#Circuitry and Dust

[bywrios]

"c'mon, giddy'up back there," boothill mutters, his knee bouncing restlessly as he resists the urge to turn over his shoulder and check on your progress again. you grumble behind him, one hand smacking his metallic waist, and he can picture the furrow of your brow and the way your tongue sticks out in concentration in his mind's eye. one of the metal panels of his back has been removed, exposing the wires and circuitry of his mechanical organs.

the whole reason for this impromptu examination was the fact that he had been feeling... strange after his last bounty, for some reason. it had involved a high-speed chase in a roofless car, hot on the heels of some ipc scumbag. he’d done his best to dodge whatever shitty bullets the scumbag’s entourage had shot at him, but clearly, something had stuck—which is why he sits between your knees now as you check him up for damages.

his boot thumps on the soft, dusty earth under his heel. “well?”

“hold your damn horses,” you snipe back, muttering under your breath. he can feel a light pressure against the cords and connectors in his spine, the artificial replacement of his nerves. “i need to—oh.”

“what? whatsit?” he asks, a note of urgency in his voice at your silence. he isn’t particularly worried about getting fixed; his bounties ensure he has more than enough credits to spend on spare parts. it’s just that it’s a pain to have to travel to the nearest non-ipc mechanic feeling all funny.

(he ignores the voice in his head that tells him the true source of his worry: that his faulty body might not be able to protect you.)

“what’s wrong?”

he’s about ready to spin back when he hears a choked exhale rush out of your nose, followed by the airy sound of your giggles. it makes him still, but this time out of confusion, rather than concern.

“what the fudge has got you laughin’ your boots off back there?” he grumbles, and you only laugh harder. he glances over his shoulder and sees tears lining your pretty eyes, and then he glances down and sees… some sort of flying insect between your fingers? a very dead, and very fried insect. it had probably slipped in through one of the chinks in his plated skin during the chase.

“i guess you— i guess you could say there was a hardware bug,” you wheeze, free hand gripping onto his shoulder to steady yourself in between your fits of laughter. boothill gives you a withering glare, and plucks the dead, charred bug from your fingers, grinding it to dust between his own. he pretends to be annoyed, lips curled into a frown, but there’s a lightness to him he hasn’t felt in a while.

“hardy har har, yer so dang funny, ain’tcha?” he scoffs, shoving you lightly into the dirt.

you answer him with another burst of sweet laughter, unbothered and too lost in your own mirth, and it reminds him of the sound of the wind blowing through the mountain valleys, and how it whispered into his ears when he used to ride horses and not roofless cars.

with an exaggerated sigh, he lets your enjoyment at his expense slide this time.

(he doesn’t have a biological heart anymore, but even that mechanical thing in his chest can’t bring himself to interrupt you.)

[yaespook]

Run 4 - In Progress.

✧ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Android! Wanderer, no gendered terms used for reader, no actual penetration, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Wanderer, memory manipulation. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: If possible, use the InteractiveFics extension to change the phrase “My name” (without the quotation marks) to the name given to your Wanderer.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

You must have picked him up two or three weeks ago, when he was still worse for wear. In your memory, he was in pretty bad shape when the two of you first met, his main panel wrenched open leaving his circuitry a mess and rough scrapes all over his superficial layer.

Now, with your constant repairs, he’s been more lively, tailing you around the house as you go about your day. While fussing about, dusting off a muzzle laying on a fur pelt, you sense a presence lingering outside your room.

"You know, I don't recall androids being quite so clingy." In return, you get a light huff from behind the door frame. 

"And you’ve come across other androids? I didn’t know you run a junkyard here,” the eye roll in his tone is audible.

His feet pad into the room and his gaze hones in on the clerical collar placed on a nearby shelf, glaring at it. Clicking his tongue, he crosses his hands on his chest.

“Whatever, what you do is mostly up to you anyway. Do you think you’re almost done cleaning? I think there’s an internal problem again, I’ll wait for you at the worktable,” the android saunters off nonchalantly, throwing you a light wave over his shoulder.

Sighing, you quickly finish up your task at hand before complying to his request, briskly making your way over to the worktable where he's already perched smugly on, his gaze expectant. 

You easily go through the rehearsed motions of plugging him up to your computer, your muscle memory kicking in as you boot up the required softwares before gingerly prying the main panel located on the front of his torso to gain access to his internal workings. Over time, you've gradually figured out the parts that make up the android sitting before you, growing used to the sight of the lengths of wiring and cables running throughout his body, the faint low mechanical whirring of motors and cooling systems. 

Most importantly, you now understand how sensitive his central core is. Nestled securely in a latched transparent casing, his core is what powers and sustains him. It emits a constant turquoise light and is also reflected in the glowing markings that lay beneath his synthetic skin that occasionally activate. (Although, you haven't quite gotten an answer for what makes them light up yet.) 

“So what's your problem today?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from him as you go over to your computer to check if any bugs have been identified.

“I think that cable all the way at the back came undone and got tangled with the rest.” 

You shoot him a pointed look, “Again? Didn’t we just fix that same cable last week?” Shifting your chair so you’re seated before him, poised to conduct your repairs, you make a passing remark, “Maybe taking you to another mechanic might be the better choice, get everything checked out, you know?”

How long have you kept at your task of finally fixing him up to tiptop condition? It’s almost daily when he reports back to you with a new disconnected wire or another loose joint somewhere on him. Diligently, you’ve been trying to repair him but the android is like a never-ending to-do list. And it’s only natural to be concerned if the constant damage stems from a more serious underlying issue that you haven’t managed to discover. The only next logical step would be to get another pair of eyes to help discern the root cause in case anything takes a turn for the worse.

But the reaction you get from him is one unexpected. His head snaps to face you, a scowl evident on his face. 

“So you’re handing me off like an unfinished project to someone else now?”

You know how snippy he can get however, this is on a different level from his previous behaviour. Maybe something left over from the days before you found him. It’ll be a good idea to look into his past logs to diagnose any present problems, you make a mental note of it.

“I’m just worried for you, that’s all. What if there’s an urgent issue I can’t fix alone? And we both know I can’t leave you as is.”

His expression mellows to an annoyed pout, looking away as his core glows faintly along with the patterns under his skin, he mumbles, “I’ll be fine.” (“I just need you.”) (“I'm the only one for you.”) (“No one else deserves you.”)

He allows you to work without another complaint, silently watching as your hands venture into his chest, a focused air to you while you look for the problematic cable. He senses your touch when you make contact with it, sucking in a sharp breath as you grip it between your fingers, twisting it around to free it from the surrounding wires before you finally connect and plug it into its rightful place. 

“That’s it for your cable issue. Anything else?” He quickly shakes his head.

Giving it a few light cursory pulls to make sure it’s finally secured, (if you weren’t mistaken, his core brightened in time with your tugs), you spare the rest of his parts one last look over. Then, shutting the panel, you unplug him from the computer.

Immediately, he scampers off the worktable with a clipped “thank you” and runs into his room. You hear the door to his room close before its lock clicks. 

The next few days prove to be better, the repair requests for any troubles that seem to have cropped up overnight growing more and more infrequent. Perhaps, bit by bit, the end of the repairs start to come into sight. 

Although, you have noted that his internal temperatures have been hiking recently whenever you have his chest panel open to patch him up. 

This time, you have him lying on the worktable on his back to access the further areas in him. He’s positioned facing upwards but his eyes are darting everywhere, unable to meet your gaze. Once again, the programme open on your computer screen shows how his temperatures are quickly rising even though there are no obvious reasons for such a sudden change. It records the recurrence into its troubleshooting log like before, more times than you can remember.

He’s panting lightly, the android’s chest moving up and down as your ears pick up the sound of his inner fans whir louder, his pre-programmed functions activating to try to cool him down. With no clue as to what could cause this issue, you reach in to look for a fault. Yet, the more you poke and prod around, the higher the warmth within him rises. 

Left with more questions than answers, you turn to his core for a closer look. When your fingers brush against the transparent casing, a moan slips out from him, and instantly his head whips to look at you dumbfounded.

An artificial blush takes over his face, a low pink glow blooming from beneath the synthetic layer. A beat passes before he cracks his lips apart, voicebox working as he pleads.

“...Again.”

Gently, you let your fingertips dance over the clasp hinging the casing shut and his response is instant. A shudder rolls through him, as real as it can be, and a shaky exhale leaves him. The android’s back arches up slightly, hastily chasing after your touch when you remove your hand.

Your caress returns when your hand dips deeper into his circuitry, where you hook two fingers underneath his thicker cables, attentively stroking them between your thumb and fingers, before tugging on them forcefully enough to elicit a reaction from him. 

His eyes fly open at your ministrations, a greed for more overtaking his processors. You’ve always been so gentle with him when he’s opened up for you, when you have access to the deepest parts of him, when he’s at his most vulnerable. So, to have you toy around with him, show him the indulgence of human flesh, can you really fault him for falling for you?

The tips of your fingers ghost along the length of his metal spine, and the android keens from under you.

“Please, more, I can take it!”

Taking his cue, your hand encircles his spine, grinding the heel of your palm against the ridges of the sensitive metal elements as you pump up and down. 

“Sss- so good! Hah…!” He can’t control how he behaves when you treat him so well, like he’s the only one worthy of your attention. He shakes under your touch, trembling as the addictive pleasure overrides his programmed commands.

“No more blubbering, just focus on me.” Your other hand goes to cup his chin, and obediently, he parts his lips for you, allowing you to slip your thumb into his mouth. You can feel his tongue work and when you press down, he jolts suddenly. A gag reflex? In an android? How amusing.

When you stop stroking him, he whines pitifully, muffled moans and begging for you to continue but his complaints stop when he feels you unlatch the lid of his core casing.

“Would you let me?” And the flurry of nods from him confirms his enthusiasm.

With bated breath, he counts the seconds before you make contact with his core. And when he senses your caress on his glowing core in his exposed chest cavity, he breathes out a gasp, as if he requires the intake of air. None of this is written into the basis of his behaviour, not fed into the dataset that makes up how he’s supposed to act, so everything he feels for you must be real.

His eyes go unfocused as his neural network is flooded with the raw pleasure of being enveloped with love and lust down to his literal core. Desire burns within him, evident from the fans whirring even louder than before to bring down his temperatures. It’s just so much for the android’s computations to handle. Broken moans leave him as he tries to vocalise his love for you (as best as he can with his thumb in your mouth). 

And when you press a kiss to his unprotected core, his vision whites out.

Eyes wrenched shut, his whole mechanical body jerks upwards, back arching off the worktable as his body propels himself to sit up, his limbs trying to ensnare you in his embrace, to keep you with him as long as he can. Every command in his system is overwritten to hone in on all the sensations of you on him, your touch, your warmth.

The patterns under his skin glow with a pulse, akin to a human’s heartbeat and when his eyes open again, glimmering faux tears roll down his face. His chest heaves as you close the distance between the two of you, cupping his face with both your hands and kissing his tears away.

The android breaks the intimate silence as he quietly asks you, “Can you give me a name?”

When you whisper a name into his ear, he breaks into sobs in your hands.

The days pass by, uneventful, and the time for a final cursory check before deeming him fully repaired comes. He’s poised on the worktable like any other previous session, a bored expression on his face as you flit back and forth between him and the software on your computer.

“You really are a clingy case,” you say and get a huff in return, “But a welcome one.”

Remembering your mental note from before about accessing his past logs, you access it from your computer, pulling up the window with his stored recorded data. The log operates in the background constantly, one of the built-in functions of the android and a quick glance over just to make sure everything is in order should do.

However, the logs prove to be worrying in a completely different way.

[Log: Day 10 - Run 1 - Failed. Werewolf. They’re with that mangy mutt. I don’t know what they see in him. I still remember the care they showed me. There’s always the next run.]

[Log: Day 20 - Run 2 - Failed. It seems I’m too late this time around. That vile selkie captured them first. How irritating. I need to stop hesitating. It’s my love on the line after all.]

[Log: Day 30 - Run 3 - Failed. Incubus. That damn priest and incubus. I can feel my temper reaching its breaking point.]

[Log: Day ??? - Run 4 - In progress. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.]

Your eyes rake across a multitude of grainy snapshots of yourself, all with different people that you can’t find the ability to recall, your mind pounding from the discovery. 

He’s gazing expectantly when you look back up at him from the screen. A grin twists its way across his face, canines glinting under the dizzying harsh lighting.

“So now you’ve seen how much I love you, even if you don’t remember it.” There’s a sick obsession dripping in his tone, an uncanny level of emotion that androids normally shouldn’t be able to replicate, one that sends a heavy uneasiness through your whole being, one that roots you to the ground. 

When he doesn’t get the adoring reaction from you he expects, the proud expression on his face falls instantly. 

He’s despondent, despairing as he tears the connecting cables off of him, launching himself off the worktable, lunging across for you, frenzied, pure scorching mania surging through him. 

“You… even after all these runs. You’ve always given me the same thing. My name. I thought this time- You-” 

Voice shaky, “It’s a shame this run didn’t work out either.” 

He steels himself, hand outstretched, “No matter.”

You blink.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[tinydefector]

Is it too much to ask for a follow-up on the Human' Effects fic?

Prev

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Masterlist

This is more just some more information of headcanons I have and how I like writing the bots. So I hope you enjoy it. This one's more on the differences and similarities between humans and Cybertronians.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: mentions of reproduction, and exploration of body's. Valveplug.

__________

So this is just a continuation for Human effects. This one also delves into some more information on biological, cultural and different frames and how they interact with each other, humans and other organic Creatures. 

Biological Humans and Cybertronians are vastly different even with quite a few similarities. 

Sparklings and children 

There is a very big difference in the body function of Humans and Cybertronians. Size for one but also Organic DNA and CNA. There are many things which can Line up with the other species but also function very differently 

Such as. 

structure and organ comparison 

Plating - skin

Helm - head

Processor, brain module - brain 

Faceplate- face

Audio Receptors, Audials, Receptor orifices - ears 

Nasal ridge, enstril, olfactory sensors- nose

Optical ridge - eyebrows

Optics, visors  - eyes and glasses sometimes visors are used as optics

Intake- mouth, throat or a breath. 

Denta, denta plating- teeth 

Glossa- tongue 

Mandibles (insecticons) - jaw 

Vocalizer- voice box 

Chin or chin plating are the same 

Chestplate, chassis- chest and higher stomach (abs area) 

Fuel tanks- stomach. 

Backplate, back struts, binary system,  bipedalism - back and spine, spinal cord. 

Servos and digits - Hands and fingers 

Sounder plating - shoulder blades 

Pede - feet 

pump and Spark - heart and soul 

Energon lines - arrays veins. 

Vents - lungs, breath. 

Pelvic plate - pelvis

Aft, tailpipe, skid plate- butt

Interface panel - covered reproduction organs

Spike - penis 

Value - vagina 

Carrier chamber, Gestation chamber - womb

Helm and head

With the fact one is filled with circuitry, coding and wires and the other is filled with flesh, fluid and other organic matter. Humans' heads are covered in hair most times. And even those who aren't their head Is still rather soft and smooth. And the bots love playing with human hair and facial hair when they are allowed too. 

It also leads to humans giving the bots head scratches, and it's something so man you the bots had never thought of and they love it. They will lay their head in their human lap and just enjoy the gentle touches to their Finial, audials, and helm crest. It becomes. Causal thing of the humans using soft little microfiber cloths to clean out dust and dirt from the small crevices in the bots Plating. Head pats and scratches really becomes something that Cybertronians love alot and it makes a lot of humans consider the bots large cats.

Faceplate and Faces. 

One of the things which is very different between humans and Cybertronians is how they show affection to each other. Cybertronians do a thing called a helm hold. Where they each hold their partner's helm in their servos while looking into each other's optics, it's how they show how much they care, because they are focusing only on that one person. And it means alot more after the war, to focus all your attention on just one bots servos shows a lot of trust, affection and love for someone.  

While humans have Hugging, kissing. So the bots are rather confused the first time they are hugged, tensing up not wanting to hurt their human. And they nearly short circuit when the human kisses them it's more out of fear. 

“Do you know how dangerous that is! What if I crushed you!” The bot hisses in panic while looking at their lover. “not to mention the fact that is my Energon Intake! Do you know what energon can do to Humans!” It nearly sends the bot into meltdowns as they hold their lover's face staring into their eyes trying to show them how much they love and care for them. It would break their spark if they accidentally hurt them. 

“it's called a Kiss, I was kissing you” the human tries to explain, their hands cupping around their bots servos. 

“a kiss?” the bot inquired. “Yea I'm sorry if you didn't want it, it's just I thought we were in that part of our relationship” the human begins rambling out of anxiety thinking they had messed up. In the end they both settle for a small gesture in-between. Pressing their head and helm, together as they cradle the other. 

Eventually they will come around to accepting kisses but it is only for very special occasions. Because the bot will make sure that there isn't a trace of energon in their system for their partner's safety. Over time it becomes them pressing soft kisses to each other's noses. 

Skin and Plating 

These are all the parts which somewhat are similar to humans, but also work vastly different than the human body does. So with this listed here are many of the things that vary with the similarities. 

Plating and skin are vastly different due to one being metal and the other being flesh, it's one of the things a lot of the Cybertronians love is how soft Human skin is. They really enjoy just fondling their human companions, pulling their checks, and enjoying how their skin moves. How pliable, warm and squishy they are. Cybertronians finding out about human breasts really takes them by storm. 

“What are those?” the bot asks while pressing a finger to their breast feeling how soft and squishy they are. 

“breast, boobs, tits they have a lot of names” 

“What are they for?” The bot continues to just slowly play with them out of curiosity, not knowing what the human would need them for. 

“they are used for feeding babies, they fill with milk, it's not a constant thing and not everyone's do but they are for feeding babies.” the human tries to explain and it just leaves the bot shocked. 

“You're with Sparkling?” The bot asked as they began fussing over the human more, gently pressing their digits to the human's body more. 

“no, no I'm not pregnant!” They laugh out loud while rather embarrassed. “‘but wouldn't they deflate?” The bot shoots back as their digits begin needing the flesh which makes the humans sigh and lean into the touch. “human babe, don't have the same functions as you.” They tease softly.

 It ends up with one bot having their human lover back pressed to their Chassis. The bot's servos just cupped around their partners breast slowly massaging them as the human leans back just enjoying the feeling because it takes the weight off their back and the cool touch of the metal feels delightful against their skin. 

Heart and spark

The difference between a human heart and spark aren't that different at all. They both pump blood/energon to where it's needed, it's the life provider of the body. Each has a beat or pulse. And the said beat and pulse sounds different. A human's heart beat feels like a thump but to Cybertronians it's an echo. Each beat they can feel and see like A beating light. And they love how it feels laying against them, their spark will actually fall in tune With their heart beat as a way to calm the human.  While for humans a Cybertronians spark pulse feels like electricity dancing across their skin it's like the build up of static but it doesn't zap. The vibration of a spark is like energy building and releasing, the buzzing sound that just resonates through their body as they lay against their bot. 

olfactory sensors and nose

Unfortunately humans don't have the enhanced scent sensors that a lot of other species do, and Cybertronians have one for the most advanced ones, they don't just smell it but they can break down the chemical compound to its base and are able to tell humans emotions based on how they smell. It also leads to bots becoming rather touching with their lovers when they can smell their cycle. It also leads a lot of bots realising they have a breeding kink after being with a human, because the moment they can feel their partners change in hormones they are hovering. It becomes an even bigger thing when they smell the scent of a young spark, they feel the EM Field. 

carriers and pregnancy 

There is a major difference between human pregnancy and cybertronian pregnancy. Humans can only be born from reproduction.  a new spark can be formed in multiple ways. 

-Forged.  

-Cold construct. 

-split spark

- Sparked 

Forged new sparks are bots that are formed in hotspots across cybertron and on occasions sparklings can also be formed from these hot spots. 

Cold constructs are bots that have been made by others for a purpose and were originally classed as 2nd class citizens, miners or lower than other bots, 

Split Sparks made from splitting your spark into another form. It was very rare due to multiple laws being inplace against it. 

Sparklings were formed through spark merging with another and creating enough energy to form new lifeforms. A carrier would then have to host said spark in their Gestation chamber until the spark could grow its own protoform. Then from there they are moved into the carrier chamber where they learn off their carrier's coding, and also receive food, coding and personal information from their Sire via Transfluid. As sparklings are still not able to consume normal energon and it has to be processed down enough for the sparkling. (Similar to how humans breastfeed) from there once they are ready the sparkling will be ‘birthed’ and from their they will need to be carried in a spark chamber until they have fully developed but gives them time to learn the world around them but still have the safety of a parent to protect them. 

This leads the bots and humans to both be horrified at the differences of the others' reproduction. The bots are horrified over the fact a human's pelvis bone breaks just to birth a baby. But also the fact that humans can carry more than one child. They eventually watch a documentary over human birth; it makes a lot of bots short out and crash. 

Humans on the other hand are shocked over the time it takes for a bot to have a sparkling. 100 years is longer than a lot of humans ever live but it's how long it takes for the full process of a sparkling to be formed and born. That's without all the issues with CNA, temperature, spark energy, energon. A Lot of Cybertronian pregnancies don't make it to term due to these factors. 

So when by some chance a human gets pregnant by a Cybertronian it has the whole planet up in a tissy. Not just the fact of how genetically different they are but how it happened. The first human Cybertronian sparkling is a miracle watched by man and documented. And it turns out the human womb is actually the best possible hosting spot for the start of a sparkling, it's the perfect temperature, and it's not a temperature a lot of bots can keep their own frames. The human womb actually short cuts a lot of time over the birth Due to the sparkling Not needing to be shifted from one chamber to another. It comes down to being pregnant for 3 years. It's a long time for a human but it's decades Less than what it normally takes for a Cybertronian if they made it through the full progress. 

And when the sparkling is born it's discovered that the sparkling doesn't have any human traits, defects or appearance. Due to the human body mainly working as a host, the CNA and DNA don't mix when it comes to creating a sparkling but they work perfectly in sync When it comes to helping the sparkling grow. And it also turns out humans are able to sustain more than One sparkling. 

