boy Dad? Mikey’s energy matches his son’s. Chaos, fun, and unconditional love - that’s their whole vibe.

•They’re best friends from day one. Matching hoodies, matching skateboards, matching pizzas. If Mikey’s doing it, his kid is too.

•Teaches his son to express his feelings, be creative, and embrace his weirdness. Encourages art, music, skateboarding, and laughing until your stomach hurts.

•Also the dad who lets his son draw on the walls, sneak an extra cookie, and stay up to watch movies… but he makes sure to tuck him in afterward with a lullaby.

•Cries at every “dad and son” moment - first time he says “I love you,” first lost tooth, first time they make pizza together.

[sunnydbeam]

I want to politely ask Alpha to bend down so I can kiss him on the cheek and see his reaction (whatever happens, I'm ready)

SFW. Fluff Word count: 1500+ I can't draw, so I'm trying to get back to writing.

edit: Link to AO3

______

Alpha isn't quite sure what to anticipate when you ask him to stoop down a little to meet you. In his optical sensors, you register as polite, perhaps even... endearing. So, after a slight tilt of his head, he complies, leaning his tall frame forward. Even bent, the height difference remains significant, almost comically so.

Alpha lowers himself further, bringing his face level with yours. Your gaze meets his; the red eyes are void of expression, yet somehow intensely questioning. That signature robotic seriousness washes over you, unsettling.

You feel judged somehow, a wave of nervousness making you feel small and foolish. The truth, however, is far simpler: Alpha isn't thinking about anything in particular.

"Like this?" he asks simply, his voice a flat monotone.

You manage a hesitant nod, doubt flickering within you. The robot tilts his head again, a minute adjustment, and a knot of anxiety tightens in your stomach. Was this really a good idea? What intricate calculations were running through his complex positronic brain as he stared? Would delaying anger him? Would your intended action infuriate him even more? Unbeknownst to you, Alpha's mind remains a blank slate regarding your intentions.

Taking a shallow breath, you edge closer. Tentatively, trying not to make any sudden movements, you gently rest a hand against his cheek. You instantly notice a flicker of confusion in his red eyes, though his imposing frame remains perfectly still. He doesn't push you away, but your doubt blossoms into genuine fear. Will this next action sign your death warrant?

You decide words are useless now. Instead, you lean in further and finally, delicately, press your lips against his right cheek. It's brief, just a fleeting pressure, but firm enough, you hope, for the contact to register.

His reaction is instantaneous and explosive, startling you so badly that you fling yourself backward, scrambling away as fast as your legs allow. And thank whatever higher power exists that you did, because you know, with absolute certainty, that if you hadn't moved, the robot would likely have grabbed you, and that would have ended very badly for you.

Alpha snaps upright to his full, intimidating height, towering over you. His eyes blaze wide and bright, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He stares down at you as if he could bore holes straight through your skull with his gaze alone. He doesn't move an inch, yet every fiber of your being screams at you to apologize profusely and flee for your life. The way he looks at you feels like a terrible, deadly omen. You swear your intentions were completely innocent!

You stumble as you try to get to your feet properly, poised to turn and run when Alpha makes a sudden, stiff movement. You freeze mid-motion — partly from shock, partly from fear, and partly from a morbid curiosity desperate to know what he thinks, what he'll do. But the sight of those four flexible, weaponized limbs extending slightly to his sides certainly doesn't look friendly.

"What was that?" he questions, his voice surprisingly less agitated than his threatening body language suggests.

Your mouth opens, your mind racing for a convincing explanation, but nothing comes out except the unvarnished truth, which you fear might enrage him further. "Just... a kiss? Out of curiosity..."

The words tumble out before you can stop them, your posture radiating nervousness, timidity, and worry.

To your immense surprise, honesty turns out to be the best possible approach. Alpha stares at you as if you've suddenly sprouted a second head, yet simultaneously, as if he's just encountered the strangest, most baffling phenomenon imaginable. The robot steps closer, looming, almost cornering you. You tremble like a leaf.

"Kiss?" His voice is softer now, less aggressive than you'd expect, laced with a strange sort of curiosity. Thoughtful, almost, as if he's genuinely pondering the concept. "Why do humans do that?"

"I-it's just... a way to show affection..." You stammer, unable to meet his intense gaze. You could cry right now from sheer stupidity, from acting on impulse without considering the potentially lethal consequences. "I-it wasn't anything bad, I promise..."

"Affection," he repeats the word, tasting it, analyzing it. He leans closer again, his face near yours, his gaze scrutinizing. "Why would you do that?" Why him, of all beings?

You don't answer. He doesn't press.

"Are you afraid?"

You shake your head quickly, a blatant lie contradicted by your trembling body and the tears welling in your eyes. Everything about you screams, "Don't be angry, please don't hurt me." Alpha may or may not fully parse the sentiment, but he certainly observes you with a softening gaze, perhaps finding your vulnerable state... adorable. To him, you are a lovely creature. You, however, remain oblivious to this internal assessment.

Alpha places a large hand gently on top of your head. "Were you being... affectionate... with me?" he asks, a surprising note of naïveté in his tone.

You blush crimson, the heat rising in your cheeks. "Huh..."

He analyzes your reaction. "I still make you nervous. Scared?" His hand drifts down, the tip of one gloved finger lightly tapping the bridge of your nose. "Don't be afraid."

You give him a pathetic look. "... You're not angry… ?"

"No."

"You're not going to kill me...?"

"Why would I do that?"

You avert your gaze, deciding not to answer that. Instead, a reckless impulse takes over. "C-can I give you another kiss?"

Okay, what on Earth possessed you to ask that?

Alpha's eyes narrow fractionally. His hand lowers, fingers curling under your chin, gripping firmly, tilting your face to the side as if forcing you to look away. The grip is strong, bordering on painful. Yet, you can distinctly feel his red eyes boring into your very soul, a threatening, ominous aura surrounding him.

"Don't move."

With deliberate slowness, Alpha leans forward. He presses his brief, experimental “kiss” to your cheek, a light brush of coolness mimicking your earlier gesture. Even as he holds you fast in his steel grip, seemingly ready to counter any hint of movement or escape, he then surprises you by sweetly nuzzling his face against your hair.

"Like this? Am I doing it correctly?" he whispers, his voice muffled slightly against the soft strands. His grip on your face loosens but doesn't release you entirely. "Showing you... affection."

Your face flushes hot again. What is even happening?

"Yes... I mean— W-why would you do that?" You stammer, your voice slightly distorted by the pressure on your cheeks. Your question seems to mildly irritate Alpha; apparently, he doesn't know the answer either. But he felt the impulse — the need to investigate, to understand why that brief contact had felt... surprisingly not unpleasant. Why does it make him feel less cold?

"Curious," he states simply.

A particularly brave part of you wants to argue, to question why he had to grab you like that just to try it, but something in his simple admission feels... oddly endearing.

"...And? What conclusion did you reach...?" You venture, emboldened.

Alpha regards you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He traces the line of your jaw with a gloved index finger, a flicker of fascination in his otherwise impassive features. "Uncertain. I still don't understand it... Why do it that way..." He touches his cheek briefly as if committing the strange, yet not disagreeable, sensation to memory. "What conclusion did you reach?"

You blush for the third time, a reaction the robot does not miss. "I don't know... Honestly, I thought you were going to murder me for trying."

"Is that what you want?"

There is no way he just asked that as casually as discussing the weather. Now you're profoundly disturbed and feel an urgent need to escape.

Alpha releases your chin as you instinctively try to pull back, and you just pray he isn't serious. You stumble backward on unsteady feet. He watches you from his still-crouched position, a massive question mark seemingly hovering over his head.

