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theresattrpgforthat · 1 year ago

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Any RPGs about being an unethical mad scientist or being a mad scientist's creation? Like creating an orangutan with buzzsaws for hands, a horribly mutated two-headed crocodile, grafting a rocket launcher onto a demon's back, giant biomechanical monstrosities, etc.

THEME: Mad Scientist’s Paradise

Hello, so I have a few games that seem specifically tied to mad science, but I also found some games about mutant animals that are a bit more focused on a post-apocalypse. I hope they are still close enough to what you are looking for!

Metamorphosis BX, by Tragos Games.

Metamorphosis BX is a post-apocalyptical MiniBX hack in which you'll roleplay a hybrid survivor in an ever-changing world in which a cataclysm fragmented time and space. It is light both in mechanics and tone, aiming to be fun above all.

This is one of the games where your strange mutations and abilities don’t necessarily come from mad science; but I think they could, if you wanted them to. This is a game that employs the use of roll-tables and gives your characters both benign and malign mutations, with different sized pools of different size dice for your hit dice. What is interesting is that you have a list of different dice pools on what is called your hit dice double-helix, aka HDDH - taking your highest dice from your dice pool every time you take a hit. This encourages your characters to end fights quickly, or avoid them when you can - and it also makes for a highly lethal game.

Mutants in the Now, by Julian Kay.

In the ‘80s and ‘90s, they ruled the streets, kick-flipping off of villainous faces and slipping into the shadows. Then, they vanished from the world of tabletop gaming.

But they’re back. And ready to KICK BUTT.

Mutants in the Now is a retromodern retake on the mutant animal role-playing games long past and left behind by licensing. Mutants fight to survive, thrive, and make the world better for themselves and humanity.

I’m not entirely sure what the origin of your mutation is in this game, and it seems that’s the point. The source of your mutations is meant to be a mystery, although big tech corporations, alien conspiracies, and psychic ninjas are all on the list of potential bad-guys. The game itself has a multitude of good reviews, with a lot of praise for the flexibility available to you at character creation, and a large amount of love for the random tables.

If this game sounds interesting but you want something a little less scienc-ey, you might also want to check out the Mutants in the Next supplement, which adds in cryptids, mythical beasts, and a post-apocalypse setting to throw at your characters.

CyberRats, by Alex Rinehart.

You are genetically engineered Operatives addicted to Biotech, a glowing gel that gives you superhuman powers.

The world is being invaded by extraterrestrials known as Interlopers. You have been employed by a megacorp to ensure that the aliens don't win, and that if they are stopped, it's you who does it, and not some rival corporation.

Winning won't be easy. But it also won't be enough. The right corp must get credit.

Can you stop the aliens? Will you sabotage the military to steal equipment and defense contracts from your competitors? How many Operatives will you lose before you taste victory?

Cyberrats, an illuminated RPG.

Here’s a game all about being lab rats - literally! Cyberrats is a fast-paced shoot-em-up about genetically engineered rats addicted to the substance that gives them super-human powers, up against a terrifying alien threat. Your characters can be altered biologically, but also cybernetically, so I have a feeling rocket launchers and exo-suits are on the table here!

If you want to hear what this game plays like, you can check out the Cyberrats Radio Hour, a 30-minute episode full of alien combat and explosions.

Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones, by ChrisAir.

Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones is a 48pg biopunk facility-crawl for Mothership RPG, inspired by the body horror of Cronenberg’s The Fly and a twisted take on Metroidvania “save stations.” This zine is the first installment of The Sleeper Crew Adventures zine series.

PCs wake up in the Mountain Forces R&D Facility, dropped smack center into the plans of a scientist gone mad in her love for the dead despot that once owned the world. Players must gather clues, navigate NPC motivations, evade monstrosities before they Become the Mutants.

This is less of a gonzo scenario and more built for fans of horror, putting the player characters in a hostile lab environment and threatening them with a number of mutations as they try to find a way to stop the mad scientist big-bad of the adventure.

This isn’t a standalone game, but rather a module for Mothership, which is a game set inspired by Alien and has many, many different kinds of modules that you can run in many different horror scenarios. This module looks rather extensively developed, with printable maps, a set of VTT tokens, and art for all of the listed NPCs and Creatures. If you want a game full of suspense and horror, you should check out Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones!

The UPLIFT, by Kurt Potts.

The Uplift is a tabletop RPG about cybernetically uplifted animal heroes saving the galaxy with superpowers! Think Guardians of the Galaxy, but you're all playing Rocket.

You awaken to find you are both less and more, you are both old and new.

You play animals who've been cybernetically uplifted by some mysterious company or lab. Through your adventures you may get the chance to learn why this was done to you, but by then it may not matter anymore. You're a hero and the galaxy needs saving.

Describe yourself in four steps, and let the GM describe to you the situation the crew finds themselves in. You roll 2d6 for pretty much everything you try, with modifiers for advantages and disadvantages. Each character will have one super-power that allows you to add a third d6 to certain rolls, to increase your chance of beating the difficulty score. You can risk personal injury or busted implants on a failure, and then spend downtime later to fix yourself up.

I like that the designer of this game took the basic rules of WSCA games and combined them with tools like clocks and downtime, which are commonly seen from Forged in the Dark games. It allows the players to deal with bigger setbacks during play, because you know you’ll have a chance to fix them down the road. That being said, you can still choose to die a heroic death if you still want to!

Science & Sabotage, by Live Real Press.

You are a team of evil mad scientists, hell-bent on creating a doomsday device that can bring the world to its knees.

Unfortunately, there is competition for the honor. You must finish your device before they finish their device.

You don't have time to play fair.

This is a game where you actually get to play the mad scientists, rather than their creations. It’s built off of the famous Lasers & Feelings structure, so you just need a d6 or two to play. Race against a rival team of mad scientists to be the first one to destroy the world - or at least, to threaten the world with destruction. This is probably good for a single one-shot, or perhaps, if you want to combine it with one of the other games here, you might want to use this game as a set-up for the event that destroyed the world, or perhaps your scientists are instead racing to be the first to cause mutations on a global scale!

Blister Critters, by stillfleet.

Pick your favorite varmint, grab your dice, and roleplay as a cartoon animal on a radiation-blasted Saturday-morning show!

The humans are gone just like the ozone layer, and the world they left behind is overflowing with danger…

In this innovative and surreal game, you play as a small animal who can wield bizarre mutations called Blisters as well as physics-bending Nonsense powers. These strange abilities—artfully developed within the Grit System—will help you survive in a vast, cruel suburbia populated by fellow Critters and their feral counterparts, Beasts.

The sun will mutate you and give you special powers as you scavenge the piles and piles of loot that the humans have no more use for. The tone of this game is very much like a Saturday-morning cartoon, but you can also turn up the gritty dial and make it about the harshness of this new world if you want to. Blister Critters uses a number of different polyhedral dice, with larger dice assigned to traits you’re good at and smaller dice assigned to traits you’re… not so good at. Your character also has two pools that can diminish: Health and Grit, which represent your hit points and your energy respectively. Your Grit can be spent to power the special abilities given to you by your Blisters, so the course of gameplay will likely require balancing your resources as you work through various obstacles.

The Kickstarter has finished for this game, but you might want to keep an eye on it so you can see when the final product is published. In the meantime, you can also check out the Quickstart, as well as the entries to the Critter City Crawl Jam.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg #mad science #mutations

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ak-vintage · 1 year ago

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Quarry - Chapter 9 (Part 2)

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, unresolved sexual tension, pining, discussions of blasters, masturbation (f & m), praise kink, hand and finger kink, glove kink (sort of), competence kink

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

The Match

“Have you ever fired a blaster?”

You frowned slightly at the question, squinting into the sun as you watched Mando arrange several of the items in question on the rocky slab before you. Though you were still on Trevi IV, the search for his latest quarry ongoing, he had brought you many miles outside the city, deep into the barren plains. It was safer, he said, for your first time handling a weapon.

The landscape was dusty, gravely, and sunbaked, dotted only occasionally with brittle shrubs and thin, twisted trees. The Razor Crest provided nominal shade, and you could already feel sweat beginning to trickle down your spine and pool in the small of your back. A part of you wondered whether perhaps there was a better time or place to do this, but when you had woken this morning, foggy-headed and dry-mouthed, your companion had seemingly decided that teaching you how to handle a firearm was at the top of his priority list.

“No, never,” you replied with a shake of your head.

The bounty hunter nodded slowly, almost absently, and began picking up each blaster pistol he had laid out one by one – examining the sights, testing the weight in his palm, pulling back the action to get a look at the power pack, the gas cartridge.

“How much do you know about them – their mechanics, their operation?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Only a little. Small tech has never really been my specialty.” You thought back to all those months ago, when you had considered attempting to disassemble your binder cuffs as a means of escape. “I could probably…tear one apart? Break it down into its components? But I’m not sure I could tell you what the pieces do,” you admitted.

The Mandalorian nodded again. “In my culture, weapons are an integral part of our religion,” he explained. “Children are given blasters as a rite of passage. We go through extensive training on blaster assembly, operation, maintenance, and safety, and we are expected to be highly proficient by our thirteenth birthday.”

As he spoke, he continued the slow, methodical examination of the pistols. Calmly, confidently, he handled each one, and though you weren’t entirely certain what he was assessing, you felt as though you could watch him do it as long as he wished. There was something reverent about it, and suddenly the connection to spirituality made sense.

“After we turn 13, we can begin training with other, more specialized weapons if we so choose, but you will never find a Mandalorian without a blaster as part of their personal arsenal,” he continued. “However, you are neither Mandalorian, nor are you training to become a warrior. As such, your training will have different goals.”

You raised your eyebrows at that, even as a ripple of relief passed through you. “Such as?”

