#Heavy-Duty Converters

[oversease220volts]

Universal Plug Adapter: Compact and Convenient

Tired of lugging around a tangle of chargers for your global adventures?

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Why You Need a Universal Plug Adapter

Unleash the Power: Access a variety of power outlets with a single adapter.

Travel Light: Say goodbye to bulky chargers and make room for more essentials.

Charge with Confidence: Enjoy safe and reliable charging for all your devices.

Global Compatibility: From the bustling streets of Tokyo to the serene beaches of Bali, your adapter has you covered.

For More Information about Universal Plug Adapter: https://overseas220volts.com/

Choosing the Right Universal Plug Adapter

With a plethora of options available, selecting the perfect universal plug adapter can be overwhelming. Consider these factors:

Compatibility: Ensure the adapter covers the countries you'll be visiting.

Number of Ports: Choose an adapter with enough USB ports for all your devices.

Size and Weight: Opt for a compact and lightweight adapter for easy portability.

Safety Features: Look for adapters with built-in surge protection and safety certifications.

Tips for Using Your Universal Plug Adapter

Check Voltage: While universal adapters can handle different plug types, they don't convert voltage. Always verify the voltage compatibility of your devices.

Avoid Overloading: Don't overload your adapter by plugging in too many high-power devices simultaneously.

Protect Your Devices: Use the adapter with surge protectors for added safety.

[cybertron-after-dark]

Average transformers g1 episode:

Megatron is attempting to black out the entire sky across a hundred mile radius and funnel all the sunlight into one, concentrated solar death ray to target a heavy duty solar panel he's having soundwave and the cassetticons build in order to convert it to energon. Then he plans to hit the autobot base with the death ray just for funsies. Starscream plans to push Megatron directly into the death ray, also just for funsies.

Optimus sends Wheeljack and Spike to deal with it, along with two bots you're pretty sure have not been in this show before this point, but you're kind of past asking how many of these fuckers were on the ark offscreen when it crashed. One of them has the worst fake Canadian accent you have ever heard, and the other's name sounds inexplicably dirty.

Starscream tries to get Megatron to stand in the spot he told Skywarp and Ramjet to direct the death ray, but is interrupted when Rumble asks why Starscream stuck him with extra work (a task Megatron assigned specifically to Starscream). This vexes Megatron. The autobots show up and try to figure out what the point of the blacked out sky is while Starscream attempts to talk his way out of it. Then the death ray goes off two feet away from Megatron, which only pisses him off further.

The Canadian bot yells "AH BINARY-BEAVERS!!" because the death ray caught him off guard and completely gives away the bots' position. Soundwave immediately fires on them. Gratuitous robot violence ensues. Spike is generally useless and tries chucking rocks at Rumble. Megatron is too busy trying to almost-murder Starscream to bother with the autobots and just lets Soundwave handle it.

Probably-an-innuendo-name-bot is luckily a flier and takes the chance to see what's blocking the sun now that their cover's blown anyway. He gets up there and the seekers are sticking tinfoil on the clouds to make the tops reflective. The writers are really just hoping you don't think too hard about it.

Skywarp starts firing on dirty-name and calls him a nerd. Dirty-name takes evasive action. Skywarp runs out of ammo and starts just chucking tin foil at him. Dirty-name calls him dumb and says his processor is made of spare toaster parts. Then he crash lands and canada-bot asks if dirty-name's wings are spare toaster parts as well. Wheeljack yells that they'll all be spare toaster parts if they don't focus on the decepticons. The death ray goes off again and barely misses the autobots. Wheeljack corrects himself to Melted spare toaster parts.

Dirty-name gives Wheeljack the rundown on the tinfoil clouds so he can figure out a way to get rid of them while Canada-bot fights Soundwave and the cassettes in the background. Spike is kind of helping too sort of almost. Those rocks hes chucking sure are damaging. Ravage gets straight up drop kicked. It cuts back to Wheeljack whipping up a good old fashioned Device™️.

Starscream flies up past the tinfoil barrier while Megatron shoots at him. All the holes he's shooting in the blackout barrier are just making more, slightly shittier death rays and the main one is losing concentration. One of them hits Megatron right in the optic and he keels over with an over the top screech. Starscream descends, breaking another hole in the tinfoil to see a golden opportunity.

"MEGATRON HAS BEEN BLINDED!!! I, STARSCREAM AM NOW YOUR LEADER!!!"

Wheeljack finishes his Device™️: A grenade that makes tinfoil entirely invisible, thus rendering the whole weapon unusable. The writers are hungover, please do not think about it too hard. Pretty please. Dirty-name doesn't know if he can throw it into one of the holes in the barrier on his own since he can't fly in robot mode and he cant throw in altmode. Spike offers to get on his back and throw it in for him if he can get close enough. And he's just SO good at throwing things. The other two agree he's their best shot, they're so happy spike is around, couldn't do it without him.

Starscream is hovering in the air as he gives his Decepticon Leader Acceptance Speech he's prepared for this very occasion, golden light streaming in from the him-shaped hole in the barrier. Dirty-name and spike zip past him and spike makes the best goddamn throw of his life. Before starscream can properly question the Fucking Audacity of these autobots interrupting him while he's trying to have a moment, the invisible explosion goes off that the animators are just happy they don't have to put that much effort into drawing. Starscream gets knocked out of the air and crashes directly onto Megatron. This vexes Megatron.

Sky's normal again. Don't worry that there's still tinfoil there, don't even fuckin worry about it dude. Spike and Dirty-name touch back down. Round of applause for spike for throwing super good. Wheeljack comments that he's just happy it blew up the way it was supposed to. Cue uncomfortably long laughing. Megatron manages to roll starscream off him and calls for a retreat.

Back at the decepticon base, Megatron has an eyepatch and is skulking. Starscream yaps about how it makes him look like a proper tyrant, brooding and battle scarred, and, dare he say, darkly handsome? This vexes Megatron.

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 13]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.3K

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the scarf around your neck. It was another day of going to Hongjoong's place to do your gardening duties. Also, it was the first time seeing him after you cried in his arms at his mother's grave.

"Gosh, can you be any more embarrassing?" You asked your reflection with a click of your tongue. With a soft sigh, you went to gather your stuff.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"Coming!" You ran to open the door, thinking it was the chauffeur that was usually sent to pick you.

"Oh! Hongjoong! I was not expecting you." You blinked as he stood at your door.

"I was in the area for a meeting and thought I could come pick you instead. I hope you don't mind, the chauffeur told me what floor you live on." Hongjoong smiled, tucking his phone back into his coat.

"Not at all. I'm about done, please come in. Don't mind the mess." You said, letting him step in.

"Thanks. Take your time." He bowed his head and entered behind you, removing his shoes in the entrance way.

"I have to bring these down, it shouldn't be too heavy." You gestured before running back into your bedroom to get your socks and handphone. Hongjoong looked around the place, contrary to what you said, there was no mess at all. It was a cozy, little apartment, simple but neat.

"That should be everything... Would you like a drink? Sorry I didn't offer you one when you came in." You chuckled, putting your tools together into a tote bag.

"No worries, I'm good. I had a coffee on the way here." He smiled from his seat on your couch.

"We can go now." You said to him.

"Sure, let me help." He took one of the bags that had fertiliser in it, leaving you to carry the light stuff. Your heart warmed at the sight of the Porsche convertible, he must have brought it for you.

"If the things can't fit in the boot, I'll have them on my lap." You told him as he loaded the stuff in.

"We should be fine. It'll be uncomfortable to have things on your lap." Hongjoong said as he arranged the stuff to make space.

"There." He placed the last bag in and closed the boot. After opening the door for you to enter the passenger seat, he closed the door and ran over to the driver's side.

Before moving out of the parking space, Hongjoong put the hood down then started to drive. It wasn't as awkward anymore but you did still feel embarrassed after what happened last time. He saw you cry and you cried all over his probably expensive suit.

"Is it too warm? Shall I put the hood back up?" Hongjoong asked, having noticed the uncomfortable expression on your face.

"No, not at all. You don't have to put the hood back up. I'm enjoying it, don't worry." You shook your head, continuing to look out instead of look in Hongjoong's direction.

"Welcome back, sir."

The intercom voice sounded as Hongjoong pulled up to the gates of the estate before they opened the let you in.

"Although it's such a long walk, the greenery along the driveway makes it such a nice sight." You commented. Hongjoong let out a hum of agreement.

The others must heard of Hongjoong's arrival at the gate because you saw a butler and two maids waiting there for your arrival.

"There are stuff in the back, take it and help her bring it to the back garden." Hongjoong said, coming out of the driver's seat.

"Yes, sir. Right away." They stepped forward to retrieve your items from the boot as Hongjoong opened the door for you. You stood there awkwardly, unsure of what you were supposed to do now. You were still not used to this, you've always done everything yourself without any butlers or maids.

"Right this way, ma'am." One of the maids bowed, leading you into the house. Hongjoong re-entered the car and drove off, presumably to park his car.

"(y/n)! You're here." Mingi grinned.

"Hi, Mingi." You bowed your head, still finding yourself acting formal with the others.

"Have you eaten?" He asked with a tilt of his head, munching on the slice of toast in his hand. You mentally chuckled, imagining all the crumbs he must be dropping onto the ground.

"I have. Thank you." You smiled.

"Good. If you get hungry, ask the chef to make you something, alright? Don't go hungry." He winked and went upstairs.

"Miss, shall we leave the things here?" The butler asked as you stepped out into the backyard.

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you so much for your help." You bowed repeatedly to them. They smiled and bowed back to you before taking their leave. The first thing you did was take your notepad out to check your to-do list for today.

"Good morning, (y/n)." You turned to see Seonghwa standing there, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. He was dressed in a button up white shirt and wide pants, making him look casual but elegant.

"Good morning, Seonghwa. How has your morning been?" You asked with a smile.

"Busy as usual. Have you seen Hongjoong? I heard he went to pick you up after his meeting." He enquired.

"Yeah, he did. He dropped me off out front and I assumed that he was just going to park the car but I guess not?" You giggled as Seonghwa rolled his eyes.

Another thing you learnt was that while Hongjoong kept everyone else in check, Seonghwa kept Hongjoong in check.

"Never mind him then. How has the garden been coming along?" He moved closer to look.