"Oh, look at the time! They must be looking for me, haha..." You spin around to leave, but a large hand clamps onto your arm, pulling you back firmly to face him again, bathing you once more in the red glow of his optics.

“If you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you my favorite human gesture of affection before you go.”

You're too stunned to react. When you don't struggle, he gently pulls you towards him, against his chest. His four arms wrap around you, engulfing your smaller frame. You're initially surprised and tense, bracing for the worst. But then, slowly, you feel one of his hands carefully stroking the hairs on the back of your neck, and you realize... He's holding you with such unexpected tenderness, such comfort, that you feel yourself practically melting against him.

Alpha rubs your shoulders and back with slow, careful, circular motions as if consciously trying to soothe you. It works. Soon, your tension drains away, and you find yourself relaxing, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his torso. He is incredibly good at hugs.

"Cute," he murmurs.

You stay like that in silence for a while, enveloped in the strange, secure embrace. Eventually, Alpha seems to decide it's sufficient. He loosens his hold, though he doesn't let go completely. You, however, don't release him yet.

"You may leave now," he informs you.

You cling tighter.

"Just a little longer..." you mumble, your face buried against his chest. "They can wait."

_____________

[ Have to be honest here: I was one sentence away from making Alpha go weird, but the only thing that stopped me was how long this was getting :p ]

[gracien-system]

Hey, everyone living in hot and humid places? We have a tool you might find useful!

This is a calculator from the US government that calculates the wet bulb temperature if you plug in ambient temperature, pressure, and humidity.

If you don't know what the wet bulb temperature is, that's alright, it's not a very well-known term. It's a really simple measurement, though, and it's a useful number to have. It is the temperature that a thermometer would read if its sensor was fully wrapped in wet cotton, and it measures the absolute limit of purely evaporative cooling in given atmospheric conditions.

If the wet bulb temperature is equal to the ambient temperature, do not attempt to cool yourself off with evaporation, and try to minimize sweating as much as possible. In an environment like that, sweat and water can actually heat you up by conducting ambient heat into your core.

Now, let me clarify: you can always cool yourself down if you have access to water that is colder than your body temperature. Pouring that on yourself will wick away heat. But if the wet bulb temperature is equal to ambient, you should dry yourself off immediately after doing so.

If the wet bulb temperature is lower than ambient, though, it means that evaporative cooling is possible. In that case, sweating and getting yourself wet are both helpful.

[ronearoundblindly]

Heat Tank

Johnny Storm x ghost!reader from the Phantom Pleasure series

One of my Valentine's Fics for 2024. Prompt: A kiss in relief. WC 782

Summary: Though you've grown closer, Johnny has spent months unable to touch you. As a spirit, you are attracted to heat, so there's a chance his energy can actually offer you a form--if only temporarily--for him to see and feel. This is Johnny's first chance to test the Heat Tank.

The science of the structure makes no sense to Johnny, but he knows he has permission to go supernova while inside. The venting and dispersion will work for a prolonged period, and as an unexpected bonus, Richards was able to channel the energy to heat the entire block.

Johnny doesn’t care about that.

Why he needs the Tank is vague, but the Four know Johnny rarely asks for technology unless absolutely necessary. If it can help prevent any direct damage to the brownstone or the neighborhood, Reed and Sue are on board.

The apparatus is simply a more powerful version of the original assessment chamber in the Baxter Building, less the flaw where his maximum temp can melt the walls.

Johnny does the song and dance, listens to the explanation of controls—door stays locked until a specific sensor reads below 110* F—and then dismisses Reed and his sister to go out to dinner or whatever it is they do. He doesn’t pay attention after the necessities. 

He contemplates inviting you in verbally, but instead lights his hand. That’s your ghost-equivalent of an attractive offer: concentrated heat. If this works at all…

As soon as the thick door shuts, its pitch black save for his hand, and Johnny stokes the fire. He gets more and more nervous, letting the smooth, gradual increase boil atmosphere like a frog in the pot, until the first shapes of you lick through the distortion.

You’re here.

You’re really here—right there within reach—and he pushes for more, more heat, more pressure, more you.

There’s not one whole part of you that becomes clear first; it’s wisps of a hip, a curve of a jaw, leg. He simply watches intently, unable to hear over the roar of flame around him—around you both.

But he can hear your voice in his head so clearly, joking, poking fun at his needless intensity, his perpetual impatience.

Johnny…

I’m always here.

I’m not going anywhere.

You aren’t though. He wants more. For once in his constantly un-alone life, he wants just one thing: to see you, to be with you physically.

Then you’re there.

Suddenly, the nuance of oranges curve over every inch of you, and Johnny’s body feels hotter than it’s ever been, in pain or pleasure, in fear or safety. He’s on fire inside and out.

He hardly imagines what your skin will be like in his palm because the burnt clay undertone of it seems hard. If Johnny’s learned anything about you, “hard” would describe none of it. You’re malleable like amber and fragile as rust.

The shared presence of blood-red is the most you and Johnny have ever had in common to date, and yet he feels a connection in the destruction, the dispersion of his life-force. If only he could truly give himself to you…

His bare foot steps forward in a cloud of plasma and smoke, sliding through the blaze.

He is the only source of oxygen now. There is nothing but Johnny to galvanize life within the Tank, and he has a goal.

Touch her.

That’s all he has to do: suffer and incite thousands of degrees for a corporeal taste.

Just one. Just one touch. Just touch her.

But Johnny Storm has never settled for the bare minimum. He steals the whole show. He shoots all the way to the stars. He can’t be held back, and there’s no one who cares to hold him back.

Before he can close the distance between you, your arm raises, a palpable hand resting on his chest which he greedily covers with his own and continues. Onward to you. Nearer. Hotter. Sooner. Until he arrives, lips kissing the beautiful, pouting plume of your lips.

To his utter delight, you feel…cool like fog rolling over his molten skin, and his lungs fill with the contradiction, veins opened wide to the shock of dopamine injected by new.

Johnny’s power makes him impose on others—on the world—because he controls the climate around him. Climate never fights back.

You do. You can affect him, and he’s instantly addicted.

He’ll fuse straight to your soul if you let him. He’s that far gone in seconds. The chain reaction simply floods through him, and he pumps more and more heat out to keep you tangible.

He’ll die without friction. He can’t imagine living without.

He presses, smelting your essence into his memory and hoping.

Stay, he thinks. Stay even when I burn out.

The hand on his heart squeezes, a cool rock to rest his sweating skin upon.

You’re a balance. You can keep him grounded even after all the hot air of this life floats away.

A/N: well, I'm really praying that read as interesting rather than confusing because I've had to come up with odd ways to describe how Johnny and a ghost can interact. Had this idea for Reader to be attracted to heat (i.e. her consciousness gathers around that energy which is the only time she can kinda really *think*) for a while, and it struck me that it would be novel to have a cold kiss be more tantalizing for the Human Torch. Anyway, I overthink everything, so yep, all is fine here!

Jake Jensen and a kiss to distract ⬅️➡️ Ransom Drysdale and a kiss as a yes

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[ellephlox]

Lights Out

Summary: You’re touring a haunted house with Matt, and the entire building loses power when a thunderstorm arrives. On the bright side, you’ve got Matt to lead you out (when he’s not taking advantage of your inability to see). 

Pairing: Matt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Creepy haunted house imagery, swears

The sign for local attractions on the highway was battered and scratched, bearing the words HAUNTED HOUSE — EXIT 64. Rain pounded on the windshield as you drove; it was a long seven hours from the weekend holiday you’d taken with Matt back to Hell’s Kitchen, and you were only halfway done the drive. There was obviously no way for Matt to switch off with you, so instead he kept pushing for rest stops so that you could stretch your legs from the driving, despite your assurance to him that it was okay. 

