#Phone Charging port repair | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cathode-raygirl · 8 months

Text

Salvation for a Broken Bot (Chapter 1)

An amateur repair girl finds a severely damaged android abandoned in a junkyard.

This first chapter is sfw but subsequent chapters will be 18+ only. Content warning for a description of a character in a state of disrepair with implied eye trauma.

If you have any questions or feedback feel free to comment or send me an ask!

Rose had visited the abandoned junkyard several times before, but this was the first time she'd come with the intention of stealing.

Half a mile away from anywhere of note, the only sign of civilisation was the distant hum of cars driving down the A22 in the distance. The sound felt relaxing to her, like the waves of the ocean.

She approached the chain link fence surrounding the complex. Someone had repaired the hole she used to enter last time, but she had come prepared. She rummaged around in her backpack and retrieved a pair of bolt cutters. Expertly praying apart rusty segments of fence with her tools, she breached the defences and found herself in a sea of discarded garbage.

From handheld items like phones and radios, to larger appliances like televisions and fridges, the junkyard had it all. But there was one particular prize she was looking for: A robot. It was rare but not unheard of for companies like Ashdown to dump their decommissioned workers in facilities like these, and she was planning on...

Hmm.

She wasn't really sure what she was planning on doing to be honest. Selling one for parts? Repairing it as a passion project? She told herself she'd figure it out later. There wasn't even a guarantee that there *was* anything here anyway. Better to not get her hopes up too early.

She gripped the scanner in her left hand. She'd spent the past week building it, the perfect device for combing for artificial life. The android designs that Ashdown Logistics pioneered had distinctive battery designs to accommodate for their intense workload, and it quickly became the industry standard. If she was able to locate a power supply with the scanner, she *should* be able to locate a bot. In theory. The scanner wasn't picking anything up yet though.

She turned on her torch and began walking deeper into the facility. The scanner's range wasn't particularly good due to the sensor she'd opted to use so-

Her eyes lit up in excitement. A figure! In the distance! Unmoving!

She crept up towards it, her eyes filled instantly with recognition: The body of a robot, slumped backwards over a pile of broken televisions, a steel rod driven perfectly through its left eye, pinning it in place. Most of its pure white hair had been torn away, the few remaining patches blowing gently in the wind.

Its chest had caved in as well, and the silicone plates that covered its rusted internals were covered with dirt and mould.

Rose wondered what had happened to it, how it could have gotten this damaged. It was hard to make it out in the state it was in but it seemed to be some kind of worker bot? Definitely not anything that would normally have combat experience, that's for sure. If any robot rights groups found out about this they'd be having a field day. But more than that... She wondered how her scanner never picked it up.

She ripped the steel rod out of its head and flipped it over. Its charging port was missing, a large cavity in its place. By the looks of it, someone had forcefully removed the battery and several other key components by the looks of it. What *happened* here?

A mystery like this was irresistible to her. If she could somehow repair it, she could interrogate it, and then she potentially had a story she could give to the press, or even one of the robot rights groups. They'd been springing up a lot recently and she was sure at least one of them would take interest.

She dragged the bot through the muddy ground, through the hole in the fence, and loaded it into her car.

Rose sat on a chair in her workshop, staring at the android in front of her in contemplation. The first thing she needed to do was assess the damages and figure out if it was possible to salvage the bot. A more talented maintenance girl would probably know by now, but Rose was just a hobbyist, so she *really* needed to know what model it was.

The sticker with this valuable information on had long since been washed away by rain, so she had no choice but to begin disassembling its head in the hopes of finding a motherboard.

After half an hour's work, the bot's head laid sprawled out in pieces on her desk. She admired the beauty of the intricate mechanisms in front of her, how so many tiny parts could come together to form a believable imitation of a human face. At least, they would if they were in good condition. She could already tell that most of them had either rusted beyond repair or been badly damaged by the blunt force of the steel rod, so they'd have to be replaced. Still, the process should be simple enough once she got the model number.

Inspecting the motherboard, she noticed a peculiar chip with a pink heart on it. She'd never seen something like that before. She took a photo of it and made a mental note to reverse image search it later. Turning the board over, she was met with an unfortunate sight: The Ashdown Logistics logo, and the model number 4MB-3R.