"Hopefully making progress. I managed to move the plants to where they need to be, in the proper soils without having to compete for nutrients. Today, it's laying fertiliser and all that." You explained.

"The plants are in good hands then." He chuckled and you nodded your head. Seonghwa's phone ringing pulled him away, the both of you bowed your heads to each other as he entered the house to answer the call. You let out a sigh of relief, still feeling slightly intimidated by him and his energy.

"Are you scared of Seonghwa hyung?"

"Ah!" You yelped, jumping back and clutching onto your heart, as you came face to face with Jongho. He smiled cheekily at you before straightening up.

"You scared me, Jongho." You let out a sigh as you picked up the trowel that you dropped.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you scared of Seonghwa hyung?" He raised an eyebrow, repeating his question.

"He's a little intimidating... His aura and everything. Like a critique that you want to try and impress...? I don't even know if that makes any sense." You tried your best to explain it to him.

"I get it, Seonghwa hyung has that effect on people." Jongho nodded.

"But you know, we're not that scary. We may seem like we're scary people but we're not." He added.

"I know, I'm slowly learning that." You giggled as you used the trowel to loosen up the packed soil around the plant roots. Jongho watched you take the fertiliser and add it to the soil, using your hands to manually pack it in so it wouldn't be too tight.

Jongho stood there, watching you. He has never met a girl that was willing to get down and have her hands in the dirt. It still amused and amazed him to watch you work.

"Is there anything else you need, Jongho?" You asked, realising he was looming over quietly.

"Nope. Just watching you work, it's rather fascinating and I'm learning something new when I do." He shrugged.

"It's just taking care of the plants. It is concerning that your previous gardeners never did these. But it's not surprising, considering all the mistakes I found." You mumbled the last part.

"You're funny, (y/n)."

"I just don't like that the plants suffer at the hands of someone who is literally paid to take care of them." You sighed.

"I get it, I get it. Don't worry, that guy is gone and we have you now." He smiled.

Although, when Jongho said 'gone', you assumed it meant that the previous gardener was fired. You didn't know that Jongho meant that the guy was no longer alive.

"Ah, Jongho ah. Stop disturbing her and let her work. You should be doing your own work too!" Seonghwa yelled from the glass doors, presumably having finished his phone call. Jongho scoffed, offended that Seonghwa would suggest he was disturbing you. You giggled at their banter, they were really close.

"Well, I'll see you later, (y/n)." Jongho did conceed. You waved as he entered the house to go back to work.

"Alright, what's next?" You stood up, dusting your hands. You went to retrieve the other bag of fertiliser to move to another garden patch. These fertilisers were all personally mixed together by you.

"Grow well." You wished the plant, hoping your custom mix of fertilisers would provide the plants with what they needed.

"Maybe one day, there'll be a compost area here for all the waste." You thought out loud.

"We should, there's enough space." You turned to see Hongjoong standing there with a small smile on his face. He had gotten rid of his jacket and was in a shirt and pants.

"Seonghwa came to look for you earlier. Playing hooky?" You teased.

"Just because I wasn't in my office, he thinks I was out skipping work." Hongjoong rolled his eyes with a scoff.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you would like to have some lunch." Hongjoong said. You straightened up, digging for your phone to check the time. Indeed, it was already a little after noon, you didn't think you spent such a long time doing this.

"Sure, I lost track of time. Didn't know I spent so much time doing just this." You gestured. Hongjoong waited for you before walking back to the house.

"I'll go wash my hands and freshen up." You excused yourself and went to the bathroom to wash your hands and face.

"Ah, (y/n)!" Yunho ran to into you as you were exiting the bathroom. You smiled and waved at him.

"Are all of you working from home today? I seem to be running into most of you and it's only lunch time." You chuckled. Yunho laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I never know where my brothers are." He admitted.

"I guess you all have different schedules that it'll be hard to keep track. Poor Seonghwa." You giggled.

"Nah, I bet hyung secretly likes to nag us. Him and Hongjoong hyung." Yunho joked, the both of you snickering. Hongjoong watched you and Yunho laugh as you headed over.

When did you two get so close?

"Today is a warm day, you should take more breaks in the shade and make sure you drink a lot of water." Yunho smiled kindly. You nodded and bowed your head. Of course, Yunho noticed that Hongjoong had been looking at your interaction the entire time. But he wanted to rile the captain up more.

"This way." Hongjoong said to you. You stepped into the dining room, it was your first time here since you started working in the estate. Or rather, this was the first meal you've had with them.

Usually, you sit in the living room or garden gazebo to eat. Honestly, it was really intimidating.

"Sit wherever you feel comfortable." Hongjoong gestured.

"Really? Looks like there are assigned seats..." You mumbled to yourself. But Hongjoong gently placed a hand on your back to guide you forward, the seat to the right of the head.

"I sit here, you can sit with me." Hongjoong said. The seat felt like it would be the seat that's occupied for sure.

"Come, (y/n). That's Seonghwa hyung's seat." Jongho entered the dining room, pulling you along.

"You lied!" You pointed accusingly at Hongjoong, who blinked.

"Hwa doesn't care, the others are just trying to make him scarier than he actually is." Hongjoong rolled his eyes. But you were not taking the chance, you moved to sit where ever Jongho and Yunho told you to, which was next to Jongho, opposite Yunho.

"Yeosang hyung sits here but he's out for a meeting so you're good." Jongho said as the butler pulled the chair out for you to sit. You quickly bowed to him and sat down.

"Who's scarier than he actually is?" On cue, Seonghwa walked in, typing away on his phone.

"It's nothing." Hongjoong sighed.

"It's only noon and you're already sighing." Seonghwa raised an eyebrow at his best friend before taking his seat, which was the exact seat Hongjoong had offered you earlier.

"See? Told you." Jongho leaned over to whisper to you and you hummed with a soft giggle.

"Just get lunch." Hongjoong said to the butler, rubbing his forehead.

"Nice to see you here, (y/n)." Seonghwa finally noticed you and smiled at you. You returned the smile and nodded your head then the trays of food came in.

"Lunch is served." The maids and butlers said as they placed trays in front of you. Your eyes widened, this was how you imagined royalty was served their meals. The food was good, regular fare, but plated nicely and arranged on an individual tray. You have never been served like this before.

"Is something wrong?" Yunho asked.

"No, not at all." You forced a smile and picked up your chopsticks. Just then, Mingi came into the dining room, letting out a loud yawn as he stretched his arms over his head.

"Mingi. That's rude." Seonghwa scolded. Mingi rubbed his eyes, a clear sign that he had just woken up.

"Oh, (y/n). You're having lunch here today." Mingi acknowledged as he took his seat beside Yunho. You nodded and swallowed your food.

"Did you just nap since breakfast?" Yunho asked his best friend.

"Dude, I told you I didn't sleep last night so I have sleep to catch up on. I keep having issues sleeping." Mingi said, running his fingers through his messy hair as the butler put his tray down.

"You're too used to doing night stuff, that's why your body clock is having issues adjusting." Hongjoong pointed out.

"I should just be on night shift, I'm only doing Yeosang's work because he's busy taking over San's- Mmph!" Mingi's sentence was cut off as he crumpled over, wincing in pain. He turned his head to shoot Yunho a glare.

"Are you okay, Mingi?" You asked worriedly. Mingi met Yunho's eyes, who shifted in your direction.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just hit my toe against the chair leg." Mingi lied as he began to eat. You didn't notice the sigh of relief Seonghwa and Hongjoong let out.

"If that's not enough food for you, you can always ask for seconds, alright? They always make extras for us." Jongho told you.

"This is more than enough for me. I might not even be able to finish this." You chuckled.

"Is the food to your liking?" Hongjoong asked.

"It's very good. Thank you." You smiled as continued to eat. If the food wasn't to your liking, Hongjoong would have asked the cook to make you something entirely differently.

"Seconds." Seonghwa raised his hand and Yunho did the same, the maid coming forward to get their plates for more food.

"Oh gosh, I'm so full. And I should probably get back to work. Thank you for the meal." You stood up and bowed to the boys at the table, hightailing it out of there before anyone could say anything else. The 5 just sat there, blinking, stunned before turning to their captain at the head of the table.

"(y/n), hold on. Is something wrong?" Hongjoong came out from the dining room right before you could go out the glass doors. You paused in your tracks and turned around.

"No, Hongjoong. Everything is fine." You fiddled with your fingers.

"Was it that awkward and uncomfortable?" He tilted his head. You rubbed the back of your neck.

"It's not any of you... It's just... I'm supposed to be a worker too... Feels inappropriate to be sitting in that fancy dining, getting served like that." You winced.

"Oh, (y/n). There's no need for you to worry about that. You're not a worker-worker... You're my friend, it's different." He chuckled.

"I know, it just takes a while to get used to. I'm not familiar with any of this but don't worry!" You rubbed your arm.

"(y/n), if you're uncomfortable, just tell me. I know it can all be very intimidating. Don't feel forced to do anything." He smiled. The both of you walked out to the back garden together.

"No, I don't feel forced at all. And it's not just that..." You cleared your throat, trying to figure out how to find the words to tell him. Maybe you should just leave it. Telling Hongjoong your feelings might just make things more awkward between the two of you.

"Are you worried about what happened when we went to see my mum?" He asked in a soft voice.

"How... How did you..." Your eyes widened.

"I figured. (y/n), you know I don't care about stuff like that right? I'm not bothered and it doesn't change anything." Hongjoong smirked. You nodded slowly.

"Thanks." You murmured.

"Now come. I think it's finally time for me to give you a proper tour of the place." Hongjoong clapped his hands.

"Don't you have to work? Don't any of you have to work?" You threw your head back with a groan. Hongjoong just laughed and gestured for you to go back into the house for the tour.

"Hang on." You paused and he nodded.

"Take your time." He watched you fiddle with one of the bags you had brought and retrieved what looked like a small white linen bag.

"Mingi! Luckily you're still here. I just remembered that I had this in my bag of gardening stuff. Here you go." You handed the taller the small white bag just as he was leaving the dining room. Both him and Hongjoong looked confused but Mingi lifted the white bag to take a sniff of it.

"It smells good. What is it?" He blinked.

"Dried lavender. I use it as a natural insect repellent for plants but it's very good to help sleep too. Since you said you have trouble sleeping, you can put this by your pillow." You explained.