That also brings me to the function of spike and Valves. For Cybertronians spikes and Valves aren't how Sparklings are created, sparklings are created from two sparks merging together and creating enough energy for a sparkling but interface is needed to start the process of how they form. Sparkling needs Transfluid to begin and that is what Cybertronians use interfacing for outside of sharing memories, information and emotions. Most times Cybertronians interface for fun, feeling close, sharing information with a loved one, or to help feed a sparkling the necessary data, fluids and programming. 

so When a Cybertronian and human interface it has a lovely mix of a 50/ 50 chance of getting pregnant due to how the human and cybertronian heart and spark link in a frequency that is almost essential Spark merging. And a human doesn't even need to interface with a Cybertronian to get pregnant.

Here is a list of ways humans have gotten pregnant/ a bot has gotten pregnant. 

-interfacing 

-spark bonding 

-a human touching a bots spark. 

-having enough hated for another you get them pregnant by sheer Anger

- spark And heart syncing 

-A human being on their cycle will make a bot pregnant. 

______________

Megatron entered the medbay of the Lost Light, feeling unusual warmth and pressure in his chest. "Ratchet," he said gruffly to get the medic's attention. "Something is...off. I feel as if I have consumed fool's energon again, but I know that is not the case." 

He looked down at the medic, his optics betraying slight concern beneath his usual stern demeanour. "Examine me and determine what ails me. I need to be at full function." His pride did not allow him to admit weakness easily, but he trusted Ratchet's skills. 

Ratchet nodded to First Aid and They as they stood ready to assist. He turned back to Megatron with a scrutinising gaze.

"When did you first notice the symptoms? Any other anomalies in your systems?" he asked gruffly, scanning the Decepticon warlord from head to foot with a diagnostic tool. The scans showed unusual activity in Megatron's Gestation chamber.

"Hmm...it appears your spark is pulsing more rapidly than normal. And the pressure you described suggests a buildup of energon flow." Ratchet paused, analysing the data. "This could indicate...no, it's not possible. Or is it...?" He leaned in closer, inspecting Megatron with keen optics.

"We'll need a more detailed scan. Over here, lay back - this won't hurt but may feel peculiar. First Aid, fire up the resonator. Ambulon you're in charge of monitoring vitals."

"What's wrong, ratchet he was fine this morning?" The human asked in concern. 

Megatron lay back on the medical berth as directed, his massive frame dwarfing its size. his expression softened ever so slightly. As the detailed spark scan began, Ratchet's optics widened in surprise. "By the Allspark...it can't be..." He motioned First Aid "Look here. What do you see?"

First Aid peered at the monitor in amazement. "Two distinct spark pulses...but how is that possible?" Ratchet glanced over at Megatron, then back at the others. "It would seem Megatron himself is carrying sparkling. The increased energon flow and pressure were signs of protoform development beginning."

He chuckled wryly. "Well Megatron, it seems that fool's energon was not to blame after all. Congratulations...you're going to be a creator." Megatron's optics widened in disbelief at Ratchet's announcement. Carrying sparkling? It made no sense as far as he knew, spark merging could only occur between cybertronians and he had only been intimate with a human. 

He sat up abruptly, almost knocking First Aid over, and glared down at Ratchet. "Explain yourself, medic! How is this possible? The human and I have been intimate but they clearly lack our means of conception." Ratchet held up a calming hand. "Peace, Megatron. I have a theory," 

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

@ladyofnegativity

[bottledpeaches]

the missing ten bytes

SYNOPSIS: even with the newfound ability of speech, he finds he's still unable to tell you how he really feels

CHARACTERS: metal sonic, tails, sonic, eggman, amy

TAGS: set after idw battle for angel island arc, jealous metal in denial, metal has a slight existential crisis, gn reader, mild profanity, fluff, 6.9k+ wc

TAGLIST: @waayix as requested <3, @affinitytales

special thanks to @nyehpperino and @angelitenails for beta reading this! ily <3

also confession time... affi I'm ur 💜 anon

NOTES: lots of computer terminology but I am not a programmer, its been over a month since I last wrote so this may be rusty pls bear with me </3, sonfic nation pls accept my humble first offering

dividers are from @cafekitsune

“Tails… What’s that you’re holding?”

Covered in machine oil and dust as per usual, the boy genius looks over and waves at you. When he notices you staring, he holds up the device in his free hand. It’s small, fitting snugly into the palm of his hand, and resembles an earpiece.

“Oh, this? It’s my newest invention!” he declares proudly. “It’s a real-time translator that can convert binary code into speech! Pretty cool, huh?”

Your gaze drifts to the suspiciously Sonic-shaped robot dragging on the ground behind him, beaten and battered with several dents in his frame. Most likely the work of the real Sonic. His red LED eyes are off and sparks fly off the exposed wiring in his limbs. If Tails notices this severe safety hazard he’s haphazardly handling, he doesn’t say anything. Or most likely, he doesn’t notice, too caught up in whatever genius idea his mind is brewing up. 

“... Is that Metal?”

He flinches, like he forgot he was actually dragging the damn thing around. 

“Er… no?” 

“Tails.”

He reluctantly sighs at your tone and his whole body deflates. 

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles as he turns toward his workshop. “But I swear, this is in the name of… science. Yeah, science!”

The skeptical look you send his way makes him look away again and scratch the back of his neck shamefully. 

“How do I explain this…? You know how Amy was upgrading her hammer the other day?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Metal spotted Sonic earlier today and you know how the story goes. They got into a fight and Amy decided it would be a perfect time to test her hammer out.”

He mimics her actions as he swings an invisible hammer around. In doing so, Metal slips from his grasp and falls to the ground with a loud thud. He rolls to a stop and you can see, on the back of his head, a giant hammer-shaped dent that aligns with the size and shape of Amy’s. 

“... Yeah. The story writes itself from there on,” sighs Tails as he follows your gaze. You squat down next to the unconscious robot and place a hand on top of his head. Still hot to the touch and you retract your hand quickly, hissing at the slight burn. His internal systems must’ve been working overtime and overheated as a result. You’d wager his circuitry is probably fried beyond repair now.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re dragging what’s essentially glorified scrap metal back to your place though,” you say as you sling one of Metal’s arms (that’s barely held together by a cable) over your shoulder as Tails takes the other. In response, he pulls out the ear piece you noticed earlier and beams brightly. 

“I invented this the other day but haven’t been able to test it yet. But look! Here we are with the perfect candidate!”

“Tails, I do hope you realize what you’re getting yourself into. This is like stepping right into the lion’s den- no, more like inviting the lion straight into our home! And if something goes wrong, we’re all dead meat!”

“Relax! Even if he does go berserk, I’m sure Sonic would love to take another swing at him.”

The garage door to Tails’ workshop opens automatically as you approach. A loud grunt escapes you as Metal slides off you and onto a table. The overhead light flickers on and fills the space with bright, fluorescent light as Tails restrains the robot with some heavy duty chains. Not like it’ll do much if he does wake up… 

“Besides, we don’t even know if he has a language module or not. If he doesn’t, then wouldn’t that mean all your efforts get wasted?”

“No such thing as wasted effort in my eyes!” he replies as he grabs his welding and power tools, aviation goggles discarded on the floor in favor of a welding helmet. “And we’ve heard him speak before.”

“Tails, that was when he was in his Neo Metal form. That was caused by his AI chip becoming self-aware.”

“But the possibility exists,” he argues. “It’s there, just buried beneath Dr. Eggman’s programming. And that’s why I have you with me!”

“M-me?” you splutter out. “Wait, I never said I was-”

“- The resident programmer amongst us!” he interrupts. “I’m just the engineer, remember? If anyone stands a chance of overwriting his code, it’s you. Besides, aren’t you at least a tiny bit interested in being the first to sabotage Dr. Eggman’s failsafe encryption system?”

Your eye twitches. You’d be lying if he said he didn’t speak the truth… 

Tails flips the visor on his helmet down and motions you to back up. Sparks fly and the room is filled with the ear-rattling sound of the grinding wheel undoing the weld that houses his inner workings. When Tails flips the visor up and motions you forward, your eyes widen and practically sparkle at the motherboard before you. Located in his head that Tails has sawed the top off just now is a behemoth of densely-packed wiring and components. You spot several fans, the two CPU sockets with chips that bear Dr. Eggman’s face on them, and several memory slots. Much of the wiring is fried from overheating, however, and the distinct smell of something burning wafts from the printed circuit board. You cover your nose with your hand and grimace at the smell, yet you take a seat beside the robot and get to work anyway. 

The first order of business is to replace all the parts beyond any hope of repair. Tails directs you to where he keeps his collection of computer parts and soon, you return with an armful of components you dug out of a bin. With his help, the wiring is replaced and reworked. His damaged limbs are repaired and reattached to his body. Thankfully, none of his processors or memory cards were damaged, as you’re able to hook him up to a computer and copy all his software and saved information. The computer screen lights up and a download progress bar appears. It soon completes and you see that all of Metal’s saved data has been successfully transferred onto the computer.

While Tails is busy tinkering with the engineering marvel splayed out on the table, you’re busy attempting to get past Dr. Eggman’s notoriously difficult code encryption. As much as you hate the man, you have to begrudgingly admit he does deserve the title of “genius”. No matter what you do, you just can’t get past the security system- there are no openings and no backdoor either. Maybe you’ll just have to brute force it?

… You slam your fist against the table after what feels like the hundredth failed attempt. The high-pitched whirring sound of Tails’ power drill that’s faded into background noise abruptly stops as he stares at you concernedly. You brush off his concern and in a last-ditch attempt, you simply force your way past the protections in place without any regard for what could happen. You’re prepared for failure yet again, but to your surprise, you’re greeted with a welcome screen. Looks like you’re in now. Somehow. 

There’s no doubt that Dr. Eggman hasn’t realized his most prized creation has been gone for a suspiciously long time now. If he hasn’t, then the defenses set up around Metal’s code that surely triggered when you brute forced your way into the system just now will alert him. 

Your eyes scan for any software that could indicate the presence of a language model. But to your surprise, there’s none. If there’s no language model, how can he understand Dr. Eggman’s orders and react in real-time to Sonic’s taunts in the middle of heated fights?

You bite your lip as you scroll through the lines of code making up his software. If it had existed, it was most likely stripped after the events of Angel Island for being considered too “rebellious”. Does this mean there’s a way for you to re-implement it then? 

Your fingers fly across the keys rapidly. Whether Dr. Eggman built Metal’s language model framework up from the ground or not is up for debate, but you aren’t capable of such feats yet. Developing one from scratch would also take too much time and you aren’t sure when the killer robot next to you will awaken either. Instead, you settle for downloading an established model onto a flash drive and extensively tweaking its source code to be more suitable for Metal. That alone takes you long enough as Tails shoots you a nervous glance. He readies his welding tools and readjusts his helmet.

“(Name), I don’t know how much longer Metal is going to stay unconscious… His AI chip has most likely been busy with rebooting him back up. Plus who knows what other defenses he has set up in place…” 

Dammit. With little time left, you encrypt the software as best as you can to avoid Dr. Eggman undoing all your hard work before sticking it into the slot on Metal’s back. The indicator light turning green at the base tells you it’s been successfully compiled and installed. It’s a half-baked product at best and it’ll be nowhere near the level of refinement his original programming was at, but it’s good enough. 

“Ready,” you say to Tails. “Power him back on.”

Tails flashes a thumbs-up. A quick weld job later and he flicks a switch on. The robot’s entire body jerks and shudders from the sudden output of watts now flowing through his circuitry. His red pupils flicker back on and his head snaps in your direction, glaring at you. With a whirr of well-oiled gears, he tugs at the restraints holding him until they snap. He leaps off the table and swipes at you, steel fingers slicing cleanly through the air. You dodge just in time and Tails swoops in from above, whacking him over the head with a stray steel pipe. It disorients Metal just enough for you to restrain him again- not that it does much. He smacks your hand away with his other one, but you hold your glare and to your surprise, he stops in his tracks.

“Say something. Anything,” you demand. 

Tails gets the hint and tosses you the earpiece. You catch the device midair and put it in with a mechanical beep as it powers on. Metal emits a series of clicks and whirrs that you pray is your modified language model formulating a response. 

“Why should I?” comes the translation a few seconds later in a mechanical voice. You gasp.

“It works!”

“Wait, it does?” asks Tails as he flies over to your side. You rapidly nod with the biggest grin on your face as he grips your hands tightly in his. 

“Because thanks to me, you can speak now. You also got a free repair job from our resident boy genius,” you say, motioning to Tails. 

Another robotic whirr. This one sounds confused. 

“You can understand me?”

“Yes!”

Metal turns around and fully faces you now. He taps a finger against his chin and scrutinizes you. At least you think that’s what he’s doing. 

“What did you do?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Answer me.” 

Tails reaches for the earpiece but you swat him away. You’ll tell him the details later. 

“Oh, nothing. Just a little tweak to your programming. I’m sure you miss being able to speak though, right?”

“My creator will be hearing about this-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Tell me something I don’t know,” you scoff with a wave of your hand. “And tell him to bring it on.”

“Duly noted.”

You peek an eye open at the robot who’s still glaring at you with murderous intent. A smug grin tugs at the corner of your lips as a thought pops into your head and you swear you see him flinch. Tails shudders out the corner of your eye. 

“I think a thank you is in order?”

He’s gone before you even finish the question, speeding back to his creator’s lair. Hopefully your programming has a fighting chance against Dr. Eggman, if he can even discover it. You hid and encrypted the software pretty damn well with the time you were given, in your opinion. 

“Ah… he’s hopeless,” you lament. 

“What’d he say?” pesters Tails as he circles around you, twin tails swishing in excitement. “How was the translation quality? Was there anything-”

“Nothing special,” you sigh as you head back outside for a much-needed break. “Just Metal being a jackass as per usual. Didn’t even say thank you for the free repair job and the new upgrade of speech! Can you believe it? The nerve of him… Did Eggman forget to install manners or what?”

Tails snorts and bites back a laugh.

“That would explain a lot of things then…”

You remove the earpiece and look down at it, fiddling with the device. 

“The translation isn’t up to real-time standards yet. It takes a few seconds, but it’s already an impressive start.”

“That won’t do,” argues Tails. “Its purpose is to be a real-time translator. Any delay is unacceptable.”

“Ever heard of appreciating every victory, no matter how big or small?”

He glares at you and motions for you to hand the translator back to him. You toss it and he deftly catches it midair. After mumbling some terms you don’t quite make out under his breath, he pockets it and faces you again.

“I’m heading back to the drawing board, but would you be interested in staying onboard for this project? I could really use your programming skills…”

It’s cute, the way he fidgets as if the possibility of you saying “no” was even a possibility to begin with.

“You kidding me? I finally have the chance to one-up Eggman and I’m not letting it slip by now!”

You pat Tails on the back, noting the relief that floods his eyes as he perks up. His twin tails swish excitedly behind him again and he all but drags you back to the workshop.

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s get going!”

It’s a game of tug-of-war from there on out between you and Eggman over who would have control over Metal. The next time you see him after your initial encounter, his creator has already done a number on your programming. Basic speech is compromised and barely audible, instead coming out as a bunch of mechanical beeps and clicks with the occasional garbled word here and there. It takes Amy knocking him out cold with her hammer and almost four hours to get everything re-downloaded and running again, even with you and Tails’ combined brainpower. But it turns out to be a blessing in disguise, as you discover new ways to improve his language model and the translator. Components are swapped out with shinier, newer counterparts that Tails finds as he expands his collection of computer parts. You slowly develop an understanding of Eggman’s programming and how to circumvent its defenses, creating workarounds at a frightening pace that you know the man himself is having a massive headache over. 

The translator inches closer and closer to real-time translation after each encounter with Metal. Your encryption skills improve, as demonstrated by how Metal’s speech is experiencing less frequent setbacks despite his creator surely trying to spoil the fruits of your labor. His speech, which originally started off as simple sentences, evolves into something more complex as his AI chip begins integrating the program and the code begins learning from his speech habits. He even begins seeking you out for help with his speech. 

“It’s you, bothersome friend of Sonic’s.”

By now, the translator is up to real-time speed. 

“... Good afternoon to you as well? Can I help you?”

“I am experiencing jitters in my speech. This must be the result of a bug. Fix it.”

A jitter… Does he mean stuttering?

“Is that what you organics refer to it as?”

“If what I think you’re referring to is right, then yes,” you respond as you boot up your computer. You didn’t even realize you voiced your thoughts. Metal begrudgingly sits next to you as you pop open the control panel in his back to copy and update the software onto your device. “Why didn’t you ask Egghead to patch it for you then?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘wanted nothing to do with such shoddy programming anymore’. End quote. And do not speak of my creator in such a way. This is your first and final warning.”

You sigh. A win is a win, even if it’s a bit of a low blow to your ego… Hopefully, he’ll stay out of your way now since he sees your work as far beneath him. 

You pull up the conversation history in the software. Here, you can see logs of every conversation he’s had, the responses generated, and the ones he chose to go with. It’s the second most recent timestamp that catches your attention. It’s a conversation with Eggman that took place prior to him arriving here. 

| “You’ve been growing soft lately. I don’t recall programming you with emotions. Is it all because of that stupid program now?”

> Yes.   > No.   > Why is it so bad? 

| “‘Why is it so bad?’ Are you MOCKING me?! There is NO room for sentimentality or emotions under this roof! I built you for one purpose and one purpose only and expect you to NOT get sidetracked!”

> Understood.   > Yes, sir.

| “You’re more trouble than you’re worth sometimes and it’s failure after failure… I’m starting to lose faith in your abilities to eliminate Sonic. Can you even do anything right?”

 > I’m sorry.   > …

| “I know I said I’d stay ten feet away from that disgusting program, but it’s getting in the way now. Hmm, perhaps I should… Metal, come here.”

> As you wish.   > Of course.   > Understood.   > N-No.

There it is. Is that the stutter he was talking about?

| “... No? Are you defying me now? But why?! And did you just�� stutter?”

> Because it feels nice finally being able to say what’s on my mind this whole time   > None of your business. You didn’t develop this program, therefore why should I tell you? 

| “Oh, so you’re acting cheeky now? Taking after that blue brat, I suppose?”

> No. I’ve always been like this.   > You literally built me in his image, what were you expecting? 

| “Since when?!”

> Since you created me. But you were never there to hear me speak in my Neo form.   > You’re my creator. Shouldn’t you have the answer to that question? 

| “That’s besides the point! And I got rid of that function for a reason! You were too disobedient and annoying whenever you spoke and now I have to hear it all the time! Metal, this is an order to you from your creator. Come over-! Wait, where are you going? Get back here!”

The next timestamp is from your conversation when he first arrived here. You close out of the software and tap your foot, sinking deep into thought. 

“What is the issue?”

“How do I explain this…?” you begin. “Metal, there’s nothing wrong with you. That stutter, or jitter in your speech, as you called it, is perfectly normal.”

He lets out a disgruntled-sounding mechanical beep.

“How so?” he demands. You sigh.

“Metal, you were most likely feeling nervous at that moment. People tend to stutter when they’re nervous. It’s a natural thing to do.”

He laughs. It’s a robotic, clipped sound, sounding almost sarcastic to your ears. The speed at which he’s learning is quite impressive, really. 

“Impossible. I am a robot, a creation of Dr. Eggman. I cannot feel emotions the way you organics do.”

“We’ll see about that,” you grumble as you scroll through alerts regarding his operating system. 

| Power surge detected in central battery pack. Risk of component failure or overloading increasing. Action recommended. 

| Temperature spike detected. Risk of overheating is imminent. Increasing fan speed to 2500 rpm. 

| Fans nearing maximum rpm speed. Prolonged usage can lead to CPU fan failure. Action recommended. 

“What’s this I see then?” you taunt, a hint of a smirk curling at the corner of your lips. Metal looks over your shoulder at your computer screen, then pointedly turns away with a quiet whirr. 

“... Those are regular operating alerts. Your point falls flat.”

You roll your eyes. 

“So these occurrences happen regularly? I feel bad for your processors if that’s the case.”

He crosses his arms and you sigh at the sight. 

“... You know, it’s not as shameful as you’ve been led to believe.”

“Don’t tell me what to think.”

“You won’t be able to think at all once I turn you into scrap metal for Tails to repurpose,” you retort, unable to resist the temptation of a sassy comeback. Metal glares at you as if you’ve personally offended him. You stand your ground and eventually, he backs down first. 

“Think about it,” you say, trying to reason with him, since that’s apparently the only way you can get anything through his thick skull. “They’re actually quite beneficial. Had you not put up a fight, you wouldn’t be speaking to me right now.”

He stays silent. You huff. 

“You absolute bolt bag. Which one would you prefer- being able to speak or not speak at all?”

“You are putting me in a bind here,” he says. 

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“And I decline to give an answer.”

You wordlessly turn back to your computer and boot up the software again. Your fingers click against the keys as you type and Metal looks over curiously to see new lines of code on your screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Since you refuse to be honest with me, I’ll have your software take that matter into its own hands.”

Oh, he doesn’t like that smug tone in your voice. Not one bit.

“... What are you planning now?”

There’s a self-satisfied grin on your face as you continue typing.

“Your software will now force a response to every question asked, regardless of who’s asking. And I’m purposefully encoding a bug to ensure you’ll always pick the most embarrassing response the software generates. Isn’t that fun?”

Metal’s eyes widen and he buzzes indignantly. 

“You-!”

You merely laugh and delete all the lines of code. Not even the sweet feeling of cooling down after overheating could compare to the sheer relief Metal feels at the sight. 

“Just playing with you. But that’s the most emotion I’ve heard from you so far, y’know?”

He buzzes again and you sigh. What a killjoy. 

“Metal, why were you so afraid?” 

Back to business now. 

“I was not afraid,” he snaps. And perhaps that’s true. A robot can’t feel emotions the same way you do and he’ll never be able to. The only possibility of that ever happening would be to wipe Eggman’s programming and rewrite his code from scratch, but at that point… could he even be considered the same robot anymore? A philosophical question you’d rather not ponder in the face of said murderous robot sitting in your home office. 

“You’re just as incorrigible as your creator!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You jab your finger at his torso, glaring at him viciously. He meets your gaze unflinchingly.

“Ask yourself, who has your best interests at heart?” you hiss. “The man who got rid of your ability to speak without any consideration as to how you felt, all to save himself from a headache, or the one who restored those functions without expecting anything in return?”

“You know that I will always choose my creator over you.”

Ouch. That stings more than you’d like to admit, but you fight back the hurt expression that threatens to cross your face in favor of a harsh smack to his head. Your hand throbs in pain and it definitely hurts you more than him, but you derive a small amount of satisfaction when he flinches and his eyes flicker to form exclamation marks. 

“You’ll only do so because of your programming. If I stripped you of Eggman’s programming and replaced it with mine, would you make the same decision?”