Ashdown's androids were known for being made with parts that were as closed source and proprietery as physically possible. They refused to release any data sheets or schematics, and the parts that *could* be bought were insanely expensive. No one, not even the smartest engineers of their rival companies had been able to figure out how to create even an imitation of their personality chips, so they held a complete monopoly over the robotics industry.

Not only that, but the 4MBs were several generations ago. In fact, Rose was almost certain that they had been discontinued in 2002. By now, they were onto the 8MB range, which were mechanically unrecognisable from their 34 year old counterparts.

Rose slumped backwards into her chair. There was absolutely no way in hell she would be able to buy any replacement parts for this, and she doubted that she'd be able to find any more 4MB units, let alone a 4MB-3R. She had no idea what the difference between the sub units even was, but she was certain it would be significant enough to hinder her progress.

She sighed. It looked like she'd need to take matters into her own hands. There *was* a crude accessory that was compatible with most androids she'd encountered before: A modified cathode ray tube screen could be used to visualise a robot's thoughts. With some training, she was sure that the 4MB-3R could teach itself how to use one as a face. It wouldn't be a great solution by any means but it'd definitely be better than having a caved in, unmoving face. And it wasn’t like the bot would be stuck with it forever, just until she found something better to use.

As for the rest of the body? She could replace the charger port with an external charging system she had lying around, and she was sure she had some spare torso pieces buried *somewhere* in her workshop. There were obviously a lot more parts missing but it'd probably be best to get the basic functionality working first. After all, she wouldn't want to put effort into building a body for an android that might not even be capable of turning on anymore.

She gazed out her window wistfully, watching the cars pass by below her. In a way, Brighton looked like a giant circuit board, the roads forming tracks between the various buildings, which resembled cathodes, diodes and chips. Or perhaps it was the other way around, and circuit boards looked like cities.

Despite living in a bustling city, she could never shake away the loneliness she felt in apartment. She was a single, lonely electron in a vast uncaring circuit board, but perhaps she'd be able to find a companion in the form of this bot. And if not, it'd certainly give her something to take her mind off things for a while.

[ Chapter 2: Reconstruction ]

#my writing #ashdown logistics #robot girl #robogirl #robot maintenance

38 notes · View notes

icycoldninja · 9 months

Text

Fluffcember #16 (Raiden x reader)

Fluff headcannons

-Raiden is the biggest Tsundere ever to have existed. He denies needing your affection, but he'll take that hug anyway.

-Since he's a cyborg and has various machinery implanted into his body, he has a couple cable ports built into his back for technical/maintenance purposes. However, these ports happen to be compatible with USB cables, meaning you can plug your charger into his back and have him charge your phone in an emergency. It does make him very sleepy though.

-Other perks of being a cyborg include the ability to download media files from the internet and play them through small speakers installed near his ears. Basically, Raiden is your living music player. He'll download a bunch of lullabies and play them for you when you have a hard time sleeping or have a nightmare.

-He couldn't cuddle you because of his cold hard metal body, so he went to Doktor and had him design a very puffy, very plushy, fluffy pillow-like cover for his chest so he could hold you without having the metal poke your head. It's the sweetest thing he's ever done; the fact that he can also heat up his chestpiece adds to the coziness. You've never been comfier.

-If you offer to help service his robotic components, his heart'll just melt. His robotic body is one of his biggest insecurities, seeing as it was forced onto him. You caring and seeing the beauty in his body means the world to him.

-Loves to tinker around with machinery, so if you ever have any broken gadgets, bring them to him and he'll not only repair them, but add entirely new features. You bring him a broken microwave and he'll return it with a laser cannon attached.

-Despite being a cyborg, Raiden can still eat and has a secret sweet tooth. He'll never admit this, nor will he ask for treats, but if you leave some cookies out on the counter, you'll wake up the next morning to find them mysteriously missing. It wasn't Santa.

-Does not know how to cook (was never taught) but would absolutely love to learn. If you could teach him, amazing. If you don't know how to cook either, then learning together could be an...interesting experience.