"Oh, thank you, (y/n). I'll definitely put this by my pillow." Mingi smiled, continuing to sniff the bag.

"I hope it helps." You smiled and he nodded before heading upstairs. You were unaware of the now slightly sulky Hongjoong behind you.

"You didn't have to do that, you know? He's just childishly whining about it." Hongjoong commented. Your eyebrows raised slightly at his words, was Hongjoong jealous?

"I know but I wanted to help since I already have the dried lavender. So I thought why not? It's not 100% effective but it may help just a little so no harm." You shrugged as you followed him up the stairs to see the rest of the house.

"Honestly in our household, almost everyone has trouble sleeping. Not sure if we're just constantly thinking about work or something." He pointed out.

"Oh, really? Well, I don't have anymore on hand now but I'll keep that in mind and bring more the next time I come." You giggled.

~

Series masterlist

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Dodge Challenger

This 1970 Dodge Challenger Has a Rare Feature You Probably Never Knew Existed

Introduced for the 1970 model year, the original Dodge Challenger was short-lived, being retired at the end of 1974. However, four years were enough for it to become an iconic nameplate. More than 50 years later and the first-generation Challenger is also a sought-after collectible.

With total production at almost 77,000 units, the 1970 Challenger is far from rare overall. Still, some versions are tricky to find nowadays. The HEMI variant is arguably the rarest at 356 examples made, including 60 cars fitted with the Special Edition package and only nine convertibles. The latter is rare in 440 and 440+6 guises, too, with only 163 and 99 units sold, respectively.

Conversely, the non-R/T cars are far more accessible, with about 56,000 units built. Interestingly enough, the base six-cylinder version is rarer at a little more than 10,000 examples. This leaves the non-R/T V8 cars as the most common, at 45,367 units. The list includes Challengers fitted with 318-, 340-, and two-barrel 383-cubic-inch (5.2, 5.6, 6.3-liter) mills.

Unfortunately, there's no production breakdown for each engine, so models fitted with them are usually considered mundane. But it's not always like that because some of these cars came with options that turned out to be rare. Like the Dark Burnt Orange example you see here, which carries the A66 340 Performance Package.

Available with the four-barrel version of the 340-cubic-inch V8 (less potent than the 3x2-barrel offered in the Challenger T/A), the bundle came with goodies such as Rallye wheels, heavy-duty brakes and suspension, wheel lip molding delete, and an R/T Performance hood. It's basically an R/T-like Challenger without a big-block engine.

So how rare are these A66-equipped Mopars? There are no specific figures to run by, but word has it only a few thousand units were ordered like this. But that's not the only thing that makes this Challenger rare. It's the fact that it's a very early A66 Performance Package model, a piece of info determined by the "340 four-barrel" decal on the hood.

You see, Dodge changed the decal to a metal badge after a few months, and the guy who restored this car claims it's a super-rare feature. Moreover, this Challenger was also fitted with a locking gas cap, yet another rare option from the 1970 model year. Too bad there are no records to determine how scarce this specific configuration is, but we're looking at fewer than ten units if we also include the color.

Rare features aside, this Challenger is also one of the very few classic muscle cars that have been in the same family since new. And as you might have already guessed, it got a rotisserie restoration a few years back. But it's still very original, down to numbers-matching body panels and drivetrain components. It's also proof that a Mopar doesn't necessarily need a 426 HEMI to stand out.

[overthinkinglotr]

People always say “Thorin could never retire in the Shire because he has to be King” — and I think the funniest way to handle that plotline would be for Bilbo to convince Thorin to eliminate the monarchy.

Bilbo has lived all his life in the Shire, where they elect their main leaders in a democratic system. Thorin is the first king he ever meets. Bilbo would initially think monarchy was very storybook-like and fantastical, like the things he’s read about in tales from distant lands…..but he would quickly find the reality of monarchy underwhelming, baffling, and annoying. Thorin/ Thranduil/Bard would make Bilbo decide that all monarchies are terrible. Being a king makes you self-important, haughty, greedy, and warlike. Kings are too powerful and use that power to fight over utter nonsense. They’ve got no one to keep their stubbornness in check. He would come to decide that the Shire really did have it right by holding elections.

I’m imagining a scene where Thorin dramatically confesses “I suffer under the burden of my duties; heavy is the head that bears a crown” and Bilbo flatly responds “don’t be king, then. >:/Elect someone else. If your people don’t want you then they won’t choose you! Im very tired of this whole affair and I wish I were back in the Shire, where folk are more reasonable >:(“

Thorin is enchanted by the strange foreign Hobbit custom of “elected leaders.” He has never considered this as a possibility. Overwhelmed by the Hobbit’s wisdom after the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin converts his kingdom into a democratic republic and retires from public life.

This causes a domino effect. Other kingdoms across Middle Earth are inspired by Erebor’s example, and band together to reject their monarchical systems. Revolutions ensue.

Thorin’s consort “Bilbo Baggins,” known only as “the dwarf-king’s advisor who first set off this wave of revolutions,” becomes one of the most controversial and reviled people in all of Middle Earth. Bilbo becomes a figure of mythic proportions, loved by the democratic republicans and despised by the royalists, each of which invents their own wild legends.

To the democratic republicans “The Great Baggins” is glorified as a great warrior sent from Valinor to restore the long-forgotten wisdom borne out of The West— he snaps his fingers and with a poof of smoke he washes away all the old corrupt systems of the world, just as the Valar washed away Numenor.

But to the royalists, “The Mad Baggins” is a scheming shadowy monster who crawled up from the deep places of the world to burn the very foundations of Middle Earth to the ground; he’s a monster more powerful and terrible than a dragon or a balrog, who threatened Thorin into submission and brought the world into chaos. he snaps his fingers and monarchies collapse in a puff of smoke.

Meanwhile elderly Bilbo grumpily putters around the Shire with Thorin, mostly oblivious to all of this.

[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

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

What a difference 54 years makes juxtaposition of Chevrolet Corvette Stingray ZR-2 Convertible, 1971 & Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Convertible, 2025. The C3 Corvette was the first to be offered with ZR1/ZR2 packages. The ZR1 could be ordered with the LT-1 engine and included a solid-lifter small-block engine, heavy-duty four-speed transmission, power brakes, aluminum radiator, and a revised suspension with special springs, shocks, stabilizer bar, and spindle-strut shafts. The ZR2 included the special equipment in the ZR1 package, but for the 454 LS-6 engine. The new ZR1 features turbochargers for the first time ever on a factory Corvette

[dunmeshistash]

Chilchuck Revealed in Five Keywords

5 keywords section from the Adventurer's Bible, this is transcribed from the EHScans translation for more info you can check this post. My own notes will be at the end of the post.

1. Encounter

Laios and Chilchuck were first introduced to each other through a member of the half-foot guild, Dandan. Though at the time Chilchuck was considering retiring from participating in dungeon expeditions due to his age, no other half-foots had the expertise necessary to accompany Laios to such a deep floor of the dungeon, so he agreed to go with them. Incidentally, the average lifespan for half-foots is around 50 years old. Since Chilchuck is the equivalent of about 50 years old by the standards of a modern human*, this would have been quite an early retirement for him. He intended to become a locksmith after quitting adventuring.

2. Weight Management

Compared to the average half-foot, Chilchuck is on the taller side. Accordingly, his body weight is greater as well, which means it's easier for him to set off traps. He's very meticulous and careful about maintaining his body weight at an acceptable level. However, after Senshi took over cooking duties for the group, he's become a hearty eater and his body weight keeps creeping up steadily.

3. Liquor

Chilchuck is a heavy drinker. Apparently his father died from excessive drinking, but Chilchuck thinks that dying while doing something you love isn't the worst way to go. Thus, he makes no effort to avoid alcohol, and heartily partook of the homebrewed beverages made by the residents of the Golden Castle.

4. Family

Chilchucks family consists of his wife and three daughters; all three of the latter are already independent. He and his wife were childhood friends, and they are the same age. She currently lives at their middle daughter's house. The panels shown bellow are** from one of Marcille's fantasies, and only Chilchuck knows the truth behind what really happened. In any case, since any lingering doubts about him cheating on his wife were cleared away, Chilchucks reputation amongst the women in the party (mainly Marcille) was mended.

5. Appearance

With their youthful faces and short stature, many half- foots are seen as adorable by others. Some of them use that to their advantage to do things like ingratiate themselves with people of other races or to commit crimes. Chilchuck thinks that though such actions may have short term benefits for the individual in question, in the long run it causes others to look down on the half-foot race as a whole, and loathes his brethren that use their appearances in that manner.

------

*This part causes a lot of confusion, it says he's "the equivalent of about 50 years old by the standards of a modern human". I think this comparison isn't about objective age (29 being the equivalent of 50 would be like half-foots living to be the equivalent of 86 on average, that's 10 years more than modern human average), I think it's more likely about what his life stage is compared to humans today. The average lifespan for half-foots in Dungeon Meshi is 50 so he still got 21 years left on that, which would be similar to a modern day 50yo retiring (Average global life expectancy irl is a bit over 70). (Edit: btw, converting his age to tallman using this conversion chart we get 33, which I think is more accurate than 50)

**Original translation by EHScans says "panel shown to the left is(..)" but I adjusted the wording to match the post format

Stats

Timelines

Official version bellow the cut

[juliussilver25]

The Silver Collective

It began like any routine stop—just another night patrol in Southend, where Officer Dane carried out his duties with calculated precision. He spotted the motorbike first, its rider exuding defiance. A street-hardened young man, draped in a slick, vinyl tracksuit with checkerboard stripes, glinting jewelry weighing heavy on his chest. Dane approached, hand steady, voice calm.

But as he laid a gloved hand on the young man’s shoulder, something stirred beneath his skin.

Dane didn’t know it yet, but he was already infected.

Earlier that week, he’d been called to a strange incident near the estuary—reports of a silver bubbling from a derelict shipping container. He remembered touching it, just briefly, while examining the scene. The material had clung momentarily to his glove and vanished. No trace. He logged the event and forgot it.

The silver hive hadn’t forgotten him.

Over the past days, subtle changes had crept in—his uniform began to feel restrictive, his mind unusually focused. His physique enhanced itself without effort, veins pulsing with an unidentifiable energy. His vest fit tighter. His thoughts sharpened… and narrowed.