Mando met your gaze finally, setting the last blaster back down on the slab. “First, safety. Most blasters have a ‘stun’ setting, which is what we will be using, but they can also be deadly weapons. In inexperienced hands, a blaster is far more dangerous to the wielder than the target.” He beckoned you forward with a flex of his orange-tipped fingers. “I’ll teach you how to properly handle a blaster – how to manage the different settings, how to carry it, hold it, store it. And I’ll teach you how to safely reload and how to keep it from overheating. Then, target practice,” he added. “We’ll start with large, stationary targets and, over time, introduce smaller, moving targets at greater distances.”

You studied the selection before you, a total of five different blaster pistols of varying sizes, materials, and configurations, and fresh nerves began to flutter in the pit of your stomach. Before you could allow them to take hold of you, however, the bounty hunter’s big, heavy hand came up to grip your arm, and your eyes snapped to his.

“I don’t expect you to be a perfect marksman,” he assured you, his voice softer and gentler then. “But I need to know that you are able to protect yourself. And the child. In time, I want to feel confident that if I’m away, the two of you would be just as safe out in the world as you would be inside the Razor Crest. You deserve to see the galaxy beyond the walls of a gunship. Both of you do.”

The space around your heart melted, settling your nerves and softening the tension in your muscles you hadn’t even realized you had been carrying. The Mandalorian was no less intimidating to you now than he was when you first met, but at least now you were secure in your belief that he was a good man under all that beskar.

So you nodded, and you squared your shoulders, meeting his visor with your gaze. “I understand. I’ll try my best.”

“Good,” he replied. He sounded pleased, almost proud. “Then let’s begin. We’ll start by seeing which of these best fits your body. Pick one to start with.”

The two of you spent the next several minutes evaluating each of the blasters Mando had selected for you, feeling their weight, ensuring that the grip was comfortable for the size of your hands. He had you extend each one as though to fire it so you could feel its balance, and any that you felt were too heavy or impossible to hold steady he set aside.

When you had finally managed to narrow down your options to two, as promised, he began the safety portion of his instruction. You watched carefully as he showed you how to turn the safety settings on and off on each and how to grip them with your finger off the trigger, only moving it into place when you were actually ready to fire. After demonstrating it himself, he made you practice while he watched – check the safety, pick up the blaster, flick off the safety, gently lay your index finger on the trigger, remove your finger, turn the safety back on, lay the blaster back down.

Only when he was satisfied with the confidence and fluidity of your movements did the Mandalorian move on to showing you how to reload. Open the action, release the spent gas cartridge, click the new cartridge into place, close the action.

Again, he demonstrated, once slowly with verbal explanations and then again faster and silently, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the ease and grace of his leather-clad hands, the dexterity of his long, thick fingers. You recalled the sensation of those hands on your skin – caressing your neck, your jaw, your cheeks. The firm, assertive grip around your arm, the ghost of a touch on the insides of your wrists, the steadying press against the base of your spine in a crowd. Both soothing and inflaming, in equal measure.

You fumbled your way through your own demonstration with your face hot and your throat dry. So thoroughly distracted were you that he forced you to unload and reload both blasters more than ten times each, just to really drive the point home. Only when you complained that the tips of your fingers were starting to go numb did the bounty hunter finally allow you to take a break.

“Think you’re ready to try shooting one?” he asked after giving you a moment to shake out your hands.

You swallowed thickly, the quivering, burning sensation of lust suddenly replaced with nerves. Still, you nodded. You trusted him to keep you safe. And to withhold judgment if you ended up being a piss-poor shot.

Mando inclined his helmet in the direction of a craggy rock formation jutting up out of the dusty desert ground some 20 meters away. It was sizeable, about your height and twice as wide.

“You’re going to try to hit that rockface, as close to the center as you can manage,” he said. Pulling his own blaster out of its holster, he set his feet shoulder width apart and took aim. “Pay attention to how I’m holding my body. My arm is steady but not rigid, my shoulders are relaxed, my footing is firm, solid.”

His invitation had the lust rocketing back up to the surface again as you allowed your gaze to trace his form, silhouetted in gleaming beskar and dark fabric against the sun-washed landscape. Impossibly broad shoulders, long limbs. Thick thighs, strong arms, and his tattered black cape fluttering in the wind, every once in a while giving a glimpse of his perfectly shaped ass. You didn’t know when you had started noticing such things. All you knew was that now, it seemed impossible not to notice.

He oozed competence, and it was intoxicating.

The raspy modulation of his voice pulled you out of your musings, forcing you back into the moment. “We’ll get to shooting while on the move or from different positions eventually,” he said, lowering his blaster and slipping back into its holster. “Today, I just want you to get comfortable standing and stationary. Now, let’s see what you can do. Pick a blaster and give it a try.”

___

“Try again.”

You gritted your teeth and squinted against the relentless clouds of dust kicked up by your missed shots. You had missed so many at this point, you had begun to lose count. Sweat streaked down your back and your temples. It coated your palms, making your grip on the blaster evermore precarious. You could sense Mando losing his patience in the clipped tone of his encouragement, and it made you burn with embarrassment. Leveling the blaster once more in the direction of the rockface, you squeezed the trigger again.

A puff of dust erupted from the ground to the right of the rock formation, and you bit back a curse.

“Again,” Mando commanded, short and gruff.

A wave of bitter frustration rose in your chest, and you sighed heavily, pulling the trigger almost carelessly. That miss was worse, now several inches in front of the target.

A sound something like a growl crackled through the bounty hunter’s helmet modulator, and you heard him mutter something unintelligible in Mando’a before saying, “You’re getting further away.”

“Oh, thanks for that. I hadn’t noticed,” you replied cuttingly. You dropped your blaster arm for a moment, rolling your head on your shoulders in an attempt to release some tension. However, when you brought it back up to take aim once more, you caught sight of your companion’s arm shooting out toward you.

“Stop. Hold there,” he snapped, approaching from where he stood off to the side. “Pay attention to your stance, your grip. Does that feel like what I demonstrated?”

You groaned deeply, your head dropping back on your neck and your eyes sliding closed, almost as though in prayer. “I don’t know any more!”

“Yes, you do. Now pick your head up. What’s wrong with what you’re doing right now?”

“Damn it, Mando – !”

Suddenly, that firm, confident grip was back, his time on your shoulder. The Mandalorian had closed the distance between you, cupping the ball of your shoulder in his palm, his long fingers extending along your trapezius muscle, warming, soothing. “Relax,” he demanded, leaving no room for protest. “You’re getting frustrated, and it’s clouding the connection between your mind and your body. Now, breathe in with me, from your diaphragm. I don’t want to feel your shoulder move, understand?”

You swallowed and nodded stiffly.

“In,” Mando ordered, inhaling deeply. You allowed yourself to follow his lead, careful to breathe from your belly, feeling it expand against the heavy fabric of your new boilersuit. “Out.” You exhaled, sensing the slowing of your heartrate and the gradual dissolution of your aggravation.

He nodded once, seemingly pleased with your capitulation. “Good. Again. In…out.” You obeyed once more, and to your mild annoyance, you felt the last of your irritation evaporate on your exhale.

“Now tune in to your body. What’s out of place?”

Dropping his gaze, you turned your attention inward, sending it out into your limbs, your extremities. The warmth of Mando’s hand on your shoulder was a glowing beacon to your senses, comfortable, happy, content, but the rest…

“I…my knees,” you murmured, your voice breathy and distracted. “My knees are locked.”

Your companion nodded. “Good. Unlock them. A slight bend is safer and more sustainable, especially in this heat,” he said, matching the softness of your tone. The sound, the intimacy of it, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “What else?”

Immediately, you said, “My weight is uneven. I’m leaning more on my right leg than my left.” It was so obvious now that you were paying attention. You were wildly out of balance.

“Yes. Correct it.” You did so instantly, centering yourself completely over both feet. “Now tell me about your shoulders.”

Shifting slightly beneath his grip, you felt the ache in the taut muscle, the way your shoulders had somehow managed to creep up around your ears without your permission. “I’m…I’m tense,” you replied, feeling as though you were stating the obvious. Certainly he could feel how stiff you were.

“Why? What are you afraid of?”

Your eyebrows rose at the unexpected question. “I don’t know.” You thought of the way the blaster jumped back in your hands, small, easily absorbed, but always unexpected. The durasteel felt foreign, cold, and intimidating in your palm. “The recoil, maybe,” you mused. “The…blaster itself.”

You felt more than saw the Mandalorian tilt his helmet in acknowledgment. “Having some fear of a weapon is wise, healthy even. It will help prevent you from getting careless,” he conceded. “But a blaster is merely a tool. It is an extension of yourself. Allowing the fear to take hold will only make it more dangerous.”

You nodded, releasing a sigh. He was right, of course. You worked with tools every day that were just as dangerous as a blaster. Your fusion cutter had been nearly glued to your hip lately, and if you didn’t handle it the way you had been trained, it had just as much potential to harm you as the pistol in your hand. You needed to relax. Mando wouldn’t let anything hurt you.

As though he had read your thoughts, the man in question shifted to stand behind you then, bringing both of his hands up to your shoulders and slowly, purposefully lowering them back down to a more neutral position. You felt your heart rate increase at the touch, all while your rigid muscles warmed and relaxed. His palms were hot through his gloves. If you hadn’t already been sweating in the desert sun, the heavy stretch of his hands on your body would have been enough to start.

“Good,” Mando murmured, his rasping praise almost too soft to register to his vocoder. You felt a swooping, dropping sensation behind your navel at the sound, and it took all your strength to not allow your eyes to close, to not lean into his presence mere inches behind you. “Now, take aim at the rock again. Look down the barrel. The rock should sit directly on top of the sight.”

Clenching your jaw, you did as he said and adjusted your aim, raising your arm just enough so that the rock hovered, barely touching, on top of the sight at the end of the blaster pistol’s barrel.

“Are you ready?” he asked. His hands remained on your shoulders. They held you steady, kept you centered.

Swallowing thickly, you replied, “Yes.”

“Fire.”

You pulled the trigger, firm and quick, before you could lose your nerve...

And another explosion of dust burst from the ground to the right of the rock, choking the air around you.