-Should you decide to try and teach him how to cook, he will intently analyze and mentally record every move you make before proceeding to completely and masterfully mimick you in every way the next time he gets a chance. Show him how to do something once, and he'll do it perfectly next time.

-On the other hand, if you both decide to learn cooking together, he'll try to use his cyborgnetic body to substitute cooking utensils. Before you know it, his right arm will be a frying pan, his leg a salt shaker, and a comically oversized spatula attached to his left arm.

#Metal gear solid #Raiden #Metal gear solid Raiden #Mgs #Mgs Raiden #Fluffcember #fluffcember 2023 #fluff headcanons #headcannons #Cute #Part 16 of 31 #Icycoldninja writes

43 notes · View notes

natty-light-of-my-life · 10 months

Text

chuck versus the broken phone

Summary:

Your stagnating life as a college dropout turned retail associate is turned upside down when an international superspy turned fro-yo vendor asks you to fix her broken phone.

Notes:

Loosely based on the television series Chuck. By loosely, I mean I kept the general premise of the show but I don’t remember any details of the actual episodes. It’s more fun this way!

The Buy More. Located in sunny Burbank, California, the Buy More boasts a two-star review on Yelp and is a one-stop shop for all your electronic and everyday needs. This includes you, and your rag-tag band of Nerd Herders, who work the slightly less terrible two-and-a-half-star repair desk.

Today, after your heroics of helping an elderly man plug in his laptop charger, you stood at the help desk, bored and counting down the minutes to your federally mandated lunch break. In comparison to your slouched posture and resting bored face, the teenager next to you was nearly buzzing in the air. Peter Parker was a recent hire, and his unfounded enthusiasm would be cute if it weren’t so terribly sad that he would soon find out how utterly ridiculous the job actually was.

Unwilling to crush his optimism quite yet, you handed him the next device in the queue. It was an iPad that the owner claimed needed a battery replacement. You had noted the dust ball in the charging port and nodded dutifully.

“Here, Peter,” you said, nodding towards the back room, “take this into the shop and clean out the port. Then run the battery test on it.” The “shop” was actually just a dusty storage closet that your manager, Tony, fitted with an overhead light and an extension cord. Yet, the man insisted that it be called the “shop” for all on-duty Nerd Herders. Your new boss was a bit of a pretentious asshole, but he signed your paychecks and gave you overtime when you asked. What more could a girl ask for?

Peter grinned and nodded happily. The boy was practically glowing. A bit of an overreaction to the task, in your opinion, but you smiled at him anyway. As he happily ran off to clean cat hair out of the iPad, you sighed and rested your cheek in your hand. Twenty-six minutes until lunch.

A new fro-yo shop popped up on the other side of the shopping center a few weeks ago, and you realized that you could go for a scoop of sherbert. Peter was hired around the same time, and you didn’t think he’d left the Buy More for lunch since then. You’d take the kid out, you decided. It was bad enough that he lost his internship with Stark Industries over a funding technicality. As a fellow, former wiz-kid turned Nerd Herder, you could relate to the sting of disappointment.

“Excuse me, can you fix my phone?”

You felt the individual vertebrae in your spine snap to attention at the stranger’s voice. The texture in her voice was smoky, contrasting with her bright red hair and startling green eyes. Eyes that were looking directly at you. She was wearing a simple black T-shirt and dark-wash jeans with a soft, grey flannel tied around her waist. A pair of modest black chucks completed the look.

You’d never seen anyone more striking.

“Chuck?” Was she looking at your chest? Oh god, was there a stain on your shirt?

And the ethereal being in front of you said something that sounded suspiciously like your nickname.

“...Can you help fix my phone? Chuck?”

Oh. Oh! She was talking to you! You brushed your palms nervously on the side of your worn chinos. The cheap, slick fabric not doing much to dry your clammy hands.

“Yes. Yes! We can fix phones. We can fix all sorts of things. But I suppose you don’t really care about what we can or cannot fix other than your phone. I mean. Yes, of course, we can take a look. And probably fix it. That is.” You squeezed your eyes closed and willed the warmth in your cheeks to dissipate.