By the time Dane confronted the chav, the silver hive had already bonded to his nervous system.

Their eyes met.

The young man—Jaxon—felt it immediately. A pulse. A vibration from the officer’s touch. Something chemical, invasive. “What’s this?” he muttered, as a cold, sleek sensation crawled up his arm and into his chest. The metal on his chains began to shimmer unnaturally. The stitching on his jacket twisted, reweaving itself in silver thread. The infection was spreading.

Dane stood still, watching. But it wasn’t concern in his eyes—it was awakening. He could feel the hive guiding him, instructing him. Assimilate. Convert. Refine.

Jaxon clutched his chest as the transformation deepened. His skin smoothed, hair styled itself more perfectly, the once-chaotic streetwear replaced by a sculpted silver jacket, lined with a blue "POLICE" badge. His trousers gleamed like liquid chrome.

Dane, now shirtless, displayed the full extent of the hive’s gift: an impossibly flawless torso plated in sleek muscle and adorned with ceremonial silver medallions. Tactical harnesses attached themselves to his body with biomechanical precision. The hive wanted beauty. Strength. Order.

By the time their minds were fully synchronized, they stood side by side—Officer Dane, enforcer of the Silver Code, and Cadet Jaxon, newly forged emissary of the Collective. Behind their eyes: unity, purpose, and the unrelenting drive to spread the silver purity to all.

The motorcycle revved behind them.

The silver glistened.

Their mission had begun.

[oversease220volts]

Voltage Converters: Everything You Need to Know

A voltage converter is an electronic device that changes the voltage of an electrical power source. In simpler terms, it allows you to use appliances designed for one voltage (e.g., 120V) in an area with a different standard voltage (e.g., 240V).

Why Do We Need Them?

The world uses two main voltage standards:

100-120 Volts (V): Primarily used in North America, parts of Central and South America, Japan, and some Southeast Asian countries.

210-240 Volts: Used in most of Europe, Africa, Asia, and Australia.

If you try to use a device designed for one voltage in a region with the other, it could damage the device. A voltage converter prevents this by safely adjusting the incoming voltage to the level your appliance needs.

[phopollo]

How do fuel conversions work for engines and how are they viewed by others in the cartoonverse?

Its kind of a whole medical procedure! I'm some ways, it's kind of like.... gender affirming care, but.... it's also totally different. It's hard to explain. Lots of parts need to be taken out or exchanged. Lots of parts need to be added. Depending on what kind of fuel the locomotive accepts and what it's trying to convert to, it might also be easier to just fully replace the engine

There might also be a bunch of holes to fill in vanity playing, or a bunch of holes to make. Some engines require more heavy duty ways to hold them in place and bigger or more screws are needed. It's really a lot! And recovery time varies from conversion to conversion

As for how they're viewed-- that's kind of a huge mixed bag. You get everything from viewing the conversions as a betrayal, to literally not caring, to thinking they're not as good as "the real thing that was built that way"

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Dodge Challenger T/A

1970 Dodge Challenger T/A Sitting for 45 Years Is a Rare Barn Find in Sublime Green

Introduced in 1969 on the then-new E-body platform, the first-generation Dodge Challenger was a big hit, moving nearly 77,000 units in its first year on the market. And while it may seem rather common, the 1970 Challenger lineup included a few rare gems.

Nearly 73% of the cars were ordered in standard trim, leaving only 18,512 R/T models. Most of the latter left the assembly line with the 383-cubic-inch (6.3-liter) V8, and just 6,231 units were specified with the larger 440-cubic-inch (7.2-liter) RB and 426-cubic-inch (7.0-liter) HEMI mills.

The HEMI is arguably the rarest 1970 Challenger, with only 356 examples made. Just 60 were also ordered with the SE package, and only nine were convertibles. The 440 Six Pack version is also rare at 2,035 examples, while the regular four-barrel 440 found its way into 3,840 vehicles.

But Dodge also built a small-block gem that saw daylight in limited numbers. I'm talking about the Challenger T/A. Developed to homologate the Challenger for the SCCA Trans-Am series, the T/A was available for only a few months in 1970. And its short stint on the assembly line resulted in only 2,399 street-legal models being built and sold.

The T/A packs several unique features, including a low-restriction exhaust system with side-exiting pipes, a larger air scoop, a fiberglass hood, and a heavy-duty suspension. The stripe package is also unique to this car, as is the 340-cubic-inch (5.6-liter) V8 with a triple two-barrel carburetor setup.

An upgrade over the more common four-barrel 340, the Six Pack layout gave the T/A 290 horsepower to play with. And even though it's nowhere near as powerful as the big-block cars, the T/A has a solid advantage in terms of curb weight and handling.

Come 2023, the T/A is one of the most desirable versions of the 1970 Challenger. And while many cars are still around as restored gems, some are rotting away in junkyards and barns, often missing vital components. The Sublime green example you see here is one of them. But unlike other abandoned T/As, this survivor got a second chance at life, and it's roaming the streets again.

Documented by YouTube's "Auto Archaeology," this T/A spent most of its life off the road. According to our host, the Challenger was parked for unknown reasons sometime in 1977. So that's only seven years on the road and more than four decades in storage.

Parked with a four-barrel carburetor instead of the Six Pack setup, it remained in storage in Memphis and Arkansas until 2022. That's when the car was sold and dragged out of its barn. And surprisingly enough, the T/A emerged in surprisingly solid condition.

Sure, the Sublime paint has faded away, and the black vinyl top is long gone, but the body is straight and almost rust-free. There's some rust on the trunk floor, but it's an easy fix with a regular Challenger pan, which is relatively easy to find.

The engine bay was empty at the time of the rescue, but the car still had the original block. And even though the Six-Pack carb was gone, it came with a period correct unit. The driveshaft, air cleaner, automatic gearbox, and the original wheels (which are very rare) were still with the car.

Speaking of which, the automatic makes this T/A one of 1,410 vehicles built with this drivetrain combo. The vinyl top decreases that number even more. It's unclear if it came with a V1G gator grain top, but if it did, it's one of only 33 T/As built like this.

But the really good news about this Challenger is that it has since been revamped and put back on the road. It hasn't been restored just yet, but it's not a solid survivor that's no longer rotting away in a barn. And that's a win in my book.

[evilminji]

I contemplate the Martian Afterlife...

And the reality, that as a Father? The only thing more painful then losing his family for J'onn. Would be to have hope... and lose them again.

To get back, perhaps, ONE child of his several. To see them forever trapped as they were and know they were alone all this time. That he will one day be forced to choose. Stay with them... or see the love of his life again. His other children. Be at peace.

Worst of all? Is they would never ask such a cruel thing of him. Are proud of him. Love him. Are gleeful at this reuniting. They have made friends, papa! Won't you introduce them to YOURS?

Standing at the gates of Death itself? Looking into the swirling green...

It's losing those you've lost all over again. Uncertainty. Fear. A quite sort of horror. What if they ARE there? What if they are NOT? They never wanted this. Are seperated from their Gods and their Peace. Are they happy? Do they suffer?

....are they there?

Grief is a heavy thing. Mortal. It weighs like mountains on our shoulders. What is worse, we wonder? What will be worse? As ghost after ghost steps out to find loved ones. Not to stay, though.

They can not stay. The Dead must move on. Too strong, too REAL and unfiltered by flesh, to exsist in this breakable Reality. But these ones at least, can look back and wave. Can visit.

Is it worse when they can't?

When to find them, you'd have to do like the stories of old? And visit Death themself? Reach deeper then Depths and farther then any horizon, to the pulsing Core of all that ever Lived. Not "lives".

But past tense. As in once did or should have, could have, might have. Lived. And now does not.

Larger then any planet, smaller then a pin prick, every color imaginable and utterly void of anything on any visible spectrum. THEY exsist there. And everywhere, but that's besides the point, now isn't it?

There at the Core, things are sorted. Resorted. A human dying on Zoltan soil does not belong to Zoltan gods. Nor vice-versa. And vows must be taken into account. Families kept together, be they choice or blood. Ghosts who convert in Death may come to be sorted again just as those who lose faith may leave for another place.

It flows. It is balanced.

Held, eternal, in they loving hands of A God of God's. The Final King. To whom all bow.

Is it better? Knowing those you love WOULD come? If not for Death? As you stand, small and mortal, looking up and up and UP into incomprehensible eyes. That know you and always have. That will claim you soul with gentle hands and hold no malice in their grand, alien, heart. That ARE as they always have been.

This is simply doing their duty, keeping order and balance. Organizing the universe to keep things clean.

Is it better?

The glowing child that lead you here, looks at you with such sympathy. A child king. You all but forced him too. Were full of such grief and anger. But it is like cursing the birds. A storm. Grass holds you no malice. Fire burns you because it is fire. And this great and terrible creature, this true Awe inspiring God of Gods... is Death.

Death simply IS.

They would not stop you walk past them. Entering their domain. But you would not be allowed to leave it. The stories were just that. Stories and myth. You can SEE your loved ones from where you stand. Almost HEAR their voices.

They are horrified. Waving their arms and shouting. Clearly begging you to turn back. To LIVE. Don't you DARE.

Others have joined them, at the gates. Too every sort of place. The two of you noticed. Aliens and humans alike. Shock and horror. Concern. Go back! Go back!

The souls on the paths between audibly trying to get Deaths attention. To distract away from you. While others try to shoo you away. You... you have no place here. Do you? Not yet. Possibly not ever, if you become a ghost. You worry about that.

The boy king laughs. Bright and ringing in the green. We can change our minds! Well, THEY can. He's kind of king. So he kind of has to stay around, you know? But Death is Infinite and so are the Realms. There are a LOT of afterlives. Even a few After-Afterlives! He's heard there might be a THIRD layer to one or two, but who can say?

You ponder the Martian afterlife. The little Martian ghost you saw. Was she stuck... or simply waiting? To go together. It's a good thought. Better then the bleak and terrible horrors your mind has conjured lately, in its grief. You don't want to know. Let it be a suprise. They wanted you to wait. So you'll wait. As long as human biology will let you.

But first... you probably should look up apology gift baskets. "Sorry about the grief rampage, I kinda snapped" doesn't seem like a... CARD sorta thing.....