You pulled into a parking spot outside the attraction, mud and dirt grinding under the tires. Once the key was out of the ignition, the silence of the engine was eerily fitting for the view of the haunted mansion in front of you, especially with the pounding of the rain on the roof. 

“Wow,” you said, peering up at it. “This thing’s actually pretty big. It looks Gothic — there’s a rounded tower-like part on the left, with bay windows, I think. In the center where the roof is highest, it’s pointy and there’s a weathervane with a skull on top. The outside is painted a really ugly purple. Oh, and the decorations are awesome. They look genuine, too; gravestones, a body sticking out of the chimney, blood splattered all over the front porch. Ha. There’s even a hearse parked next to us.”

“Scary or corny, overall?”

“It looks pretty good. I’d say it’s scary but you’re here with me,” you said, grabbing his hand. “Ready?”

You paid at the ticket booth and then entered the mansion. Only once you were safely inside, far from any of the workers, did Matt drop his hand from your arm. “There’s no one else here,” he said. “Just you and me.”

You nodded at a skeleton sitting at a piano. “And Mr. Bones right there.”

Matt tilted his head. “There’s a motion sensor ahead. Probably there’s going to be a jump scare.”

“Well, it’s not a jump scare anymore,” you said, rolling your eyes. “How much of this can you sense, anyway?”

“It’s... kind of a confusing influx of sensory details. Different machines behind the walls for all the animatronics and music, weird smells coming from everything, and I can feel the shifts in air pressure when something’s moving. It’s all kind of a... bonfire of input.”

Sure enough, a vampire sprung out of a coffin moments later, and even with Matt’s warning you still flinched, heart skipping a beat when it shrieked at you. The layout of the mansion was narrow and winding; different hallways took you through a variety of different rooms and scares. Some of the sights were admittedly scary; an animatronic girl with stringy hair and an axe came flying out of the shadows, and even the floorboards and doors beside you would buckle unexpectedly as you passed by them. To your delight, one of the picture frames turned to life and even caught Matt off guard — you felt him stir slightly beside you. The path through the mansion took you up two flights of stairs, all the way to the top floor of the house. 

“It’s a kitchen!” you said, admiring the decorations. “With — ew. Blood coming out of the faucet. And fingers baking in the oven.”

But Matt had his head tilted slightly towards the window. “Lightning’s about to strike,” he said suddenly, and true to his word, a massive flash lit up the entire room only a second later. The clap of thunder that followed was nearly simultaneous with the lightning, and rattled the mansion so hard that the window shook. 

And that was when the mansion lost power. Everything, all at once, fell silent as though it had been muted, and you were plunged from shadowy, dim lighting into absolute pitch blackness. 

“Matt?” you said uncertainly, reaching out for him and only finding empty space. The thought of all the things around you — amusing only moments ago — suddenly made your heart spike. 

“Right here.” Matt grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “Any light coming in at all?”

You waved your hand in front of your eyes. “Nothing. It’s like a black hole in here. And of course we left our phones in the car,” you grumbled, shifting closer to Matt. “A flashlight would be nice.”

“No light is coming in through the window?”

“Only when there’s lightning. And I don’t think there are many windows in this labyrinth.” Gingerly you stepped forward. “This is... not fun.”

“I’m personally very offended by how opposed you are to being visually impaired.”

You frowned. “You make fun of my bad hearing all the time — which, by the way, is not bad hearing, it’s simply normal-person hearing.”

“I think it’s bad hearing.”

“We’re allowed to make fun of each other’s senses,” you continued. “That’s the most important tenet of dating someone.”

“Oh, really? Then I’m free to tell you that you’ve got absolutely terrible common sense?”

“Ha, ha. You’re so clever,” you deadpanned. “Are we out of the creepy kitchen yet?"

“Yeah.” Matt nudged you to the right. “This way.”

“Are we close to the exit?”

“No. It’s probably another ten minute walk, at the very least.”

“Lovely. Why doesn’t this place have a generator?”

“It should. This could be a huge liability. If someone got hurt and decided to sue, the owners could easily get in trouble.”

“Only someone who had to endure the trauma of a bar exam would think about liabilities when the power goes out,” you said appreciatively. “So... we’ve got two flights of stairs to go down?”

“Three. The exit’s in the basement,” Matt said. “Watch out. There’s fake cobwebs ahead of us.”

You were glad for the warning, because the revolting sensation of gossamer threads brushing against your face would have otherwise been disturbing. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the hallway, and for a moment you were face-to-face with a ghastly clown that was grinning beside you. You yelped, nearly falling backwards into Matt. Adrenaline soared through you, and you couldn’t help but squint through the darkness in an attempt to make sure the clown wasn’t moving. It was to no avail — when the lightning was gone, so was any visibility.

“Take a deep breath,” Matt said, nudging you with his shoulder. “Your heart’s going a hundred miles an hour.”

“There’s a clown, Matt.”

“And he’s made of rubber, wood, and plastic.”

Lightning flashed again, and you winced at the clown’s companion, a bloody jester gloating on your left. “Are the haunted house workers coming in to help?”

“No. There’s only one worker, and based on the way her heart jumped with the power going out, I highly doubt she’s going to walk alone into a haunted mansion with all the lights off. Careful, the hallway twists a bit right here.” Matt gently guided you to the left. You went forward reluctantly, feeling that you were about to walk into something at any second despite your trust in Matt. “And there are two steps down right here.”

“Right where?” you asked, slowing to a halt.

“Right here, in front of us.”

Anxiously you edged your toe forward, feeling for the drop of the step. “This is incredibly creepy.”

“I’ll tell you when to step. Just keep going, and step downward when I say.” Matt tugged you forward, and you resisted, moving as carefully as possible until you were down the steps. 

“I don’t like this,” you informed him. “Because I know for a fact that there are probably zombies or vampires or something in here.”

“Dolls, actually.”

“Oh, God. Are you serious?”

Matt laughed. “At least, I think they’re dolls. Ceramic faces, stringy hair, small size.” He took your hand and guided it in front of you. “Here. Want to feel one?”

“No!” 

“There are lots of dolls in here. And it feels... dark. Wait.” Matt’s hand suddenly held yours more tightly.

“Well, I could’ve told you it’s dark in here.”

“No. I mean... a different type of dark.” Matt was silent, and you imagined he was cocking his head. 

“What is it?” you asked, squinting around as though it would suddenly help you to see the surroundings. 

“Something’s moving,” he whispered. “One of the dolls.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean a doll is moving,” he repeated. “Wait here—”

And then he pulled his hand away from yours, lost in the blackness of the house.

“Shit!” you yelped, hugging yourself. “Matt! Don’t leave me here!”

There was a small crash to your left, and then footsteps, slow and creaking, from behind you. Holy shit holy shit fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkk—

“Matt!” you shrieked. “Come back!”

And then, you felt something behind you, and the warm exhale of someone breathing near your ear. “Boo,” Matt said, in a low voice, and you automatically swung around so quickly with your fist that you would have socked him in the face, had he not caught your wrist first. 

“Shit – sorry, I didn’t mean to almost punch you—” You stopped yourself, mid-apology. “What the hell, Matt? You’re awful! How could you do that to me?”

To your indignation, he actually chuckled, sounding so damn pleased with himself that you would’ve marched away and continued on your own if you could actually see. “You know, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever heard your heart go.”

“Yeah, because you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.” Matt wrapped an arm around you as he continued steering you forward. “But you must have known that this was coming, sweetheart.”

“Um, no, I didn’t think I had it ‘coming’ because I thought I could trust my boyfriend to lead me out of a freaking pitch-black haunted mansion without trying to prank me like a five-year-old—”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“You couldn’t resist. Oh, well, that justifies it,” you grumbled, pushing at him again. “How much longer until we’re out of here?”