“What appears to be the problem with your phone?” you tried again.

The goddess in front of you smiled and slid it over the counter. “The screen won’t turn on.”

You frowned at the offending device. How dare it not turn on for her. You were very-

Blinking twice, you mentally shook the wayward thought out of your head and went to grab your electronics toolkit. Your hand paused briefly. Nerd Herders were supposed to fill out an intake form on every repair and send it to the back of the queue. But there were at least three more furball-stricken iPads already in the queue, and Peter still wasn’t back with the first repair. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look at her phone. To diagnose the issue. For the intake form.

Pleased with your rule-bending justification, you picked out one of your tiny screwdrivers and plopped down at the counter.

“When did you notice that the phone screen stopped turning on?” you asked the woman in front of you. You felt her amused gaze on the top of your head but you kept your focus on the work in front of you. The screwdriver made quick and efficient work of the phone chassis. The back cover clicked open easily under your fingers.

“This morning,” she replied. “I was late to work because I took a few wrong turns without having access to Google Maps.”

“Oh bummer,” you hummed, tracing the circuitry on the board with your eyes. Everything looked intact and in great shape. You’re surprised the phone seemed to be failing already. “Did you get here okay, then?”

“Yeah. I actually work here in the shopping center.”

Maybe there was a god. “Oh for real?” you looked up to her, making eye contact with a spectacular forehead, “I haven’t seen you around before.”

That was lame, you thought. “I mean, I’ve worked here for a really long time and-”

Nope, that wasn’t it, either. “So which shop do you work in?”

Better. Not insane.

“Fro-yo Mama.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed and brushed a beautiful strand of scarlet out of her eye, “The frozen yogurt shop. Fro-yo Mama.”

You must have made an unpleasant face because she nodded in agreement. You recovered quickly though, “I was actually meaning to go there for lunch! I love frozen yogurt!”

“Please don’t” she waved off.

You slumped, “Oh. Okay…”

Realizing how that must have sounded, she quickly shook her head and put a hand - a beautiful hand - on your shoulder. “No not like that! The fro-yo tastes terrible. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

You were glitching to a different plane of existence. Tied only to the mortal realm by her warm hand on your shoulder. The inner workings of her cell phone were forgotten.

“You should take lunch at the hot dog place next door. The best option by far.”

“Yeah?” you croaked, “How so?”

She leaned down and whispered conspiratorily in your ear. Her minty breath left goosebumps in their wake.

“Actually yeah, a hot dog sounds great. I love hot dogs. Hot for hot dogs haha haa…”

Your head flopped down in shame. Studying the cell phone screen intently, you then tried to hide your flushed cheeks under the guise of digging around in the drawer. You weren’t actually looking for anything. You didn’t know what was wrong. Her phone looked fine. No cracks. No dirt. No burnt display chips. You really were going to have to fill out that intake form. The teenager in the back would probably figure it out before you did.

Your hand knocked into a bundle of wire. Ribbon wire.

Wait.

You carefully plucked the phone to eye level and squinted.

Chuck, you thought to yourself, you are a certified dumbass.

You pulled slightly at the phone screen. It was loose. Too loose. You pinched the screen with two fingers and pushed the ribbon wire harder into the LCD display. The pins clicked into place.

This is why the cashiers get paid more than you, Chuck. You sighed deeply.

Dutifully, you replaced the small screws and re-assembled the phone. You felt the warmth of the woman in front of you as she slid closer to see what you were doing. As you powered up the device, you held your breath.

The screen lit up.

🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭

The beautiful woman - Natasha - invited you out for shopping center hot dogs.

“Least I could do,” she insisted, tapping her credit card at the kiosk, “since you fixed my phone for free.”

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, “Literally. In fact, if you ever see a dishevelled forty-year-old man with a goatee walking around, please refrain from mentioning it.”

She smirked, “What should be my cover story for taking you out to lunch then?”

“Uhh,” you buffered.

“No really,” she said, pointing over your shoulder, “because here comes a dishevelled forty-year-old man with a goatee.”

You almost gave yourself whiplash with how quickly you turned to look. Unfortunately, the man had spotted you and started making his way over.