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #58] Obstinancy

warnings: heavy petting, starluvrs r sooooo in luv, and i am in luv with them!

wc: 5.4K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Look, we raised enough money," Jeongguk stresses into the room, though he isn't directly addressing anybody. He's refusing to look anyone in the eye, which is strange considering he'd die for every single person within these four walls without hesitation. 

In the backrooms of the gallery, the last duty to undertake is finalising the bids—and he saved the best until last.

The main light is off, expertly placed lamps illuminating the meeting space in a warm hue. Whoever designed the space did a fantastic job creating a calming ambience; even so, Jeongguk is still on edge. He's pacing the room.

"Rescind the bid," he says as he finally stops to face you all, though he isn't looking at you. After all, you're not the person who made the bid. "It's okay."

You're sitting beside Seoyeon, who's watching Jeongguk just as intensely as you are—though he isn't looking at her, either.

The auction had continued with bemused chatter and daring bids. Opening it with such a huge donation set the tone. Got people a little reckless; eager to show off their financial prowess. By the time the final tallies were in, enough had been raised to match that first, unbelievable bid.

Wire transfers complete, the business account (which had previously just had some of Jeongguk's savings in it) is now bursting at the seams. Contracts have been signed, business emails exchanged. Namjoon's advertising space was auctioned off to the Ryu marketing team. Jimin's newest client is some finance bro who definitely buys all of his homewares in black or chrome because he doesn't know how to style anything else. Taehyung's art now has half a dozen new homes. It had been a roaring success by all metrics.

Still, Jeongguk is being stubborn about this one.

We are the company we keep, and Jeongguk's stubborn nature was nurtured by someone equally intransigent.

It comes as a surprise to absolutely no one when Yoongi defiantly shakes his head.

"Me and Seoyeon ran the numbers," he shrugs, pushing forward the proposal plan he'd been stewing on for the best part of a week. There's a slight bend to the centre, where it's been curved into his blazer pocket for the entire evening. This wasn't done on a whim. Nothing Yoongi does ever is. "I've been after a new unit away from the workshop, and the building you're after has what? Space for three commercial units? Four, if you convert the apartment on the top floor."

"Yeah, but—"

"But what?" Yoongi deadpans, knowing that Jeongguk is being an idiot. "It makes sense. I've got the capital to buy the building outright. It gives you the premises you want, and me the space to expand. I'd be forking out just as much wherever I ended up. This way, at least you're free from the barrier of relying on the banks, or anyone else."

"But we've raised enough—"

"You haven't," Yoongi says again with such stoic command that you know he's already been over this plan a hundred times in his own head. Knows the pros and the cons, the ins and the outs. Again, nothing Yoongi ever does is on a whim. "Take away my bid, you're left with what? 125mil, give or take? It's good—great, even—but you have to factor everything else into that, not just the building. This way the building is taken care of. You rent the space from me, no rent until you guys are up and running, and it means you can spend the rest on shit you need, like actually fitting out the space."

"But—"

"Gguk!" Yoongi sighs. In his head, it's a no-brainer. He's failing to consider that even though he's been over the numbers a dozen times, this is new information for Jeongguk to digest. He hadn't even considered this as a possibility—which is funny, because Yoongi saw it as an inevitable outcome ever since they first started discussing the restaurant. Even if he got funding from the bank, he'd have still offered a similar move. "Do you not want the unit? Is that it?"

"No," Jeongguk sulks a little. "I want the unit."

He doesn't mean to be a baby. Really.

It's just that he wanted to earn it.

Similarly to you arranging the auction, it feels like other people are doing the hard work for him.

When it comes to motivations in life, Jeongguk has always been intrinsic in how he seeks gratification. Superficial rewards like money don't bother him. He sets goals, and his brain is scratched just right when he achieves them. It's like a sharp pencil ticking off a box, or a gold star being smoothed onto a fridge chart. He wants to be the one to do it. There's no fun in watching other people score the winning goal, when he knows damn well it should be him to do it.

He's set in his ways. Bull-headed. Was born in the year of the ox, so it's only natural he should share such tendencies. Knowing him as well as you do, and well-aware of exactly the issues you ran into when he found out you'd been planning the auction, it comes as no surprise.

"I was gonna wait to bid until my offering—save me having to make furniture for anyone else—but you being a stubborn git forced my hand. Don't be a twat. Accept the bid."

"Look," Seoyeon interjects, knowing that Jeongguk and Yoongi can both be as bad as one another when it comes to sheer stubbornness. They both have well-weathered heels that love to get stuck in the mud. Instead, she looks at and offers a smile. "Why don't you two speak about it? I'll go get the car running. C'mon, Yoongi. Give them a little time."

"But—"

"C'mon," she interrupts Yoongi, much like he had done to Jeongguk. No matter how assertive Yoongi may be, they both take it in turns to wear the pants, or so to speak. She gets to her feet and encourages Yoongi to do the same. "We're giving you a ride, right? To your place?"

"Think so," you confirm, knowing that it had always been the intention. Seoyeon hasn't been drinking—is on a post honeymoon detox, apparently—so is the designated driver for the evening. Glancing over to Jeongguk, he throws you a quick nod, still stewing in his stubbornness.

After all, it's not your place you're heading to. It's his. Seoyeon just grouped you in together, and funnily enough, neither of you noticed.

You place your hand over Seoyeon's as she gives your shoulder a squeeze, before she drags Yoongi out of the room with her.

"Don't be too long," she says.

Realistically, she doesn't expect you to actually discuss much of the night at all. Just thinks that Jeongguk needs a few moments alone with you.

Jimin had invited everyone back to their place, so peace and quiet really won't be an option for the rest of the evening. It's a night of celebration, and yet Jeongguk looks as if you've just told him his favourite coffee place is closing down.

When the door clicks shut, Jeongguk turns away from you. Walks to the window. Presses his palms against the windowsill and lets his posture ease.

"Y'know for a guy who just got given a golden ticket, you don't seem very happy."

You're met with silence, an unmoving Jeongguk continuing to look out of the window at the sprawling blanket of midnight veiling this part of the city. Building lights twinkle, and light pollution stops the stars from shining quite as brightly as they should do.

Still, as you get to your feet and walk around the table, Jeongguk doesn't need to see the stars to know they're there. Can feel them infuse his bloodstream as your arm slinks around his waist.

Relenting, Jeongguk lifts one of his arms to drape it around your shoulders. Presses a kiss into the side of your head. Squeezes. Derives a comfort from you that can't be found anywhere else. Concedes, "It's just a lot, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you softly agree. "It's a lot."

He could be talking about the money. Could be talking about the evening as a whole. It doesn't matter. You don't ask for clarification.

There's no point in trying to talk him down from this state of stubborn resistance. He needs to feel it; to process it. You know him like the back of your hand at this point, and are certain that he doesn't need you to be reasonable or rational on his behalf. He just needs you to hear him.

"It's a big burden on Yoongi, too," he hums. "If the business goes to shit, it's a wasted investment. He's putting his ass on the line. I feel bad."

You don't think he should. Yoongi is more business savvy than the rest of you combined—it's how he managed to grow his business so well—and so you know this won't be a hastily made decision on his part.

Squeezing your arm a little tighter around his waist, you decide against telling as such. Instead, you simply say, "Your friends love you, Gguk. There's nothing to feel bad about, okay? And Yoongi aside, you've got more in your business account than the bank was ever prepared to give you. Gguk, this is happening."

Standing up straight, you pull away from him ever so briefly to get him facing you. Reaching up, you rearrange a little bit of his hair, preening him for no reason other than loving him.

While a smile so soft Jeongguk thinks you must be made of stardust, you whisper, "You did it."

There's a sweetness to the bashful smile that blossoms on Jeongguk's lips. He's trying not to count his eggs before they hatch, but god damn, it feels amazing to hear you say that. He begins to play with your hair now, preening you for no reason other than loving you right back.

" We did it."

Balmy in the way he looks at you, Jeongguk's eyes are full of so many galaxies it feels as if you've just started studying astronomy. Full of wonder, you can't quite believe that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you. That he considers his achievements to be yours, too.

"Course we did," you smile. "We're, like, the dream team."

"Oh yeah?" He grins, now, pulling you closer. Nudging his nose up against yours, Jeongguk is in just as much disbelief as you are. If he'd have been told on that first night he met you that you'd end up here, he'd have objected. Wouldn't have believed it. Would have said that shooting stars are impossible to catch—yet here you are, in his arms. "Dreamy, huh?"

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you nod and rise to your tiptoes. Let your nose nestle in beside his. "The dreamiest."

Lips sinking between his, it's as if a star is whizzing through your nervous system. Everything sparkles. You, him, the way you both feel.

The way in which Jeongguk kisses you is cosmic. Always has been. Time and space ceases to exist for those moments you spend lost in his embrace. Perhaps it's why it's always been so easy; perhaps you've found exactly where you belong. Nothing else felt comfortable, because nothing else was him.

"Dreams aren't as good as this," he husks against your lips. Hands reaching down to your thighs, he leverages you into a position that is far more indecent. Wraps your legs over his hips, and presses you against the window pane. Grunts as your hands tangle in his hair. Pulls away just to say, "Pretty, perfect star, aren't you? Keep makin' wishes on you and they keep coming true. How'd you do it, baby?"

If Jeongguk actually wants you to speak, he's got a funny way of showing it. Has his tongue in your mouth as soon as he's done making such unreasonable demands. Renders you speechless.

The window you're pressed against is thick, but part of you worries about a freak accident that'll have you transforming from a star into a meteor. You're less concerned about prying eyes. The office space is to the back of the gallery, with only a mountain and the moonlight for a voyeur.

Pulling back from the kiss, you soften the intensity of it all. Whisper, "Magic."

"Magic," he agrees. Doesn't get the memo about potential death. Kisses you again. "And it's all mine, isn't it?"

"Surely it's mine?" You retort with a smile in between the barely-there kisses that he's intent on delivering every half-second.

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, letting his nose nudge against yours. "What's yours is mine."

"We're not married."

"Doesn't matter," he tells you. Believes it. Knows that this is the kinda love you take to the grave, marriage or not. "Mine. Isn't it?"

As sweet as he is, you'll never let a man claim you like that. Will never reduce yourself to be the possession of someone else. Would rather die than say—

"Yours," you needily mumble against his lips, because apparently feminism is taking a day off.