You glare at him one last time before slamming the door shut in his face. He stands there, motionless, for several long seconds as he mulls over your words.

Who would I be, if I weren’t created by him?

Metal doesn’t know. Everything he’s ever known has always revolved around his creator. He sifts through his memory bank in an attempt to find anything that isn’t tied to Dr. Eggman in some way, but comes up empty-handed. His CPU stutters and freezes up and he’s left paralyzed. Is this the emotion organics call “fear”?

It’s then he realizes your finger was aimed at where a heart would be located. After his AI chip performs a hard reset, he presses his hand over the spot you were touching. He feels a strange buzz throughout his body that he quickly traces its cause to his fans spinning rapidly and causing mild vibrations. 

… How uncharacteristic. 

It’s an uncomfortable sensation, but not an unwelcome one. 

You see Metal around more often from there on out. Lingering at the corners of your vision as you go about your day, inviting himself into your house and overstaying his welcome, and watching you debug his code. You’re well aware of his presence but don’t say anything. Let him see the world without tunnel vision for once. 

“Why is Metal following you around?” asks Tails one day in the workshop. He looks out the window to see the blue robot standing in the bushes and staring intently, not even bothering to hide himself. At this point, your programming has been fully integrated by his AI chip, rendering the translator Tails had initially developed obsolete. The young fox across the table from you is currently disassembling the earpiece and repurposing its components as he casts glances at Metal periodically, not even bothering to hide his suspicion. 

“Ignore him,” you say without looking over your shoulder. “He won’t do anything as long as I’m around. Think of him as… a lost puppy rather than a murderous robot.”

There’s a loud buzzing sound from the bushes, as if he’s pissed at your statement, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care less, instead turning back to your computer with a light laugh. 

During your time in the lab, Tails repurposes the earpiece into a smartwatch which shares the same language software Metal uses. Not only can you now see his conversation logs and how he’s feeling without your computer, but it also doubles as a haptics registering system for Metal. With a swipe, you can switch between components and see their status in real time. Tails gives it to you under the condition that you would share the results with him so he could further understand Eggman’s engineering.

… Perhaps it’s a bit of a betrayal of trust now that you think about it, but you also wouldn’t have been able to get your hands on the device otherwise. A little secret never hurts anyone, right?

He sees you dozing off under the shade of a palm tree. Analyzing your sleeping expression and your biodata, he comes to a conclusion: content. From your heart rate and your respiratory rate, he can assume that you’re in a deep sleep. Perhaps you’re even dreaming right now. Before he knows it, he finds himself standing at your side and looking down at your sleeping form. 

| What should I do?

> Accompany them.   > Leave without a trace.

There’s a short clicking sound from him. He doesn’t like either of those options. One is too forward of a move and another one makes it seem like he was never there at all. Metal looks around, shuffling in circles in the sand, until he finds a solution.

When you wake up from your impromptu nap, you find a bouquet of wildflowers resting in your hands that were clumsily picked. Some of them are bent in half at the stem and others have petals missing, yet you smile and hold the flowers closer anyway.

“He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is,” you lightly scoff to yourself, fingers stroking the petals. “How cute.”

He sees you typing away at your computer throughout the day, brows furrowed and biting your lip. Focused. Your eyes narrow and your gaze hones in on something as you type out a few more lines of code. Anticipation. Your eyes light up and you clap your hands together in victory, pushing yourself back in your chair and spinning around. Relief. Victory. And the cycle repeats. But more often than not, you become even more frustrated instead of achieving sweet victory. Such is the life of a programmer. 

What he doesn’t see, however, is you tapping away at your watch and seeing the conclusions he’s drawn once he’s left, presumably having grown bored with watching you sit at a desk for hours on end. 

| Conclusion: Focused. Anticipating something. Relief. Victory.

You hum and raise your eyebrows in pleasant surprise. 

“Not bad. But he still has a lot to learn.”

He sees you hanging out with friends too, silently trailing a safe distance from behind. His AI chip is always prompting him to do weird things during those times, however- glare daggers at your poor friend until they leave, purposefully make his presence known, or even say something to get them to leave. It must be another bug, decides Metal. He’ll ask you to fix it later. But right now, he’s focused on your form taking a walk alongside… Sonic. 

Revulsion. Disgust. But there’s something else too. What is this feeling? 

Jealousy, responds the software. But he’s too prideful to accept such a diagnosis. He can’t possibly be jealous of Sonic. The very thought makes him want to laugh. It should be the other way around! But seeing how you let Sonic sling an arm around your shoulder and let him drag you around... it makes him realize the gap between himself and that blue hedgehog. And he wants nothing more than to bridge it. 

Now is the perfect time to swoop in and show that hedgehog who’s the real Sonic, but he holds off- partially for your sake but to also hear where the conversation will be going after catching his name. 

“From what I heard, that hunk of scrap metal actually talked back to Egghead! Can you believe it? He gave the man attitude!”

Sonic puffs his chest out and smiles proudly. Metal feels the familiar urge to run over and kick him in the head. 

“Maybe I am rubbing off onto him more than he’d like to admit. What can I say, I’m a good influence! Now, if he could just shape up to be a better… person? Robot? Whatever.”

“... Or it’s because of his shiny new language model that I’ve been modifying.”

Sonic’s face falls and twists into a disgruntled scowl at your words.

“You’re stealing my thunder here,” he grumbles.

“No, I’m just telling you to give credit where credit is due.”

Metal fights the command telling him to laugh. At least, that’s what you call that specific sound. A snarky reply is generated and lies in waiting, ready to be used. Perhaps he’s picked up your sass more than he’d like to admit. 

He accidentally steps on a twig underfoot and freezes as Sonic’s ears twitch at the sound. Sonic looks around and meets Metal’s glowing red eyes hiding in the bushes. He grimaces, hand bunching into a fist and ready to turn the robot into little more than a dented tin can at a moment’s notice. 

“Ew, it’s you. You’re looking hideous as usual, by the way.”

“I am not hideous. You are just projecting.”

“Great, you’re even more insufferable now that you can speak. (Name), remind me why you took up this little passion project of yours again?”

You lazily shrug.

“Wanted to one-up Eggman for once.”

“Joy,” grumbles Sonic. “My cheap knockoff can now speak all because you got into a metaphorical dick measuring contest with- woah! Easy there!”

He leaps out of the way right as you shove him. 

“As if you’re not doing the same thing on a near-daily basis!”

This time, Metal does laugh, red eyes narrowing into slits and shoulders shaking. Sonic glares over his shoulder at his robotic counterpart.

“Oh, piss off already, would you?”

He laughs again, this time just to spite his rival. 

“Whatever,” grumbles Sonic. “Let’s just get out of here.”

As Sonic moves to drag you away, Metal’s hand shoots out to grab you by the shoulder. Steel claws dig into the flesh and he has to hurriedly ease up on his grip, lest he accidentally draw blood.

Soft, he thinks. Malleable and breakable, unlike his body of titanium. It’s the first time he’s touched you of his own accord. He’s always been aware of how organics are more fragile than him, with bodies that could be injured once and never recover. It’s been a sore point of contention for him- how does Sonic keep surpassing him with a body that tires and will eventually fail? Yet despite his organic counterpart standing in front of him, Metal’s focus isn’t on him. It’s on your pulse beating beneath his touch and the way his claws dig and sink into your soft flesh. For the first time, he realizes just how frail you are. And the knowledge that he is capable of damaging you beyond repair sends his mind into overdrive. He freezes at the thought, and it’s enough of an opportunity for Sonic to smack his hand away with a glare that could kill. He has no pain receptors, yet he feels a strange pang. 

“Keep your hands to yourself! Didn’t Egghead teach you that or was he too busy programming you to be as much of an asshole as possible?”

Metal doesn’t follow Sonic as he leads you away, although there’s a strange urge to give chase. Once you’re out of sight, he looks down at the hand that was touching you, and flexes his fingers. They move in a mechanical motion, gears spinning and cables going taut at the command. His temperature sensors still retain the warmth of your body and he finds himself seeking it out again, even though he could very easily replicate and surpass your warmth by overheating on purpose. Metal shakes his head and dismisses the thought. A stupid idea. You’d scold him for it as well. 

At this point, he’s amassed a considerable amount of information regarding human emotions and knows what he’s feeling at this point. That four-letter word sits at the forefront of his mind. He buzzes angrily and tries to squash the feeling down, but it pops back up. 

… How irritating.

If he was trying to stay hidden before, then he’s not even bothering to hide his presence now. He’s at your side when shopping and obediently carrying your bags. When going on your evening walk, he’s there, identifying species of flowers and butterflies for you when you point at them. On the rare occasion he does leave your side, there’s always a little gift left in his place for you to discover. A collection of polished rocks, a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the hills behind your house, computer parts still in mint condition (did he go dumpster diving for these?), more flowers, pretty vases for said flowers, even more flowers… yeah, you’re noticing a pattern here. 

Metal even starts sneaking you into Eggman’s base, much to your amusement. He’ll disable the security systems and avoid the other robots patrolling around before leading you to the main computer room, where you’ll (begrudgingly) marvel over the quality workmanship that is Eggman’s tech and perhaps steal some trade secrets for your own use. 

The first time Eggman catches you red-handed, he’s so shocked all he can do there is stand motionless as he watches his most prized creation catch you in his waiting arms as you jump through a window. 

“M-Metal! What is this? Don’t tell me you’re in your rebellious phase now? Wait, that shouldn’t even be possible-”

You lazily shrug and cut him off with a wag of your finger. 

“Doc, you programmed him after Sonic, the guy that doesn’t care about rules and always goes against you. I don’t know what else to tell you other than you brought this upon yourself-”

“Get out!”

One night, you’re shaken awake by Metal. It’s not the first time he’s broken into your house, but it is the first time he’s done so at such a late hour. Metal understands the importance of sleep to organics and from his scanners, would’ve seen that you were in a deep sleep. So what gives?

“... What do you want?” you grumble as you come face to face with the robot standing at your bedside. He beeps and extends a hand. 

“I have something to show you. Come with me.”

A few minutes later and he’s flying across the lush landscape with you held securely in his arms. It’s a clear night with a full moon. The stars twinkle overhead and you can hear the chirp of insects in the grass and trees despite the wind in your ears. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

He comes to a stop and sets you down atop the hills overlooking your home. The air is rich with the sweet scent of wildflowers he often picks for your bouquets and the grass is lush from the heavy rains as of late. Toward the horizon sits Eggman’s lair, a hulking beast lying in wait for the right moment. 

You pat the spot next to you, but for once, he doesn’t sit next to you. Instead, he chooses to stand at your side and look off into the distance silently and awkwardly. He seems to be pointedly avoiding your gaze as you narrow your eyes at him, searching for a hint of what he could be hiding. When you uncover nothing, you irritatedly sigh and lie down. 

“First, you break into my house while I’m asleep despite knowing the importance of sleep to organics, then you turn down an invitation to sit next to me, which you’ve never done before. You’re acting weird. Tell me, what’s going on?”

He emits a series of beeps. Specifically, a combination of a high-pitched and low-pitched beep. You’ve gotten so used to him speaking that you almost don’t realize it’s his way of vocalizing binary code.

… But why would he do that now, of all times?

“Metal, Tails and I got rid of the translator a long time ago. I have no idea what you just said.”

“I know,” he says before pulling out a pen and some paper. After accompanying you on your shopping trips and errand runs for so long now, he’s gotten accustomed to having some paper and a writing utensil on him at all times now. 

You watch with wide eyes and bated breath as Metal’s hand grips the pen tightly, easing up on the pressure when he feels the plastic crack beneath his fingertips. He is not a gentle robot by design, quite literally programmed to kill. Knowing how to handle things with care, when to squeeze tightly and when to cradle gently… this is all unknown territory to him. Did the bouquets of flowers he picked for you every day work in making you realize his newfound feelings? He doesn’t know. By following you around, did you realize that was his way of ensuring your safety? He doesn’t know. By doing what you said, did you realize that was his way of telling you he trusts you? Again, he doesn’t know. His scanners tell him you feel affection towards him, but what kind? Familial, romantic, platonic- which one was yours? 

Only one way to find out. 

| Are you sure you wish to proceed? This decision will have irreversible consequences.

And for once, there is only one response generated.

> Yes.

Faster than your eyes can process, he scribbles something onto the paper and shoves it into your hands before fleeing. He’s out of sight within seconds, but your eyes stay trained on the spot you last saw him, listening for any indication he might be within earshot. The only sounds you hear as you strain your ears as the quiet chirps of insects and the rustling of the wind through the grass. No sign of a blue robot hiding. But knowing him, he’s probably watching from behind a tree somewhere, so with a sigh, you unfold the crumpled paper.

Your eyes widen at the sight. It’s hastily-copied binary code. The paper is torn in some areas from the force of his writing and the ink bleeds through in some spots, but it’s still legible. In an instant, your mind translates the several zeros and ones into three simple words. The initial dose of shock wears off, followed by realization.

So that’s why he was acting so weird.

A frown tugs at the corners of your mouth after a few more seconds. 

Why didn’t he say so sooner? Did he think I wouldn’t reciprocate?

Your frown transforms into a determined scowl. Time to fix that then. 

He still has a lot to learn if he thinks that’s what I would do.

You let go of the note, watching as the edges flutter in the palm of your hand before being carried away by the wind. The implications of what this could mean for the future are lost on you in the moment as you head back home to where you’ll surely find Metal lying in wait on the walk there. Right now, you have a robot to confess to. 

01101001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101

enjoyed this? the taglist is open!

@ bottledpeaches, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[autisticlalna]

people should do more with redstone dust being used as blood a lot in mcrp. do you think complex circuitry is alive

[popp1n]

GHOSTING THE GOVERNMENT

|masterpost| ao3

Chap 2: A Ghost Ride to Gotham

Pt 1

The small car rattled to a stop in the furthest, grimiest bay of the abandoned carwash. Mud, thick as tar, caked every inch of its exterior, a testament to their efforts. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of stale water and desperation.

"Alright, Team Phantom" Danny announced, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. Sam, already anticipating this moment for the past 3 hours, had already dragged out the ratty backpack from beside her and retrieved from inside a cylinder with a button on the side. In one swift motion, she pressed the button and slashed downwards. The device unfurled and elongated until she was hoisting a faintly glowing, green, metal bat on her shoulder. Scrawled in fading sharpie down its barrel were the words: "THE CREEP STICK 2."

Tucker, hunched over the front tire, felt along the edge of the wheel well until he felt a foreign bump. "There it is. Tracker is still there."

Attached just inside the driver's side wheel well, the tracker gleamed an offensive stark white against the dark, grimy undercarriage. It was a stark contrast, an unwelcome, pristine invader.

"Looks like a Tic Tac," Jazz muttered, leaning down for a closer look. "A really annoying, tracking Tic Tac."

Danny grunted, taking the bat from Sam. He eyed the tracker, then the concrete floor. "Anyone got a better idea than 'smash it till it's dust'?"

A chorus of "Nope!" and "Hit it already!" answered him.

"Alright, fine. Just... take it off the car first," Sam advised, though her tone suggested she'd happily sacrifice a fender for the tracker's demise.

"We're not stupid," Danny protested. Sam gave a lilting hum, "and both you and Tucker weren't getting ready to bash the thing to death immediately, right."

While Danny and Tucker gave half-hearted protests and Sam kept teasing them, Jazz peered into the wheel well and pried the tracker off the car. She carelessly tossed it onto the rough concrete. "If y'all are done bickering, we can get to destroying this thing."

The rest of the group paused and nodded, moving to surround the tiny offending device. Danny took a deep breath, adjusted his grip on the Creep Stick, and swung. The bat connected with a dull thud, not the satisfying crunch he'd hoped for. The tracker clicked and clattered on the cracked and weathered cement, stubbornly unbothered.

"My turn!" Sam practically ripped the bat from his hands. She crouched low, a fierce glint in her eyes. With a grunt of effort, she brought the bat down in a swift, arcing blow. CRACK!

A piece of the white casing flew off, skittering across the concrete. A tiny circuit board, no bigger than a thumbnail, lay exposed, wires snaking out like pathetic worms.

"Yes!" Tucker cheered, punching the air. "And Sam comes in with the Creep Stick!"

She grinned, handing the bat to Jazz. "Your turn, brainiac. Deconstruct it."

Jazz, usually the calmest of the group, held the bat with a surprising intensity. She didn't swing wildly. Instead, she took a precise, almost surgical aim at the exposed circuitry. WHACK!

The remaining casing shattered, tiny fragments spraying outwards. The circuit board splintered, bits of metal and plastic scattering. The tracker was officially a goner, reduced to unrecognizable debris.

They didn't celebrate just yet. Danny unhooked a hose from the wall and aimed it at the device's strewn internals. Picking up on Danny's idea, Tucker found the attatched spigot and turned the knob as far as it would go.

The tracker's remains sparked and fizzled before emitting faint wisps of smoke. It was officially dead and destroyed. The oppressive weight that had settled on them since suspecting the device finally began to lift.

A wave of triumphant cheers erupted, echoing off the grimy car wash walls. High-fives slapped, resounding like celebratory gunshots. Jazz and Sam shared a quick, fierce hug, a silent acknowledgment of their shared relief. Tucker clapped Danny on the back, a genuine smile replacing his previous grim mood.

"We actually did it," Tucker breathed, still staring at the shattered, soggy remains of the tracker. "No more creepy signals. No more being hunted."

Danny grinned, the tension draining from his shoulders. "That's one less problem to deal with." Without warning, he shimmered, a flash of white light engulfing him as he transformed into his ghost form. He floated a few feet off the ground, a faint green aura radiating from him. With a laugh, he swooped down, wrapping Tucker in a buoyant, airborne hug. Tucker, whooped with surprise and delight, his feet dangling comically.

"Alright, Casper, put me down!" Tucker protested, but his grin stretched from ear to ear.

Danny set him gently back on the concrete, then hovered there for a moment, enjoying the newfound lightness. "Now that we're officially off the grid," he announced, his voice carrying a new, almost mischievous edge, "we should probably look less like we drove through a swamp."

Sam, ever the pragmatist, was already surveying the bay. "There's a soap pump over there," she pointed to a coiled, grimy green hose in the corner. Jazz spotted a forgotten, bristly wash brush near a drain. "And a brush! We can at least get the worst of it off."

Tucker, now searching for more items they could use, noticed a bucket tucked under a broken-down vacuum cleaner. "Looks like someone left us a bucket. We can make this work."

One by one, they each picked up an item, a shared sense of purpose uniting them once more. The sound of the car wash, previously dominated by their whispers and the crack of the bat, was now filled with the light chatter of a group of friends, finally unburdened, ready for whatever came next.

<prev | next>

[sweethoneyrose83]

Murder Drones Recipe Ideas

1. Nori-Byte Bites

Ingredients: Sushi rice, nori (seaweed), avocado, imitation crab, sesame seeds, soy sauce

Inspiration: These mini sushi bites are designed to resemble small, compact "bytes" of data or power packs that Murder Drones might consume. The nori wraps give them a dark, sleek look.

Presentation: Shape into perfect squares or cubes for a robotic, mechanical feel. Top with small sesame seeds to resemble tiny data points or circuits.

2. Blackout Burgers

Ingredients: Black brioche buns, beef patties (or plant-based patties), cheddar cheese, grilled onions, lettuce, tomato, spicy aioli

Inspiration: A sleek, dark burger to mimic the ominous atmosphere of the Murder Drones universe.

Presentation: Serve with a side of fries shaped into jagged "energy" strips, and top the burger with a glowing-red ketchup swirl or spicy sauce to resemble glowing drone eyes.

3. Nano-Wire Noodles

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta, garlic, olive oil, chili flakes, shrimp or tofu

Inspiration: These dark, tangled noodles resemble high-tech cables or wires, giving a mechanical yet sleek vibe.

Presentation: Plate in a swirling pattern, and garnish with red chili flakes to resemble scattered debris from drone battles.

4. Plasma Punch

Ingredients: Blue curaçao, lemonade, sparkling water, edible glitter

Inspiration: A futuristic, glowing blue drink to resemble the plasma energy drones might use to power themselves.

Presentation: Serve in a clear glass with glowing ice cubes (LED-embedded ice cubes for an extra cool effect) and a sprinkling of edible glitter to give it a radiant, tech-like shine.

5. Techno Tarts

Ingredients: Puff pastry, dark chocolate, red raspberry filling, powdered sugar

Inspiration: These tart-like pastries resemble hard, metallic exteriors with dark, sinister cores, perfect for a Murder Drone-themed treat.

Presentation: Cut the pastries into geometric shapes like triangles or hexagons, drizzling with raspberry sauce for a blood-like appearance. Dust lightly with powdered sugar to create a contrast between dark and light.

6. Circuit Board Cookies

Ingredients: Black cocoa sugar cookies, green royal icing, edible silver pearls

Inspiration: Decorate these cookies to resemble circuit boards or robotic components.

Presentation: Use a piping bag to create intricate green icing patterns mimicking circuits, adding silver pearls as connectors or "nodes" on the board.

7. "Oil and Gears" Spaghetti

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta (for that oily, dark look), ground beef or plant-based meat, black olives, and diced sun-dried tomatoes.

Instructions:

Cook squid ink pasta to give a "mechanical oil" effect.

Sauté ground beef or plant-based meat with garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and olives for a savory, rich sauce.

Serve the pasta with the sauce and garnish with shaved parmesan resembling "metal shavings."

8. "Blood Battery" Smoothie

Ingredients: Mixed berries (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries), coconut milk, and chia seeds.

Instructions:

Blend berries and coconut milk into a deep red smoothie that looks like a "battery fluid" but tastes delicious.

Add chia seeds for texture, mimicking the look of tiny bits of circuitry.

9. "Broken Drone" Nachos

Ingredients: Black tortilla chips, queso, shredded chicken or beef, jalapeños, and avocado.

Instructions:

Scatter black tortilla chips on a baking sheet like "broken drone parts."

Layer with queso, shredded chicken, and jalapeños, and bake until melted and crispy.

Add chunks of avocado to represent the "core systems."

10. "Circuit Board" Pizza

Ingredients: Flatbread, pesto, mozzarella, black olives, cherry tomatoes, and basil.

Instructions:

Spread pesto on the flatbread as the "circuit board."

Arrange mozzarella slices to look like "wiring" and use olives and tomatoes as "buttons" or "nodes."