“Stairs to the first floor are right in front of us. Then we’re almost to the basement.” Matt dropped one of his hands so that it was on your lower back. “Your eyes haven’t adjusted at all?”

“I think the clouds are too thick for any moonlight to come through. And, of course, the lightning now decides to not flash at all.” You wished you could simply sense your surroundings like Matt could. “You’re amazing.”

“Weren’t you just saying I was awful?”

“No, really. I mean, the fact that you’re able to do all that you do, considering you can’t see; and me, the second I can’t see, I’m completely useless. It just makes me admire so much more the way that—”

“Stairs,” Matt warned. “Thirteen steps.”

“Thanks. But it just makes me admire so much more the way you... honed your senses, I guess. I mean, how many girls can brag that their blind boyfriend easily led them out of a haunted house with the navigation skills of someone with night-vision goggles?”

“It’s easier than you’d think.” Matt stopped suddenly, his fingers lightly raising to brush your upper arm and spin you so that your back was pressed into his chest. “Listen.”

You obeyed, falling as quiet as possible. Even this close to Matt, though, you couldn’t hear his heartbeat. “Matt, I’m not going to magically have your ability to hear well—”

“You don’t need my level of hearing,” Matt said. “Sometimes you just need to listen more closely. Hear that whistling?”

You focused. It was faint, but audible. “Yeah.”

“What’s that coming from?”

“Sounds like the wind coming through a vent.” Realization dawned on you. “Which means that there’s a wall in front of us.”

“Exactly. And did you hear that scuffle above us?”

“Yeah, that thump?” You hadn’t even paid attention to it until now. “It was probably that worker, right? Which means... we’re in the back lefthand corner of the house.”

“See? Easier than it seems,” Matt said, leaning in and kissing your temple. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”

You smiled, feeling heat rise up your neck. “That’s really nice of you, but I know what you’re up to. You feel guilty for scaring me earlier and now you’re trying to make up for it with flattery.”

“Floor gets squishy right here,” Matt said suddenly, and you were glad for the warning as the wooden floorboards beneath your feet unexpectedly transitioned to foam. “They really went all-out with this haunted house.”

“Too bad we’re missing most of it. And... Matt, I love you for guiding me, but can we please slow down?” you said, leaning backwards to reduce the speed Matt was leading you at. “I feel like I’m about to walk into a wall.”

“Sorry.” Matt slowed his pace. “We’re almost out. You know, I’ll miss this a bit.”

“What, me being temporarily blind?”

“Yeah. Because you can’t see things like this coming.”

“Things like what—?”

But then Matt’s lips were on yours, passionate and hard, as he pressed you backwards into what was presumably a normal wall and hopefully not an upright coffin or anything gory. You made a small sound of surprise and kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Matt’s left hand cupped the back of your head, and his right groped underneath your shirt on your lower back; goosebumps ran up and down your arms.

And then, without warning, the lights flooded on, machines and animatronics beside you whirring to life. You jumped, heart skipping at the massive demon leering on the ceiling above you. Painted flames danced on the walls and a horned mannequin, eyes blinking and head rotating back and forth, grinned at you deviously. “Oh, God. We’re in Hell, I think.”

“We are? I wasn’t really paying attention.” Matt leaned in and kissed you one more time. “Your body was just a bit distracting.”

“Okay. New idea, Matt,” you said, staring at the fiery devil as it continued to sneer at you. “I see a really, really, really amazing photo opportunity. If the attendant lets me, I’m going to run and get my phone from the car quickly, then I’ll be back.”

“You’re going to abandon a blind man in a haunted mansion? How will I ever know where to go if you’re not allowed back inside to guide me?”

You laughed. “I’ll convince her to let me back in.”

And that was how, a week later, you happily received a photo print in the mail: Matt standing beside an animatronic devil, pointing at it with his thumb and smiling widely.

A/N: This is based off of a really neat haunted mansion that I visited on Prince Edward Island awhile back. Happy almost Halloween, everyone!

[remyfire]

I cannot express how much I hate needing to do this. But my finances are down to the absolute wire and I need help one more time to pay not just for Peach's care, but for some of my personal expenses as well.

Peach is my wonderful, beautiful, perfect, sassy, cuddly, loving cat. She's 12 years old, and a few months ago we found out that she is diabetic. I love her so, so much and I will do anything I can to keep her healthy and give her a wonderful life as she enters her senior years, but unfortunately the costs of caring for a diabetic cat are more than I can afford right now.

The good news? I've landed a job! I'm so excited to start this week! But until my first paycheck comes through, the transcription work I do on a contract basis has been increasingly hard to come by and what little I have received can't cover all of my present expenses. Peach needs a vet visit, syringes to inject her insulin, and her vet-prescribed food, and I need help to pay for my commute to work, and I am completely out of options.

So here's what we're looking at. Peach's syringes and food are the above $168. I have also had to purchase a third glucometer for her—yes, you heard that right—for a total of $40. Because my credit card is so close to being maxed out, I can't even schedule a vet visit to apply it until I have the funds, and that's going to be somewhere between $50 and $100 to apply the sensor and do some additional bloodwork.

Then we come to me. I am going to be commuting to my new job via train and the most affordable way for me to do so will be to purchase an unlimited ride pass for the month of October, costing $75. And on top of this, I have my upcoming October health insurance bill that totals around $150.

This all adds up to be between $483 and $533, depending on what bloodwork they will need to do during Peach's vet visit. Factoring in the fee that Ko-fi and PayPal take from donations, I am in need of around $575 at the most.

This is an overwhelming amount of money to ask for. I know that and I feel like shit for doing so. But I am so close to reaching financial stability. I just need a little more help and then I'll be back on my feet for good.

Any reblogs are appreciated! I'm so grateful for any donation, no matter how small. And as always, please don't feel pressured in any way to donate—take care of you and yours first.

[falling-star-cygnus]

should i be starting a new fic with all the half-completed ones in my drafts? no -> but live laugh love EndoChika

Sakura Haruka's Romance Sensor Against the World! {ao3 fic link} SUMMARY: Sakura's friends worry about his health far too much, in his opinion. So it's raining, so he got a little wet, big deal. They didn't need to peer pressure him into a shower.

But apparently they do, and so he does. Why the fuck are Endo and Takiishi at his door the minute he gets out!? And was no one going to tell him that they've got some... weird romantic tension?

+=+=+

Why the hell... are they at my house-!?

Haruka's hair drips down his neck, still damp from the semi-warm shower his- friends had bullied him into taking. As if a little rain was going to be the thing that did him in.

"We don't want you to get sick again!" BAH. He was tougher than that!

You get sick from worry one time and suddenly- suddenly... you've got a weak immune system.

Sick from worry.. that's what it had been, hadn't it? Or maybe it was just the more palatable answer- aka the mold still growing in the corners of his house that got damp in the rain.

Rain that was currently dripping onto his floor.

...sighing isn't enough. Haruka vaguely feels the need to remove his lungs entirely and leave them outside to be washed clean.

Can you even get sick from mold? he finds himself thinking, looking around his sparse belongings for something to gather up the droplets.

Moldy food, yes. He'd learned that the hard way when a bout of food poisoning left him bed bound in a house with no air conditioning. Could it even be called a house..?

Voices had drawn him to his door, had forced him to hastily throw on his boxers and shirt lest he suddenly find himself in the company of everybody in his goddamn class. Again.

...Haruka really needed to fix his lock.

Though his door was so rotted, it probably wouldn't even matter.

The shiver that goes down his spine is entirely due to the weather- due to the cold drop of rain that gets his hand when he's settling a plastic bag under the leak.

Nothing else.