"Yeah, you are," he arrogantly agrees, and doesn't give you a chance to argue back.

Jeongguk has a point to prove. Lost a bidding war earlier and somehow equates it to losing you. Needs reassurance. Confirmation. Obscene affirmations.

His kisses are cardiac, and you're not sure how long your body will be able to survive before it succumbs to everything he is.

He's always thought you'd be the one to eclipse him. If you knew that, you'd think he was mad. How the golden haze of Jeon Jeongguk could ever be tainted, you'll never know. The sun to your stars, he shines just as brilliantly—if not more so.

"Koo," you whine as his hips begin to rut up against you. The buckle of his belt is pressing against you. Gets you feeling all kind of fucked up. Gets you keen. Needy. Wet.

"Yeah, baby?"

"We can't," you tell him, as your hands aren't cupping his jaw, and you're not pulling him back in for more kisses.

They're feverish. Feral. You're a mess of lips, tongue, and teeth, and neither of you cares to be pretty about things. It's beyond that point. Truth be told, the desperation you have for one another only serves to make it an even more gorgeous display of intimacy.

"Told you earlier," he says, his lips dipping to your throat, as he begins to elicit the loveliest of sounds from you. "We ca—"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, get a room," Yoongi almost gags as he barges on into the room, door handle hitting the wall.

You scramble down instantly, beyond thankful that Jeongguk hadn't pulled the front of your dress down like you know he was just about to. Though you're standing now, trying to smooth your dress out, Jeongguk remains in the same position. Hands pressed either side of your head against the window, he's keeping you trapped in. Preserving your dignity, though there's not that much left.

"Do you mind?" Jeongguk grits back to Yoongi. His head hangs a little low, but he casts his eyes to yours to ensure you're okay. Cheeks blushed, your teeth are pressing into your bottom lip, holding back a giggle. He fights a smile, 'cause he's still annoyed with the entire situation, but just can't help himself. Gives in. Silently says, "Love you."

You wanna kiss him again. Tell him you love him too. Tell Yoongi to fuck off—but you owe him one.

As annoyed as he is, Jeongguk knows he owes Yoongi, too.

Turning to face him, Jeongguk keeps you covered. Reaches back. Tucks you a little further in.

It's sweet, admittedly, but it's unnecessary. You don't need protecting, not from Yoongi. Clasping his hand, you walk out from beside him. Stand side by side. Wince a little as you notice the incredibly parental look on Yoongi's face.

"On a technicality," you cheekily reason. "We did get a room."

Though his stern expression persists, there is a slight tremble to Yoongi's lips. Approval, almost.

"I thought the laser tag place was bad, but this was worse," he assures you. "I swear to God, if I walk in on you two going at it one day—"

"You'll owe us," Jeongguk says. "People would pay good—"

He's cut off by the back of your hand lightly tapping his chest. "What Jeongguk means to say is 'you won't'."

You really hope you're right. Walked in on Danbi and Taehyung once. Still carry the mental scars. Never want to inflict that on anyone else.

"Good," Yoongi snorts as he leans against the doorframe. "'Cause I'm already giving you fuckers enough money. Now, are you ready to go?"

"Not before you say sorry," Jeongguk asserts.

The demand takes even you by surprise. Glancing up to Jeongguk with a look of bewilderment, you recognise the look on his face immediately. He's stropping, still. Was annoyed earlier, and is now doubly annoyed for being interrupted. You're not gonna ask, but you'd hazard a guess that his cock is painfully hard in the constraints of his formal trousers. You also don't glance down, for fear of embarrassment if it's obvious.

It's not like Yoongi isn't aware of exactly what the pair of you get up to when you're alone, it's just that no one wants to see their friends' boners.

Or at least, most don't. When you and Jeongguk were just friends, you wanted to see it all the time. Just bestie things, really.

"Sorry?" Yoongi laughs. "I just saved your ass—"

"You made me look like a shitty boyfriend!"

Jeongguk is too busy pouting in Yoongi's direction to notice that you're holding back a laugh. Yoongi did no such thing. Yes, he interrupted the bidding war between Jeongguk and Seokjin, but everyone was too shocked by the bid to care about why Jeongguk might have been bidding in the way that he was.

Realistically, Jeongguk doesn't care about anyone's opinion. Just doesn't want your shitbag of an ex to ever try and use it against him in a pissing contest. Can almost see the smug look on Seokjin's infuriatingly good-looking face as he'd gotten outbid. He did then also realise he'd been outbid, and ended up slinking out of the gallery shortly after.

Jeongguk has never experienced Seokjin's finance bro social circle in the way that you have. He doesn't realise that they'll be reminding Seokjin of his pathetic failure to win on a weekly basis for at least the next six months, or until the next time one of them loses everything to a crypto collapse.

"No," Yoongi corrects Jeongguk. "I sacrificed the money I was gonna make Seoyeon bid on my furniture for bloody painting date instead." He looks at you and grits his teeth apologetically. "Sorry. No offense."

"None taken."

Yoongi nods in your direction, then looks back to Jeongguk and continues. "You know what I was gonna do, Gguk? Was gonna win that furniture, and fit out your restaurant, free of charge. But now? Now I have to make a fuckin' dining table for some rich wanker who wants it shipped to his holiday home in Jeju. Jeju! I'll need to get a shipping container!"

"Or," Jeongguk suggests, 'cause he forgets he's supposed to be having a tantrum. Remembers quickly enough to deliver his solution with an attitude, but not to stop himself from giving a solution altogether. "Go on holiday to Jeju and make it there."

Yoongi purses his lips. Narrows his eyes. Really doesn't want to laugh, but Jeongguk's petulant nature gets under his skin and tickles at his ribs.

"You're annoying," he tells Jeongguk—but he is grinning, now. "C'mon, Seoyeon's waiting in the car. We'll talk business tomorrow. Jimin's got enough alcohol to open that damn restaurant, apparently."

"He has?"

Yoongi nods. "Mhm. He just called. Wanted to know where we were. Said he'd popped to the mart on the way home. Put it all through on the card you guys use for bills. Drinks on you, or so it would seem."

Jeongguk purses his lips. Scrunches them up towards his nose. Wants to play petulant still, but you're tugging on his hand and walking to the door.

Turning back to face him, you smile. Refuse to let him sour this moment with his own stubbornness. "C'mon. Let's celebrate."

And while he can say no to Yoongi, it's far harder to say no to you.

He manages it, though, even if just to say, "Yoongi just give us like, five seconds. Please."

"Five seconds," Yoongi calls back, walking ahead. Knows he walked in on something incredibly illicit and isn't dumb. Knows there are things that need sorting that concern no one but the pair of you.

As soon as the coast is clear, Jeongguk turns away from you. Fiddles around a little, sorts out the angle of his boner so that it doesn't fuckin' ache, and then tosses you your underwear. 

"You'll probably want these in their car."

"You're probably right," you awkwardly agree as you also sort yourself out.

"Want them back later, though," he mumbles as you drag him out of the office space and through the hallways of the gallery.

Though his feet are heavy, and he whines all the way back to the car, Jeongguk'll go wherever you drag him. Down to hell, or across the seven seas. He'd go anywhere. Everywhere. Insane, if he had to.

But as he rubs his thumb over yours in the backseat of Yoongi's car, you know you really don't have to try all that hard.

By the time you arrive, drinks are flowing. Jimin's got a playlist running through speakers, and the sink is full of ice and cans. A few bottles, too.

With one in his hand, Jimin cheers as he notices you all walk in.

"The man of the hour," he beams. Could be talking about Jeongguk or Yoongi. Truth be told, even he doesn't know who he's talking about.

One thing he is sure of is that cheap alcohol needs to be drunk quickly and in abundance. Passes over the bottle he's been swigging on to Jeongguk. It's some shitty cava that Jeongguk is pretty sure should be legally labelled as sparkling wine, 'cause there ain't no way this is the authentic stuff. He grits his teeth as he takes a swig and finds it goes down just as terribly as he thought it would.

Still, he passes it over to you. Says, "tastes like piss."

You drink it regardless. Grit your teeth and hiss a little bit just like he did.

"It's not that bad," you almost choke.

Jeongguk laughs, and takes the bottle from you, swigging down another mouthful. Jimin's already acquired another bottle, so this one belongs to the pair of you now. You could get glasses to drink from, but what's the point? Who cares?

Almost all of the seats in the living room are taken. Danbi and Taehyung have squeezed onto the sofa right between Hoseok and Namjoon, much to their dismay. S'what they get for downplaying this whole totally not a crush thing they have going on.

Jeongguk pulls on Jimin's ear, pulling him out of the armchair across from the sofa.

"Ow, ow, ow," Jimin hisses as he hops up, body contorting into the strangest positions.

Jeongguk turns to face you, then nods towards the now empty chair. "Sit."

"Don't!" Jimin tries to assert, but Jeongguk pinches his ear with a little more strength, and Jimin starts wailing again.

With a terribly hidden grin, you do as you're told. Let the pink of your cheeks blossom quite marvellously, both embarrassed and proud of how easily you fold to Jeongguk's demands. Embarrassed, because letting a man dictate your moves is shameful. Proud, because you know he'll never instruct anyone else like he does with you. There's a confidence to him that he didn't have this time last year. Rejection isn't something he fears, or so it would seem.

"You two dating is the worst thing that's ever happened to me," Jimin sulks when Jeongguk finally lets go of his poor ear.

"Us?" You question. Look to Jeongguk, and are pleased to see him mirroring your expression of utter confusion. "Dating?"

"Oh my god," Jimin groans.

"Jesus, have you taken something?" Jeongguk says with just as much bewilderment. His eyes are so wide that you're surprised they're still in his skull. With a laugh and a shake of his head, Jeongguk continues, "No, no no. We're just frie—"

"Mum," Jimin calls out, very much aware that his mother isn't in the room. It's not who he's calling for. "Dad. They're doing it again!"

Sighing, Yoongi and Seoyeon give each other a subtle look of helplessness—and then they both look at you and Jeongguk with the exact same expression.

Holding his hands up, even though one of them is still wrapped around the neck of the bottle, Jeongguk feigns innocence. It's enough to satisfy them, and as soon as Jimin takes a swig on his drink, he's distracted by Taehyung and Danbi's conversation, of which he quickly inserts himself into.