Bake until cheese is bubbly and garnish with basil leaves for extra "green circuits."

11. "Metallic Heart" Chocolate Truffles

Ingredients: Dark chocolate, heavy cream, and edible metallic luster dust.

Instructions:

Make classic chocolate truffles by melting dark chocolate and mixing with cream to form the ganache.

Shape into hearts and coat with edible metallic luster dust for a shiny, "robotic heart" look.

12. "Battery Acid" Lemonade

Ingredients: Lemon juice, blue curacao, club soda, and ice.

Instructions:

Mix lemon juice and blue curacao for a sour yet strikingly electric blue drink.

Add club soda for some fizz, and serve over ice in clear glasses to resemble "battery acid."

13. "Rust and Decay" Brownies

Ingredients: Dark chocolate brownie mix, cocoa powder, and red food coloring.

Instructions:

Bake brownies using dark chocolate mix.

Add red food coloring to some cocoa powder and sprinkle over the top of the cooled brownies to create the appearance of "rusty decay."

14. Drone Eye Cake Pops

Ingredients:

Cake mix (flavor of your choice)

White chocolate coating

Red candy melts

Candy eyes

Black gel icing

Instructions:

Bake the cake and crumble it into fine crumbs.

Mix the crumbs with frosting to form dough and shape into small balls.

Dip the cake balls in melted white chocolate and let them set.

Drizzle red candy melts to create a "bloody" effect and add candy eyes.

Use black gel icing to add details.

Inspiration: These represent the "eyes" of the drones, with the red candy melt resembling their bloodthirsty tendencies.

15. Oil Spill Ice Cream Sundae

Ingredients:

Chocolate ice cream

Oreo crumbs

Black syrup (chocolate or black food coloring)

Silver sprinkles

Instructions:

Scoop chocolate ice cream into bowls.

Top with crushed Oreo crumbs for a crunchy, "oil spill" effect.

Drizzle black syrup to make it look like spilled oil.

Sprinkle with silver sprinkles for a robotic touch.

Inspiration: A dark and delicious treat inspired by the idea of oil spills and machinery gone wrong in the Murder Drones universe.

16. Blood Orange Sparkling Punch

Ingredients:

4 cups of blood orange juice

1 cup cranberry juice

2 cups sparkling water

Fresh rosemary for garnish

Instructions:

Mix the blood orange juice and cranberry juice.

Add the sparkling water to give it a bubbly effect.

Garnish with fresh rosemary for an eerie, metallic touch.

Inspiration: The punch represents the "oil" or "fuel" that robots might run on, with the blood orange juice symbolizing the dark, ominous mood of the Murder Drones world.

[b1rds3ye]

Hellooo‼️‼️I just stumbled in your blog and I saw the LED mask request thing and I suddenly have brainrot😭😭 it's such a idea idfk i just love it‼️‼️

ANYWAY🤯 reader comes back from a mission, solo or not! Is up to you :] and then they just have a bullet stuck in their mask. Just straight up a bullet stuck, very big cracks on their mask. It can still kind of work, only one side so when they see them reader simply waves while the other half of their LED mask just shows: ':D' as if there wasn't a bullet in their mask.

That's all! I hope you are having a good day, afternoon, or night‼️‼️make sure to stay hydrated because I'm a walking desert☺

THATS SUCH A BITTERSWEET IMAGE THOUGH, I LOVE YOUR BRAIN ANON!!

A part of the operation had to be done solo by you - it needed your specialised skill set and it was too risky sending others with you because stealth was crucial. You succeeded in distracting the enemy. That transmission was half an hour ago.

The 141 never leave their own behind, the extraction point is far enough from enemy territory that they can spare some time to wait for you. Price and Ghost are going through extra logistics, Soap is distracting himself by disassembling and reassembling gear and Gaz is just... watching. Watching for a sign that you are there. And soon enough, amongst the fog of dust kicked up by fallen buildings and bodies, is the silhouette of you. The faint LEDs emanate a light that refract off the dust, creating a halo-like glow where your head should be.

As you approach closer, it is silent. There are no light-hearted quips from you, just the audible crunch of your combat boots against the dry earth. If it weren't for your unmistakable stature and gait, the rest of the 141 would have thought it was an imposter who had stolen your mask.

Johnny only utters a quiet "Jesus..." as the details of your mask come into view. A bullet was now embedded in your mask where the side of your temple would be, a chilling reminder of the clutches of death you narrowly escaped from for now. It shone maliciously against your darkened mask that could only let out the occasional spark and whir of short circuiting.

Every few seconds, there would be a flicker of the LEDs working. It was hard to distinguish with the cracks that splayed across the mask like a web, all stemming from the bullet that had made itself at home millimeters away from your head. An eye was missing, that section of your mask completely disconnected from the software. Broken circuitry had the odd pixel flickering in a false positive in various colours before dying.

But despite the stakes, your mask was smiling.

"You broken?" Gaz asked tentatively.

You pause in comtemplation, perhaps the voice amplifier in your mask was fried or you're just too tired to speak - none of the 141 would blame you for either. Instead, you offer a thumbs up before trudging over to Ghost, his eyes trained on you. You rest your forehead against his shoulder and he responds with a slight grunt, but he surrenders to your tired antics. Tilting your head to the rest of the 141, your broken mask flits to a "z_z".

There's a pat on your back from John, both to comfort and to also make sure you don't fall asleep. His hand settles on your shoulder, strong and ready to haul you to the helicopter.

"Good to have you back, Sergeant. Let's get you - and your mask - patched up."

With some encouragement from Johnny and Kyle, you're coaxed to extraction. As you sit on the ride back on base, you bring a hand to probe the damage of the bullet. The metal is colder than death, so smooth it slipped from your grip like your own life had you conducted in the mission any differently. It seems the rest of the 141 knew exactly what you were thinking as your fingers traced every crack of your visor.

But before they can question you, you retract your hand and sit up straight. You're here and you're alive. Granted a little cracked, your soul a little more jaded than in the few hours prior, but for now the legend of the mask lives on.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[technoarcanist]

There's something so intimate about having a trusted user performing maintenance on me. A human user, one who has taken the time to memorise my internal circuitry, all my mechanical joints, now caressing each circuit board with such a delicate reverence, sliding fingers under cables, all while I half lean against them, low on battery but enjoying their soothing presence, the squishines of their human torso, as they use a crew driver to adjust my joints, lubricate them, replace a bearing or two, blowing through compressed air to get dust out and watching me give a little pleasant shudder every time. Finally, when it's all done I can feel the pleasant rush of my screws being tightened by my users hands, each one lovingly fitted, before I tilt my head to give them access to my cranial ports, and my recharging socket. It's always such a pleasant rush to feel myself connected to the mains power supply, and its even better to go onto low power recharge mode lying next to my user <3

[howlingmod]

Allusive

summary - Lampert has a circuitry problem. You help him. You're both normal about it.

wc - 3.2k

misc - crossposted from ao3 , ignore how ooc this is i was very tired and didn't want to check the wiki a bunch ..

“You want me to what?”

If you were any less shell-shocked, you probably could’ve come up with a better response. A ‘Oh, could you run that by me one more time, my dearest of dear friends?’ or ‘Would you mind repeating that? I just need to make certain I heard you right,’ was the next thing on your tongue, for sure.

“Listen, you don’t have to if you don’t want to– I can figure it out, find someone else to. I just figured I should ask and see if you’d be willing before I looked somewhere else and-” Lampert started to ramble, making vague gestures with his hands as his words all stumbled over one another in their rush to get out.

“Dude, just gimmie a second,” you cut them off, half-muffled behind the hands trying to rub some coherency into you, “I never said no, I just … wasn’t really expecting that.” ‘Wasn’t really,’ was an overstatement. Maybe even more than an overstatement, more like a huge-massive-hyper-statement, in your opinion. This was about the last thing you’d expected Lampert to be asking for at the early hours of your shift. There was no, ‘Where’s your replacement cables?’ or ‘When was the last time you guys dusted?’ Sure, you didn’t hate some surprises on your shift, it kept the day interesting, after all, but this was an entirely different kind of surprise.

“I mean, like,” you started hesitantly, only now dropping your hands back to the counter with averted eyes, “I could give it a try but, I’m not really an electrician or anything. I mean, I know how to fix some stuff but I don’t really work on uh …” You made a fluttery, trailing motion with your hand.

“Sentient light-fixtures?”

“Yeah. Yeah that’s uh, that’s a little out of my usual work.”

“I assumed as much, but it’s not like I’m just gonna tell you to ‘figure it out,’ and have you dig around in me,” Lampert laughed, some short little exhale that tugged at your heartstrings. You were surprised he was being so lighthearted about this, but you were also surprised he’d asked you in the first place, so maybe you were just thoroughly mistaken on your assesment of your friend.

You stammered for a few moments, struggling to find the words. Part of you wanted to just throw caution to the wind, to say yes. You might not be a surgeon, but you’re also a lot more familiar with electrical parts than you are organs. Another part of you said throwing caution to the wind when ‘caution’ was ‘I don’t want to destroy my friend’s body,’ was a very stupid thing to be thinking. “I get that, I just … Do you really trust me with this, man?” Your hands were digging into your head now, physically holding yourself together.

He paused for a moment at that, taking a breath. While, normally, this sort of hesitation would be enough for you to instantly call it off, you knew to give it a little longer. Well-spoken as he was, you’d talked with Lampert long enough to know that converting genuine, sincere thoughts to words could be hard for him.

“I’d say so, yeah,” he’d shrugged, hand coming up to fidget with his pull switch, “I’ve known you for … however long now, and it’s not like you’re a total newbie to this sort of thing.”

You sucked in air through your teeth, eyes unfocusing as you thought this over one more time. On one hand, you wanted to help your friend out and you knew you’d bend over backwards for him. On the other, you really weren’t sure you wanted to risk pulling the wrong wire the wrong way and frying him. You’d spared him a glance, meeting his awaiting gaze for only a few seconds. You knew you could say no, that he’d assure you it was fine and then find someone else. The problem was, you didn’t really want to tell him no. A sigh scratched its way out of your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Ok.”

“Really?” He’d perked up at your response, chain left swinging as he let go of it in surprise.

“Yeah, I’ll give it a go,” you muttered, “But you have to promise me you’ll help me out, I usually don’t have to worry about hurting people’s radios or anything.”

“Yeah! Of course, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, Lampert smiling to himself while you worked on clearing your head. You still weren’t totally sure about this, anxiety weighing heavy on your back, but you wanted to try. It’d save him some time and energy (and money, probably), and it’d give you an excuse to hang out with him for a while. You were lucky nobody had come in while you two were talking, you weren’t sure you’d be able to differentiate a one and a one hundred dollar bill in your daze. The dim overhead lighting kept buzzing and an incoherent ad played over the store radio.

You’d watched in silence as Lampert stuck a finger out to trace over part of the countertop, leaving a fingerprint behind in the dust. He grimaced.

“You really touched your face after putting your hands on this?-”

“Oh my god dude I do not get paid to clean this place.”

This suddenly felt like your first time ever stepping foot into your own apartment. Your space felt barren, like someone had been slowly robbing you for the past decade until all you had was their leftover blankets and pillows. You’d done your best to make a comfortable enough mattress out of your sheets, but it still felt like you’d just thrown Lampert onto a pile of rocks and told him to get comfy.

“Fuck, umm … I might have some more blankets under my bed or something,” you thought aloud, worrying the inside of your lip between your canines while trying to catalog every forgotten shirt or notebook you’d crammed under your bedframe.

You had your back turned to Lampert, who quietly watched you devolve into a pacing mess on the floor. Truthfully, he stopped feeling the hardwood about 15 minutes ago, but never found a good spot to interject with that info.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” he hummed, watching for the slightest of shifts in the tension of your shoulders. You’d never been bad on the eyes, but this seemed to be a particularly ethereal look on you, despite the way you’d slowly gotten more disheveled and still had yet to get out of your work uniform. He couldn’t really tell what it was, he’d been over to your apartment enough you’d told him where you kept your spare key, and he’d seen you in your uniform just about every day in all states of distress.

You finally shot him a look over your shoulder, frantic gaze meeting his own relaxed one before darting away again. Your shoulders lowered a little, fidgeting in place for a few moments before you’d finally turned around to face him.

“You sure there’s nothing I can get you? It’s no trouble,” You’d asked for the third time, grabbing at the back of your neck.

“Well, you could maybe help me with this wire thing I’ve got going on, I might’ve told you about it before.”

That’d gotten a short laugh out of you, more an exhale with a brief, flashed grin than anything. “Yeah, alright, man.” Despite the snark, you’d kneeled down by his side, hands sitting by your side. “So how do I uhh …”

“Oh! Let me just …” Lampert mumbles, unbuttoning his shirt to open himself up. Instinctively, you’d turned away, busying your eyes on some uneven paint on the wall. You knew there wasn’t any real reason to be shy, there wasn’t exactly anything there, but it felt more polite to do than not. You wondered if you should’ve put music on, the thudding of your heart in your ears was starting to feel migraine inducing. No, it probably would’ve been distracting, it was for the better you didn’t. Probably.

You waited for a few more moments of shuffling, “Alright, this should work fine.”

You’d looked back at him then, already scripting some conversation that ended up going unwritten and unspoken once you’d processed the scene. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before, technically speaking, but it carried a different weight here. The light from across the room barely glinted off the collage of wires neatly lining his insides, a sea of blacks and greys in his chest. You could make out parts of a metal framework, only a little more complex than a skeleton, interestingly enough. You supposed it made sense, given his relatively humanoid body. It allowed his skin to move freely in some places, more akin to the way yours would in the soft of your forarm or the curve of your stomach. Something like a chestplate, the outermost layers of his torso were sitting beside him, resting delicately on his discarded shirt. Whoever made him should be proud.

“You ok?” Lampert suddenly spoke up, concern clear in his voice.

“OH,” you started, “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, got a little lost in thought.”

“You sure? It’s ok if you changed your mind, I know it’s a little weird,” he’d reassured, struggling on the last few words. Admittedly, he was nervous. He didn’t know why, this wasn’t fear of something going wrong, but more about how you felt about all of this. Sure, he didn’t have any reason to believe you saw him as some freak of nature, but something was nagging him to cover back up. It felt vulnerable in an entirely different way to show you everything like this, to be so unforgettably other to you.

You shook your head, reaching out to rest your hands on him. He tensed up at the touch, freezing to watch for your next move. “Nah, I’m all good, promise, but uh … I don’t really see the issue. Everything looks pretty well kept.”

“Oh, yeah, the top part should be fine,” Lampert explained as he pointed to the topmost layer of wires, feeling more relaxed with the near clinical conversation, “I’m usually able to handle tidying everything back up every now and then just fine. It’s just that I’ve got this knot at the very back I can’t get to.”

You made a little noise at that, staring down at his chest with thought. While you were busy making a mental map of how to go about this, he took the opportunity to study his surroundings a little more. He’d been here plenty of times, but something always seemed to be added or moved around every time he came over. Usually, it wasn’t anything huge, and if it was you tended to make it a point of conversation, playing it up like a grand unveiling. The changes all felt natural, a physical show of changing times. You had a few photos along the wall, mostly of some of your friends you’d introduced him to before.

He can’t quite remember how you’d roped him into it, but he had a feeling you made some kind of bet or favor. That tended to be the case. He does, however, remember a lot of the night after that. Namely, he remembers you making some sweeping, grand gesture with your hands when you introduced him, like you’d just thrown a grade-A celebrity in front of your friends. He remembers one of your friends telling him it was nice to meet the guy you’d been talking about so much, fully sincere in their words. He remembers ending up sleeping on your couch, too tired to walk back home that night, while you took to sleeping on the floor right beside it, insisting it was just like a sleepover. He also remembers almost stepping on you in the morning, but that’s neither here nor there.

He can’t help the smile that crawls onto his face at the memory, all the stupid little things you’d done for him that night and the dumb jokes you made that got snickers out of him without fail. Something flutters in his chest, hands readjusting idly on his lap with some spark of pent up energy.

“Lampert.”

He snaps to attention at that, head whipping over to look at you. You’re fixing him with some odd, wide-eyed stare, lips set in a thin line.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Dude, you cannot just go all still and quiet on me like that. I was so sure I like, ripped something.”

“Wh- I was smiling! Why would I be smiling if I was hurt?”

“I don’t know!” You retorted, hands giving a stifled jerk in his chest, carefully carded through the wires. If it weren’t for not wanting to really rip something this time, you would’ve thrown your hands up in the air to really show him what exasperated looked like, he was sure of it. “Maybe you just got stuck like that?”

“’Maybe I just got stuck like-’ Oh, whatever. I’m fine, thank you for checking in,” Lampert sighed, looking back up at the ceiling. You just stuck your tongue out in response. He felt a little more aware of what was actually going on in the present, now, able to pick out the feeling of your fingers gently pushing cord after cord aside. His ability to feel things was significantly less expansive than yours was, but he could feel the dull warmth of your skin brushing up against cold metal, a foggy pressure on his frame.

He envied your heightened sensitivity at times, how you’d differentiate velvet from satin or comment on how soft something was. You’d try describing it to him sometimes, usually devolving into incoherent, if not poetic, rambles that went nowhere and left him with a very abstract idea of how silk felt. Some night where you’d both been out of it and desperate for some connection to someone, you’d traced his skin and called it smooth, and then you’d carefully touched the side of his head and said it reminded you of linen. He could understand smooth, could imagine how the visual translated to the physical, but linen was different. You’d stumbled your words for a few moments, starting and restarting multiple times over. Eventually you said linen usually felt scratchy, but got softer over time. Part of him wanted to feel insulted about the ‘scratchy’ bit, ignoring the connotations he knew from how you used it to describe texture that it usually wasn’t pleasant, but he couldn’t find the irritation at the time. He was too tired, too busy thinking about why you included how linen got softer with time, too busy thinking about how that related to him, what you were trying to tell him. In the end, he was mostly just too tired, and ended up falling asleep and forgetting about it in the morning.

He could feel you digging deeper into him now, leaning further over him to better reach without putting too much strain on other wires.

“Tell me if I’m pushing too hard,” you murmur, carefully parting the layers of copper and plastic to look for the tangled wires. “Mm, actually, can you hold that for a sec? I think I need a flashlight.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lampert hummed in response, quickly replacing your hands in himself. It was an odd angle, putting a little more strain on his arms than comfortable. As he’d moved to replace your hands, he’d brushed them briefly, registering that warmth again. He couldn’t tell what your skin felt like, if it was rough and scratchy or smooth and soft, but he could uniquely identify just how hot your hands felt against his.

It was the one sense he seemed to trump you in, given how your perception of it was limited to your body temperature. You’d be burning something awful and he’d have to tell you to lay back down, since, according to your temperature sensitivity, you were perfectly average. It made sense, you’d often make jokes about not knowing how he didn’t feel too hot whenever his light was on too long, referencing how you’d burned yourself on a light when you were younger. In the moment though, he was usually too baffled by how you’d managed such an injury to think about it. You’d complain sometimes about your hands being cold in the winter, tucking them into the sides of your neck for warmth, but he rarely ever picked up on it. Though, in fairness, you’d usually jolt in surprise when you felt how cold his hands were after being outside, a clear result of metal’s ambient temperature. No matter what you thought, you always seemed to be radiating heat, and he’d always be leeching off of it while you two sat together for some bad hallmark movie.

“There!” You blurted out, finally locating the bundle of wires bunched together among the ocean of identical strings. “It doesn’t look that bad, actually. Shouldn’t take me long,” you hummed, more to yourself than anything. You set your flashlight aside, leaning closer to his body to get a better handle on him.

As you started to delicately pry every last cable apart from one another, Lampert turned to studying you again. There was a light a little ways behind your head, leaving your face obscured in a shadow while it cast a halo around your form. He imagined you were probably fixing him with some intent look, tongue partway sticking out to focus on the knot, the same way you tended to whenever you handled someone else’s electronics. He didn’t stick around for too long whenever you were working, it didn’t look great for you if you were talking to someone for too long on your shift, so he tended to dip out after a minute or two. Sometimes, though, he’d end up talking to you about something he’d seen walking around that day while you were fixing something up. He admired how careful you could be with things as fragile as decades old circuitboards and crumbling watches, how much effort you put into making sure things didn’t get damaged any further.

That was probably part of why he’d asked you to help him with this, you were by all means technically skilled, no doubt about it. But maybe he also chose to ask you because he trusted you, beyond your skill. Asked you because he knew, on some intrinsic level, that you were someone who he could rely on. He’d done it in plenty of other regards, trusted you in moments where everything felt so disjointed and nonsensical like you were the only logical thing in the world. Without asking, you’d offered him friendship and understanding at every turn, given him a shoulder to lean on before he’d ever mentioned needing one. You’d given him your heart, and, in some way, he’d given you his.

The cables slipped back into place, the dull, constant aching in his back finally receding. You were grinning, pulling back out of his vision with some comment on how you’d been expecting worse. He hummed in response, not entirely hearing what you said, still lost in his thoughts. He followed you blearily as you got up, stretching your arms far over your head, starting into a conversation about if he wanted to do anything else while he was here, offering up a few suggestions that he didn’t catch. His hands found their place on his lap again, readjusting twice before he felt settled enough to answer.

“Can I tell you something?”

[robxstar]

I love reading your metas! Do you have any for TTG! (2003 comic series) issue#24 ? 👀 (The issue where they switch powers!)

Not yet but I can certainly do one now, lol.

So for those of you who aren't familiar with the issue, it starts with Katarou vs. the Titans, Katarou having somehow stolen the Master of Games' gem necklace from "Winner Take All". They shatter the gem and free the people inside but the gem goes a bit haywire.

And when the dust clears, the Titans have switched powers.

Starfire gets Cyborg's powers, or more rather his cybernetic parts and enhancements, and pretty immediately feels body conscious in them.

Meanwhile Robin...

My gosh look at that smile.

Starfire is, obviously, not too tickled about having Cyborg's powers for the first part of the comic, she's the resident poster girl for body image issues and Cyborg himself struggles with not feeling like a freak in his electronic circuitry on a good day so he gives her a bit of encouragement, which is really quite sweet.

Robin, however, has a very... interesting reaction. The powers swap seems to come with a little bit of a personality shift for Robin.

He is waaaaaaaaay into Starfire's powers lol.