It doesn't keep him up at night, wondering if the creak outside his door is just a stray cat or footsteps- he's made of tougher stuff than that. He's had to be. His curtains [star patterned things- a gift] aren't kept cracked for the lingering shadows of strangers.

Haruka has them like that so the sun wakes him up on time.

That's it.

Would Umemiya know how to fix-?

Anyway- the voices are only getting closer. And his hair's not any drier than it was before he'd heard them. That was annoying...

Why is it raining in summer, anyway? That didn't make any sense at all.

Nirei would tell him to go get his towel- or worse get it himself and absolutely smother him- but..

He edges closer to his window to peek out. There's no curtains on these ones, so he's gotta be a little more careful to stay out of sight. And isn't that a fucking thought- hiding in his own goddamn house.

Ugh.. at least this window has those odd wooden slats on the outside. Spaced just enough for a clear glimpse inside or out.

Should he- text someone?

Well- no, because those someones might be right outside his door right now. Maybe he missed a text, and that's why they were here. Except they were all just hanging out not even an hour ago.

Before the rain had hit.

Bright red hair swings into his line of sight. Bright, waist length, red hair. With yellow ends.

Haruka's never hit the ground faster.

His mind's racing, so fast and hard that he almost doesn't catch the conversation that had lured him in the first place.

"Woow, that rain came out of nowhere.."

Because of course.. of course... he was here too. God-fucking-damnit. Package deal motherfuc-

Endo freakin' Yamato doesn't get a response- not much of one anway. Chika Takiishi [he threw a desk off the roof, fighting Umemiya] just makes a noise at him.

Phantom aches crawl up Haruka's throat- far too similar to the ones that attacked his scalp from time to time, when he got too deep into his thoughts. The weight on his sternum is an almost physical thing.

Quiet- quiet- be quiet...

His hand clamps over his mouth and nose.

Maybe he was just seeing things!

Yeah.

Another glance.

It's still Endo Yamato and the man he's obsessed with enough to start a war for.

They're

Haruka should text someone. Should get to someone before this became a fight. Endo- he could take Endo again. Probably, if he had to. If it was one on one.

But Takiishi too?

They're both tucked flat under the barely there- awning..? The thing over his door. The rain's light enough that it's enough cover, at least until it either clears up or gets heavier.

They haven't knocked, at least. Or announced their presence.

...he could always pretend he's not here and hope they go away.

That seemed so cowardly though. And he's not a fucking coward. He just... didn't think he'd have to face them again so soon.

Shit.

"This rain's pretty light," Endo eventually says, again to what might as well be thin air, "We could probably make it home without getting drenched. If we ran, anyway."

Predictably, no response.

Haruka chances another look.

. . .

THEY'RE NOT EVEN FACING HIS DOOR-!

Were they seriously just there to hide from the rain!? What were the odds they'd stop at his house!?

Suo.. could probably tell him. Though, that would mean grabbing his phone from his room and leaving his door unattended.

He finds an angle that lets him see both men at the same time, just in case of- something happening. Maybe he couldn't take both of them, not at the same time at least, but... well, he could probably surprise them and then book it.

Umemiya was probably still at the school somewhere.

Endo's got a white bandage taped to his throat- which is weird, because how did that happen? Who the hell got the drop on Endo?

Takiishi is glaring at it with enough hatred to stop someone's heart. And Haruka would know, because he's seen that look many many times. Mostly at his old town.

That's not as weird.

"I know, I know," the tattooed man tries to appease, "You wanted to go see Umemiya. Sucks the weather had to change so suddenly."

...is he-

Is he serious?

That's not what-

SMACK

Haruka jumps- quickly ducking down again.

"Ow- what did I do!?"

Another, cautious, glance shows him Endo rubbing the back of his curly hair- bent forward at the waist just the slightest bit. Though held away from the drizzle by the same hand that, presumably, smacked the back of his head.

"You're not supposed to get it wet," Takiishi- surprisingly- answers, narrow eyes narrowing even further.

"...oh."

Endo's hand comes up slowly, to the very edge of the damn thing. And then he laughs. Cackles, actually. Like- a fucking hyena. It's creepy.

"Were you worried?" he asks, leaning forward for a glimpse at his... are they friends? More..? Stalker and stalkee?

Point is- he tries to look at the other man's face, "Takiishi-"

"Chika."

"Chika," eugh.. it sounded all- punched out of him, "It was just a little ink poisoning-"

Alright, that made a lot more sense. Was he getting another tattoo? His neck was already full of them.. where would it even fit?

"You threw up on my shoes."

"Okay, well- technically they were my shoes. So.."

Takiishi looks down at his feet, clad in- honestly impressively chunky heels. Where did he get those? And then he looks back at Endo, his face even more deadpan. [If that was possible]

"Don't you remember? You said your feet hurt, and we switched." the tattooed man explains.

A golden blink.

"...oh."

These-!

Haruka doesn't need a mirror to know what his face is doing- crouched as he is and spying on the two people that beat the shit out of him and Umemiya. He can feel it.

His cheeks burn, right up to his ears and right down to the tips of his fingers.

These- idiots!

How truly hopeless do these two have to be, that he can call them out on it!? Alright- Haruka knows he's naive on most things concerning... people..

But seriously!

What! The! Hell!

It's due to this rather all encompassing bafflement that he almost misses the fact that the rain has stopped. The sun peeks out from the clouds, oh-so similarly to how he's peeking out his own goddamn window.

Ugh, now he's the spy.

And they're- not friends. And not lovers yet either.

Endo and Takiishi start walking away from his door after noticing, after Takiishi is sure Endo won't suddenly die getting a little water on his bandage.

That man almost choked him out.

Why was he holding his hand out to Takiishi like the redhead was a princess? Why was he helping him down rickety stairs? WHY WAS TAKIISHI LETTING HIM!?

"I feel bad for whoever lives in this building," is just barely heard from this distance, "Can't imagine it's very safe to walk up and down everyday."

Haruka makes a mad dash for his phone. Then back to his window.

This is by far one the most stupidest things he's ever done, but:

To: Endo Yamato Sakura Haruka: Fuck you 15:58

Endo pats his pocket- still just barely in viewing distance- and pulls out his phone. Much to his companion's [lover's?] brief ire.

To: Sakura Haruka Endo Yamato: !? 15:59 Endo Yamato: Where did that come from!? 16:02 Endo Yamato: Sakura!? 16:05

[silky-nereid]

I’m absolutely obsessed with your yan!wasteland wanderer idea!! I was hanging onto every word about them and the final line!! Just, *chef’s kiss*! I NEED to know more about them now ((o(^∇^)o))

Stimulating To A Decaying Mind !

Yandere! Wasteland wanderer & Robot! User

A/N : Let me know if you wanted something different! :D

His hands tightened the faded sash around your abdomen plate to stop the remaining oil that threatened to rupture if it didn’t have pressure on it.

“Next time, listen to me.” He sat down on the wooden chair, using a tiny screwdriver to tighten the loose screws of your mechanical limbs. “You are not allowed to play outside with those…those children. You could have fell and this—“

His hand poked the sash around your abdomen while his wrinkled face already etched with more worry.

“You could have what?” He scolded. “Answer. What could have happened if you fell on the sharp rocks?”

“I could have ruptured my oil bag.” Your mechanical eyes looked at him. “Oil bags are difficult to come by.”

“Yes,” he added. “Listen to me, you are built with extremely hard parts that are hard to come by. I want to protect you but you continue doing prohibited actions that will get your body destroyed. We have dangers, what are your dangers?”

“Dust storms, trappers, Spur and his people,” you repeated. “Sharp objects.”

Your sensors recognized the light pressure of his mechanical prosthetic hand across your cheek. Yet, no single warning hologram appeared. His warm hand registered with the normal temperature, cradling your occipital plate.