“You’re holding your breath,” Mando accused.

You let your arm drop back down to your side, defeated, and loosed a colorful curse. “Well, how exactly am I supposed to hold my arm steady if I’m breathing?” you snipped. You could feel the tension bubbling back up in your limbs, in your neck. “I’m swaying all over the place, every time I breathe in!”

The bounty hunter’s hands slipped from your body then, and you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see him bring one up to his helmet, almost as though he was pressing on the bridge of his nose through the layers of beskar and padding. “Show me your stance,” he commanded once again.

You didn’t even attempt to repress your groan. “Mando – ” you started to whine.

But he didn’t allow you to continue. “Show. Me. Your. Stance.” If you didn’t know better, you would guess that he was speaking through his teeth. He was calm, but it was an effortful calm, as though he was now fighting back just as much impatience and frustration as you.

Feeling appropriately chastised, you reset your stance from the ground up – feet shoulder width apart and securely on the ground, knees slightly bent, hips centered, weight evenly distributed, spine straight and tall, arm extended, hand firm but not strangling around the blaster grip, the rock balanced gently on the top of the sights. Everything as it had been moments before.

When you had missed. Again.

“This time, when you’re getting ready to shoot, breathe in slowly, exhale, and then fire,” he instructed once you had settled back in.

You pulled a scowl at that. “What’s the difference between that and just holding my breath?”

The Mandalorian was quiet for a moment, the only sound the desert wind rustling through the sparse shrubs, the wiry trees. You dared a peek over the cap of your shoulder once more and found him standing with his hands on his hips, staring at the ground as though contemplating something carefully. You drew your lower lip between your teeth as you watched him, your confusion growing with the silence, but before you could ask him what was wrong, his gaze snapped back up to yours, and you swore you could feel his eyes on you even though you couldn’t see them through is visor.

“I’ll show you the difference,” he said, a note of finality in his modulated voice. He took one step toward you then another, and then suddenly it felt as though you had blinked and he had crossed the distance between you, sliding up behind your back, his left hand slipping around the front of your body to settle on your belly, his right hand wrapping around yours on the pistol grip.

A molten wave of heat flushed through your system at the contact, settling high in your cheeks and low in your abdomen, right under where his palm now spread – so gentle, so steady. You felt surrounded, swallowed by him. His presence loomed hardly an inch behind you, the warmth and the breadth and the power of him so close and yet not nearly close enough. Your knees felt watery, your spine prickling, begging to melt back into him, to mold yourself against the hard planes of his cuirass, his thigh armor.

“This all right?” Mando murmured, his deep baritone a hairsbreadth from your ear. You wondered whether he could feel you tremble at the sensation, whether he could sense how he was affecting you. Your brand-new panties were soaked now. Hot and slick, they clung to your lips inside your boilersuit.

Breathlessly, you replied, “Yes.” Because it was all right, you realized. He could touch you whenever he liked, however he liked, and you would welcome it. You knew that now.

“Then take aim,” he commanded, giving a light squeeze to your right hand where it gripped the blaster. You obeyed instantly, centering the target rock formation over the sight.

“Breathe in.” His abdomen expanded behind you, barely brushing your back, and you copied him unquestioningly. Your belly pressed into the palm of his hand.

“Out.” You exhaled slowly and evenly, and then, at the very bottom of your breath, you felt the pressure over your blaster hand increase. “Fire,” Mando ordered. Your index finger flexed smoothly, easily, and the blaster discharged once more.

Shards of sandy rock burst from the target as the bolt of energy finally collided with its face.

You let out a whoop of victory, nearly collapsing in relief. “Ha! I did it!” you shrieked, gesticulating wildly at the rock formation, pulling yourself out of Mando’s grip.

A chuckle rumbled through his vocoder, and he inclined his helmet in your direction, crossing his arms over his chest. “Kandosii, gotabor’ika. Well done.”

You felt yourself begin to laugh, too, as you swiped the back of your hand across your sweaty forehead. “I can’t believe I hit it.”

“Only just,” the bounty hunter corrected. “You’re still pulling down and to the right when you squeeze the trigger.”

Again, he was correct – the jagged scar from your blaster bolt was nowhere near the center of the rockface where you had meant to be aiming, but you refused to allow such details ruin the rush of your success. “Oh, come on, Mando, that’s the closest I’ve gotten all day! I actually hit the rock. Let me celebrate a little!”

His gaze on you felt warm even through his impassive helmet, as though you could sense a smile on his hidden face. “Of course. We have a way to go, but for your first day of training, you’ve done well. Perhaps we will make a marksman out of you yet,” he said wryly, and oh, you could have melted at the praise.

“Maybe you will,” you replied, the tip of your tongue touching the corner of your smile.

___

The Flame

“Damn it,” you swore softly to yourself as you wrestled with the zipper of your boilersuit. It occurred to you as you writhed and wriggled, working the heavy fabric down your body, that perhaps you hadn’t thought this through. The somewhat claustrophobic confines of the Razor Crest’s bunk alcove weren’t exactly an ideal place to try to disrobe, but when the opportunity for a bit of privacy had presented itself, you hadn’t had time to weigh your options.

The chance to relieve the molten hunger that had been building inside you all day was well worth a bruised elbow or a bump on the head here or there.

The distraction of your minor victory earlier hadn’t lasted long. As soon as the thrill of watching your blaster bolt hit its target for the first time faded, the longing had returned. The weight of the Mandalorian’s hands on your body, his heat wrapped around you like a cloak, his deep, rasping voice dropping praise in your ear… All of it had felt more appropriate to a late-night tryst than a shooting lesson, and your body had responded accordingly. You could hardly remember the last time you had taken someone into your bed, but you were certain that you had never wanted another person the way you had come to want him.

Thankfully, Mando had not made you continue to practice for much longer. You had been allowed to stop shooting all together, eliminating any excuse you may have had to prolong his physical contact. He simply asked you to repeat your demonstrations of the safety and reloading protocols he had taught you earlier, as a review. You had managed to wrangle your frayed concentration long enough to do so, but when he had met your efforts with a soft-spoken “very good, gotabor’ika,” you had been nearly desperate to excuse yourself.

You had feigned fatigue when he invited you to join him and Grogu in the cockpit for the flight back to Trevi City, claiming to need a nap after overexposure to the sun. He had inclined his helmet at you graciously, encouraging you to “take all the time you need.”

His boots had barely disappeared from the top rung of the ladder before you were ripping off your own, diving into the bunk, and hastily shutting the blast doors.

Now, with your boilersuit crumpled in a haphazard ball at the foot of the mattress, clad in nothing but a matching set of black cotton underclothes, you finally allowed your hand to slip down your body to the place that had been aching for attention. Your heart thundered in your ears, your breath loud in the confines of the bunk alcove as you gently, tentatively cupped your sex over your underwear. You smothered a moan in the bend of your other elbow at the delicate pressure. The fabric was hot and absolutely soaked, clinging to your form like a second skin.

Ultimately, Mando had barely touched you. Your shoulders, your hands, your belly. The suggestion of a breath on the back of your neck. If this was how you reacted to so little contact, what would it be like for him to truly touch you?

You felt that same tugging, swooping sensation behind your navel from earlier at the thought, and your pussy throbbed, clenching around nothing. Unable to resist for another moment, you softly, tentatively slid your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and between your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” you sighed, swallowing heavily against another moan. Maker, it was good. Warm and slick and perfect, the friction of the pads of your fingers making you quake. Your clit was already swollen and sensitive. You could feel your nipples pebble and tighten under your breastband as your touch barely skimmed it, light and suggestive. Normally, you preferred to work yourself up a bit before you got down to it, but you could tell just from that first touch that this wasn’t the day for teasing.

You could feel your body melt into the bunk mattress as you began to play in earnest. Your knees falling apart to give your hand more room to move, your back arching in pleasure, your other hand dropping to grip and massage a breast. A whine slipped out from between your lips at that, and suddenly, it was as though it was Mando’s hand pulling down your breastband, Mando’s fingers teasing and plucking your nipples. It was Mando’s touch between your thighs, rapidly circling your clit, Mando’s fingers sliding down to your entrance, collecting more of your juices.

You wanted him inside you. You could feel your body grasping, thrusting into your own touch, begging for something to fill you up and give you something to bear down on. You whimpered loudly, no longer aware of your own volume enough to keep it in check. You couldn’t take it anymore, you had to –

Thunk.

The sound of something heavy dropping onto the metal deck plating sounded on the other side of the alcove doors. Mando had jumped down into the cargo hold.

Your hands froze, one still buried in your panties, the other gripping one of your breasts. The continued pressure, firm and stationary, was nearly unbearable, but you drew your lips between your teeth and bit down, willing yourself silent and still. Your heart was racing, and you could feel sweat gathering at your temples, in the small of your back, behind your knees. Wordlessly, you prayed to every deity you had ever heard of for him to leave. You were too pent up to have to stop now.

However, your prayers were not to be answered.

You heard the metallic hiss of the ‘fresher door sliding open and closed again, followed by the groan of the shower turning on.

He was taking a shower. Right on the other side of the thin panel of durasteel that made up the alcove wall.

…if you were going to finish, you were going to need to be absolutely silent.

Without allowing yourself to consider it further, you rolled over onto your front, wrapping one of your arms around the thin, threadbare pillow and burying your face in it. Trapping your other hand between your body and the mattress, you slowly, gently slipped your middle and ring fingers inside your pussy.

You moaned into the pillow at the stretch, tight and hot and absolutely dripping. Maker, Mando was so close to you – just on the other side of the wall, likely stripped naked like you were, standing under the steaming rush of the showerhead. Faceless, as he always was in your mind, but with the golden tanned skin you had seen but once, water streaming down his muscled shoulders, his broad, masculine chest, his soft stomach. You thrust your hips into the mattress at the thought, mindlessly fucking yourself on your fingers, grinding your swollen clit into the heel of your palm.