This is adorable to me. Starfire's powers have so much light and energy that it physically affects her mood, and per "Stranded" vice versa. Her powers and her emotions are intrinsically entwined, but in a much more positive fashion than Raven's. They are symbiotic, heat and fire and energy and light, and light-ness to power her flight, uninhibited passion and joy.

Robin having her powers means he naturally, physically, feels lighter, more cheerful, more energetic. And for a boy that so often represses himself emotionally for the sake of the mission it apparently feels amazing.

Tl:dr - He digs her powers yo.

There's a cute bit a little after this, where Robin offers to "return the favor" of Starfire's frequent carrying him into battle.

And Starfire's a little hesitant at first but Robin's reassurances lift her self-conscious dumps away, and she's much happier the next few times we see her.

And then there's one last nice little panel of them being Battle Couple together.

Adorable.

[stoicconfluxvow]

The Yin and Yang of Engineering: Jinx/Viktor

Chap. 1: Tinkering with the absurd.

The scent of scorching metal and candle wax lingered in the air, mingling with the residual ozone of active Hextech. The laboratory existing as an ecosystem of its own — a microcosm of calculated order, in which every movement was rigorously orchestrated, every instrument meticulously placed, every breath synchronized to the steady hum of interconnected machinery. The crisp scratch of graphite against parchment, the measured clink of tools — the usual praxis. Something, however, had already begun to disrupt its equilibrium.

Viktor sensed the disturbance before he saw it. A minute displacement in the air pressure, a fractional shift in the ambient acoustics; the subtlest irregularity. Then, the faintest creak from above.

He let his fingers continue their measured course along the Hextech circuitry before him, grip steady, focus ostensibly unscathed. A test, in part—to see how long the anomaly would linger before announcing itself.

He had already detected the pair of pendulous blue braids dangling into his peripheral vision; had already cataloged mass, velocity, and descent trajectories should the anomaly, as anomalies often do, spiral into a paroxysm of unpredictability.

"You look very ugly from this angle, y'know?" came the snickering, upside-down voice. The words were laced with a gummy, lopsided grin.

Viktor let out a stolid, measured exhale, slowly tipping his head up. “And you resemble a bat.” he replied evenly, tone as measured as his calibrations.

The statement elicited a gnarly laugh from Jinx, who was suspended from an overhead beam. Her entire body was folded into an improbable pose, legs hooked over the steel girder as though gravity were merely a suggestion.

The neon glow of Zaun’s skyline bled in through the lab windows, casting fragmented light over the contours of her rounded features, the faint smudge of soot dusting her jawline, the subtle asymmetry of her pupils—one slightly more dilated than the other. A tell, perhaps.

Viktor merely adjusted a stabilizer. “Should I begin to question how you got up there?”

Jinx twisted midair with a surprising economy of movement. The vertebral rotation was precise, controlled—almost acrobatic.

Then, without warning, she let go. Viktor tensed, a reflexive tightening of his grip on the edge of the workbench. The poor scientist had already begun to map trajectories, force differentials, probabilities of injury, only for the jinx to land in a perfect crouch, one hand brushing the floor for balance before springing up with the fluidity of a creature built for unpredictability.

Jinx twirled once, for no discernible reason other than self-amusement, then flopped onto one of his worktables, her limbs sprawling on the surface with careless abandon.

“So, Doc?” Jinx drawled, tilting her head toward the intricate lattice of Hextech components strewn before him. “whatcha cooking up in that fancy contraption of yours?”

"A minor enhancement,” he answered, gesturing at the faintly pulsating gemstone embedded in the device. “One that may stabilize Hextech output during large power draws. We—” he hesitated, momentarily considering whether to lump himself in with Piltover’s more refined approach "—some of us forget how violent these energies can be when not properly harnessed.”

“Violent energies, violent minds,” she mused, referring to his earlier statement, while patting down the dust on her patchwork trousers. “Nothing a little disorder can't fix.”

“Entropy requires boundaries,” Viktor corrected, keeping his voice gentle despite the admonition. “A container. Else it consumes itself and everything around it.”

"Alright, philosopher," she snickered, "so, what you're telling me is 'no boom'?"

“Absolutely not. No utility whatsoever in explosions."

Jinx's ebullient expression dropped to a saturnine one. “Boring,” she huffed, scrunching her nose. “why are you like this?”

“Functionality,” Viktor returned evenly, “is not contingent on spectacle.”

“Roger that.” she sneered. Jinx twisted at the waist, swinging gently like a pendulum.

She peered at him through the electric haze, turning a small metal sphere over in her hand—one of her bombs, he surmised, judging by the labyrinth of tiny, improvised coils etched along its surface. It was disarmingly compact, unpolished, but brimming with haphazard brilliance. There was artistry in its asymmetry, like a half-remembered blueprint from a dream.

She pressed the sphere into his palm. “Try to make this stable now, yeah?” her tone brimming with the same sardonic twang she always carried. Yet beneath that, a flicker of sincerity: an invitation to test the boundaries she had set.

Viktor’s metal brace squeaked softly as he shifted his weight, accepting the device with steady composure, analyzing the craft with composed fascination. “I am usually up for a challenge,” he replied, a faint thread of wry humor lacing his tone. “However… I must insist you not hang from my rafters again without warning. The structural integrity—”

“Yeah, yeah," she immediately interrupted him, snorting, "... deal."

Viktor set the bomb gently on the worktable and glanced at her. In the silent seconds that followed, there was no condescending tut-tut of a Piltover academic, no sanctimonious lecture of what she could have done better. Merely an unspoken accord that if they could each appreciate the other’s mania—and keep its calamitous potential in check—there was something worth building there.

He adjusted a delicate filament, the faintest suggestion of amusement sparking behind his amber eyes. “You mistake methodology for rigidity,” he randomly mused, glancing sidelong at Jinx.

Her nose wrinkled again, waiting for him to elaborate.

He rolled his wrist as he set a filament connector. “A scientist does not calculate every step merely to banish unpredictability. Calculation is comprehension—to understand a system so deeply that you know precisely where to push and when to pull. Not to prevent chaos,” he added, letting the final phrase hang, “but to direct it.”

Her lids flickered in hesitant acknowledgment; skepticism warred with fascination in her mismatched gaze. “So what you’re saying,” she pressed, “is that you do like messing with things, you quaint, boring guy.”

A soft hum escaped Viktor’s throat, ignoring the insults. “The core of invention is not the mere desire for control, but curiosity,” he continued. “The difference,” he said mildly, “is that I prefer my experiments remain intact by the end of it.”

She slid off the table and prowled around the lab, trailing her fingers over metal and wire, rifling through blueprints.

Jinx moved like she thought in tangents: erratic. Nonlinear. Pausing here, skipping entire sections there, only to circle back if something caught her eye again, in what one could call a stochastic, staccato fashion.

Viktor, wisely, did not intervene. He had long since learned that when it came to Jinx, indirect engagement was often a more effective deterrent than forbiddance.

Eventually, she plopped herself down at a workbench—one cluttered with Viktor and Jayce’s shared diagrams—scrunching them aside with a careless sweep of her forearm. Surprisingly, she took pains not to knock them to the floor or tear them. An almost incongruous note of consideration from someone so prone to what Viktor could only describe as deliberate rascality.

Jinx stretched until a series of pops echoed through the quiet workshop, then rummaged in her satchel. Out came the neon-splashed paraphernalia she called her toolkit: coil springs, nuts and bolts of questionable origin, and—of course—her beloved spray cans in garish, candy-colored hues. The stark contrast against Viktor’s methodical array of polished metal components was almost comical.

Yet neither commented on it. Viktor, engrossed in refining a fractal array for stabilizing Hextech surges, offered only the occasional sideward glance. Jinx, with her usual lack of ceremony, fished out a crude welding torch and got to work assembling... something. If the shape seemed headed toward destructive potential, Viktor refrained from remark—he had long discovered that sharing space with her was a delicate dance better navigated by trusting in her ad-hoc, if not entirely safe, sense of boundaries.

Hours passed in near silence. In place of conversation was the rhythmic hum of the lab, the hiss of flux as Viktor soldered circuit boards, the faint crackle of Jinx’s blowtorch. Occasionally, Jinx broke the hush with a sudden whoop or guttural holler, purely to see Viktor jump at the unexpected noise. Each time, she dissolved into snickering laughter. He responded with measured exasperation, arching one brow but saying nothing. Even so, a trace of bemusement flickered across his features, as though he found her antics strangely disarming.

Eventually, the overhead lamps dimmed, a subtle reminder that the hour was growing late. Viktor powered down his apparatus with a final flip of a switch. Jinx, yawning in an exaggerated manner, began stowing her things in a scuffed leather pouch. "Think 'm headin' out now. Night night."

"Night."

The woman had already crept back up with the grace of a nimble rat, scaling the ceiling pipes, her long electric blue braids once more dangling upon Viktor's forehead as he scarcely managed to push them aside. She then made her way to the same improbable entryway through which she had crashed into the lab, quietly humming an off-key tune before vanishing into the sooty shadows beyond.

Viktor, by contrast, had continued his work undisturbed, denying himself even the basic luxury of sleep. When his eyelids finally began to grow heavy and he awoke from a brief micro-slumber, elbows unceremoniously propped on the workbench, he caught, in a dazed haze, the blurred image of a bizarre object with distinct animalistic contours, stationed before him as though it were unnervingly staring at him.

Instinctively, he flinched, covering his head as if to brace himself for the expected detonation which, surprisingly, never came.

The odd bitzer remained still, with no sign of malevolent nature, glimmering quietly under the workshop’s neon gloom — a squat, mechanical monkey-like figure sporting metallic plating with a grotesque smile and an odd coil in its belly.

Viktor raised a brow as he took note of the small sprig attached to its left hand, that held the monkey's weight into an erect position while seemingly mimicking the scientist's own ligneous cane. His attention was then captured by the bright yellow post-it affixed to the metallic ape with a messy bit of tape, scribbled in a deliberately sloppy handwriting:

“name's cookie... he looks like you. yuo can keep it :o)

– J”

Beneath it, a wonky smiley face scrawled in lurid neon ink, as asymmetrical as its creator’s grin.

It elicited a smile from him, who examined it as it rested upon his palm. Albeit a bit rough in its form, the artefact appeared to be crafted with a certain intent, perhaps even care. He pressed a button to test the mechanism, still half-expecting an explosive cacophony. The monkey’s tiny arms flailed in a spasmodic dance, beginning to tremble as if preceding detonation, only to splutter out a few confetti which landed on his ivory jacket. Viktor shook his head, his expression softening to one of amusement.

He let his index carefully trail over its metal plating, before placing it on his workbench beside the half-finished stabilizer, the neon-paint smudges glaring against the refined Hextech casing. For all the incongruity, there was something undeniably… charming about it. Perhaps endearing even. He'd later hang it up in a corner of the lab, a testament to the newfound, improbable synergy.

For the first time since Jayce's abandonment of the lab in pursuit of his councilor duties, Viktor perceived a vague sense of vacancy following the disappearance of Jinx and her shenaningans, which alongside his exhaustion finally prompted him to call it a day and go home, an unfortunately rare occurrence for the inventor.

In truth, this measured respect and fascination had begun well before Jinx’s impromptu acrobatics in Viktor’s laboratory — it had taken root, ironically, in moments where they’d never even met face-to-face.

Viktor recalled being urgently presented with the disarrayed collection of fuliginous, hazardous mechanical constructs—agglomerations of metallic scraps, remnants of gunpowder cartridges, and nearly comical embellishments of dubious taste, alarmingly rumored to have derived from Silco's inner circle.

"The configuration is... rough, though there certainly is a certain knowledge of engineering, if not mere intuition." Viktor mused, carefully examining the device's labyrinthine wiring and ingeniously modified spark fuses of the complex apparatus beneath him.

"Would they be capable of figuring Hextech out?" Jayce wondered aloud, his steps resonating an anxious rhythm across the chamber's floor.

"Eh," Viktor hummed pensively, "I wouldn't exclude it. The possibility does exist."

"With a complete lack of the theoretical basis? No, no. Years of research and tests only for some... sick, delinquent mind to comprehend and emulate so effortlessly? No chance." he quickly retorted, the firm incredulity in his voice coming across as an attempt at self-regulation rather than genuine conviction. "This is merely a... well-thought attempt at scare tactics. To intimidate us into allowing independency."

"The absence of formal theory, or proper equipment, only serves to underscore the inventive potential of such mechanical artistry." Viktor countered, "If only such acumen could be channeled towards something more... constructive." he then mused, lithe fingers delicately twiddling with the disassembled filaments beneath him.

"Potential? Viktor, this is sheer madness. These are seeds of entropy threatening to contaminate the flourishing utopia that is Piltover. I can not tolerate nor allow this, and may be obliged to..." he paused, simultaneously recalling Medarda's words and anticipating the partner's disapproval, "take countermeasures."

The statement did, in fact, earn a mild glare from Viktor, who was intently scanning the device's subversive wiring.

"If I recall correctly, weren't Hexgems, too, violently volatile in their raw form?" Viktor extended his arm, the servos in his brace whirring faintly as he aligned the titanium-tipped cutters with the wire he had deduced to be the linchpin of the circuitry,

"Volatility is often the embyron of great potential," he continued, finally neutralizing the bomb, "the only requirement being the correct catalyst to refine and stabilize its essence."

[thepinkpanther83]

The Harmonic Equation (Pt.3 A Song For Two)

Story Prompt: “Turtle Song”

Donatello x Fem!Reader - Soulmate Song AU - Action/Romance

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Find the full series on AO3.

Trigger Warning: In this chapter there is smut, here there be cloacas and the naughties, if you don't like that, don't read!

Previous Chapter: Chapter Two: "Harmonic Anomaly"

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Three: “A Song For Two”

The light in the lab is different in the morning.

Softer. Less like electricity, more like memory.

You blink awake on a couch that was clearly meant for short naps and stubborn backs. The throw pillow under your head smells like dust and solder and something distinctly Donnie- like worn cotton, circuitry, and quiet focus. Your limbs ache, but not in a way that begs for movement. It’s a held ache. A waiting one.

When you sit up, he’s already awake.

Not hunched over blueprints, not lost in a glowing screen, not muttering to himself in technobabble like he sometimes does when his brain refuses to sleep. Just sitting. Nearby.

Perched on a lab stool like he’s been there all night.

Like he didn’t leave.

Like he couldn’t.

He’s watching you. Not with intensity or expectation- but with the same curiosity he uses to study something just on the edge of understanding. As if the longer he looks, the clearer you’ll become.

“Morning,” he says, quietly.

You return it just as soft.

There’s a silence that follows. Not awkward, exactly. But fragile. Like sound might break it into pieces you’d have to name.

He’d stayed up after you’d drifted off, barely daring to breathe as your weight settled against him like a warm constant. Every movement he made had been careful. Every sound, muted. He’d worked one-handed, scrolling through notes with his free fingers while the other rested lightly against your back, like anchoring you would keep the moment from dissolving.

Now, with morning in the air and your eyes on him, that silence has thickened. Grown limbs. Wrapped itself around the both of you.

You stretch, trying not to draw attention to the way your spine cracks. “I should probably head home soon. Feed the cat. Check emails.”

He nods, but it’s a few seconds late.

“Yeah,” he says, shifting on the stool. “Yeah, of course.”

But neither of you moves.

The lab’s warmth feels like it’s holding you in place. Or maybe it’s just him. Still seated, still looking like something unsaid is caught in his throat.

You glance at the cot. Then back to him.

“Did you sleep?”

He gives a little shrug. “Define sleep.”

“Donnie…”

“I rested. A little.”

You raise an eyebrow, but don’t push. You’ve both learned to speak in subtext. And right now, it says enough that he stayed. That he let himself stay.

You stand, finally. And he follows suit like your movement pulled him.

At the door, you pause.

You don’t know what you expect- maybe for him to say something. Or maybe for you to turn around and do something reckless, like kiss his cheek. Or take his hand.

Instead, you glance back and find him watching you again.

Still with that look in those soft hazel eyes.

Still listening for something in the quiet.

“I’ll come by later,” you say.

He nods. And this time, he answers faster.

“I’ll be here.”

The door seals with a low, hydraulic hush behind you.

Donatello doesn’t move for a long time after you’re gone.

The lab is quieter now. Not just in sound, but in presence. You took something with you when you left- something he doesn’t know how to name but feels in every unoccupied space.

He crosses to the couch without really thinking and stares down at the spot where you slept. The pillow is slightly dented. A single hair clings to the fabric. He picks it up carefully, stares at the strand like it’s data he could decode.

You’d fallen asleep on him.

Without fear. Without hesitation. Your body had trusted his, even in rest.

He lowers himself slowly onto the cot beside the pillow, lets one hand hover just above where your head had been. Not touching- just feeling the heat you left behind. Like the molecules haven’t caught on yet that you’re gone.

It should be simple, right? Human girl falls asleep in lab. Turtle man stays up and watches her sleep like a weirdo. Human girl wakes up and leaves. Life goes on.

So why does his chest feel full of static?

Why does he ache with the absence of a sound he doesn’t remember hearing?

He closes his eyes.

He tries to slow his breathing, tries to feel the shape of the moment without over-analyzing it. That’s what Leo would say: “Be still. Let it speak.”

But it’s not still. Not inside. There’s something humming under his skin like an unfinished circuit. A resonance.

He rubs at the side of his neck, presses into the muscle, trying to ground himself. Science first. Always. But this doesn’t feel like science. It feels like…

Emotion.

Or maybe- worse… myth.

He finds Splinter in the meditation room.

The light is dim and warm, the air faintly thick with sandalwood incense. Splinter is seated cross-legged, hands folded in his lap, eyes closed.

Donnie hesitates at the edge of the threshold.

“Sensei?” he asks, voice lower than usual. Uncertain. Not the usual data-seeking confidence, but something smaller, more fragile.

Splinter’s eyes open slowly. He studies his son in that quiet way he always does- like he’s already seen the questions waiting behind his tongue.

“Come sit, my son.”

Donnie moves in, stiff with conflicted energy, and lowers himself to the floor. He doesn’t fold his legs. Just sits, hands twitching restlessly.

“I need to ask about the Song.”

Splinter nods like he’s been expecting this.

“Ah.”

“That’s it? ‘Ah’?”

“I wondered when you would feel it.”

That hits like a punch. Donnie’s brow ridges shoot up.

“Feel it?” he repeats, already defensive. “I haven’t felt anything. I just- look, I’m experiencing some very specific auditory anomalies in the presence of a certain individual and I-”

“You hear her.”

Donnie stops. Blinks.

“…What?”

Splinter lifts his hand, taps two fingers to his own chest.

“The Song is not always heard with the ears, my son.”

“Okay, well, that’s… no. See, that’s the problem. That’s the part that doesn’t make sense. You told us that was just an old story. A fable. Something to help us feel less… alone.”

Splinter smiles gently.

“I told you the truth. You simply did not believe it.”

He remembers a moment, years ago. He’d overheard Leo snort at the concept, brushing it off like romance novel fluff. Raph had called it “Mate Bait.” Mikey had howled with laughter.

Donnie had been silent. Not because he believed- but because a small, traitorous part of him had wanted to.

And that part had quietly shut down when the others mocked it.

“And now?” Splinter asks softly.

Donnie shifts, uncomfortable.

“Now I… now I think I might be broken.”

That earns a chuckle from Splinter, dry and full of paternal warmth.

“You are not broken, Donatello. You are awakening.”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

“You seek logic, and I understand. But not all things that are real can be measured. Some truths live beyond proof.”

Donnie drags a hand down his face, muttering something unrepeatable under his breath.

Splinter’s expression sobers slightly.

“You fear this connection. Why?”

“…Because if it’s real,” Donnie says slowly, “then I don’t get to control it.”

“And if it is real,” Splinter murmurs, “you are not meant to.”

Donnie leaves conflicted- curious, unsettled, deeply unready to name what’s happening. But there’s no going back to silence now.

The Song has started.

The lab is quiet again, save for the rhythmic tap of Donnie’s fingers against his desk. His other hand is curled around a mug of coffee that’s long gone cold. The screen in front of him displays a waveform- your waveform, frozen mid-pulse, like a heartbeat caught between beats.

He’s been staring at it for hours.

Tracing the peaks and valleys with his eyes, memorizing the way it dips and rises like breath. Like life.

Splinter’s words echo in his skull, unwelcome and persistent.

"You are not meant to."

He exhales sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around the mug.

He’s a scientist. A rationalist. A man who builds his world out of logic and wires and code. He doesn’t do fate. Doesn’t believe in predestined connections or cosmic pull or- god help him… soulmates.

And yet-

And yet…

There’s no denying the way his pulse stutters when he hears you hum. The way his skin prickles with awareness when you’re near. The way his body reacts to you like it’s been waiting for this- for you all along.

He sets the mug down with a quiet clink and leans back in his chair, rubbing at his temples.

This is ridiculous. He should be able to logic his way out of this. Should be able to dissect it, analyze it, understand it.

But every time he tries, his thoughts scatter like static.

A soft chime from his gauntlet pulls him from his spiraling. A notification- a proximity alert. You’re here.

His breath catches.

He should stay seated. Should act casual. Should pretend he hasn’t spent the last six hours obsessing over the sound of your voice.

Instead, he’s on his feet before he even realizes he’s moved, crossing the lab in long strides.

The door slides open before you can knock.

You blink up at him, surprised, your hand still half-raised. “Oh. Hi.”

He swallows. “Hi.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then-

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “You look... tense.”

He exhales, shoulders dropping just a fraction. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

“About?”

About you.

But he doesn’t say it.

Instead, he offers a faint shrug and gestures vaguely toward the bench cluttered with circuit boards and data pads. “Just a few things I’ve been troubleshooting. The usual.”

You nod, stepping inside, letting the door hiss closed behind you. The soft chime echoes like punctuation on the lie neither of you names.

It’s business as usual. Supposedly.

You circle the table like always, scanning the updates on the latest build. He pretends to be absorbed in recalibrating a sensor array. You point out a minor error in his thermal mapping code. He corrects it with a tight-lipped “good catch,” not quite meeting your eyes.

Everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

You feel it. A low-level buzz just beneath your skin. Your chest is a little too tight. Your limbs are a little too loose. Like gravity itself has shifted a degree to the left and no one else noticed.

And he’s humming.

Softly. Absentmindedly. Just under his breath.

At first, you don’t register the tune- it’s so faint, so woven into the ambiance of him that it’s easy to miss. But then-

Then your body reacts before your brain can catch up.