“That’s good,” he stated. “You’re understanding the lessons I give for your own safety.”

His warm hand gently pulled down on your nape to look at him while the unfamiliar noise of light screeching came from your nape.

“It seems that the gears turn your neck are getting dry,” he said. “I have to detach your bust from your torso to fix this.”

You lied down on the wooden table, the hissing came from the disconnection of your torso. The sensors continued to give off the familiar hologram that warned him to reattach the bust back to the torso or to return you back to the company for a professional repair. You heard his familiar cocktail of grumbles that were always a mixture of the old English and curse words that he programmed to never be usable even if you had tried to convince him to put the words in your programming.

Your ears registered the sounds of screws from your occipital plate to be unscrewed and placed beside your limp body.

“I have a question,” you said.

“I might have the answer.” He placed down his tools and carefully rotated your bust to face him. “What is the question?”

“Why do we relocate to different places?” You asked. “We could stay here, this place has your necessities.”

“It has mine but it does not have yours,” he replied. “When we find a location that has both of our necessities met is where we can permanently stay. Do you understand?”

[cupidsworstcrime]

Azryth Belen (Alien Boyfriend/A.B.) info

@theclockonthewall come get your food , i fleshed him out for you

🪐 Species Name: K'thari

Homeworld: Virex-9, a temperate, bioluminescent jungle planet orbiting a binary star.

Average Lifespan: 300 Earth years

Language: Primarily pheromone- and light-based communication, supplemented with vocal tones. (Clicks & Chirps)

🧬 Biology

Skin: Silken and cool to the touch, A.B.’s skin contains chromatophores that shift color slightly in response to emotions. When aroused or flustered, patches along his jaw, throat, and chest glow faintly with soft pink or violet hues—like a mood ring that can’t shut up.

Eyes: Large, dark, almost glassy. They lack pupils and reflect more light than they absorb, which makes direct eye contact in dim rooms a little surreal. His vision spectrum includes UV and infrared, so he can literally see your body heat and hormonal shifts—something that confuses him deeply when he notices you "blushing down there" and doesn’t know how to ask politely.

Tongue: Long, ridged, and hyper-flexible. It evolved for both grooming and nutrient extraction in symbiotic fruit-harvesting. Its texture is somewhere between soft coral and a heated silk ribbon—absolutely not designed with oral sex in mind, but he's trying, okay?

Mouth/Breath: Strong, almost suction-like tongue base. His breath carries trace amounts of calming pheromones, which were meant to pacify prey species (or keep his nestmates chill). You don’t know this at first—you just feel inexplicably fuzzy and relaxed when he’s between your legs. He doesn’t realize this is not normal for humans until much later.

Genitals: Internal until aroused. K’thari reproductive biology is less visual than human's and more scent/pheromone-driven. Their mating involves entwining scent glands and mutual stimulation, making A.B. deeply confused at the visual intensity of human sex. (“Your reproductive anatomy is… outside. That feels very… unsafe?”)

💬 Cultural Notes

Sexual Norms: The K'thari don't have a direct equivalent to oral sex. Intimacy is shown through shared breath, grooming, and entwining sensory limbs. So when you say, “I want you to eat me out,” he panics slightly because he thinks you’re asking to be devoured. (He does ask twice to make sure.)

Consent Rituals: Touch among K’thari is highly formal. Touching someone's face or core body is an intimate ritual, usually accompanied by pheromone-exchange or light display. So the first time you put his hand between your thighs, he short-circuits and locks up for a solid thirty seconds, every patch of his skin flashing confused yellow and excited pink.

Language Barriers: Since K’thari communication is based on pheromones and subtle skin pulses, A.B. struggles with sarcasm, idioms, and metaphors. You say, “Jaws killing me,” mid-blowjob, and he stops you immediately, horrified.

❤️ Relationship Impact

Emotional Clumsiness: He is not used to verbal affection. His version of a love confession is standing guard at your bedroom door all night or meticulously cataloguing your scent markers to recreate them when you're apart.

Learning Curve: You have to teach him human intimacy step by step, using comparisons he can understand. “My clit is like the focus point on your scent node.” “Okay, so it’s like a cluster of pleasure sensors? I can work with that.”

Devotion: Once he learns how to please you, he treats it like a sacred rite. He doesn’t just eat you out—he worships. It’s reverent. Focused. He uses your moans as calibration, adjusting pressure and angle with single-minded devotion. When you praise him, his skin lights up like a bioluminescent night field.

[tsamsheadcanons]

I hc Sun with BPD, autism and ADHD (he's just like me fr fr) - he's been in Masking Mode for a very long time, and the BPD by and large is more quiet presenting until he hits a burn out, where he goes absolutely nuclear. He likens it to pressure valves, just turning different ones in his head, moving the Feelings around to hide them until they go away - but eventually the valves, the sensors, the pipings shake, shudder, crack, and he either flips or dissociates (more latter than former).

He cleans, drinks (formerly), bakes or plays with his cats as a coping mechanism.

The only ones to notice anything worrisome are, ironically, the villains.

That is an interesting headcanon!

[itsnotamatterofif]

Teehee okay this isn’t really a sick fic but it sure is a malfunctioning hydrogen tanker fic so I hope this was okay! Also a bit of a cliff-hanger, oops :3

(Side note wtf is the ship name for these guys I have no idea)

✨Want a stex Drabble? Send me an ask!✨

“Babe, I keep telling you, I’m fine.”

For some reason, when Hydra tries to assert that, Electra doesn’t hear him. They’re starting to think it’s on purpose.

It’s been three hours since Hydra’s pressure valves blew, and two hours, fifty-nine minutes and thirty seconds since Electra had dragged him back to their shed for ‘safety’ - something about eliminating risks and wanting him within Wrench’s reaching distance ‘just in case’. Small cases of over-pressure Hydra can handle on his own, but there seems to be absolutely no convincing Electra that this is something fairly regular and not a life-threatening event.

“I know, darling,” Electra sings, and Hydra gets the feeling they do not, in fact, know, “I just want to be safe.”

“Well, my sensors are telling me my pressure is stable now,” Hydra explains as Electra runs long fingers through their hair, long nails scratching comfortingly along his scalp, “and my valves have reset, so I’m good to get back out there.”

“But are you sure?” Electra counters, mock concern twisting their pout, “darling, what if it happened on the rails? Or whilst you were out fueling? It’s best for you to stay here for now whilst I can see you-“

“This isn’t about me malfunctioning, is it?” Hydra asks, folding their arms as Electra gasps in offence, “you just wanted me to tell Control I can’t do my shift this afternoon.”

“You don’t have to tell Control anything, I had Killerwatt handle it for you,” Electra states matter of factly, stroking Hydra’s hair slowly; he can’t deny, they’ve both been busy recently, and he’s been wanting an excuse to steal away to the electrics shed for weeks now, but they also know how much Electra loves it when he plays hard to get, “can’t have you going on the rails and something going wrong where I can’t help.”

Hydra can’t help but chuckle at his partner’s determination. “And here is safer?”

“Infinitely so,” Electra asserts, and their hands leave Hydra’s hair to take their hands in theirs, “Wrench is only ten seconds away, and I can keep an eye on you should you lose consciousness.”

“Right,” Hydra says with a nod, taking one of Electra’s to his lips to kiss their delicate knuckles gently, “and definitely no risk of sparks that might ignite the gas?”

“Well-“

“And plenty of ventilation in the event of a gas leak?”

Electra purses their lips, huffing in frustration. “I believe you are seeing through my ruse. Please, be less astute next time.”

“You know you don’t have to make a big deal about everything to get me to stay over,” Hydra says with a raised eyebrow, inviting Electra to come and sit next to him on the edge of their bed, “normal people just ask, yeah?”