You weren’t going to last much longer. Having the object of your fantasies so close seemed to have sparked an urgency in you, the thought of him perhaps hearing your whimpers and moans so desperately smothered into the pillow lighting your nerves on fire. Your clit pulsed against your hand; your walls clenched around your fingers. Your hips circled and bucked of their own accord, chasing your release. It was too much, all of it was too much. You were going to come –

And then you heard it.

A soft, low groan, muffled against the wall of the ‘fresher. Purely male. Unmodulated. Unmistakable.

“Oh, fuck,” you sighed, feeling your pussy leaking onto your palm, onto the mattress. He was touching himself, too.

You couldn’t have held back your orgasm in that moment if you had tried. You shoved your face deep into the pillow as your pleasure ripped through your body. You could feel yourself drooling into the fabric, your mouth hanging open in a silent cry, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The smell of Mando’s soap, woven into the seams of the mattress, seeped into your senses and drew out your trembling.

By the time the last of the aftershocks had passed over you, your breast band hung loose around your waist, much of your hair had escaped from your braid to stick to your sweating forehead, and your underwear had become so twisted and wet that they were now startlingly uncomfortable. Drawing out your hand, dripping and sticky, you barely managed to shove them down your legs to join your boilersuit before you drifted off to sleep.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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mossker · 3 months ago

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sunshine ‘verse character sheets

you can read the parkner centric fic series here <3

where a spilled coffee and forgotten name blossoms into something so much more

The main characters

Peter Parker (sunshine)

-17 years old

-CEO in training / heir to Stark Industries, hates being called anything like ‘sir’ or ‘Mr Parker’

-works in the labs, shadows Pepper, full time student, daily Spider-Man patrols, barely functioning but still working to high standards

-meets Harley after spilling fresh coffee all over him

-loved by literally everyone, especially MedTech lab 2 staff

Harley Keener (cowboy)

-18 years old

-Peter’s replacement (Tony’s new Personal Intern)

-9-5 worker in Tony’s lab, spends half of his free time with Peter, NYU prospective student

-falls hard and fast for Peter after getting covered in coffee but never getting his name

-misses his family but struggles to talk about them, prefers to listen than to talk

The Mentors

Tony Stark

-recruited Peter when he was 14, Harley at 18 (but has known Harley since 11)

-mostly works on Avengers tech with a focus on IronMan and Spider-Man suits

-constantly overworking, but tries to keep Harley on regular hours to appease Pepper

-loves the kids but really wishes they weren’t so obsessed with each other

Pepper Potts

-Peter’s mentor from his final year of highschool onwards

-works long days, immerses herself in international business, PR, marketing and trades

-really wishes Peter knew what a healthy work-life balance is

-cherishes ‘family dinner’ nights

Key SI Staff (OC’s)

Anya Velour

-35 year old lab director of M-2 but unofficially works as the R&D department head

-has 6 interns, 4 of which somehow exploded a project and landed themselves in hospital and with PTO

-was the first lab director to take Peter in after a missed lab session and took him under her wing

-overworked but loves her job, is besties with Celine from Chemistry-3 and Lucille from HR

Malia Hale

-18 years old, youngest intern at SI, almost finished with her degree in biomedical engineering

-can speak English, Spanish and French

-loves her job and aspires to be the head of R&D within the next decade

-doesn’t have many friends outside of work, but is quickly seeing Peter as her best friend and loves the other M-2 interns

Charles Li

-22 years old, second year MedTech intern with a Biochemistry and Mechanics dual degree

-lone wolf outside of work, introverted, mostly interacts with only Peter, Malia and Anya

-enjoys travelling, hopes to become Stark Industries’ international R&D correspondent

-silently struggling to balance work and problems with his family

#peter parker #spiderman #harley keener #tony stark #pepper potts #mcu fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic writing #peter parker x harley keener #parkner #sunshine ‘verse #my ocs #i’m obsessed with them

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legacygirlingreen · 1 year ago

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A New Era…

See what I did there… because it’s the eras tour… and the start of a new era for me fandom wise… I’ll let myself out 😭

Hi friends,

I know it’s definitely been a while since we had a little fireside chat of sorts. I never wanted to be that person who posted this big long rant with nasty call outs or annoyed remarks. But, I have to be honest. I am really, really growing to find writing for Hogwarts Legacy to be a chore. It used to come by so naturally and I’ve lost a lot of the enjoyment due to fandom fighting, the lack of a real update with the recent announcements and just some honestly, nasty anon asks I’ve received over the last few weeks.

I have a lot going on in my personal life right now and with that, it’s caused this fandom to feel more like a burden than an escape. I have surgery coming up and it just doesn’t feel like the supportive, loving, atmosphere it once did in so many ways… So for a while I think I’m going to shift gears until I find the energy to return to my works.

Having been on tumblr for a long time, I’m sick of starting over with every shift in fandom interest so I have decided to leave this tumblr, add to it and let it be a hybrid of my interests. I will return to working on my HL content, I just don’t have a set date for it.

To those who will likely depart this blog due to this announcement, thank you for the support. I hope life treats you well. To those willing to jump to a side project I’ve been working on, I’m excited to bring you all along. And to those who may soon find this blog from other spaces, welcome.

I just really need a break from what I’ve been doing and I’ve found inspiration elsewhere in the meantime.

Thank you all for being understanding and know that I have truly enjoyed the ride with this blog so far and hope to continue to do so as I post a project that I’ve been inspired by the finale season of the Bad Batch to write. I won’t give way too much, but I’ve got 50k words on my hard drive so far and I’m still going for our favorite mechanical engineer, pilot, riot racing, definitely not dead in my delulu: Tech

(If anyone actually is interested in a teaser I would love to share)

Once again, I hope this can be a discourse. Let me know your thoughts, opinions, etc. if you are willing to give other content a try and aren’t so familiar with the animated side of Star Wars I will gladly send you a guide I made for my best friend to aid. She has no knowledge of the animated series, and as someone who went to film school purely for my love of the clone wars, this return to the universe in many ways has felt like coming home. It’s where I have always felt the most safe. It’s where I always felt the most inspired. I am just overall so thankful to have found joy in writing once again as I feel like I lost it for a while there.

I am sorry if I have disappointed anyone, I just really need a break from HL creating until I sort out my life. I’ll still lurk on my lovely mutuals since I do love you all so dearly. @eternalremorse @writing-intheundercroft to name a few. I also owe this wonderful fandom for my best friend in the whole world. It’s a love of mine, right now I think we would be better on a break… if that makes sense…

That being said, I am so, so, SO thankful for the last year (plus a few months but who’s counting) with you all. I really do look forward to eventually coming back. Right now, I just would love to explore other avenues while I’m feeling so drained.

That’s all for now but I hope to post new content soon,

- M 💚

PS : to anyone who’s found this under TBB tags… I’m a bit nervous to dive back in to the Star Wars realm since I deleted all my old ST fics but I’m ready to try again…

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #personal #explanation #my blog #the bad batch #tbb tech #new fandom content #please dont hate me #SERIOUSLY I MAY CRY IF YALL GET MAD AT ME #tbb #tbb spoilers #sw tbb #tech #the bad batch tech

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sgt-scottymoreau · 1 year ago

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Beginning of the end, End of the beginning - CIAJ

Summary: A few years after the first kaiju came throught the Breach, more breaches appeared throught out the world focing almost each nations to make their own line of defense. In England, 4 SAS soldiers decided to join the Jaeger program. Throught hardship and derermination they built themselves a reputation and are known the TF-141. Camille, or Scotty to her friends, is freshly new arrived J-tech at the Plymouth Shatterdome. She has no trouble blending in the new crowd and make friends easily, even with the Rangers. But there might be something more going on between her, Soap and Ghost. Life is about to change for all of them, not in a way they expect.

Warning: None

Words: 4.2k // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: Welcome to my new AU of an AU where I get to be a huuuuge nerd about Pacific Rim because, this my favorite movie of all time! This will be a multiple chapters project. I don't know how long or how it will evolve, but it will be fun to find out. Here is some more info I have about it before I started to write if you are curious. Althought some might change as I write as the post was sort a draft, take it with a grain of salt :)

Feet hanging down, she looked at the jaeger's core from a distance. It was always a sight to be seen. Although the Mark-4 didn't have the same feelings as the nuclear core of a Mark-3, Scotty was still in love with it. A quick glance at her watch, she had half an hour before her shift would start. She grabbed a piece of food from her tray and kept eating in silence. Or as much silence the maintenance area provided with the drilling, metal clinking, shafts and other mechanical engines roared in a harmonized cacophony.

Scotty had been transferred to the Plymouth Shatterdome six months ago. They needed extra hands and she proposed herself. After all that happened almost a year prior, she needed a change of everything. A new place to sort of start anew. At her arrival, she was assigned to Bravo Tanker, one of the two Jaegers of the TF-141.

TF-141 was composed of 4 ex-SAS members who joined the Jaeger Program a few years back. Johnathan “John” Price had been the oldest member as he was part of few people who piloted Mark-1. Lucky enough he didn’t for long before moving to Mark-2 who were slightly safer and didn’t leave terrible health consequences on his body.

Simon Riley, mostly referred to as Ghost by many, was a rather mysterious pilot. His academics, results and training were very honorable and an example to many. One of the best pilots. However the mystery around laid in the fact that the man would always be wearing a balaclava for a reason no one knew. He kept his past a secret to everyone and was a man of few words in his free time. He wasn’t cold or asocial per se, but he kept some interaction to minimum. But once you knew him, you would be surprised that he had a sense of humor and quite enjoyed his little army jokes.

Kyle Garrick, nicknamed Gaz by Price quote “he doesn’t talk much”, wingman of the ex-captain, he had a great tactical mind who often proved to be a great asset during deployment, he also had very good academic records. He held the record for the longest simulation training; twelve hours. Stable and came out feeling perfectly fine. He had a quick reaction time and would find solutions to many problems in a few seconds. He was reliable and someone you rather liked as a friend than an enemy.