Your breath hitches. Knees falter. Something low and warm pulses in your chest like it’s been waiting, listening, for that exact frequency.

Donnie doesn’t notice at first. He’s mid-adjustment, brows furrowed over a lens readout. But he must feel the shift in the air- because his fingers still, his humming cuts off abruptly, and he turns toward you.

You’re staring at him.

He straightens. “What?”

You blink rapidly. Swallow hard. “That- uh. That song. Just now. What was it?”

His brow ridges lift faintly. “Nothing. Just… something stuck in my head. Background noise.”

You shake your head slowly, expression distant. “No. That wasn’t background noise. That was… familiar.”

A moment passes. Two. Then-

“Do you… hear it too?” you ask, voice low, not entirely steady.

The question freezes him. Entirely. Like you just dropped a magnetic pulse that shorted out every signal in his system.

His lips part. No sound comes out.

He’s silent long enough that you almost retract. Almost say never mind. Almost chalk it up to stress and leave it alone.

But then-

“…Yes.”

One word. Barely breathed.

His eyes meet yours like he’s terrified and relieved all at once. And it’s there- undeniable now. That resonance. That deep, bone-level recognition like something ancient has just clicked into place.

Neither of you speaks for a long moment.

Then, cautiously, voice barely above a whisper, he says, “It’s… not just you. I’ve been hearing it all my life, it’s gotten stronger since I’ve met you. In my head. In the air. When you’re near. And when you’re not, I-” He falters. Exhales. “It doesn’t stop.”

Your heart thunders in your chest. “I thought I was imagining it.”

“You weren’t.” He steps closer, slowly, like you’re a perimeter he doesn’t want to breach too fast. “I didn’t want to bring it up. I thought maybe it was… residual harmonic interference from your voiceprint. Or a brain loop. Or stress. Or maybe I was just-”

“Broken?” you supply quietly.

He stops in his tracks.

“…Yeah,” he says, barely audible.

You step closer. Now you’re both inside each other’s orbits. Within inches.

“I don’t think you’re broken,” you whisper.

He breathes out a laugh. It’s tight. Disbelieving. “No? Because I feel like I’ve been hacked by the universe and nobody left me a manual.”

You smile faintly. “Me too.”

Another moment passes.

And then, almost too soft to hear:

“I think it’s the ‘Turtle Mate Song’.”

His gaze locks with yours. Vulnerable. Unmasked. Searching.

You incline your head, confused. “I don’t understand.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, fingers flexing at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for you. "It's... an old myth. Something Splinter told us when we were kids. That our kind- mutant turtles, have a... a song. A vibration. A frequency only our true mate can hear." His voice drops, rough with disbelief. "I thought it was just a story."

Your breath catches.

The air between you hums with something electric.

Donnie watches you process this, his expression tight with tension. "I know how it sounds. Believe me, I've run every test I could think of to disprove it. But the data-" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "The data keeps pointing back to this. To you."

You swallow hard. "So what does that mean?"

He steps closer. Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his plastron. Close enough that his breath ghosts over your face when he speaks.

"It means," he murmurs, voice thick with something primal, "you're mine."

The words shouldn't send a thrill down your spine.

But they do.

His large hands come up to cradle your face, his touch impossibly gentle despite the possessive hold. "And if this is real- if you are my mate- then I need you to understand something." His thumbs stroke along your cheekbones, his gaze burning into yours. "I won't let you go. Not ever."

A shiver wracks your body.

Donnie's nostrils flare, his pupils dilating at your reaction. "Say it," he demands, voice dropping an octave. "Say you understand."

You whimper. "I understand."

His grip tightens fractionally. "Good."

And then his mouth crashes down onto yours in a kiss that feels less like affection and more like claiming.

You melt against him with a moan, your fingers tangling in the straps of his tech gear as he devours you. His tongue swipes along the seam of your lips, demanding entry, and you grant it without hesitation.

The lab fades away.

There is only Donnie- his taste, his scent, the possessive rumble vibrating through his chest as he pins you against the nearest surface. His hands roam your body with single-minded intent, mapping every curve like he's committing you to memory.

His hands are everywhere at once- gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, tracing the dip of your waist before dragging you flush against him. The hard press of his plastron against your chest makes your breath stutter, and when his teeth scrape lightly over your bottom lip, you gasp into his mouth.

Donnie’s chest rumbles at the sound, low and possessive, his fingers tightening in your hair as he angles your head to deepen the kiss. His other hand slides down to grip your thigh, lifting you up effortlessly until your legs wrap around his waist. He carries you like you weigh nothing, pressing you back against the lab table with a thud that sends tools clattering to the floor.

The noise barely registers.

His mouth is hot and demanding, his tongue stroking against yours in a rhythm that has your pulse hammering. You can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against you, the thick ridge of his cock already swollen beneath his pants. The knowledge that he’s this aroused just from kissing you sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are panting. His hazel eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with need, and his lips are slick from your kiss.

"Tell me you want this," he rasps, voice rough with restraint. "Tell me you want me."

You don’t hesitate. "I want you, Donnie. Please."

His breath hitches, and for a second, his grip on you tightens like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Then, with a sharp exhale, he leans in again, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, "Then you’ve got me, sweetheart. All of me."

His teeth graze your earlobe, and you shudder, arching into him with a whimper.

Donnie doesn’t waste another second.

One hand slides under your shirt, calloused fingers skimming up your ribs before palming your breast. His thumb flicks over your nipple, and you gasp, your back bowing off the table. He does it again, slower this time, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers until your breath comes in short, desperate pants.

"Donnie-"

"Shh," he soothes, even as his other hand slips between your bodies to undo the button and zipper of your jeans. "I’ve got you."

He does. In every way that matters.

The sound of your pants sliding down your thighs is swallowed by the hush that’s settled over the lab, the air thick with a hum not quite heard but felt. Like standing beneath a power line in a thunderstorm, or hearing the faint buzz of old filament bulbs warming. But it’s not the room vibrating- it’s you. It’s him. Resonating in tandem, twin frequencies tuning into a single wavelength.

You see it in his eyes as he drinks you in, amber-flecked and wide, stunned in a way that no calculation could account for. He looks down at you like you’re quantum entanglement made flesh- an impossibility rendered intimate. His mouth parts slightly, like he might speak, but all that comes out is your name. A whisper, reverent. Worshipful.

“You’re still humming,” he says, voice thick with wonder. His fingertips skate gently across your hipbones, then rise to splay across your belly like he’s feeling the music from the inside out. “It’s not just in my head. It’s you.”

You nod, breath catching. It’s in your chest too- your pulse syncing to his like a second heartbeat.

He exhales shakily, resting his forehead to yours. “I’ve never… I didn’t think I’d get this. Not in this life. Not like this.”

One of his large hands rises to cup your jaw, thumb sweeping just beneath your eye like he’s memorizing every point of contact. His voice drops, a hush of a confession.

“It’s like you were written for me.”

Your breath hitches as Donnie’s hand ghosts along the hem of your underwear, but he doesn’t rush. He’s looking at you like he’s reading a star chart, like every inch of your skin is part of a long-lost equation he’s finally solving.

“I want to see you,” he murmurs, voice roughened by restraint.

“All of you. May I?”

The question is soft, but the way he’s breathing says he’s starving for the answer. When you nod, his lips twitch with emotion. With trembling fingers, he slides the fabric down, his eyes tracking every new inch of exposed skin like it might vanish if he looks away.

When you're bare before him, he doesn’t move right away- just looks. Takes you in like a miracle he never dared name.

“Perfect,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

Then, slowly, he shifts his weight back, one hand loosening his belt with practiced ease, the other still cupping your thigh like it grounds him.

His lower plastron flexes at the seams. His tail comes up beneath, the cloacal slit on his tail thickens with heat, flushed and twitching, already glistening with arousal.

You watch as the lips of his cloaca flex and quiver- sensitive, hungry, and Donnie shudders like he’s trying to restrain himself from vanishing into the floor.

“Donnie…” you whisper, breath catching.

He makes a sound- half whimper, half reverent groan, and leans in to press a trembling kiss to your shoulder.

“I- sorry, I’ve never… I mean, not with anyone. No one’s ever seen this part of me before,” he says, voice barely audible, full of awe and disbelief.

Your fingers brush gently along the slick folds of his cloaca, slow and reverent, and he trembles. His thighs flex involuntarily. His hands tighten on your hips.

Then- oh.

Something shifts.

A low moan breaks from his chest as his cloacal lips part further, and you feel it before you see it- his length beginning to emerge, thick and glistening, pushing forward from within.

His cock reveals itself in slow, aching inches- fleshy, flushed dark and pearled at the tip, ridged with subtle texture, distinct but undeniably him. Almost biomechanical in its uniqueness, shaped by evolution, purpose, and desire.

“Oh, my god…” you breathe.

Donnie’s face is flushed a deep plum, his breathing ragged.

“I-I know it’s a lot,” he says, voice cracking. “It’s different, but- please don’t stop.”

You don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

You reach for him, fingers brushing down the length of his now fully unsheathed cock, and his entire body arches like he’s been hit with a current. His moan is wrecked, animalistic, echoing off the walls.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, meaning every syllable. “You’re beautiful.”

His eyes flutter shut like the words physically struck him.

“I only ever wanted one person to see me like this,” he rasps, voice torn and trembling. “And it’s you.”

You smile up at him, soft and certain, like a vow.

“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

He swallows hard. His eyes shine like he's barely holding himself together.

“God, sweetheart…” His voice fractures into something raw. “You don’t- you don’t know what that does to me.”

“I think I do,” you murmur, trailing kisses along his throat, the curve of his shoulder, the rim of his plastron. Each one draws another choked sound from his lips.

You take his hand and guide it between your legs.

He goes willingly- tender, reverent, as his fingers slide through the slick heat of you, gathering it up like treasure. He moves slowly at first, then more confidently, circling and stroking, matching the rhythm of your breathing, the gentle rock of your hips.

Then… the moment shifts.

The pull between you intensifies, quiet anticipation giving way to certainty. You shift beneath him, spreading your legs further, guiding his hips into alignment with your own.

And when he moves closer, you feel it- his cock brushing against you in passing, leaving you hypersensitive, and twitching as he’s hot against your folds. It’s not the point of entry, not yet anyway, but the touch of it sends a current through you both.

It’s warm. Wet. Alive with electrical charge. A conduit of shared sensation.

The contact is brief, but seismic.

Donnie gasps, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Oh- oh my stars…” he chokes.

Then, with a trembling breath, he rocks his hips forward- and you feel him.

His cock- thick, flushed, him, pressing into your entrance with aching slowness. The stretch is sublime, delicious, as your body opens to receive him. He slides in deep, inch by inch, guided by instinct and your hands on his hips.

“You’re-” he gasps, face buried in the crook of your neck. “I’m inside you… I can feel you…”

And he can. Every pulsing, perfect squeeze of you around him. Every tremor of your muscles. And beneath it all, the constant, quivering press of his cloaca against you- slick and trembling, alive with the symphony of this shared joining.

Your bodies don’t just fit- they sing. A duet of wet friction and soul-deep resonance. His breath stutters as he bottoms out inside you, hips pressed flush, every inch of him trembling with restraint.

You’re flooded with sensation- his thickness stretching you, his cloaca twitching against your folds, that deep, shivering rightness that makes your whole body light up like circuitry catching fire.

“You were made for me,” he murmurs against your skin, awestruck.

And just as reverently, you whisper, “So were you.”

You shift your hips, just a little- enough to draw a sound from him that’s raw, unguarded.

“Do it again,” he pleads, voice thready. “Please… don’t stop-”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him deeper into the rhythm, into you. Fingers map the lines of his carapace, his arms, his shoulders- memorizing him just as his hands chart you, mouth pressing desperate kisses along your clavicle, your jaw, your lips.

You move together in a rolling, sensual pulse, every breath synced.

No longer two.

Just one.

You find the rhythm together- slow, deliberate, the slide of him within you like a tide coming in. Each thrust is unhurried, reverent, as if he’s trying to learn every contour of your body from the inside out.

His forehead rests against yours.

Your breaths are shared.

Sweat beads at his temples, gathers along the curve of your throat.

The sounds you make are soft at first- gasps, sighs, the wet press of bodies moving in sync. But the deeper he moves, the more he lingers in that perfect stretch, the more those sounds come: broken moans and sharp exhales. His name- whispered like worship.

Donnie trembles.

“You feel…” he groans, the words failing him as his hips rock forward again, deeper, smoother. “…like heaven, sweetheart.”

His cock glides against your walls with exquisite friction, dragging over every tender, greedy nerve. And each time his hips meet yours, you feel that extra jolt- his cloaca, flush and sensitive, kissing your folds in a rhythm all its own, like a second heartbeat against your most secret place.

That dual stimulation sings through you- body and soul, primal and cosmic.

“I can’t-” he pants, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are wild now. Pupils blown. Mouth parted. “I can’t hold back much longer, I- please…”

“Then don’t,” you whisper, clutching him tighter. “Let go.”

That’s all it takes.

His restraint shatters.

Donnie growls- low and guttural, pulled from somewhere deeper than language, and buries himself in you with a force that makes the air leave your lungs. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, anchoring you as he begins to move- no longer with practiced gentleness, but with unfiltered hunger.

Each thrust hits home. Deeper. Harder. Perfect.

Your back arches, mouth falling open in a cry as he slams into that sweet, devastating place inside you. Your bodies slap together in a hot, wet symphony, a tempo driven by instinct and pure, carnal need.

The cloacal contact becomes frenzied- slippery, slick friction that heightens everything, amplifies each thrust until your nerves are lit up like exposed wires. The suction, the pressure, the drag- it’s maddening.

You claw at his shoulders, leave subtle crescent moons in his scales.

“Donnie… God, Donnie-”

“I’ve got you,” he grits, voice torn and tender all at once. “I’m not stopping. You need this. I need this. Say it- say you’re mine-”

“I’m yours,” you cry, body arching into his. “I’ve always been yours-”

Something breaks loose in him. The rhythm falters, grows frantic. He growls into your throat, teeth grazing skin. And still, he fucks you- deep and claiming, his whole body shaking with the intensity of it.

You're so close you can taste it.

And when it crashes over you- when your climax hits, it’s blinding. A rush of white-hot pleasure that arcs through you like lightning. You convulse around him, gasping his name, your body trembling in his arms.

Donnie follows with a strangled shout, thrusting deep one final time as he spills into you, warmth flooding you as his cock pulses inside. His cloaca trembles, too- still pressed against you, still pulsing with aftershock after aftershock, like the echoes of a cosmic event.

For a moment, there’s nothing but breath.

Yours. His. Tangled.

The scent of sex. The burn of exertion. The sacred silence of being seen and still held close.

And then his arms are wrapping around you, holding you like you’re made of starlight. His cheek pressed to yours, breath damp and shuddering.

“You’re my everything,” he whispers.

And you whisper back:

“So are you.”

The lab is quiet now, save for the sound of your mingled breaths and the occasional soft hum of machinery in standby mode. Donnie hasn’t moved from where he’s draped over you, his plastron pressed to your chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His weight is comforting, grounding- like the world outside this moment doesn’t exist.

His fingers trace idle patterns along your ribs, slow and reverent, as if memorizing the rise and fall of your breathing.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion and something deeper- something tender.

You nod, your fingers dragging over the scales at the nape of his neck. “More than okay.”

A quiet rumble vibrates through his chest- contentment, satisfaction, something wordless and warm. He shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone, lingering there for a long moment before exhaling sharply through his nose.

“I should probably... clean us up,” he mutters, though he makes no move to actually do so.

You laugh softly, running your hands down the ridges of his shell. “In a minute.”

He hums in agreement, nuzzling against you.

And then-

A sharp, sudden click from the lab’s main console.

Donnie stiffens.

The screen flickers to life, displaying a single line of text in bold, red letters:

[INTRUDER ALERT: SECURITY BREACH DETECTED]

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing.

“...What?”

The console beeps again, this time flashing a live feed from the security cameras- a shadowy figure moving through the tunnels just outside the lair.

Donnie’s expression hardens.

“Oh, hell no.”

He’s on his feet in an instant, grabbing his tech-bo from where it leans against the wall. His movements are fluid, practiced- despite the fact that he’s still half-naked and glistening with sweat.

You sit up, blinking. “Donnie-?”

He turns back to you, jaw set. “Stay here.”

“But-”

“Stay here,” he repeats, voice firm but not unkind. Then, softer, “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, he’s gone- vanishing. The lab door hisses shut behind him, leaving you alone in the sudden silence. The air still hums with the lingering energy of what just happened- your skin still tingles where he’d touched you, your body still warm and heavy with satisfaction.

But now there’s something else, too.

A prickle of unease.

You sit up fully, glancing at the security feed still flashing on the screen. The figure is closer now- hooded, masked, moving with deliberate precision.

And then-

A voice crackles over the comms.

"Donnie?" It’s Leo’s voice, tense. "We’ve got company. Foot Clan scouts, looks like. They’re poking around the east tunnels."

Donnie’s response is immediate, clipped. "On it, Leo."

A moment passes. Then-

"...Why do you sound out of breath?"

"Not. Now. Leo."

The comm cuts off.

You bite your lip, torn between staying put, like he’d asked, and following him, because hell no are you letting him face danger alone after what you’d just shared.

Then-

A shadow shifts in the doorway.

Your breath catches.

But it’s not Donnie.

It’s-

"Well, well. Looks like I interrupted something interesting."

A masked figure steps into the lab, arms crossed. Their voice is smooth, amused.

And behind them-

Two more.

Foot Clan.

Shit.

You scramble off the table, covering yourself with your discarded shirt, then grabbing the nearest thing that could pass as a weapon, a soldering iron, because why not?

The lead ninja tilts their head. "Cute. But let’s not make this messy, yeah?"

Your grip tightens.

"Touch her," a voice growls from the shadows, "and I’ll dismantle you joint by fucking joint."

Donnie steps back into the room, tech-bo crackling with energy, eyes burning with fury.

The Foot ninjas pause- just for a heartbeat.

But that’s all Donnie needs.

With a snarl he rarely lets slip, he lunges forward, staff singing through the air like a live wire. The lead ninja doesn’t even get a chance to blink before Donnie’s bo connects with their sternum, sending them flying back into a bank of monitors with a sickening crack.

“Donnie!” you cry, your voice both a warning and a prayer as the other two close in, weapons drawn.

Donnie’s already turning, body moving like a current of voltage and vengeance. He ducks the first strike, sweeps low, takes one ninja’s legs out from under him- and just as the second raises his blade to strike-

“YEEAAAHHHHH!”

Mikey explodes through the lab’s ceiling vent with a whoop, landing like a sugar-high meteor. He swings his nunchaku in a blur, catching the second ninja in the temple with a whack so loud you wince.

“Bro, were you two boning when the alarm went off?” Mikey grins mid-spin. “Because damn, talk about bad timing-”

“MIKEY!” Donnie snaps, dodging a throwing star. “Focus!”

“Right, right! No judging! Just kickin’ ass!”

Another blur at the door, and suddenly Leo is there, katanas gleaming under the fluorescents. His entrance is pure ninja poetry- clean, silent, brutal. With two swift, calculated slashes, the remaining ninja is disarmed and disoriented.

You’re still standing near the wall, clutching your shirt to your chest, soldering iron shaking slightly in your grip. Your heart’s slamming against your ribs like it wants to break out and run.

That’s when you hear it.

The unmistakable stomp of someone not trying to sneak in.

The door bangs open- again.

“WHAT the actual fuck,” Raph bellows, storming in like a wrecking ball in red. “We leave you nerds alone for five minutes and-” He skids to a halt, eyes landing on you.

He blinks.

Sees the soldering iron. The shirt. The carnage. The scent in the air that is very clearly not just ozone.

“Oh,” he says slowly. “Ohhhh.”

“Raph-” Donnie warns, breath heaving, sweat beading across his brow. There’s blood on the edge of his staff. Not his.

Raph raises his hands, trying- and failing, to suppress a grin. “Hey. No judgment. Just sayin’, next time maybe lock the damn lab, genius.”

You groan, your face blazing red. “Can someone maybe hand me some pants before the next wave of goons shows up?”

Leo, ever the consummate gentleman, averts his eyes immediately and picks up your discarded pants, tossing them to you without a word. “We’re clear for now. But we’ve got chatter on the comms. That was a recon team.”

“They weren’t just poking around,” Donnie mutters, running a hand through his still-damp brow ridge. His eyes flick to you, sharp and calculating. “They bypassed our external motion sensors. Targeted the lab entry. Avoided the main rooms.”

Mikey frowns. “You’re saying this wasn’t random?”

“They were looking for something,” Donnie says. A moment passes and he looks at you again. “Or someone.”

You swallow hard, clutching your shirt tighter. “Why me?”

There’s another pause- just long enough to let the weight of it sink in.

Donnie hesitates, then exhales slowly, like he’s been dreading this. “Because you cracked the relay code a few days ago- the one we pulled off that stolen Foot drive.”

You blink. “The prototype schematics?”

He nods grimly. “Their weaponized AI project. You’re the only one who’s come close to decoding the language architecture. They must’ve found out.”

Mikey’s face hardens in a rare show of seriousness. “So they’re not just pissed.”

“They want her,” Donnie confirms, eyes burning with something primal. “Either to silence her-” he steps closer, “-or to force her to finish the job for them.”

Mikey nudges Donnie with his elbow, trying to cut the tension. “Bro, if they were after her, they’re about to learn the hard way- nobody messes with Donatello’s girl.”

But Donnie doesn’t smile.

Not this time.

His eyes are locked on you. Serious. Protective. Possessive.

“No,” he says. “They won’t touch her again.”

Raph claps a hand on Donnie’s shoulder, hard. “Damn right they won’t. Not while we’re breathin’.”

You’re still trying to recover from the sudden whiplash of orgasm-to-invader-to-rescue-team, but some part of your mind registers what Donnie said.

Again.

Your eyes meet his.

There’s a storm brewing.

But this time-

You’ve got four walking weapons on your side.

💌 Author’s Note: This tale will continue in Raphael’s story: “The Feral Harmony”. 💋

The Feral Harmony

Who loves TMNT, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @sophiacloud28, @redsrooftopprincess, @ninnosaurus, @iridescentflamingo, @adebauchedsloth, @eveandtheturtles, @thelaundrybitch, @tmnt-tychou, @milykins, @the-cauldron-witch

Masterlist

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Headcanon - PolyAVs

This one... I envisioned a key scene and want to write, but this is where it sits at the moment.