“I am aware,” Electra mutters, and allows Hydra to reach over and link their hands together as they sit, “I was worried about you, however.”

“I know, babe,” Hydra replies with a laugh, leaning their head on Electra’s shoulder - mercifully, they removed the spikes earlier, so Hydra’s safe to wiggle in and press himself to Electra’s side, “and I do ache a bit, so I’m not going to complain about having the afternoon off-“

“We’re just so busy,” Electra remarks forlornly, looking down at their conjoined hands, “malfunction more often, please, it gives me an excuse to take care of you.”

“You want to take care of me?” Hydra questions, and glances over to see that rare icy blue blush dusting Electra’s cheeks; it’s cute, how the light reflects off their shimmering skin, and Hydra wishes he could paint well enough to turn this into a picture, “I don’t need to malfunction for you to do that - we could just, I dunno’, go out somewhere nice and you can pay for whatever I want, you seem to enjoy me racking up one hell of a bill on your credit card.”

“I enjoy seeing you happy,” Electra admits quietly, and Hydra feels them squeeze their hand slightly.

“And you don’t need to buy me stuff, or take care of me when I’m broken for me to be happy,” Hydra continues, “I’m mostly just happy when I’m-“

A pause. A clunk. The familiar feeling of pressure where there shouldn’t be pressure.

“Love?” He hears Electra ask, and his gaze flits down dramatically to their two safety valves, which, on cue, pop.

Fuck. This was meant to be fixed.

“Hydra, love, I thought you said you were fine.”

Ten seconds, then the hand crank. Nine, eight, seven-

“Hydra?”

No change in pressure, he reaches for the hand cranked valves, panicked fingers ripping at the emergency valve on his side, unable to tear his vision away from the too-small crank and the bubbling pain in his core.

“I’m getting Wrench, stay here,” he hears Electra state, almost as panicked as they feel, as the familiar screeching of escaping gas fills the room and the surging, sharp pain of his rupture disks ripple under his external tank.

Wrench better get here soon, he thinks, and the last thing he hears before everything goes dark is the rushed slamming of the shed door.

[super-ion]

Mona Lisa Sunrise

(Part 1)

(Previous entries to this series: original post, ZetaTransit049)

“And they say brunettes with dimples can't stabilize the reactor core,” Mona said with an exhilarated giggle as the klaxon finally cut off its panicked screaming.

The comfort unit tossed her head and brushed stray locks of hair from her face, turning with a flutter of her eyelashes.

Her grin faltered. She was alone.

Well… MS-675732-B was there, but it was definitely, positively, absolutely non-functional.

She pouted. What was the point of sexily saving the day if there was no one there to appreciate it.

“Thank you for saving the day, Mona,” chirped one of Station's talk boxes embedded on the wall. “You did a very good job.”

“Oh thank you, Station!” she replied, her grin returning.

She wiped her hands… or tried to. They just clanked together metallicaly.

Oh... yeah.

Lefty was a ragged mess. After the misadventure with the coolant pressure release valve, there were only a few scraps of shredded derm that clung stubbornly to the musculature up to her wrist. The musculature itself was looking pretty scorched... she wasn't even sure if it was worth a dermal regen at this point. The ceaseless flood of diagnostic error logs didn't bode particularly well for it.

She imagined it would hurt like a mother fucker if she hadn't supressed her pain emulation subroutines.

Righty… well, half of the right arm she had woken up with that morning was presently lying on the floor of the ops deck where a fire suppression bulkhead had sheared it off pretty neatly just above the elbow. The other half lay discarded next to the crumpled body of the service mech on the ground next to her.

Her new right arm, the one she had hot swapped when she discovered poor MS-675732-B, was something to behold.

It wasn't particularly pretty. It wasn't meant to be pretty… or sexy, not at all like her factory recommended components. But she found it alluring in its own way. It was utilitarian, dense alloy in the frame and a reinforced musculature. And for delicate work…

She fired a command and a compartment opened on the wrist, spidery appendages unfolded. Sensor probes and graspers and even a micro welder. It certainly wasn't meant for the kind of delicate work she was used to, but she couldn't deny that something about it was getting her hot and bothered.

There was probably some messaging protocols from the arm that were getting routed to other core processes to trigger response.

Something, something, the eroticism of the machine, she supposed.

Maybe one of the techs would be turned on by it. That could be a fun and novel adventure.

She grinned at the thought as she pinged Station for status.

8169 seconds ago, she had been rather un-gently shaken out of sleep mode. Emerging from her cubicle, she had discovered a nightmare of blaring alarms and strobing lights. Something, somewhere down in one of the refinery modules, had exploded, triggering a whole cascade of catastrophic damage throughout the station. All maintenace units had either been evacuated or rendered non-functional, so it fell on the station's two comfort units to finish the job of getting systems online and stable.

Station answered her ping with an abbreviated rundown: Reactor stable. Backup life support stable. Ops deck fire suppression engaged. FTL comms unresponsive. Refinery module 1 unresponsive. Refinery module 2 failed safe… etc etc

Station population: 0

Her brain caught on that. 12 dead, 23 injured, all 137 evacuated.

A process in her core stuttered.

Station population: 0

She wasn't just alone in reactor access, she was alone in the whole station.

“Okay…” she said breathily. “Okay. This is fine.”

She cared about people. It was her job. It was her purpose. Her core directives were already triggering post industrial accident protocols, she was meant to be a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to… or, to be entirely honest, someone to fuck if just for the momentary reprieve. Everybody coped with this sort of thing in their own way, and she was meant to facilitate that. Except there was no one for her to comfort. No one to cry on her shoulder. No one to seek her embrace.

She stood stock still in reactor access as her mind tried to sort out the mess of information as subroutines and core directives clashed, and conflicting processes competed for priority.

She needed to return to the cubicle. She needed to power down and await further instructions.

“Mona,” Station said through the talkbox, the audible sensory input slicing through the fog. “This is further instructions. The station is not stable. I need your help.”

Help. Yeah, she could help.

Station pinged her system, coaxing prioritization schemas to kick in. Out of control processes were killed and spun back up, then relegated to lower priority.

“Good girl,” Station said gently through the talkbox as it uploaded new provisional directives to her queue.

She blinked her eyes. An entirely unneeded gesture, but it helped her focus. She played back the preceding hours: unlocking fire suppression on ops deck, hotwiring the engineering access tubes (with one arm!), hot swapping an appendage she technically wasn't designed for, stabilizing the core.

She had done all of that. Sure, she had needed to download a whole slew of schematics and manuals, far exceeding the bounds of her design. But she had done it.

Her purpose was to help. She just needed to expand the parameters of what help meant.

Station needed her help.