John MacTavish, alias Soap, a name he got from his time in the military, was the fairly newer member. Always eager to jump in the cockpit to defeat the Kaijus. But his playful demeanor is only the tip of this iceberg. Under his optimistic charm was also a tactical man who knows his explosives and weapons like the back of his hands. He learned a few tricks from the J-Techs on how to fix small issues on the Jaegers if needed.

Price and Gaz were pilots of Bravo Brawler, a Jaeger made to fight in a close combat ranger, but was also armed with four missiles, two in each arms for distance. Soap and Ghost, Bravo Tanker, Jaeger build to endure hard blows and take repeated hits. Which means a very high maintenance mega weapon sadly.

On her first time at the Shatterdome, she quickly blended in with the crew. Two weeks later, the chief engineer took her under his wings as an assistant. He was impressed by her knowledge and there was a little something that felt that she knew more about Jaegers than she let know. Although she was very capable of fixing any part of the mecha, Scotty was assigned to the Conn-Pod or cockpit. Again, she surprisingly had a very good knowledge of everything that happened there. Being a J-Tech, Scotty never really expected to befriend pilots, it felt like an honor. For a while, she admired the TF-141 from afar, or close in her case when she would help them suit up or briefly pass them as she entered the cockpit for maintenance after their deployment, never really pushing herself to get to know them better. Until her third week at her new home.

She was elbow deep in grease, trying to fix one of the enormous ankle joints till she heard someone clearing his throat in the back. Hands still inside the construction, Scotty looked over her shoulder to see who it was. Mohawk and bright blue eyes stared at her with a smile. It was Soap. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m just looking.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the metal, eyes looking inside the opening.

She stared at him a little longer before shrugging it off. “What would a Ranger do down here with the mechanics?”

“Learning. Is that bad? Never heard the other complain before.”

“Not at all.” She chuckled. “How much do you know about this big girl? For a Mark-5 she is impressive, don't you think?”

“Aye. Very smooth riding if I compare it to the Mark-4, but not by much, and a not so different interface. Definitely better than Mark-3.”

Scotty finally loosened the bolt she was working on, almost the size of her head, and turned to face him. “Someone seems to know his jaegers. That’s interesting. Ever been in a Mark-3? You don’t strike me like someone who did.”

“Are you saying I’m old, bonnie?” He scoffed. “I did, in during my training. They feel so clunky once you try a newer model.” And this is how their friendship started. Nerding over Jaegers, then went out to talk about what they did before the program.

Eventually, after a few days Soap invited her to sit with the rest of the team. Scotty was a little surprised by the invitation and honestly wasn’t too sure about it. She was so used to eating with her crew. Not that sitting next to the pilots was anything special, in the cafeteria you took the first seat you could find. It was talking with them and being so friendly that she wasn’t too sure; she didn’t want to look like she was privileged. It was some friends who pushed her to accept because honestly, it was obvious. They had seen her talking for hours with Soap, also opening up more to Ghost. It was more than just the regular crew and check up talks nowadays. She did accept the offer and was thrown under the spotlight by Soap who introduced her more informally to Price and Gaz. Because of his background, Scotty felt like she wouldn’t never be as friendly as she was with the Scotman towards Price. An old captain deserved more respect, but it wouldn’t stop her to warm up and tease the man along with Gaz. Gaz had been easy to befriend just like Soap. Being around the same age was actually an advantage. That and he was a nice person in general. It was nice to have some deep conversation of all and nothing during calmer moments. Just like now.

Gaz took a seat next to her, his tray in hand. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.” Scotty moved slightly to the side, although there was enough space for ten people around them. “Aren’t you and Price supposed to train?”

“Finished. I swear he really wanted to push the limits today, I’m done and hungry.”

She glanced at her watch again. Another ten minutes. Her eyes trailed to her own tray, half full. She grabbed whatever dessert was proposed, some strange sweet thing that resembled cake, but didn’t have inviting colors. Yet it tasted good. She handed him her left over. “You need more than I do. Make sure you have enough energy.”

He laughed at her remark, yet appreciated the extra ratio. They kept talking for a little longer till they sat in silence, enjoying the calmness. Her time was up and she had to leave to start her shift.

Her shift was assigned to the Conn-Pod today. Last Bravo Tanker’s deployment had been a little rough. A very hard blow to the head left some damage to the moving system. On the report, it was said that the left leg remained stuck for two minutes. It didn’t sound long, but in the middle of a fight against a twenty-five thousand tonnes monster, it was an eternity. Ghost and Soap were able to unjam it, but to say they didn’t feel fear for a hot second would be a lie. Toolbox at her feet, Scotty engaged the safe switch and jumped in the movement center, wiggling a little between the pipes and gears to reach the troublemaker. Her eyes looked one more time at the tablet. She analyzed the graphics and waves. The malfunction was definitely mechanical in origin as there was no misalignment registered from the pilots. Their neural handshake was almost perfect the whole time, even after the damaging blow and the panic that followed. They remained in control without flinching. It read the most beautiful thing. It brought back some memories, memories that she quickly pushed away and focused on her task ahead. It took five minutes to find the culprit; a rode had broken off from the walking mechanism and lodged itself between gears. From the look of it, it eventually broke off under the pressure, releasing the jammed leg. Not without damage. They would have to install a new rod and change two gears. That should take a whole shift or two, if they didn’t have the pieces yet. It will be a long night.

It was five in the morning when her head hit the pillow. Every muscle was painful and sore. The mattress was so soft and welcome. At least, this would be her last night shift for a few weeks and today was her day off. As usual, she would sleep a few hours before going on with the day. Maybe nap later depending on how tired she was.

Her alarm bipped around ten. With a groan, Scotty woke up and jumped in the shower. She didn’t stay long to ratio the water, but long enough to wake her up and give an appeased sensation to her body. She grabbed her phone, quickly looked through her messages. Some quick replies to her family, more technical answers to her colleagues who need another refresher on what had been done last night and where they should pick up. Mindlessly walking towards the hangar bay, always looking on her phone when she bumped into someone. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be.” Ghost replied unphased. “You shouldn’t look at your phone while walking though.”

“I was almost done really.” She shoved the device in her pocket. Soap popped behind Ghost.

“Where are you going like that, sweetheart?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t call me that, sunshine. Well I’m off for today, I was thinking of going into town. Get some fresh air. What’s your plan?”

Ghost brushed off the casual flirting of these two. They had been at it for a few weeks now and he didn’t mind. “Training. As usual.”

“Tanker will be under heavy repair for another day at least. If anything happens, you won’t be able to deploy yet.” Scotty informed them.

“That’s why I was thinking after our workout, maybe we could all go out for a drink? Price and Gaz were up for it.” Soap smiled. “What about you?”

“Sounds good, count me in!”

The shatterdome being a few kilometers away from any big cities made the small town that was nearby thrive with all the workers. While the main base provided lodging and food to everyone, the town did provide the recreational aspect allowing the hard workers some possibility to unwind. Despite the Kaijus’s attacks, the civilians went on with the regular days. They became part of the routine. People would still go to work, go out with friends, do their grocery shopping, take a drink at the table outside the cafe as if nothing was going on. Of course when the alert rang across the land, they would all run to the nearest bunker and wait till the Jaegers took down the beast. For now, they could enjoy one of the rarest sunny days in a long time. Scotty wandered around without a goal. All she needed was to be out of the overcrowded building. Hear other sounds than drilling, welding, clanking. The birds, the kids' laughter, the car, the casual discussion of strangers. A change of scenery. A little after noon, she stopped in a restaurant to grab some food and then went on to walk along the coast.

There, it was truly calm. Only the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Sat in the sand, she allowed herself to close her eyes and let this moment last for as long as she could handle it. The breeze was soft today. Scotty shifted her position to lay down and look at the sky before closing her eyes again. It wasn’t the best idea but…

She woke up to the sounds of seagulls fighting somewhere. Half a mind present, her watch showed five. She must have slept for a good two hours! Her phone buzzed. It was Gaz saying they were on their way to their regular pub. They should be in town in half an hour. She decided to make her way there. She dusted off the sand on her clothes and returned to the center of the town. The sun was slowly setting in the distance, painting the sky in a bright orange blue color. Reflecting on the water that slowly disappears as she makes her way through the small street between the buildings. If at first she had been a little intimidated by forming a friendship with the TF-141, now she actually appreciated their time together. It brought back good old memories.

This was the seventh day of her day shift schedule and it was coming to an end. Not her best day in terms of repair. Bravo Tanker had been a breeze to fix recently thanks to the very little visit from kaijus. Bravo Brawler was a whole other story. A lot of the pieces needed to fix her had been late on the delivery and the Marshal wanted her fixed since yesterday. Didn’t like the idea to have one less Jaeger operational in case of. Their Shatterdome was yes the main base of the well known TF-141, but also three other Jaegers. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the ability to operate with one less team. But out of the three, two were new hence why he would rather send more experienced pilots with them than face the monsters alone. Because of this, Scotty had been pulling extra hours on fixing Price and Gaz’s jaeger. Help that was well appreciated by the crew who was being pushed in the back all the time. A quick chat with the person in charge of the night shift to explain what still had to be done and Scotty was on her way to her quarters. She could feel the sweat and grease sticking on her skin. She wanted a shower, now! However on her way there, she made a little detour to the Kwoon Combat Room.

As she walked toward it, she caught the noise of a familiar training. Someone was there. Maybe she could just look a little. Hidden by the corner, she leaned to see who it was. Ghost and Soap were in the middle of the mat, readying their stance from what looked to be another round. She watched as they began. Just for a minute or two she told herself.