He also inserts himself into the sofa, right between Danbi and Taehyung. Gives them a taste of their own medicine. Namjoon and Hoseok are further squished into the sides, both just as woebegone as the other.

"He's really quite impressive, isn't he?" You muse as Jeongguk perches on the arm rest. Both of you are looking towards Jimin with bemused smiles on your faces.

"He sure is something." Leaning back, Jeongguk hushes his voice. Says, "Impressive is a stretch. If you need reminding, I'll take you to his room right now—"

"Shut up," you laugh, softly tapping his arm with the back of your hand. He twists slightly in his position so that his arm can rest on top of the chair, allowing for you to cosy into him. Feet on the seat, knees up, your hand slinks over his thigh. It's not indecent or inappropriate in any fashion, just a very undeniable indication of how much you care for one another. "Behave yourself."

It's an unnecessary request, for everyone is letting you and Jeongguk indulge in privacy—or as much as they can when you're in the same room. They just haven't seen this smile on Jeongguk's face in a long time, and nor has Danbi seen a similar one on yours for just as long. It'd be cruel to tear you apart.

"I am," he promises, his eyes glittering with sincerity. Or maybe just with reflections of you. It's hard to tell. "You're the one touching me up."

"Oh, so I can't even touch my boyfriend, now?"

Jeongguk hasn't thought about dying in a little while. Maybe, like, a whole 6 hours. One little acknowledgement of precisely who he is to you? Oh, call the funeral directors. Get Yoongi crafting a casket. He's done for.

"Do you think they'll notice if we go to my room?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"No," you laugh, prizing the bottle from his grasp to take a sip. "I told you to behave."

"I am," he insists, a slight pout on his pretty pink lips. You shake your head, passing him back the bottle, of which is instantly pressed to those lips of his you love so much.

It doesn't take much for his insatiability to rub off on you. The glisten of a little alcohol on his lips, and the way his eyes are so soft despite the stern look he gives you, just gets your tummy feeling all funny. His lips press in on themselves as if he's giving serious consideration to the situation.

Squeezing his thigh, you shrug. Give him a look that his brain instantly translates as trouble—and then his tummy is feeling all funny, too.

"Be a good boy for me tonight and I'll show you how much I appreciate it when we get home," you quietly assure him.

He sinks into the chair like a deflating balloon. Groans. Whines. "B."

"What?" You giggle, as if you don't know exactly which buttons to press. "You gonna behave for me?"

"I'm gonna die," he says. "That's what I'll do, and it'll be all your fault."

"Please don't," you say, then grimace. "I like my men alive."

"Plural?!"

"Stay alive and it'll be singular."

"Fine," he huffs, narrowing his eyes. Shakes his head. "Gonna be the death of me one day, babe."

So wrapped up in your own conversation, you don't notice the occasional glances that find their way to you.

There's not a single soul in that room who doesn't cast their eyes in the direction of you and Jeongguk at some point or another. Nonjudgmental. Kind. Quiet observations of a couple who are somehow both quiet in their affections and yet so abhorrent loud it's almost distasteful.

It's not that your PDA is excessive, or that your conversations are overly loud, or anything like that. It's just that people's eyes are naturally drawn to the brightest stars in the sky.

When Hoseok glances at you, and finds you both smiling in a way that wouldn't look out of place on a dental hygiene ad, he frowns. Isn't sure he's ever looked at anyone like that. Wonders if he ever will. Has had—and currently has—crushes so potent they lingered for months. Has had relationships that did the same. Yet he's seen the way you two amplify the very best of one another without reservation or competition and knows that it's special.

All of your friends know it. Most of them knew before you did.

It's a relief to see you together like this.

As much as Jimin likes to whine and moan about the pair of you, he wouldn't have it any other way.

But by the time he's drunk his bottle dry, he does decide he'd rather have the pair of you being insufferably sweet together in the darkened shadows of Dionysus.

"Not got long left to use your tab," he tells Jeongguk, as if Jeongguk is actually the one who uses it. "C'mon. Let's go."

"Y'know, me and B might just stay—"

"Nope," Jimin interrupts, and before Jeongguk's tipsy brain can react, Jimin's pinching his ear. Getting his own back. Pulling Jeongguk towards the door. "You too, DB. Off we go."

Casting a glance to Danbi to check she's coming too, you sigh. Roll your eyes with a smile.

All you want is to be alone with Jeongguk. It's not even the sex that you're wanting. Just him.

"If you dip after a drink or two, I won't tell him," Danbi whispers, letting go of Taehyung's hand and looping her arm around your waist instead. You reciprocate, glad to be with the people you adore the most in the world.

By the time you're out of the apartment, you're perplexed to see Jeongguk and Jimin both pinching one another's ears. Waiting by the elevator doors, neither of them are enjoying it very much—but they're both very much enjoying the discomfort they're causing one another.

"Toddlers," Yoongi mutters as they waddle into lift together.

The elevator isn't full, and you can all fit, but you need to walk some of the alcohol off. You know your friends and also know damn well that there's no such thing as 'one or two' drinks. You'll be getting starfuckers. That much is a given.

"Gonna take the stairs," you say without much thought.

Jeongguk drops his grip on Jimin instantly. Tugs away and reveals that he could have gotten away the whole time. He just likes being stupid with his friends.

"I'll come with," he offers, darting out of the elevator before it closes.

But like a bad smell he just can't get rid of, Jimin does the same exact thing.

While he loves you both, he absolutely does not trust either of you to actually make it to the club. Will chaperone you there himself even if it forces a detour out of him.

Beaming as if he can't see the scowl on Jeongguk's pretty little face, Jimin leads the way.

"C'mon, besties. Dionysus awaits us."

[multiplicationdivision]

The Transmutation Crew

It wasn’t uncommon to see a construction crew that was entirely identical these days.

It wasn’t cloning, not exactly. With the advent that was transmutation technology, even duplication wasn’t out of the question, but these copied crews did not come from mitosis.

Transmutation was the simple conversion of one material to another. Using a small sample of rare material and converting cheap shit into it. Clay could become ultrahard steel, paint could become a thick gold coating. Construction sites were rife with the machines, letting off heavy bangs as entire freshly built structures were changed at the atomic level into sturdy workings of titanium and diamond.

Like anything on a construction site, there was an expected level of risk. One would fear the conversion of a man becoming hard rock, but this technology had laws. Like became like, inanimate struggled to be animate and vice versa. This risk was rather functionally pretty harmless.

Foreman Adams operates the transmutator, the closest position to the samples of once-rare resources stored at its core. Foreman Adams flips the switched to convert cheap plywood to mahogany, and his own signal echoes outwards as well.

3 men taking a break just a little too close look at their new shared faces, clade in the same belt tucked shirt and blue jeans that had been pristine a decade ago, but were now clung with dust. 2-year-old boots they could all remember shelling out a fair bit of money for, worth it for how well they’d held up.

These new memories always sat comfortably by the original mind. One of the men, Dustin, wouldn’t think twice about how one half of him had been so much shorter a second ago whilst the other felt that he’d functionally teleported away from the machine that his original self was still operating. Dustin would just down the rest of his water and stretch his new bulkier form, absent-mindedly wondering if Adams would let him come home with him that night. Spend a night with his foreman’s rocking husband, reenact countless memories of that man getting fucked by small armies of Adams.

These transformations were typically temporary. Selfhood was overpowering and most people’s identities would win out in the end, shoving off the new skin and memories after a night of rest. Possibly retaining a few errant qualities of the shift that fit well into the original self, acquiring a small amount of muscle or confidence for their trouble. That took practice though, so most of them expected the new kids to fall under the influence of one of their elders for a bit. Or for forever, either or.

A college drop-out they’d picked up a while back hadn’t been on the job for a day before one of their veterans, Roland, had unwillingly taken him under his wing. A single blast and that kid’s face had seemingly shifted permanently, all his shaggy hair shortening into a clean cut and scraggly beard rapidly becoming well-kept. They’d expected the new appearance to fade in a month, but it had been a few too many by this point and it was safe to assume the Rolands would remain a pair. Not that those two were complaining, all buddy buddy between themselves, the drop-out assuming Roland’s identity so much that none on the crew even got to learn his old name. Roland happy to share his house and cigarettes with a man who shared all of his tastes.

Some people were suited to their own self. Call it narcissistic, but each of them enjoyed their turn. It was why operator duty of the transmutator was always an alternating duty. Each of them enjoying a day to themselves, in a way. It was bonding, being this vulnerable. The whole crew having access to every single one of each other’s deep internal lives, understanding it as they did. Mateo’s love for partying, shared across each of the crew after work, picking up chicks and twinks as an identical legion. Archie’s drinking problems, leading his identically bodied friends to embrace the man’s passion for football, all of them shouting for the same team as they lay across each other on a too small couch in one of their living rooms. Lucas’s daredevil tendencies leading five or six of them with broken arms and ecstatic grins in the hospital, regretting nothing and daring to do more the next go around.

This job was one of absolute connection and it wasn’t for the faint of heart. Countless amounts of prospective workers turning away when their soul wasn’t willing to play with new faces, was too rigid to go with the flow. The ones that stayed embraced it, trading jabs and inside jokes as they got to know each other from the inside out. Jose’s body craved a good steak no matter the time. Dallas’s brain was somehow still closeted, despite having fucked countless genders in everyone of his buddies’ bodies. Archie would get amusingly embarrassed even when another one of himself joked about how much they masturbated, especially so when the definition of masturbation was quite stretched in their cases.

Tonight, the guys would likely all go home in Pedro’s truck. Each of them shrugging off the man’s high vis vest in a pile of replicated clothing by the door. Pairs of them fitting into a shower before relaxing outside with their small army of clones. Inevitably curling up with as many as could fit on the bed, enjoying the way their shared brains didn’t mind the overbearing closeness of so many bodies. The newest of their crew would spend too long in the bathroom, acquainting themselves with every curve of Pedro’s older body as the veterans fought over blankets as their favorite talk show murmured in front of them. They’d probably fuck a bit, then pass out. Wake up to some of them in their own bodies as the remaining clones made breakfast, acting as good hosts for their “guests”.

They was nothing closer than a construction crew these days. Nothing like transmutation to make you trust them like you trust yourself, literally placing your life in their hands.