She could help.

~~~

System poll : 4 nodes identified

Echo(self) : CS-553902-M “MonaLisa”

Host : SunRiseStation-ELS-93806

Node : CS-553807-L “David”

Node : ZetaTransit049

Unresponsive hardware detected

MS-675732-B - location: Reactor Access E96

MS-554932-M - location: Exterior +X9842-Y3320+Z0229

Message log

Sender : CS-553902-M

Receiver : ZetaTransit049

Message : Hey boo

Response : Leave me alone.

Message : Okay! Love you! <3

Message log

Sender : CS-553902-M

Receiver : CS-553807-L

Message : Hey cutie!

Response : Hey! Still alive?

Message : You know it! All good with you?

Response : Doing my best. Shit's totally fucked

Message : Damn skippy!

Response : lol

Message : I'm heading down to the tech bay. You doing anything later?

Response : I dunno, you tell me ;)

[mxmarsbars]

made a little analysis thread on twitter and thought I’d share it here too if that’s chill ^_^

anyways traffic!impulse using self destruction and the destruction of others as a way to cope with his own frustration and resentment throughout the life series: a messy ramble-y post because I’m crazy.

most of this behavior really only starts after third life. his destructive behavior before then is usually outward and not with malicious intent. instead, he hurt others in third life because he was asked to. it was a part of a greater plan he was undoubtably loyal to and that would later get him killed and tarnish his reputation for seasons to come.

that’s why in last life, he’s much more open to antagonistic behavior (which he barely partook in before and only would if asked of). this mostly includes all the stealing he did that season, the numerous break ins, and of course, spawning the wither. this could also include his personal insistence on becoming the boogeyman and even planning it out in advance (which would later get him killed, his own hubris). he was itching for it to be his turn.

it’s such a huge shift from how he acted in third life, and why? personally, I think it’s because of all the strain and pressure put on him by others and their disdain towards him. specifically the rumors spread about him and the reluctance of others to believe and trust him after what he’d done the season prior. which for some people is justified, like ren and etho, but for others, like bdubs, is not. and this was shown to upset impulse a lot, given how it resulted in him being thrown under the bus, even by his own teammates.

but he’s supposed to be nice and considerate and smart to make up for all he’s done, right? that’s why he sticks with his alliance the whole time and makes a point to be loyal to them and them only. but that doesn’t stop the resentment and anger boiling, and he can only take so much before he has to let off some steam, and destructive behavior seems to be a means to do so.

it turns from him doing bad things because he’s asked to to him doing it because he wants to, to cope. which is why when all else fails and the southlands fall apart, despite him taking the measures to prevent it earlier on, he helps grian spawn the wither, even with the risks and deaths. and he insists on doing it at best’s base, because they ruined him. it gets him killed. he should’ve been smarter.

it gets worse in double life, specifically when homewrecking is proposed. while he’s not the one to bring it up or start the rumors, he soon grows comfortable enough to start talking smack himself. him and bdubs deliberately try to ruin the relationships of others, and they tell themselves it’s to steal away half of each pair for their own benefit, but maybe there’s more to it. maybe they ARE projecting, just like joel had said.

it doesn’t help that impulse is having his soulbound questioned and bdubs “needs” a clock and the horns won’t shut up. when they’re exposed, he takes his destruction to the deep dark. he throws snowballs, he spooks unsuspecting people, he yells into the dark when he finds out his voice can trigger the sensors. throughout the season, he makes multiple efforts to cause distress in the deep dark, malicious intent or not. and maybe it’s to cope with the fact that bdubs keeps sending him down there or etho won’t stop yapping about how bdubs doesn’t want him or how bdubs put a major target on their backs.

and this is when self destructive behavior really starts, too. impulse gives away valuable resources when he realistically could’ve not, he takes risks he absolutely doesn’t have to take (despite how much he values his and, by extension, bdubs’s life), when he’s linked to the fishing rod sequence of death, all he says to bdubs is that it was fun while it lasted. and then he loses their first life trying to get a music disc.

whether he means to or not, he’s slowly killing himself and his soulmate, too. and eventually, by the time he’s red, he just gives in. he starts blowing horn (surely there’s some symbolism there), he terrorizes those better off than him, he wants to cause problems. yet there’s always still some humanity in him that shines through, regardless of his destructive ways of coping.

but this isn’t about that. before the final fight, he even grabs the golden apple him and bdubs had been stashing away, saying if they can’t win, no one can. he would’ve ate it. he should’ve ate it. yet he didn’t, and he died by bdubs’s hand again. more resentment grows.

by limited life, it’s obvious he’s open to dabbling into more chaotic pastimes. bdubs’s ignorance and unwillingness to see his flaws and apologize only fuels the fire. when he’s chosen as the boogeyman, he has a time with it. but he still has the mind to know not to hurt his team, even refusing to use skizz’s accidental death to cleanse himself. but he bombs bread bridge freely, somehow even getting tango and skizz to help him. it’s almost concerning how much fun he has with it.

then of course there’s the complete destruction of bread bridge, which he happily takes part in. and tango’s boogey kill on bdubs, in which he lures bdubs to his demise (something he had been itching to do for seasons). he amasses a huge kill count over the season, his first time murdering anyone since third life.

most of his behavior this season turns more outward, and he grows more keen on sustaining himself the more faith his team puts in him. he is also shown to hold other alliances much less dear than ties, even if they benefit him. this results in the betrayal of many, most notably mean gills in the finale. he fights like hell, he gets his final revenge on bdubs and ends his season, and yet it still isn’t enough.

he begs martyn to kill him, because he’s alone, and he’s scared, and he did all he was asked to do. but they keep him around, despite his pleas. he’s given the illusion of free will, a chance to win, to be given a fair fight. martyn slaughters him in cold blood. a cruel betrayal.

secret life feels like a reset, and most scores are settled, and secret tasks heavily dictate how the sessions go. he isn’t given the chance to cause mass destruction like he could the season prior. he’s not sure if he wants to. most of his mistakes are honest, no self destructive or malicious intent, same with his tasks.

he’s with a team he can trust and confide in. they help him. they care about him. his first two deaths are consensual and willing, something’s he’s never known. the season is rough, but he’s happy. he tries to use his trap as he’s being chased, risky as it was, a final act of stubbornness.

he dies, alone and scared, hearts quivering. nothing’s new. he’ll just have to be ready to cope again tomorrow. get some blood of his hands, whether it’s his enemies or his own.

[skykashi]

So I just had to turn off the reblogs of the Gai art, it seems like some popular blog reblogged the post with the ridiculous reblog of the baseless accusations that has absolutely no evidence or proof whatsoever and ppl have been reblogging it from them to point me out as the new villain on Tumblr, just because someone think they are too smart for this world and has a built-in AI detection sensors in their brain that they can throw serious accusations like that with literally nothing to back it up except that their Spidey senses are tingling!

I just can't believe how easy it is to destroy someone's reputation and years of hard work in seconds just because someone wanted to, you have no idea how discouraging this whole thing is, to work your butt off to create something just to be met with this at the end, am I supposed to record the process of every artwork I create and post it with my artworks from now on? How am I supposed to keep working on myself and challenge myself to get out of my comfort zone and improve my skills if the second I post something a little different from the usual I get attached like this? You have no idea how hard it is to have to work with such a crappy tablet, how time and effort consuming it is to keep trying to create something pretty on a lagging screen and no pen pressure sensitivity, but I have no choice but to be stubborn and determined enough to just keep trying anyway and spend 10x more time and effort than anyone else because that's what I love to do and it's limiting my creativity so much but I just have to make it work with what I can afford... and then the one time I had enough motivation coming from wanting to create something that will put a smile on my friend's @depressedhatakekakashi face just like they continue to put a smile on my face so I chose to do something different this time for them, something that I don't usually go for because of how extremely hard it will be on a stupid tablet like mine but my appreciation and gratitude for them gave me the push I needed to do it and challenge those limitations even further, not knowing that there's someone lurking in the shadows waiting for a moment like that to destroy all of my hard work.

First, they said "oh, I think it's AI because some parts look pixilated" so I recorded a video showing how things get pixilated when I move them between Adobe Illustrator and Clip Studio Paint and why I'm forced to use both software together for a piece like this so they then say "I don't understand how what you said is relevant" then changed their reason to "because the art style in this piece looks different from your usual art style" and um, my usual art style is meant to look like cartoon and this one is meant to look realistic HOW COULD IT NOT LOOK DIFFERENT?!!!, like I don't understand, am I stuck with only one type of artwork now because that's what I usually do? Am I not allowed to try something new for a change or try to challenge myself or develop my skills? Can someone tell me where I can get a permit to have freedom with my creations? Or am I supposed to just stop trying all together?!!!