Scotty didn’t mean to peek for so long. Neither peek in general. But watching them dance on the training mat, the sounds of the wooden poles knocking on each other, the soft silence except for a few grunt here and there, it reminded her of her pilot days. Drifting with someone was the most intimate thing of all, something beyond anything else. It had nothing to do with the romance or things you would keep behind closed doors. Being drift compatible wasn’t about this. It was about letting someone inside your head, share their memories, let them see your memories. All your secrets are bare to them to see. You had to trust your co-pilot more than anyone else. A wave of sorrow passed through her body as she was reminded of her previous partner. How they had such a strong connection, how she could still feel his fear when he died, how his last words were to his wife and kids. It broke her to be the one to tell them and not him. Yet as she cited his words, his voice echoed in her mind. This was the reason she wasn’t able to drift after that. She tried, but the memory was too strong, no matter how hard she tried to keep it out, it crawled back. She was always out of alignment with other pilots to the point that she simply gave up. Not wanting to stop helping against the Kaijus, she took a job as J-Tech and eventually landed where she was now. It was for the best that she didn’t know if she would ever let someone else in her head ever again.

It was obvious that Ghost and Soap were a good match. Her eyes could follow each of their attacks and parry with ease and it was easy to see that they knew each other well. She had also seen Price and Gaz training, it was the same. However there was something a little more about the pilots of Bravo Tanker. A detail she caught as easy as their fighting style. They had something going on between the two of them. That didn’t stop her from letting her eyes linger on their muscles. Who knew that a tank top and sweatpants would be so sexy. They were both a sight for sore eyes. Her cheeks turned into a soft pink as she caught herself thinking of that.

The room became very silent. Scotty realized that they had done their training and were looking at her. A wide smile on Soap’s face and she swore maybe on Ghost but it was hard to see behind his balaclava. “Enjoying the show?” The Scotsman laughed.

“Oh hm me? No! I mean yes. But not how you think!” She stumbled on her words.

“Relax, we won’t eat you.” Ghost shook his head.

As much as they were all up to keep going with the conversation, the alarm went off. A sound they knew too well. A kaiju had crossed the Breach. Ghost and Soap didn’t waste a second and hastened to the Drivesuit Room. Brawler still being under maintenance, they were the only available at the moment to support the other teams.

It took them less than twenty minutes between the suit up and being waist high in the water. One advantage of Plymouth Shatterdome was that it was enough on the coast, Jaegers could directly walk in the ocean, they didn’t have to wait to be dropped far away by helicopters. “What now, Ghost?”

“We wait.” The Brit contacted the other team to know their status. They were in the area also waiting for any sign of Kaiju approaching. Both Jaegers’s radar bipped steadily. They hated these moments. Standing still, being a perfect target for surprise attack. The LOCCENT kept updating them on the possible location of the threat. It was moving fast, coming South-East of their position one moment and then full East, back to South. Then West! Whatever this Kaiju was doing it was all over the place. They looked in all directions hoping to visually see something that radar had not picked up, in vain. The water remained calm.

“I don’t like that, Simon. Why is it moving so-” Soap was interrupted when their comms was flooded by the other team. They had a visual two klicks away from them. The water was slowly rising while advancing. It was their target! The Jaeger reacted fast, running towards it ready to attack. But as soon as they were in range to punch it, it slipped away quickly. The old Mark-3 was a little slower to respond to the pilots change of position; they didn’t have time to react to the clawed hand that pierce through the water behind them. It clenched, ripping all the back’s plates. The pain receptors connected to their suits send a signal so strong they surprised themselves to still be conscious. However, damage had been done.

“Bravo Tanker we are done! All systems are not responding! What the fuck! We need back up!”

“On our way! Stay put!” Ghost acknowledged. He lifted his right leg, starting to run in unison with Soap and the mecha eventually responded to the speed they wanted. They wouldn’t let the monster attack a second time. At the same time, Ghost and Soap locked the right arm to punch the creature. Their Jaeger reacted accordingly, landing a powerful blow at the top of its head. The Kaiju wailed before being engulfed under the water. They punched it a second time. On the third, the beast dodged by swimming away, its tail hitting the leg of the Jaeger. They didn’t flinch. Bravo Tanker was ready to chase it, but revised their plan when they saw the wake it made as it swam back in their direction with a lot of speed. They braced themselves for the attack, well aware of what to expect. The claws screeched on the metal, automatically the two pilots were met with a jolting pain on the chest. Nothing they couldn’t handle.They shook it off repositioning themselves to return the favor.

‘‘Hull is badly damaged, but still holding!’’ Soap shouted, dismissing the alerts that popped on the screen.

‘‘LOCCENT we need back up! I don’t know what this bastard is made of, but it is shredding us!’’ Ghost demanded on the comms.

At the Shatterdome, the Marshal weighed his options. He could send another Jaeger or two, but the more, the longer it would get for them to reach their allies. Could Tanker hold till then? However this Kaiju rendered one of his mecha inoperative with just one slash and his most resilient Jaeger was already fighting. ‘‘Tanker hold, help is coming. … Brawler, I want a fast deployment!’’

Bravo Tanker dodged another attack by a few meters. To last till back up, they used the blade weapons. With them they had been able to hurt the beast, but quickly it destroyed one of them. This fight was straining the pilots, physically and mentally. ‘‘I swear when Price shows up.’’ Ghost groaned. He could feel the sweat rolling down his forehead, his suit more sticky than usual.

‘‘What will you do when we show up?’’ The ex-captain voice came through the open channel. ‘‘Take a breath, we will handle it for now!’’

Bravo Brawler was being carried by helicopters. Price ordered them to release the cable who dropped them right on top of the Kaiju. The beast was crushed back into the water, wiggled its way out and went for its first attack on the newer opponent. Ghost and Soap only took a minute breather; the bastard was tough and they couldn’t let it win. Two against one was the upper hand they needed. Something the beast realized quickly and decided to hide underwater for surprise attacks. Thanks to their radar, both Jaegers avoided them. It began to circle them. Suddenly jumped on Tanker jaw open ready to take a bite. The fang pierced the Conn-Pod not so easily, but with a secured anchor, its claw dug deep in the chest and neck’s connector. The pilots were flooded by alarms blaring, pain in their whole body and view of the monster’s mouth. Its maw closed further onto the head, bending and crushing the metal. The mechanism which normally held the pilot in place was heavily damaged on Soap’s side. As Price and Gaz closed the distance to remove the beast, Soap was disengaged from the lock system and in the heat of being tossed in all directions, he was sent flying up and down, landing then in the back of the cockpit where the door was. Ghost didn’t have the time to realize what happened. All he felt was the sudden overload of pressure on his brain as he was now the only pilot in control of the mecha. It made him feel dizzy, his movements slowed as he raised his arm to grab the Kaiju and throw it away. With Brawler's help, he was free. Gaz refused to waste another second. He engaged the missile and fired two of them. An option they only want to use as a last resort. The beast was already damaged; this should be enough. Indeed the Kaiju went down in one last screech.

Sure that everything was cleared, Ghost disconnected his side as well before the load would kill him. With a heavy breath, he gave a quick sitrep of their situation, to which the LOCCENT replied they will have a medical team right away. Ghost scrambled through the damaged cockpit and found Soap lay, unconscious. His helmet was broken, blood tainting the suit and floor. ‘‘Soap? … Johnny!’’ He checked his vital signs; they were steady but very weak. He needed help now!

#cod fanfic #call of duty #pacific rim #cod oc #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #oc:camille scotty moreau #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #au:cherry in a jaeger #ghost x scotty x soap #ghoap x oc

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beardedmrbean · 6 months ago

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Jan. 3 (UPI) -- A string of announcements about big investments in nuclear energy production signal a revival for the industry that already produces about 20% of U.S. electricity.

Google, Microsoft and Amazon are among the technology companies looking to nuclear power to produce energy with a smaller carbon footprint. Environmental organizations remain skeptical, if not outright opposed to the use of nuclear energy.

Disasters at nuclear plants in Chernobyl in 1986 and the Fukushima Daiichi plant in Japan in 2011 play a large role in the minds of opponents.

"Anyone who thinks the public perception is overwhelmingly pro-nuclear is probably kidding themselves," Dr. Lane Carasik, assistant professor in the Virginia Commonwealth University Department of Mechanical and Nuclear Engineering, told UPI. "A lot of work needs to continue to be done by organizations to make sure the public is appropriately informed about the benefits and dangers of nuclear power. There are both."

The benefits touted by companies making the investments and the U.S. government center around reducing carbon emissions. This goal has been a crucial point of emphasis for the Biden administration in the face of increasingly destructive and frequent extreme weather events around the globe.

The U.S. Department of Energy announced in October it is opening applications for $900 million in funding to build small modular nuclear reactors. The program is part of the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law that passed in 2021.

"Revitalizing America's nuclear sector is key to adding more carbon free energy to the grid and meeting the needs of our growing economy -- from A.I. and data centers to manufacturing and healthcare," Jennifer M. Granholm, U.S. secretary of energy, said in a statement.

Earlier in the fall, the Biden administration announced the approval of a $1.52 billion loan to restart the Palisades nuclear plant in Covert Township, Mich. It would be the first restart of a nuclear plant once believed to be permanently out of commission in U.S. history.

Carasik said he is not surprised that the government is playing a role in revitalizing the nuclear energy industry. Along with the need for a diverse slate of energy sources, he said it is imperative that the United States nurture the field of nuclear science or risk losing experts to other countries.

"If we do not train in nuclear science-adjacent fields, we could lose them potentially to other countries and potentially to adversarial countries," Carasik said.

Support for nuclear energy has been burgeoning in Michigan even prior to the announcement.

A bipartisan, bicameral caucus was formed in the state legislature. The state has agreed to put $300 million toward the Palisades restart. The Michigan Chamber of Commerce and Gov. Gretchen Whitmer have also called it a positive development.

Holtec International, the company that purchased the Palisades plant in 2022, has agreed to sell a portion of the energy it produces to Hoosier Energy in Indiana.

The plant is capable of producing 800 megawatts of electricity, enough to power about 800,000 homes. More capacity may be coming as Holtec International is developing two small modular reactors to be built near the Palisades plant capable of producing 300 megawatts each.

That additional energy will be needed as Microsoft and telecommunications company Switch eye building new data centers in western Michigan, according to Ed Rivet, executive director of the Michigan Conservative Energy Forum.