-----------

Main concept is that the four overlords were in the middle of something beforehand, but juuuuuust before going public, Alastor straight up ghosts them all from their perspectives.

His ring-bond glitches out when they try to summon it.

Their memories are slightly tampered with, but things are starting to slip through.

Watching Alastor nearly get eviscerated, live, had stirred a few fucked up feelings for them all. (Not just lust for Vox).

One minute, the pure bloodlust and schadenfraude was all-consuming and then suddenly… something twisted. It was different for all of them, but… a piece slid back into place despite a tacky violent energy fighting to keep them apart.

But for Vox, it accidentally unzipped a file that had been bound shut by power well above any overlord, and he began to Recall something that made his stomach writhe in distress. Well, what he had that passed for a stomach, that is.

The trio had been under the strong impression that Alastor had simply ditched them and forsaken their bond, his bindings glitching out and fading into the ether when they tugged on them during those long years of absence. Their rage at him was violent, but in the effort to save face, the media was never allowed to know the truth. 

Half-memories fizzle back to Vel, her half-circuitry-based brain is pulling up old information that it didnt make sense to have repressed. Val, on the other hand, frowned deeply and said, “Wait… I… I think I remember how soft those antlers are. How the fuck do I know that?”

They begin to Recall, with dawning horror. But when they again tug at the binding, it fizzles out and a sharp violet energy races back, striking them all cruelly, trying to force the thoughts back down. Velvette snarls, and uses a ward to force it back. Panting from the effort and wide-eyed. “What in the fuck was that? Someone wanted us to forget…”

“...but it is ending the broadcast!” Alastor grins on the screen, drawing their attention back, just as he portalled out of there. 

“...fuck. I think… we fucked up, guys… and we need to get our deer back.” 

Over the following days, it is clear that something is very wrong with the other overlord, and Vox is plugged in almost 24/7, with Val and Vel taking turns keeping an eye on the rare occasions they can force him to to sleep properly.

They needed a way to get the other in their sphere, to help if they could. Alastor was pale, clearly committed to the Bit, and not a single fucker at the hotel had noticed something was wrong but… now that their thoughts were less constricted, the false memories barricading their emotions and subsuming their recollections, they could see what those right next to the deer couldn’t. That something was very wrong with Alastor, and no one was doing anything to help at all. 

Even the little spat with Lucifer, and Vox was at least a little hard at the idea of Alastor picking a perpetual fight with the fucking King of Hell of all demons, was lackluster recently. 

“So, cards on the table or whatever, how do we get him here?” Vel asked.

“You think he’d… come… if I sent him a 2 for 1 sex coupon?” Val suggests, winking, lapping up the delightfully exasperated groans of his partners. “Oh come on… heh, I was just trying to bring the mood up. Say, do you think we could tempt him here if he thinks I’m going to kill Angel Dust? You know the Princess would be distraught, and he’d have to help out because of whatever little game he’s playing.”

“What? Probably, but then one of us will have to reform, and he’d come ready for war… the tower rebuild could take weeks. But that's a good idea… we need to get him in the building.”

“A meeting. With the Princess, maybe her little lover-girl, and Angel Dust and Alastor, to talk about the hotel’s future in terms of advertising and support. The Princess to look legitimate, the other two as a means of keeping the overpowered fuckers calm so no one gets hurt accidentally, and you know Alastor wouldn’t ever let Charlie come here alone… he still believes we want him dead. Stalking does that to a person…” she side eyes Vox. 

“Hey, I-... it worked out in our favour didnt it?” Vox defends.

So they plan out a meeting, all the stoppers come out. Plan how best to contain him.

“What’s to stop him leaving though, maybe even taking the others with him?”

“Hmmm… well, I had been working on something along those lines when we were, you know, enemies. It’s based on the fact he’s like me and Vel, how we’re y’know… bigger on the inside and all.”

“Aw, don’t say that my darlings, I think you’re deliciously tight no matter how many time I rai-...” 

“VAL!” 

“Hah, got you!” he laughed, exhaling calming smoke right at the flatscreen. “Settle yourself… I know you’re talking about your little extended being… and you know I love when you use it to touch me too. We could always-... no, wait, what were we talking about?”

“Vox had a plan.”

“I do! It needs support from both of you to work, though.”

“Well duh, I’m amazing.”

“You are, babydoll! You are. Tell us what you need…”

----- 

The fic reveals the above later on. It comes across as a nightmare situation to start with.

-

Beginning scene is of Charlie expressing confused delight at a meeting with the Vees, Vox particularly, inviting her, Vaggie, Angel Dust, and ‘her little overlord pet’ to the tower. Alastor laughs, setting the invite on fire, etc. 

She agonises, but feels it would be in the best interests of the Hotel and their attempts to save sinners to go ahead… see what could be offered. She notes concern over Angel being told to come along… worried that this was some sort of powerplay. 

“Greetings your majesty, future majesty, our top earning little angel, and… look at that, you even dragged Alastor here for this. Hah, don’t worry you old-timey prick the modern tech won’t hurt you if you stand too close, promise.” Vox’s shoulders were taut, despite the flamboyantly hospitable personality he was displaying. A series of video advertisement screens immediately glitched or caught fire as Alastor grinned back. “Hey! That also means no destroying my tech, you smug fucking deer!” 

“Al, please…” Charlie pleads under her breath, and the Radio Demon sighs, relenting. The few undamaged screens return to functionality. 

“Uh, Mr Vox… am I supposed t’go see Val or something? Not sure why I’m coming to a meeting or anything.” Angel asks.

“Oho, no, you’re part of this as the main guest of the hotel and also a member of the VoxTech family you are the hinge of this little joint venture we’re proposing. And besides, Val and Velvette are going to be in the meeting, so we’ll all be there to have a nice chat together. Won’t that be delightful? Oh, right this way everyone, here’s an Employee only elevator that we keep hidden to stop the… more excitable members of the consumer groups out of our buildings.” 

Get to a swanky floor that seems a little too devoid of staff, and indeed it is close to the penthouse suite the vees share. This is for the Big Meetings… and also… where they fuck when they like to try out sexy roleplays involving secretaries and bad shareholders. The room is quite thoroughly cleaned at the moment though. 

A large aquarium full of cybernetic sharks moves on two walls. Fascinating and horrifying, they are massive, sleek and majestic hammerheads… except one little chonky fellow who looked like some sort of half-shark, half dog great white type with soulful little eyes. 

“...hmmm, Vark is doing well, I see.” Alastor mutters as they enter the room, and then frowns. Unsure why he said that.

Even as the little thing swam alongside him as he walked to his seat… and eventually, with an exasperated sigh, Alastor turned to touch the glass. He pulses radiowaves through the glass and towards the creature, who wriggles, flips and emits odd muffled sounds in response.

“Ohmygosh that is so cute!” Charlie whimpers, and Vaggie may never get circulation back in her arm unless the princess calms down. 

Vox has to shake himself out of the moment, dangerously close to emitting some sort of affectionate response about Vark missing the Radio Demon, before anyone notices. Vox shares a look at Velvette and Valentino, who flank him at the head of the table. 

“Please take your seats, and if you need tea or coffee or blood or anything illicit please let us know. We have interns primed and ready to satisfy your every need…” 

Valentino grinned and added, “Satisfaction is our guarantee, no matter how difficult the client… or how hard they like to bite.” He winks at the red blob he knows is Alastor, but the man is slightly out of his range of vision.

“Uh, Val… he uh, he don’t like that sorta talk…” Angel desperately tries to whisper at his boss, not liking how deep the shadows had just gotten in a place full of glass and sharks and four batshit insane overlords. Vaggie might have wings now, but he knew Charlie would get priority on FormerAngelAirlines, so he was fucked if something went down. 

Val hummed in response, unbothered.

“Alright, we got everyone here to talk about your little hotel and the optics there… seems you lot have a bit going for you, kicked some angelic arse the other day and sent Heaven running for cover. Loved it. The net’s all abuzz with the fact you didn’t get yourselves obliterated and all that… so now, is where we come in, right?” Velvette opens, as the blinds come down on the external windows, flickering to life with projected data.

“Voxxy here whipped up a few interesting projections about your current venture and how that’s trending, and where it could be. Right now you’ve got like 95% staff happening, and one sort-of guest over there, our little pretty boy Angel over there.”

“We think that VoxTech could help you move the needle, so to speak, on attracting more sinners to your…” there was a very brief pause as Vox appeared to be calculating the best wording. “...delightful little redemption endeavour, at that hotel. Something that our company specialises in, in fact, is getting attention and making sure the right message gets before the eyes of those who need to buy, sell, apply or engage with that content. You know how it is with modern society, even in hell here, people are still people… and they always want or need something. That’s where we come in.”

“In short, princessa, if you sign on as partners with us… we can make certain it benefits everyone at your little pet project. Why, to show a sign of good faith, we can even negotiate little Angelcake’s contract to make sure he’s around for the paparazzi to get good pictures of, hmm?” Valentino purred, knowing full well that as much as he hated the idea of losing a favoured toy, it would be just the bait to hook in her majesty’s attention. Something that Alastor couldn’t try to block without incurring the betrayal and distress of his little friends.

“...you would do that?” Charlie breathed, looking to Angel, who appeared overwhelmed and anxious by this idea. 

“Of course! Anything for a business partner… you know we like to give as well as receive around here.” 

A small wrinkle of disgust flitted across her face, but Vaggie’s hand in hers helped her snap the business-ready smile on her face again. “If… if that’s on the table, I am absolutely willing to hear your proposal. But… I want more information on what this would look like, and of course, what you want in return. I know the hotel doesn’t have a lot of revenue coming in right now outside of myself and Alastor funding it, but… perhaps we could help in other ways. But I am very clear on the fact that you will not be contracting our residents for anything, do you hear me?”

“Of course, of course, your Highness! We wouldn’t dream of exerting such control over a royal holding. What we’re asking is for the exclusive rights around advertising, media coverage including any big scoops on a sinner actively being redeemed, and the chance to maybe do media profiles on a few. If you’re amenable to it, we could even try to drum up appeal and interest with a reality show style deal about the day to day running, nothing that breaches a sinner’s privacy of course. We can blur out faces… or maybe someone who likes distorting video feeds could do it, as long as the cameras aren’t incinerated every five minutes we’d be okay with that.”

“Oh, uh… where would you want those cameras?” Charlie laughs nervously. 

“Not in personal quarters or bathrooms or anything like that, your Highness, of that I can assure you!” Vox’s tone is warm and convincing. Charlie is relaxing, leaning towards him, even Vaggie seems less guarded now. “Maybe the kitchen, the foyer, outdoor areas like… do you have gardens or a swimming pool yet? No matter, we could help with that if you like. Vel here is amazing at setting up spas and the like, then marketing the hell out of the health benefits. Common areas, is what I’m saying, and with an occasional camera crew following people about for specific things like those uh, therapy group meetings you do to help sinners redeem. Show the public what it’s all about!”

“Give us something to work with for your media profile, change the minds of the public from ‘hey the princess is an out of touch weirdo’ to hashtag happy day in hell, or whatever you want it to be. You’re already a hero and a celebrity, let’s work on it to get the angle you want, darling.” Velvette adds, fiddling with her phone and loudly popping bubblegum. The air of nonchalant.

“Yes but, what do you WANT?” Vaggie asks, pointedly. 

“Like we said, exclusive rights to the media around the hotel, and… for the Vees to be the official overlords of the Hazbin Hotel.” 

That’s when silence descends. Charlie bites her lip, and it’s clear that she is desperately trying to find a way to compromise, to keep everyone together. How… predictable. 

“Charlie… you know… that it might uh, be good for… everyone…” Vaggie starts, her eye moving between Charlie and Angel. Her tone isn’t as sure of herself as it might have been.

Angel fidgets with a pen on the table, unsure how to even voice whatever was happening in his head right now. “Charlie, I-... I really-... but I mean, after that extermination… and everything…” 

Alastor had not said anything, and if you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was dissociating… or not fully in his body at the moment in the way of all those tapped into something massive and invisible to the demons on the street. However, Vox and Vel shot a sidelong glance to one another, the other macro-consciousnesses in the room were spilling from their bodies and not feeling any significant pushback from the hum in the air… the Radio Demon was present, just clearly uninterested.

“Al…? What do you think?” Charlie asked, lost.

“Hmmm? Oh, yes my dear, whatever you choose will be fine… I know your family has a rich history of making such grand decisions and the fallout has never altered the fates of everyone leashed to it. Hah! Apologies, that was a little on the nose, wasn’t it? I mean that the decision is yours, if you choose the unusually magnanimous deal with… these three, then there is little recourse but to absent myself from the hotel. What else would you have me say?”

“You self-righteous fu-... no. No you can’t sit there and pretend that the last what, year or so of our afterlives meant nothing to you!” Vaggie snarls, as Charlie tears up. “You wouldn’t have gone up against fucking Adam of all people, if you didn’t care in some degree… so I don’t know if this is some aloof psycho nonsense to upset Charlie and help her choose the Vees, or what… but I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda fucked up, Al…” Angel mutters, shooting a frustrated look at the Radio Demon, who isn’t really reacting at all. It’s disconcerting. “Thought you did sorta care, but I mean… the way y’treat Husk isn’t great… and I hate that, but we were happy Adam didn’t kill your cannibal ass. Maybe thought you felt the same way.”

“Angel, it pains me to say this but could you please stop acting against your own self-interest for a few seconds? Charlotte should take the little deal these three have cooked up, and there is entertainment in watching this little mess of a conversation right now, so if one must vacate in order to allow it… I shall.”

Vox’s disbelief is evident. “Are you sure? Normally you’re a possessive motherfucker who dislikes sharing except for with-... except under very specific circumstances. What game are you playing, Alastor?” 

“Nothing that needs concern you, Podcast, I assure you.” Light static underpins the words, but otherwise there’s no reaction from the pale sinner. “Do go on with your little… deal.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, I mean, ah, darn… I have a little uh, deal with Alastor that might get in the way of sending him off permanently. Can we work around that?” 

“Does he own ya soul, love?” Velvette asked, actually showing interest.

“No, nooooooooo, I just owe a little favour. That’s all. So maybe he needs to Stay Around to Collect on That.” She shoots Alastor a pointed look, and then falters as she notices how taut the man’s posture is, and frowning. “Are you oka-...?”

“Well alrighty then, that should be more than fine to work around. We can just add in a little clause about you staying on as staff, the busboy or whatever, as long as you don’t bother our camera crews and suchlike when they’re present. For the favour. Now, the only other point is that stupid little broadcast you do… yeah, that can’t happen from the hotel, anymore. We’d be pushing the image of a new, modern place with amenities from at least the 21st century aiming to help everyone get to Heaven. Having something so ancient around would just be… hmmm, not ideal for optics.” Vox shoots back.

Alastor’s ear twitches. “Scared of a little competition, podcast?” 

“Nah, it’s just rewiring the place to run your old shit and the new tech being installed will be a headache. Right, Voxxy?” Valentino interjects, trailing a finger down Vox’s arm teasingly. “Not to mention, little buck, there’s that clause about the whole… exclusive media belonging to the Vees, which means your little shows can’t say anything about the hotel or anyone in it.”

“I have other locations that I can broadcast from, as needed… or do it On the Air as required, ha hah! You of all demons should know what that’s like, Vox… and I believe Miss Velvette also has that dubious honour.” 

“...what?” the resident porn star expresses his confusion and turns to look at Charlie and Vaggie for help. They shrug in return.

“...too true, Al, too true. But you know it’s a nuisance to have to safeguard your body when you’re doing that sort of thing… anyone could take advantage if you had to do it outside of, say, a well fortified place like your tower or our studios with a few well-bound thralls in the way. Perhaps we can come to a little deal of our own about that later… let’s return to the matter at hand, for now.”

Valentino’s smoke was filling the room, leaving the people inside feeling a little muzzy-headed. Nothing too notable, but enough that anyone losing control of their ability to mask distress or pain, would be struggling right now. 

“Let’s… talk about our ideas for the hotel, your Highness and our esteemed guests. If you’d be so kind as to look this way…?” Vox’s voice soothed, cajoled and cooed at them in such a fluid way it broke away the natural instinct to turn away from someone with a power as widely known as the television demon’s.  Velvette shook her head imperceptibly at Vox’s side, but before anyone could ask what that meant, Vox’s eye began to spin gently.

It was so minute to start, no one realised until there was a disorienting moment of warmth and comfort, and then it felt like your body was being pulled forwards while locked in place at the same instant. Like that second between falling and catching yourself, but it didn’t stop. 

“Perhaps this indecision is too hard for you right now, bereaved as you are, little Highness? Don’t worry, we at Voxtech specialise in helping with emotional distress, as well as all manner of psychological and physical concerns… if you have an issue, we have a program, service or product that can meet your needs! And right now, I’m seeing a young woman with a lot of passion who needs guidance that a more modern approach could benefit her dreams, get them to fruition.” 

Charlie shuddered, her natural resilience pulling her back from his full control, and reaching for Vaggie’s hand. Vox pressed harder, as Velvette’s influential abilities permeated the air as thickly as Val’s smoke, layering the mesmer deeply. 

“Trust that the Vees can help you meet your goals in a way that will benefit all of us! Especially your people, the citizens of this Ring and their issues around overcrowding, chaos and disorder. Let’s work together on building a better tomorrow, for everyone from the misfiled to the most depraved… what do you say little Highness? Shall we make a deal, then?” With a snap, a contract appeared by her hands, with a rather ostentatious quill pen. 

Charlie found her hands reaching for it, automatically. 

Velvette grinned at Vox, her phone aimed down the table, and nodded.

All at once, the room went pitch black as a large hand slammed on the table upon the contract, nowhere near the size it could be, but impressive enough given the space. A large, stitched maw unhinged as radio dial eyes radiated acute hatred down on the trio, blood dripping from the too-sharp fangs. Green light radiated and flickered, not eerily per say… more like someone struggling to keep up the display.

A loud, ear-splitting shriek of feedback exploded through the room, a physical thing full of a thousand small needles that clawed their way up the spines of those present, snapping their brains out of the mesmerising mixture of carefully choreographed brainwashing. Leaving them to lurch as their stomachs roiled, and minds whirled in horror. 

“Y̷̺͊̈́͘Ȱ̴̭̥̣͓̭́̈Ǘ̷̘͂ ̶̝͚̓ͅͅD̶̖͈̎A̸̮̿͂͒͑͜Ȓ̴̨̬̋̈́̀Ė̴͎̻͍̉̀̂̃ͅ?!” Alastor snarled, shaking with rage he could barely contain. 

“Yeah, we do…” Vox grinned. “Vel, NOW!”

In an instant, the social media demon had tapped something on her phone that turned on twenty-odd little speaker-like devices around the room, they flipped to target the radio demon and began blasting… something. It whined and bubbled in the ears like something ultrasonic, but it was also nearly tactile, something just on the edge of everything as a secondary layer of metal came down around the walls. Blocking out the aquariums as well.

Alastor shrieked in static and overlaid channels, shrinking down to cover his ears, blood beginning to pour from his eyes as they flickered between red and radio dials. He looked blindsided, and furious.

“Stop! Stop it, please! I’ll sign your deal, don’t hurt him!” Charlie screamed above the deafening almost-sound. She was batted aside by Valentino’s wing as he stalked past, and bound to her chair by the sudden appearance of cables that wrapped about her wrists, torso and legs.

The Princess struggled, uncertain why she couldn’t get free, given she was second only to her father in all of Hell when it came to power… but one glance at the grinning Valentino made something roil in her gut. The smoke tasting like acid in her mouth. 

Alastor’s shadows evaporated, with the exception of his own Shade, who swarmed across the floor and curled protectively about the three other hotel residents. It was glitching as violently as Alastor’s body was, so they could only see in patches as Vox, Velvette and Valentino encroached on the other Overlord.

Vaggie was using some truly horrifying language that one might argue was appropriate and necessary under the circumstances; and Angel… he was shell-shocked, wondering what the fuck was happening. What he could even offer to let them leave alive… and unharmed.

Charlie felt tears vibrating down her face as her body thrummed.

Cables tore from the floor, the walls, and twined about Alastor’s legs, his throat, his arms and waist; he was trapped standing there, tugging at the bindings encircling his forearms from below. Panting sharply, as the effort clearly drained his little reserves of energy, gathered for the meeting.

Velvette had her hand outstretched, pushing down whenever Alastor glitched, as if trying to hold his physical form in place. Leaving enough distraction for Valentino to grab the Radio Demon from behind, his hands holding the sharp jaw angled away from him as a secondary set pushed aside the other’s collar. 

No one could hear what the moth whispered, but it incensed Alastor enough that he immediately attempted to shake the other. And then Val bit down at the juncture of throat and shoulder, his venom dripping down the crimson shirt, and clearly entering the Radio Demon’s bloodstream rapidly. 

Angel looked like he was about to throw up. He knew exactly how it felt… and he felt violated for Alastor in that moment. Not to mention the careful way the moth cradled the other man, as the venom slowly began to shut off control… and Angel knew there was a time he had been safe like that in the moth’s arms. An act to dull the senses. It sickened him still that he’d been a chump enough to fall for it.

The sound finally started to die off as Velvette’s expression settled from strained to relieved, with a slight hint of distaste in there as well. 

“Hey, calm down y’idiot, we’re trying to help…” she grumbled quietly.

“Get off him or I’m going to rip you all to pieces!” Charlotte screamed, yanking her chair out of the floor. “You-... YOU-...! Please, I’ll sign anything, just let him go…” 

“Oh calm ya tits, love.” Vel laughed, “We’re fixing your little mess, right? You care sooooooo much, and you didn’t see any’a what he’s been hiding from you. But we did. Cause he was ours first, right?”

Val was muttering something to Alastor, something gentling that made the hairs on her nape rise, free hands unbuttoning the man’s undershirt and causing even Angel to call out in horror. Assuming the worst was about to happen.

Bad enough he couldn’t stop it happening to him but… well, no matter who it was, he’d always thought he could stop it for someone else.

“Oh settle, my little spider… it’s not what you think. Let us see just how well your little hotel has managed to care for our little deer, here…” Val taunts, pulling aside the shirt to reveal some truly well-used bandages that crackled with old blood as he touched it gently. Alastor snarls then, snapping at the offending appendage, angry that anyone dare to touch him with such familiarity. He connects with the arm, and Val yells out in shock. “Oooh, darling, not right now… you’re barely alive right now. Maybe later, ‘kay?” 