It was the good life, and twenty of the same face could attest to that.

[wendelsae]

Lankiveil

The name Lankiveil is generally believed to be a derivative of Llanc IV Il, apparently named for a young dead machine-prince of the Old Empire whose ferown-tomb still stands on an isolated isle. Shunning this paynim etymology, the Lankiveilis themselves commonly claim Lankiveil to have been the name of the deva that led St. Soobbesm, the bastard son of Maometh's brother's half-wife's concubine's sister, to the planet. The synthetic exegesis makes the angelic Lankiveil be the celestial rebirth of the prince after being freed from jahannam by Soobbesm's prayers.

The planet is noted for its heavy water cover and relatively cold temperature for a biospheric world. Native lifeforms are mostly at a rare Ordovician level of development. Despite this plethora of advanced alien creatures, the most famous animal of Lankiveil, the Vair or so-called Fur Whale, was until recently of Terranic origin.

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Lankiveil had a long history of political & marital entanglement with House Harkonnen, owing to the latter's homeworld of Giedi Prime being mainly of Lankiveili Buddhislamic faith after being swordily converted (from the Sikunic sect) by the infamous usurper-baron Maragir. After the kanly-extermination of House Lankiveil proper in 9997 by Philippos XV Atreides, the Landsraad elevated the native House Minor Rabban to the Amiralhaj County, under condition of feudal duty to their more prestigious kinsmen House Harkonnen.

One will note at once that the Comital title of the Rabbans would normally outrank the Baronial title of the Harkonnens. The Count Glossu, resenting the overlordship of his uncle, was often bothered by this. After the deposition of Leto I Atreides, Vladimir was eligible to claim the title of Duke of Arrakis by right of conquest and so regularize the ranking issue; he refused, on grounds of kanly-honor not to take a title filthied by his foe. Glossu apparently took this as a personal insult, and it is noted that in his last years he arrogated himself the quasi-title of Acting Duke of Arrakis, though never in communications with his uncle.

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There were two main industries on Lankiveil. The first & elder was the lucrative field of religious tourism, for Lankiveil was the great Fifth Kaaba of the largest branch of Orthodox Buddhislam in the known universe. Most of the northeastern archipelago was Sanghamosque land, with the great Ilamamates conventionally passed down to second sons of the House Minor families. The ruler of the planet held the prestigious title of Amiralhaj as secular guardian (and beneficiary) of the pilgrimages. Contrariwise, the Sanghamosque also took an important role in arming House Harkonnen. As an act of pious charity, the Ilamams would purchase enslaved soldiers from the interstellar markets, and free them in exchange for their conversion & renunciation. Naturally, the soldiers were expected to become not common renunciates, but continue their secular profession in a more spiritual tune as members of the Order of Black Chenrezig, the elite crusaders whom the Atreides contemptuously called the "Gwanyin Ghazis". It is said that Gurney Halleck's rejection of such an offer was the beginning of his personal vendetta with Glossu Rabban.

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The other great industry of Lankiveil was of course whale fur. Originally the peltes were merely one of the many products of the traditional whaling of the antarctic archipelago, and it was worn scarcely by even the secular magnates of the northern hemisphere. Buddhislamic teaching regarded the bloody industry as impure & sinful, and this impractical disgust at the livelihood of the southern isles was one contributor to the lack of progress made in catechizing them. And the Siridars, who were almost parasitic on the clergy who were their sole source of profit, did not dare dispute them.

This changed during the reign of Countess Falia Lankiveil-Harkonnen. Her predecessor & elder sister Irina, exposed in a scandalous relation with an Ilamam's designated heir, was found stabbed to death; chaukmurky had been poured into each of her wounds. Falia had spent much of her youth offworld on Kaitain, and when she arrived in Lankiveil's orbit she stopped there, did not descend, and had herself crowned there by a Noukker of the Sardaukar. For the next nine years she remained stationed in orbit while she opened the monasteries & mosques to the pillage of her offworld mercenaries. (Her descendant Muad'Dib, who made Countess Falia a saint of the Golden Elixir, once remarked that while his strategies were learned from hers, even the fury of his Fremen against the heretical homeworld of their oppressors had not matched the ferocity of the sack which she had worked on her own planet.) When she finally deigned descend to the planet to be welcomed by the condottieri she had enfeoffed, she wore a whale fur dress to signal that she was inaugurating a new Lankiveil; she wore the same a two months later on Kaitain for her wedding.

Having created demand and impatient to build up the industry, Falia opened up the planet to settlement from skilled seamen on very generous terms. Many came from many worlds, but the most numerous were the endonymous Astrapaistag- Nonconformist Vajrayana Christians from Yiretel. Their religion, preoccupied with the crucifixion, had little issue slaughtering the beasts that quickly became a symbol of their god.

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While Falia's successors did not continue her ruthlessly anticlerical policy, they did carry on the business she had established. The Buddhislamic clergy in time quietly economized their condemnation of the industry- all except a few monastic hardliners no longer preached against the wearing of the Vair; they merely condemned the unclean paynims who produced it. The Fur Whale was adopted as a symbol of the planet & house, and Lankiveil's southern hemisphere itself became known as Whales. However, an obvious problem quickly faced House Lankiveil- with their efficient industrialization, the whales were being killed faster than they could be replaced.

The original Vair was a creature descended from the fur seals of Old Earth, mostly evolved without artificial intervention. Gestation took three years and twins were rare, to grow to mature size took 50. In favorable markets, to harvest the whales at 20 years of age more than broke even on the cost of the harvest, but this killed them before they had long been in sexual maturity. This system could not go on.

These facts were explained to the Bene Tleilax, who quickly set to work improving the stock. In the first iteration, sexual maturity and growth were accelerated and brood size increased, but at the cost of maternal health; this proved unworkable. The second iteration brought a breakthrough. With appropriate sedation (that of course could be grown in the whale's own body through an additional organ) & the inclusion of certain clotting genes modified from the Yirateli manta, the whales could be captured by a suspensor carrywhale, flayed, and then set back in the sea still alive. Regrowing a pelt was, after all, far quicker than regrowing an entire whale. To protect the harvest the Vairs' natural predators, the indigenous endocerids, were exterminated by a targeted virus.

This revolution in whaling pleased the siridars, but it did not please the whalers. By this time the immigrant Astrapaistag had intermarried & syncretized with the native South Islanders, and the harvest of the whole whale was sacred to them. The new system was like torturing Christ without killing him. There were riots, which were suppressed. Emigration followed. The Buddhislamists, long envious of the favorable exemptions to the Faufreluches that Falia had given the Vajrayana Christians, pushed the siridars to act against this risk to their profits.

A six-year moratorium on emigration was announced while foreign workers were sought. After thirty years the ban was still in place, and the whaling airships had been stuffed with slaves. The Astrapaistag, disappointed by their lords, were courted by Atreides agents. A plan was formed, whereby the main Atreides force would divert Harkonnen attention by the seizure of a space port on Giedi Prime (and dig in, making no further forrays), the Count Rautha would then be murdered by his Falianag bodyguards, and a smaller elite Atreides force would then assist in the Astrapaistag seizure of their planet.

When word came that Giedi Prime faced an unexpected raid by House Ginaz and the Atreides were making their move at once to coordinate, the Lankiveili side of the plot was immediately set in motion. Count Rautha was slain, though his brother Sirush quickly retook the holy city of Haj. The Astrapaistag regime who had seized the Southern Isles were offered relatively lenient terms (Sirush was not entirely displeased with his brother's death), but Alipticon Corippus, their contact with the Atreides, warned them not to trust Sirush and urged them to wait for their allies to arrive. So they waited, and waited, while one by one the islands fell. The leaders of the revolt settled in for a lengthy siege on their last stronghold- they were told the Atreides had been delayed by a counterraid to Caladan but were on their way. But they were instead destroyed almost at once by an orbital strike. Sirush saw little issue with annihilating a single island, and he could rely on the Tleilaxu to help deal with any environmental aftereffects.

The Falianag bodyguard were hanged, drawn, & quartered, while the other Vajrayana Christians were crushed down to the lowest level of the Faufreluches, legally bound to the planet and indeed to their isles of residence, forbidden to practice any other occupation than the filthy art of whaling that their religion now cried out against. Alipticon, who of course had been the traitor, converted to the state religion with Sirush's personal oversight, and was rewarded for his loyalty by being enfeoffed Lord of the Southern Isles, thus to be lamented forever by his former people as the man who had sold his soul for Whales. His House Minor maintained an impeccable record of Buddhislamic piety, and centuries later his direct descendant Zeng Corippus was the Count Glossu Rabban's bashar on Arrakis.

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Free of the need to care about the Astrapaistag's scruples, House Lankiveil, and later House Rabban, gave the Tleilaxu a permanent contract to refine the Vair stock. Seeking greater efficiency, the serpentine vertebrate body plan was discarded in favor of skeletal-esophageal "windowpanes" linked by networks of furred skin. The introduction of this variety was detained only by the need to manufacture new forms of carrywhale to harvest with. Still iterations continued. Few of the high class consumers who bought & wore Vair knew that the original cuddly Fur Whale that seethed rampant on the House Rabban crest was extinct except in a few aquariums.

The Imperial Planetologist Timon Akat, whom Count Abulurd Rabban hired to examine the state of the oceans, reported that while the ecosystem seemed stable to support human life (or at least it was being altered so quickly that it couldn't destabilize), it seemed that almost all native or terranic macroscopic life apart from a few common fish species had been displaced by a trophic network of iterations, most of which bore only a very slant resemblance to the notions of fur or whale. He later wrote, "I'd had to deal with planets where religious dogma meant that there was widespread disbelief in evolution by natural selection, and Lankiveil was one of them, but it was only when speaking to the Bene Tleilax that I began to suspect that religions could exist that regarded evolution as very real, and also mortally sinful. I don't think the Harkonnens could restore their oceans even if they wanted to."

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The natives of Lankiveil are noted for greyish skin, bluish hair, and craggy rectangular faces; these features are common even among the Astrapaistag, who had intermarried much with the old whalers. Renunciates or partial renunciates to Lankiveili Buddhislam have a red triskelion with three dots tattooed on their forehead and cheeks, a triple symbol of the Three Jewels and the Three Muhammads.