Existing data centers consume about 4% of all electricity generated in the United States. That need is expected to more than double by 2030 as more data centers are constructed, according to the Department of Energy.

"It's pretty shattering from a paradigm sense, seeing companies like Google (request for proposal) to the private sector 'Will you build a nuclear plant next to our data center?'" Rivet said.

The investments from the tech industry play a large role in the recent nuclear resurgence. Energy hungry data centers will require a reliable energy source. Rivet's organization calls for an "all of the above" approach to powering the nation's grid, including wind and solar energy. He believes nuclear energy must be part of that equation as well.

Unlike wind and solar, nuclear energy is produced on a constant basis regardless of the elements. Nuclear energy has no carbon footprint and its physical footprint -- the land a nuclear plant sits on -- is drastically smaller than the land covered by solar panels to produce the same amount of energy.

Christopher Ortiz, senior communications specialist with Kairos Power, told UPI that energy density is an attractive feature of nuclear reactor technology.

"Kairos Power's advanced reactor technology offers incredible energy density," Ortiz said. "One golf-ball-sized fuel pebble can produce the same amount of energy as burning four tons of coal."

Google signed an agreement to buy nuclear energy produced by Kairos Power's small modular reactors to support the needs of its artificial intelligence systems.

"This landmark announcement will accelerate the transition to clean energy as Google and Kairos Power look to add 500 (megawatts) of new 24/7 carbon-free power to U.S. electricity grids," Michael Terrell, Google senior director of energy and climate, said in a statement.

The projects in this agreement are slated to be finished and in operation across multiple plants by 2035.

Kairos Power, based in California, was founded in 2016 and employs more than 480 people. The company has hired more than 130 employees at its plant in Albuquerque, N.M., with an average salary of more than $100,000. It will also create more than 55 "high-skilled, high-paying" jobs to build, operate and decommission the Hermes Low-Power Demonstration Reactor near Oak Ridge, Tenn.

Construction on the Hermes reactor began in July. It will be used to develop the company's commercial advanced nuclear reactor technology.

Nuclear energy accounts for about 50% of U.S. clean energy production, according to the U.S. Department of Energy.

The Hermes reactor is projected to be complete in 2027.

The Palisades Nuclear Plant is not the only U.S. plant set to be brought back online. Microsoft agreed to a deal with Constellation, a Baltimore based energy company, to restart Three Mile Island Unit 1 in Londonderry Township, Pa.

The plant will produce 835 megawatts of electricity and create an estimated 3,400 jobs. It was shut down in 2019.

Three Mile Island Unit 2 was the site of a meltdown in 1979, leading to the evacuation of thousands of people. Like Chernobyl and Fukushima, Three Mile Island evokes memories of what can go wrong with nuclear power.

Dr. Arthur Motta of the Ken and Mary Alice Lindquist Department of Nuclear Engineering at Penn State told UPI that the Three Mile Island meltdown brought about positive changes to the industry. Better reporting and sharing of information about malfunctions among plants internationally has increased safety and reliability.

The challenge nuclear energy faces in the realm of public perception is cutting through the fear that has been harnessed in decades of pop culture depictions of nuclear disasters. Godzilla, the Fallout video game series and Homer Simpson bumbling around the Springfield power plant have fed into misconceptions about the industry, Motta said.

"It strikes something in the human psyche that makes people afraid," Motta said. "People evaluate risk based on their familiarity. Nuclear is the unknowable. People don't know about it."

Critics of nuclear energy have raised questions about waste disposal. Nuclear waste looks far different from the barrels filled with glowing green liquid that create three-eyed fish on The Simpsons. Instead, most waste comes in the form of nuclear fuel rods. They are highly radioactive but are not voluminous.

Motta explains that the total volume of the nuclear waste produced in the United States in the last 40 years could be stacked 2 to 3 meters high across one football field. There is about 90,000 metric tons of spent nuclear waste in the country, according to the U.S. Government Accountability Office. The Department of Energy is responsible for disposing high-level waste -- like the nuclear fuel rods -- in a yet-to-be-built repository.

In 1987, the government designated the Yucca Mountain in Nevada to be the site of a waste repository. However, the government turned away from nuclear energy through the Obama administration while lawmakers came to an impasse over next steps. The Obama administration also began to explore alternatives to the Yucca Mountain.

Currently nuclear waste remains stored in spent fuel pools -- large, reinforced concrete casks lined with steel. The fuel is submerged in 40 feet of water and cooled for five years or more before being moved to a dry cask to be stored for up to 40 more years.

This method of storage is considered temporary by the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission.

The radioactivity of nuclear waste decays over time. After 40 years, the radioactivity of a spent fuel rod is about one-thousandth of what it was when it was first placed in storage, according to the World Nuclear Association.

Motta said the chief concern about storage of waste among skeptics is that radiation will make its way into the water table due to the containment casks corroding and the waste dissolving.

"The water table goes very deep. You bury the waste 5,000 feet and you're still well above the water table," he said. "There is no way for the waste to be released, especially because of the corrosion-resistant canisters and drip shields. Really, it's a question of if you believe the disposal proceeding can be done safely and I think it can."

#nunyas news

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sumitkanth7 · 3 months ago

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M Tech Courses in Mechanical Engineering at REVA University

M Tech courses in Mechanical Engineering at REVA University focus on advanced topics like machine design, thermal engineering, and robotics. The curriculum blends theoretical knowledge with hands-on research, equipping students with industry-relevant expertise. With state-of-the-art labs and expert faculty, the program prepares graduates for innovation-driven careers in engineering and technology.

#m tech courses in mechanical engineering

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howesmodernlife · 1 month ago

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The Howe family

Declan Bartholomew Howe

Dedicated and loving father, working a high end job as an engineer for a car production company. He's a hands-on kind of man, useful with repairs and gadgets of all kinds.

Declan has been lonely after the divorce with his wife, but has spent all of his times and resources in raising his son and having a good relationship with him. He's not the best with words, but nobody can say he doesn't try.

Rumor has it he's like spaghetti: straight until it gets hot and wet.

FC: Rusty Joiner Age: 37 - 43 Preference: total versatile but emotionally leans towards submissive Kinks: age gaps, dominant partners, public sex, frot Cock size: 8.5'' or 21 cm Plot ideas: first time with a male partner, the affair that caused the divorce, Declan as y/m mr. fix it, seduced by brother/son Can also be played as: recently turned vampire, tech guy at a military unit, space opera mechanic, DnD (as artificer)

Oliver Steven Howe

Only son to Declan and Anna. Oliver is a highly energetic boy who dedicates his life to music and friends. When his parents divorced, he surprised everyone by choosing to stay with his dad in the city instead of going with mom to the country side.

Oliver spends his day playing music and hanging out with his friends, preparing everything he possibly needs to make a career out of rock. Or try to. He's resourceful like his father, but has a moral compass a little bit less rigid.

Rumor has it that his intelligence is not the only reason he's acing his classes.

FC: Ross Lynch Age: 18-22 Preference: total versatile but emotionally leans towards dominant Kinks: age gaps, student-teacher, bondage, overstimulation Cock size: 8'' or 20 cm Plot ideas: Oliver as the clown in y/m classroom, members of his band looking for stardom, secret affair with someone at school/uni Can also be played as: witch/mage apprentice, celebrity settings, stripper/escort settings, DnD (as a bard), seduced by father/brother

William Grant Howe

Declan's younger brother and the family's troublemaker. You'd think that dedicating your life to the military would teach someone discipline, but truth is, William only learned how to be selective with the chaos he brings.

He's always been close to his brother and nephew and he's usually nearby for moral support when either of them needs it, but more often than not, he's the one pushing them out of their comfort zones and helping them experience life to the fullest.

Rumor has it he's the guy to give head to his squad when the moral is low.

FC: Travis Van Winkle Age: 34-39 Preference: versatile. He'll adapt to whatever his partner needs Kinks: age gaps, public sex, dirty talk, sexting, adultry Cock size: 9'' or 23 cm Plot ideas: being the side piece in a committed relationship, turning straight guys, servicing army brothers, sexts by accident Can also be played as: super soldier (MCU), sci fi or space trooper, DnD (as a fighter)

#about

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homiesondaweb · 2 years ago

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Shout out to @frogs4frogs for finding these picrews for spidersonas for shawties that can't draw! I didn't want to hop on her post with her Sona and rambles for jt, So! I made my own to ramble on lol.

This is Etta Hampton (Ezy) aka The Recluse the one and only Spiderwoman of New Tulsa on earth 9539

Etta is 17 and lives with her Uncle Barney who owns the Urban Stables that most people in North use for boarding. Etta's lived with her Uncle Barney since she was seven after the death of her parents in a mysterious OzCorp Refinery explosion. She has an army of aunties and cousins that live on the East Coast in Old York or DC.

Etta is incredibly smart, soft spoken and caring. She loves ATV or horse trail riding, welding, pottery, and botany. To the point she plans on triple majoring civil engineering, mechanical engineering and sculpture after she graduates from the Parker's Gifted Academy. Her uncle is her biggest supporter for her education and hobby pursuits and gave her her own garage/studio to work in.

Etta is best friends with the fire chief's son Bart Brown (9539's Hobie), the Bugle Radio's owner's daughter Merry Jameson ( 9539's MJ) and Harry O. (9539's green goblin who just causes more chaos over harm, absolutely hate his father) who the world fattest crush on her and she is 100% oblivious to it.

When Etta was 14 she stormed off after an argument with various of her visiting aunties about her "manish" pursuits she took her four-wheeler and went off trail to a forbidden zone that was the contamination and closed of remains of the OzCorp Refinery. While exploring the remains, Etta was bitten by a radioactive Brown Recluse when security guards had cornered her and she was forced to hide in one of the old R&D offices.