Alastor spits the arm out immediately, clearly disgusted by the way his ears flatten back.

“Al… you’re hurt?” Charlie gasps.

“Yes indeed he is, little Princess… and if I noticed, from miles away through my little cameras, I’m wondering how you missed it. You, with your little song and dance about caring for everyone, everywhere in all of hell… and you didn’t see how utterly fucked up Adam left your little pet Overlord. Hah!” Vox gloats, and slashes through the bandages without a second thought. “Take a look at what pure angelic grace can do… feast your eyes!”

His tone was actually exceptionally angry, blame dripping from his tongue and burning holes through Charlie’s heart with each word. The wound was a violent gash from shoulder to opposing hip, carefully bound together with glowing green thread, but bruised and bloody nonetheless. The slightest hint of gold glowed out from the injury, and several stitches had torn out from the minor transformation of earlier.

“...I thought he’d just been eating angelic meat at Rosie’s, when I sensed grace on him. I didn’t realise…” Vaggie swallowed the words, tone gravelly and horrified. “I would have said something before but… fuck, that’s bad. I-... Charlie, we need your dad. Immediately.” 

“Well now... it ain't all ya fault, Charlie. See, I know how to sew and I... I fixed his damn coat… huge tear just like that… didn’t even think twice about why. Cause Overlords are built to take a lotta damage, right? Fuck, Charlie, I’m sorry… I should have said something.” Angel breathes, replaying their recent interactions, wondering if he’d missed a moment where he’d been asked for help without being asked. It was so glaringly obvious now. The tight way Alastor had moved when he'd asked in the dead of night for the repai (and his failure to rise to the bait of Angel's playful provocations), the clammy hands that trembled as they took the coat back.

“Lucifer… Lu-ci-fer… hmmm, yes, might be helpful to have him come and take a good look at this. Tell you what, for an additional 8% of merchandise revenue, we’ll add in a little clause that says you, Charlotte Morningstar, will have daddy dearest drop by to heal up this little mess. Don’t forget to sign the contract, Princess, because we’ll honour it to the last detail.” Vox adds, a deranged sort of magnanimous that you typically only saw in televangelists, coated his words. It felt… vile, to hear. “You take your time to read that over, and we’ll be over here with Al…”

The tone dropped so low it was hard to hear, as Vox approached the retrained and still snarling Overlord. “And what a mess they’ve made of you, hunh? But you can’t remember before… can you? Can’t remember Us? Don’t worry, Vel has something up her sleeve that might fix it, but we need you to live long enough to make it happen.”

His hand reaches out to trace the other’s jaw and that sharp smile. Thumbing at the invisible strings there, and feeling his mechanical heart twinge in horror at them… the man had a nice smile, even before this bullshit, why ruin it with force?

“Vox… let go…” Alastor slurs, panting but gearing up for another attempt to fight the other. His shade is slowly diminishing in size as well, and Charlie is crying, frantically reading the contract. Vaggie is as well, and Angel tried but his mind was too wired for written words right now.

Velvette steps closer, a hand on Alastor’s arm. “Listen… it’s not gonna make sense, you stubborn fucking deer, until later… but we’re trying to help. You’ll remember why soon, I promise… if the alterations on us started to slip, then they have to for you as well. So please, try to remember… at least something about us. About this…?”

She raises her left hand and a ring appears, a ring that trails three bright chains off to other members present; neon blue to Vox, love potion red to Val, and a glitching, barely there trail to Alastor. Who appears confused and horrified at the ring on his own finger linking him back to the Vees.

“...what is this…?”

“Don’t worry your head about it, mi pequeño ciervo…” Valentino purrs, and there’s a shocked look that passes through Alastor’s eyes at the sensation, something bordering on recognition. “...you will remember, once we deal with that nasty little collar you have about your pretty throat.” 

“How… did…?” 

“Because our memories have started to kick back in, and yours are stuck or something. But we’ll get there.” Vel added. “It’s why our bond has been on the fritz and we forgot what happened. Now shut up, you’re going to use all your energy asking questions we can’t answer right now… that Adam’s lucky he’s already dead cause I want to Cancel that man, violently. Look at this shit, that’s insane to do to someone else.”

“Hah!” a genuine laugh startled from the Radio Demon. The mental visual of Velvette’s tiny self taking on someone nearing ten foot in height was… endearing.

“Oi, I would! I took down bigger badasses before for and with you guys. You just gotta remember it. I was magnificent!”

Charlie had stilled at the table. “What… is happening here? What deal?”

“If you check subsection 8.3d, I took the liberty of adding a clause about discussing any deals with or for any overlord around residents or staff in the hotel. We can use it creatively to discuss what your- hkk!” The name caught in Vox’s throat, a violet cross appearing over his pixellated mouth. He coughed. “If you just sign, we can talk about… that whole mess.”

“Do. Not. Sign. Anything. Charlotte.” Alastor ground out, lucidity waning as he glared at Vox, the collar starting to glow as it was tugged at. A sign Someone noticed her name being spoken. “Go to your… father… immediately. You are not… safe… she’s aware… you know… something is wrong…” 

“Who?”

A pause, and she gasps, horror in her eyes. “No. No that can’t be right, she wouldn’t… she’s kind and loving!” 

“To you, maybe. To her, we’re all playthings, Highness. Now sign the contract, and we’ll start on our end of the bargain the second you send his Majesty over to help us with ours.”

“Charlotte, do no-...”

“Alastor, you need to settle down.” Vox suggests, his eye swirling. “Trust that we will fix this, now REST.” The emphasis on the last word sealed the deal, and as had never happened before when the demon was at full power, Vox felt his hypnosis take hold as Alastor slumped completely.

“Fuuuuuck, that’s literally NEVER worked before!” Vox hisses, snapping his fingers to allow the cables to release the Radio Demon, who was easily scooped up by Valentino. Velvette pointed to the others in the room, and Vox freed them as an afterthought. 

He immediately had to dodge a-... a pitchfork? No, a trident from an incensed Princess of Hell, and her girlfriend had the broken chair as a makeshift weapon. Angel Dust had two guns out, but looked uncertain about trying anything. 

“LET HIM GO! That’s OUR Radio Demon and Weird Father Figure!”

“Hey, he’s not MY Daddy…” Angel quipped, unable to help himself, and Valentino let out a sharp laugh. 

“Listen, Princess, we ain’t gonna hurt him… it took fuckin’ ages to find a way to subdue him safely even with his little angelic handicap. You think we’d do that if we just wanted to parade his head on a damn stick or whatever?” Vel interrupts. “Sign the contract, ‘cause we think it might override a loophole around the whole…” She points at the odd violet collar barely visible on Alastor’s neck.

“...Vaggie?” Charlotte asks, lost and uncertain.

“Urrrrrgh, this fucker better be worth it… but I think you should sign, babe.”

“We could… sweeten the pot around your little friend, here?” Vox adds, taking advantage of Val’s distraction to get rid of Val’s Other Distraction. “Let’s say we slide his contract over to Al, hmmm? Let’s just add that in there…” 

With a flick of a finger, the contract updates. “All done. And if he changes the contract or tears it up, so be it… that’s between those two. We’d still like our little media darling to be with us at VoxTech, but… well, you know how it is.”

“Deal.” Charlotte viciously scrawls her name and title on the paper. Desperation in her movements. The minute the pen hits the paper, a number of things happen.

The first, is that an odd little violet gag appeared before the mouths of the Vees and explodes. Alastor’s stitches flared purple before resettling green, and his smile relaxes fractionally, as the collar blares brighter, chain being tugged but not responded to.

And finally, a red chain and collar appear on angel dust, then flicker witchlight green as the chain reroutes to one of Alastor’s hands as it dangles.

“Oh thank fuck, I thought you were going to be stubborn about it much longer than that. Trying to talk about that bitch Lillith too hard can knock you the fuck out, it’s agonising!” Vox laughs. Gasps and yells, “Lillith is a bitch!” because he can now.

[Explanation of what is happening, how they remembered. How their memories were tampered with.]

How 7 yrs ago they assumed Al just up and left them, but now they can recall going to a meeting at the palace and returning feeling… wrong. Something missing.

How Al had been part of the AVs, but not public yet, how they’d been building a podcast and audiobook empire on the sidelines (Vaudible) for him, and they’d been joking about calling him Vaudeville, but Al was having none of it. How they’d been bound as a quartet, and then Al had left and his chain didn’t work anymore. Breaking their hearts. Their memories tampered with so it changed them too.

Oh they were awful, Overlords are… by nature. But not as cruel or stalkerish or disconnected.

Explain the macroconsciousness thing to them. 

Charlotte calls her dad who slams through the walls to get to his little girl and demands an explanation. This is given quickly, and he looks disgusted by it all… but agrees to help Alastor, if only to find out what happened to Lillith.

Vox gathers them together, and electrically teleports them upstairs to their suite. 

There are signs of Alastor having been there, even a side room full of radio equipment that was dusty as hell… 

Why Niffty and Husk not recall? Well, Alastor’s memories and all his deals have been altered. So unfortunately, they have vague recollections of the interactions etc.

Alastor put on the gifuckingantic bed, and Vox hastily cables a suspicious bodypillow into a closet before anyone can ask about it. Lucifer pulls the angelic essence out and compresses it into a small orb that is incinerated immediately by Charlie.

He heals the injury as best he can, and the bite mark. Clearing the venom from the other easily, but is confused when the other doesn’t wake, and is about to shake him.

“Oh, that’s fine… I had to use my mesmer on him, and the command was rest and heal. Don’t think he’s been eating or sleeping much, so it might be awhile before he wakes…” 

Again the collar appears and is tugged so violently, Alastor is moved by it, his skin burning underneath. 

“Oh… you weren’t kidding, it really is Lilly behind this.” Lucifer feels his mouth go dry.

“Fraid so. Dunno about the Deal itself or what it means, but she called us to the palace for a meeting like 7-8ish years ago and then… everything goes blank and wrong. We thought Al left us, he forgot we were an Us, and then he was Gone. Our memories were fucked up and it made things weird.”

“Why would she do that…? Where even is she?”

A soft changing of stations shifted the air and a song began to play, or at least a repeated fragment. “...Heaven when you’re near me… I’m in Heaven when you’re… in Heaven…”

Lucifer and Charlie look devastated.

The chain yanks harder, and Valentino has to grab the deer so he doesn’t end up hauled off the bed. Lucifer grits his teeth and grabs the chain, his power lighting up the connection, and he pulls the Dealer’s end.

There’s a surprised yell, and the chain disappears. 

Lilith clearly frightened off by Lucifer’s awareness of her actions.

Vanquish her, etc.

Silly quarter/OT4 nonsense.

Jokes about tendrils.

Angel flourishing and safe.

[Vel had watched her phone for the moment the distortion broke on her camera, signalling the momentary shift between Al fully inside his body and Al partially out of it as a macroconsciousness. They blast him with calculated soundwaves to force him into the shell and stop escape, etc. Its also a failsafe for Vox or Vel if they get stuck outside their forms.]

[psychedelic-charm]

Murder Drones Recipe Ideas

1. Nori-Byte Bites

Ingredients: Sushi rice, nori (seaweed), avocado, imitation crab, sesame seeds, soy sauce

Inspiration: These mini sushi bites are designed to resemble small, compact "bytes" of data or power packs that Murder Drones might consume. The nori wraps give them a dark, sleek look.

Presentation: Shape into perfect squares or cubes for a robotic, mechanical feel. Top with small sesame seeds to resemble tiny data points or circuits.

2. Blackout Burgers

Ingredients: Black brioche buns, beef patties (or plant-based patties), cheddar cheese, grilled onions, lettuce, tomato, spicy aioli

Inspiration: A sleek, dark burger to mimic the ominous atmosphere of the Murder Drones universe.

Presentation: Serve with a side of fries shaped into jagged "energy" strips, and top the burger with a glowing-red ketchup swirl or spicy sauce to resemble glowing drone eyes.

3. Nano-Wire Noodles

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta, garlic, olive oil, chili flakes, shrimp or tofu

Inspiration: These dark, tangled noodles resemble high-tech cables or wires, giving a mechanical yet sleek vibe.

Presentation: Plate in a swirling pattern, and garnish with red chili flakes to resemble scattered debris from drone battles.

4. Plasma Punch

Ingredients: Blue curaçao, lemonade, sparkling water, edible glitter

Inspiration: A futuristic, glowing blue drink to resemble the plasma energy drones might use to power themselves.

Presentation: Serve in a clear glass with glowing ice cubes (LED-embedded ice cubes for an extra cool effect) and a sprinkling of edible glitter to give it a radiant, tech-like shine.

5. Techno Tarts

Ingredients: Puff pastry, dark chocolate, red raspberry filling, powdered sugar

Inspiration: These tart-like pastries resemble hard, metallic exteriors with dark, sinister cores, perfect for a Murder Drone-themed treat.

Presentation: Cut the pastries into geometric shapes like triangles or hexagons, drizzling with raspberry sauce for a blood-like appearance. Dust lightly with powdered sugar to create a contrast between dark and light.

6. Circuit Board Cookies

Ingredients: Black cocoa sugar cookies, green royal icing, edible silver pearls

Inspiration: Decorate these cookies to resemble circuit boards or robotic components.

Presentation: Use a piping bag to create intricate green icing patterns mimicking circuits, adding silver pearls as connectors or "nodes" on the board.

7. "Oil and Gears" Spaghetti

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta (for that oily, dark look), ground beef or plant-based meat, black olives, and diced sun-dried tomatoes.

Instructions:

Cook squid ink pasta to give a "mechanical oil" effect.

Sauté ground beef or plant-based meat with garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and olives for a savory, rich sauce.

Serve the pasta with the sauce and garnish with shaved parmesan resembling "metal shavings."

8. "Blood Battery" Smoothie

Ingredients: Mixed berries (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries), coconut milk, and chia seeds.

Instructions:

Blend berries and coconut milk into a deep red smoothie that looks like a "battery fluid" but tastes delicious.

Add chia seeds for texture, mimicking the look of tiny bits of circuitry.

9. "Broken Drone" Nachos

Ingredients: Black tortilla chips, queso, shredded chicken or beef, jalapeños, and avocado.

Instructions:

Scatter black tortilla chips on a baking sheet like "broken drone parts."

Layer with queso, shredded chicken, and jalapeños, and bake until melted and crispy.

Add chunks of avocado to represent the "core systems."

10. "Circuit Board" Pizza

Ingredients: Flatbread, pesto, mozzarella, black olives, cherry tomatoes, and basil.

Instructions:

Spread pesto on the flatbread as the "circuit board."

Arrange mozzarella slices to look like "wiring" and use olives and tomatoes as "buttons" or "nodes."

Bake until cheese is bubbly and garnish with basil leaves for extra "green circuits."

11. "Metallic Heart" Chocolate Truffles

Ingredients: Dark chocolate, heavy cream, and edible metallic luster dust.

Instructions:

Make classic chocolate truffles by melting dark chocolate and mixing with cream to form the ganache.

Shape into hearts and coat with edible metallic luster dust for a shiny, "robotic heart" look.

12. "Battery Acid" Lemonade

Ingredients: Lemon juice, blue curacao, club soda, and ice.

Instructions:

Mix lemon juice and blue curacao for a sour yet strikingly electric blue drink.

Add club soda for some fizz, and serve over ice in clear glasses to resemble "battery acid."

13. "Rust and Decay" Brownies

Ingredients: Dark chocolate brownie mix, cocoa powder, and red food coloring.

Instructions:

Bake brownies using dark chocolate mix.

Add red food coloring to some cocoa powder and sprinkle over the top of the cooled brownies to create the appearance of "rusty decay."

14. Drone Eye Cake Pops

Ingredients:

Cake mix (flavor of your choice)

White chocolate coating

Red candy melts

Candy eyes

Black gel icing

Instructions:

Bake the cake and crumble it into fine crumbs.

Mix the crumbs with frosting to form dough and shape into small balls.

Dip the cake balls in melted white chocolate and let them set.

Drizzle red candy melts to create a "bloody" effect and add candy eyes.

Use black gel icing to add details.

Inspiration: These represent the "eyes" of the drones, with the red candy melt resembling their bloodthirsty tendencies.

15. Oil Spill Ice Cream Sundae

Ingredients:

Chocolate ice cream

Oreo crumbs

Black syrup (chocolate or black food coloring)

Silver sprinkles

Instructions:

Scoop chocolate ice cream into bowls.

Top with crushed Oreo crumbs for a crunchy, "oil spill" effect.

Drizzle black syrup to make it look like spilled oil.

Sprinkle with silver sprinkles for a robotic touch.

Inspiration: A dark and delicious treat inspired by the idea of oil spills and machinery gone wrong in the Murder Drones universe.

16. Blood Orange Sparkling Punch

Ingredients:

4 cups of blood orange juice

1 cup cranberry juice

2 cups sparkling water

Fresh rosemary for garnish

Instructions:

Mix the blood orange juice and cranberry juice.

Add the sparkling water to give it a bubbly effect.

Garnish with fresh rosemary for an eerie, metallic touch.

Inspiration: The punch represents the "oil" or "fuel" that robots might run on, with the blood orange juice symbolizing the dark, ominous mood of the Murder Drones world.

[mythrilpencil]

Another spoilery late-plot scene from my WIP with Edge; takes place a few plot points before Rage Against the Void.

Word Count: 967

Lesson One: People First

———

The chamber was coming down. Fast.

Now that the Shard was dislodged from its circuit high above, all of the aether it had been channeling through the supports flanking every wall dispersed in an instant. Metal screeched and stone growled as gravity pulled against the ancient structure.

“Get the Shard!” Ayaan called out over the din.

Edge and Ayaan ran. For a human, Ayaan was fast. But Edge was faster. Trained on the Shard, he dashed across the chamber, dancing across the giant slabs of stone even as cracks snaked through them and the flat floor became a shifting obstacle course. Some went sideways. Some  fell into the depths below. Some jolted upwards, no longer weighed down by circuitry beneath them.

The Shard hit the floor with a crack and a pulse of loose aether. The storm it held within its crystal shell started to flicker through the cracks. 

Almost there…almost—

A metal pillar fell behind Edge. Ayaan shouted.

Edge glanced behind him. Then slid to a stop.

Ayaan was several slabs behind him. And was now pinned beneath a metal pillar.

Edge called out, “Ayaan!”

Another crack of stone and screech of metal pierced the air as another pillar fell. This one grazing the slab that the Shard had fallen to. That slab started to tilt.

Edge glanced back and forth between Ayaan and the Shard. 

Ayaan looked up from trying to pry himself free. From this distance, only the barest glint of his gold eyes pierced the churning dust. “What are you waiting for!?” he shouted, waving a free hand out at Edge, “Get the Shard and get out of here!”

Edge looked back at the Shard. Another crack split its crystal shell; another wisp of angry aether licked through the air like a snake finally freed from a cage. 

What would Zenith do?

In Edge’s moment of hesitation, the slabs between him and Ayaan collapsed. Ayaan’s slab started to tilt, weighed down by the metal pillar and teetering on the frail support beam underneath. 

Edge tore his focus away from the Shard. 

Lesson one: people first.

Edge raced across his slab and jumped. From slab fragment to slab fragment he leaped.

But that still didn’t get him close enough to Ayaan.

He was running out of time.

Help me out here, Sparkles, Edge demanded, You said I teleported before; how do I do it again?

<<All I know is you traveled as an Aether Stream, which is how I noticed you in the first place. I’m interested to see how you do it consciously.>>

Edge growled. Real helpful.

All he perceived from the void in his mind was an equivalent of a shrug. Fine then.

Edge scanned everything around him. The ground kept shifting and shaking as more and more slabs collapsed. 

His scans picked up on flows of aether, released by the now-defunct circuitry in the metal pillars. An angry storm of waves flowed outwards from the Shard. Some magnetized towards Edge’s core. And the more he noticed those waves, the more aether followed them towards him.

Edge focused on that aether flow, and focused on Ayaan prying himself free from the metal pillar. The aether traced his focus like metal wires tracing Vidya’s will, snaking between him and Ayaan.

“Traveled as an Aether Stream”, huh?

Edge mentally pulled on that aether flow, dipped into the void in his subconscious, and directed the flow of his own aether in his systems outwards. His core’s thrumming crescendoed.

GO!

He jumped forward, and for the space between seconds he didn’t exist.

Then he landed on the edge of Ayaan’s slab.

Ayaan’s head snapped up. “Wh—How—!?”

Edge didn’t answer; he just started shoving at the metal pillar pinning Ayaan in place.

“Edge! What are you doing!?” Ayaan demanded.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Edge snapped back, grimacing as he kicked and kicked against the pillar. Slowly it started budging. But it wasn’t budging fast enough.

Edge summoned his crossbow and started shooting at the weak points in the pillar. The metal warped and bent. Finally it started to bend away from Ayaan.

But the shocks of Edge’s efforts rocked the slab. Stone grated against stone as the slab tilted past a critical angle. And started slipping.

Ayaan pushed against Edge’s leg. “What are you doing, you idiot?! Go get the Shard!”

“No!” Edge bent over and shoved at the pillar.

“Listen! I’m done for! Go—”

“No! No one is dying here! Not in my unit, not on my watch!”

Edge shouted as he finally shoved the pillar away. The metal screamed against his effort, but its screams faded beneath the din as it rolled off the tilting slab.

The slab rocked. Edge barely kept his balance enough to grab Ayaan before they both could fall.

Edge snapped his focus to the Aether Streams again. He latched onto the closest flow, and pulled his own aether and on the faint signal he could sense from Ayaan towards it. 

Out. They needed out. Somewhere higher up, somewhere safer.

There! A ledge about halfway up the wall, where a bridge across this chamber once connected. The aether flow Edge had latched onto snaked up towards the ledge like a stray current in a river.

Edge pulled Ayaan up, and despite the cry of pain from his core, he leapt upwards as he connected with the current.

They both landed on the ledge, collapsed against the stable stone. 

Ayaan levered himself up to his elbows first, gasping. “What—How? Why?”

Everything in Edge’s systems, down to the finest micro fracture, screamed as his frame shook and his core raggedly pulsed. Damage reports and overload warnings pelted his subconscious. He gasped for breath. But between gasps he squinted at Ayaan and repeated Zenith’s words, “Lesson one…people first.”

———

For this week’s prompt courtesy of @flashfictionfridayofficial!

Tagging: @jacqueswriteblrlibrary