She has the usual power set for a spider person: Spidey sense, the ability to stick to walls, super strength and super agility. Along with long sharp nails that are extremely durable and sharpened canines that have a paralytic and necrotic venom. Etta has two specialty abilities: one is to produce different kinds of acid from her hands and apply it to her organic webs to create different kinds of traps or help her to escape. The other is an ability to control her temperature to the point she can send heat waves of energy off her body or stun/shock others with a fridged touch.

As the Recluse her biggest foes are Cyclone Sandman, Cotton Mouth, and King Scorpion. She has a half allyship with the for hire thief/ spy Prowler (Miles M. Davis) and Green Goblin (she usually just catches and releases with his antics) the fire chief and sheriff work well with her. In school as her regular persona her academic rival is Miles.

Etta tricked out an ATV to fit her theme and made it hover/wall fly so she can still get to places that don't have the highrises that need her help. She controls it remotely sometimes to help rescue people or lead the emergency services to a location/criminals she's taken care of. This causes her Uncle Barney to think she is a close friend of Recluse and works on her tech. He likes Recluse but is highly worried for 'both' their safeties.

The only "Canon Events" she has gone through is the death of her parents and giving up being Spiderwoman for a while after she failed to save a little boy's parents during a train derailment caused by Sandman.

Miguel sent Jess and Ben to recruit her for the Spider Society after she dealt with a Vulture variant and he worried over the fact that her Gwen Stacy event hadn't occurred yet (death of Harry in her case, his spine snaps as he is GG when she tired to stop him from plummeting after a mid-air battle) they haven't explained this to her yet. Etta tries to stay in her world but really likes collaborating on inventions with other spider-peoples and usually sticks to the R&D or repair department over missions.

Is works besties with Margo but highly distrusts Lyla. She partial mentors under Jess and let's Gwen stay in her dimension sometimes when Hobie's world is overwhelming.

Loves blooming onions and other savory snacks, it's not unusual to see her as Recluse snacking on jerky or street corn. Tamale ladies love her. Often wears overalls or jeans jackets over her spider suit. Has hella Spotify followers because her playlists are absolutely fire (even Miles admits this)

And that's kinda it! I have hella backstory about my girl, please ask about her😁💛

#spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the verse #spidersona #original character #Hobie Brown #miles morales #some midwesten hero love

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ratcandy · 1 year ago

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(Sending this in an ask so I don't spam you with four different comments on your disability post. 💀 No need to reply. Just getting this out there.)

*dumps*

I'm seriously dealing with this right now.

Working on a fic with a potentially disabled robot character. It's not explicitly stated in game, but it is implied.

As a chronically ill person, I really want to lean into it, explore it, and show that the character is loveable and awesome as a disabled person. That there's more to him than what's disabling him without minimizing the impact it has on his life. Because I would want that to be said about me.

But like. He's a robot.

There's no resources available to fix him (LITERALLY fix him. As a robot) where he's located, so his disability is plausible in-game. But if I'm exploring what happens after, where he leaves his current location, the thought of fixing him comes up. There'd probably be resources available in this other place.

I don't want to fix him. I think it would send the wrong message. But also. Not fixing him might send a wrong message too. It might put blame on him, by making it where the only thing keeping him from getting "better" is himself, you know? Implying that he would get "better" if he just let himself get better.

I would really hate for that to be the takeaway from the fic. It's a really crappy way of thinking, and I've had to face similar accusations myself.

So I'm in a bit of an uncanny valley right now.. Not sure what to do about it.

Excuse me for the ramble. I just think it's neat that you posted this when I started really focusing on the issue. Is this a sign. What does it mean for me.

Anyway. The disability removal trope in media has always rubbed me the wrong way with its harmful implications, and it's uncomfortably common. :( Glad to know I'm not the only one who feels that way.

Okay I'm done. Thanks.

I saw this ask, looked up from my phone in deep thought, went on a whole spiel out loud about it, and then promptly forgot it came from an ask buT I"M HERE NOW, and I wiLL reply because. I think I could maybe offer some thoughts

...And it turns out I have Many Thoughts.

I don't know this robot character you're messing with or to what extent he'd "need" repairs, but I feel there's a few easy questions to ask first before you could decide whether it's a good option for the story! Better, have him Himself grapple with these questions and allow him agency in the decision (aka: Whatever you do, don't force it on him sdhgk)

Since I don't know what disability this robot's got, let's just say he's got an arm that's totally dead. Just can't be used. But just popping it off wouldn't be easy due to the mechanics going on, and perhaps the damage goes further than just the arm.

He's already learned to adapt to how that arm sits. He's learned to balance with the weight of it, knows how to avoid bumping it into things, is totally accustomed to just using one arm.

Now, suddenly, he's in a situation with high-tech engineers who could replace that arm no problem and make it work just as it always did.

Now he's got to ask himself,

"Do I want to?" I mean, obvious question, but really. If he's totally happy with how he lives, not despite his disability but just With It, then what would necessarily be the point of going through a whole procedure? And even if he's not totally happy, but only mildly inconvenienced at best now that he's adapted, is going through with a Robot Surgery and all the struggles of adapting with a new arm worth it?

"Would I be able to adapt to having two arms again?" Depending on how long he's had his disability for, this could be amplified by a lot. If it's been almost his entire life with the disability, having another arm again would be almost totally foreign. He'd have to re-balance himself without the weight, get used to the feeling of electricity circulating on that side of him, learn how to control that arm again, go through whatever the robot equivalent of physical therapy is, and that's IF the arm replacement goes 100% right. Which is another thing...

"What's the chance that the replacement doesn't work?" Assuming he's not given a perfect solution that just will totally work no questions asked, there's always a chance it just won't work. The body may not accept a new arm, the damage may have spread too far and any replacements would have to go further than just the arm, and would he be comfortable with that? And what if it not only doesn't work, but instead makes it worse? Would jamming a new arm into a damaged socket just spread the damage further?

If you want to lean real far into the robot aspect, have an existential crisis but Ship of Theseus style, especially if there's a lot of integral parts that would need repairs. Yknow, the whole "if I replace all the parts of a ship, is it still the same ship?" but in this case, Robot.

Also, from a writer perspective... one of the reasons suddenly curing a disability is seen is Not Great is especially notable in cases where the disability was caused by an injury (as opposed to being born with it). Because then there's likely trauma attached to it. There's trauma that the person/character has had to work through, accept, and learn to move on with. And that's not easy, especially depending on the severity of the disability.

And once they've gone on that journey to live with and embrace their disability, gone through the massive life changes and mental adjustments that are required to proceed with life, suddenly providing a cure will make that journey seem... like it had moot point, kind of.

It'd be like. I dunno, say Character A's ancestor did a bad thing. And they spend the whole story grappling with that bad thing their ancestor did that they had no control over. Near the end of the story they learn to accept it, vow to be better than that ancestor, whatever. Only for the story to end by going "Surprise! That ancestor never did it at all, they were framed! Your bloodline is innocent! Hurray!"

Does that make sense? Suddenly there was no point to any of that. It damages the story As Well as having less than ideal implications.

ANd my last point ....... About the "the only thing keeping him from getting 'better' is himself, you know? Implying that he would get 'better' if he just let himself get better."

I mean... putting aside any implication that being disabled is somehow "lesser" than not being disabled, as I doubt that was your intention,

Again, it mostly depends on the extent of the disability. Is he gonna die without it being fixed? Is he in utterly horrific agony that he's screaming about the entire time while the button for a cure is in front of his face?

Because even THEN, "how will I manage when suddenly NOT disabled" is a question that's gotta be asked and addressed. It might be the totally reasonable decision to have him take a cure, but the Ramifications of sudden curing have gotta be acknowledged, especially if he's been disabled for a while.

Is he choosing to hurt for the sake of hurting, or is it due to being scared/uncertain of what a life not hurting looks like?

OR, if this disability hardly bothers him, then... like. Again. It would make sense to NOT want to go through all the steps to get it repaired if it could just cause more problems. Say it's as something as small as an annoying twitch. Like, say his hands twitch a lot, perhaps even shake. But he's used to it. It's been years and it's just part of how he is now. He doesn't necessarily care to get it fixed, because it's... just part of him. At that point, it'd just be weird to see him as "keeping himself from getting better," because he's... fine? Relatively?

I dunno. For that question I guess it mostly depends on Is He Happy Right Now/is he content with his disability already. Because yea, if he is content, like... who cares if he doesn't fix it. Even if it's more severe like the whole non-functioning arm idea I mentioned earlier. Or hell maybe he's totally paralyzed! Hasn't walked for years! Found other means of mobility and has learned to adapt to it! Is totally happy while being paralyzed! Not mentioning how complicated the ''adapting to suddenly not being disabled anymore'' becomes with something as complex as that If he doesn't mind it too much, then.......... why go through all that trouble if he's Fine, right? Who is being hurt by that?

anyway. That was a really long post. I hope my rambles??? Help you at all with that?? I mean like I said in my original post there can be totally innocent reasons to "cure" a disability in a story, it just has to be handled with care and sensitivity. Give the character some amount of agency in it!

...yknow, like. So long as you're not going down the "i'm so miserable with my disability it's either i get cured or i die" route. because . u know. I don't need to explain why that's not great hopefully sdghKSLJDGH

OK ENOUGH RAMBLING!!!!!!! this gave me many thoughts about robot disability, something I do not typically think about

#VERY long ramble #<-yea that tag belongs on this one #ask #this is very long i'm so sorry. you gave me many thoughts and I wanted to help if I could so I just spilled my thoughts hsdkgHS #as a personal aside/extra for the ''not letting yourself get better'' bit. Yeah i've been on the receiving end of that #and I've said it to others long in the past. But with time I've thought more about it and... well. I've thoughts on that statement #and its uses. many more thoughts than will fit in tags. But in my eyes it's... unfair. To say that to someone. Especially if you don't know #the full extent of what they're going through.#No one can say for certain what another is doing to help themself. If they're truly in a situation to do that at all.#So it's. Ahgh. I'm getting side-tracked. Too much to get into #I HOPE MY RAMBLES HELP. IT'S 1AM!!!!!

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