“Chuckles, what are you doing not at work?”

“It’s my lunch break, Tony.”

“Then who is working the Nerd Herd desk? I only scheduled you and Parker today.”

“Peter is.”

“He doesn’t know how to work the desk.”

You nearly rolled your eyes, “I trained him last week.”

“Ah, okay,” he rubbed his goatee’d chin, “Well. Get back to work soon, Chuckles. The kid is probably swimming in anxiety without a supervisor nearby.”

You bit back a remark about Tony technically being the only supervisor on staff today since you haven’t gotten promoted since you started at the Buy More. They even had you stacking CD’s the other day. Supervisors definitely don’t stack Charlie Puth albums.

“Don’t worry, Tony,” interrupted Natasha, placing an arm around your shoulders, “I’ll get Chuck back before her lunch ends.”

You swooned.

“Who are you? I didn’t hire you.”

Natasha had no qualms about eye-rolling. “A friend of Chuck’s,” she replied simply. She turned to the freckled teen assembling your hot dogs, “Adam, we’ll actually take that to-go.”

Adam nodded as he wrapped up the hot dogs in foil and handed them over the counter to you. You barely had time to give him a grateful smile before Natasha laced her hand with yours and started walking. You nearly tripped over your feet as they blindly followed her.

“You have thirty-seven minutes, Chuckles!” came the grating voice of your manager before the glass door slammed behind the two of you, courtesy of your new friend.

“God,” complained Natasha as she shook her head, “what an idiot.”

“He is an idiot,” you agreed, “but he’s an overqualified idiot. I looked him up on LinkedIn when he was hired, and he has two masters in Engineering and half a dozen active patents on the market. I think he may be in a midlife crisis or something, so I cut him some slack.”

Natasha hummed, “Or something. It’s not that bad working at the Buy More though, right? I considered applying for the employee discount but the fro-yo position has a better dental plan.”

You glanced up from the half-eaten hot dog in your hands. The two of you had sat down at a bench tucked between a T-Mobile and a pawn shop. “Fro-yo Mama provides dental insurance?”

Natasha grinned at you with perfect, pearly teeth. “Ironic, right?”

Mirroring her smile, you laughed, “We should get the Buy More to start stocking anti-capitalism literature next to the People magazines. Really play into the shopping center irony angle.”

“So?” She asked again, finally unwrapping her hot dog. You noticed that hers didn’t have any condiments.

“So?” you repeated, confused. Natasha dug into her pocket and retrieved a small packet of… hot sauce?

“So,” she asked again, biting into her hot sauced hot dog, “do you like the Buy More?”

“Oh, sure. We get a five percent store-wide employee discount. No dental, but Kenny in the warehouse has a guy that can extract a wisdom tooth on the down low. Peter is really sweet. Love working with the kid.”

“Probably shouldn’t mention the black market orthodontia to a stranger,” she laughed, wiping her fingers on a napkin that appeared out of nowhere.

You pouted, “I thought that we’re friends now.”

“I could be a fed.”

Natasha’s eyes glittered in the afternoon sun. Her red hair, cut to a bob just above her chin, swayed in the breeze. A faint perfume of citrus and sandalwood tickled your nose.

“You?” you remarked, giving her an exaggerated once-over, “not a chance.”

She laughed, “I guess you don’t meet many federal agents that scoop dairy on the side.”

Your smile died a bit. There had only ever been one person that you knew of who grew up and went into law enforcement. You hadn’t talked to him in person since college. But the email he sent you a month ago sat heavy in your inbox. You gripped the bundle of tissue and aluminum foil in your hand harder.

Natasha noticed. “Chuck, are you alright?” She gently tugged the wad of trash out of your fist, brushing the pads of her fingers comfortingly against the back of your hand.

You managed to relax your palm and smile slightly, “No, yeah, I’m good.”

Natasha turned her body to face you, fully. “Yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you nudged her shoulder. Best to forget about old friends and focus on making new ones.

“Yeah. I just hope our government pays its agents enough that they’re not scooping out orange creamsicle cups to make ends meet.”

Natasha just laughed, shooting you an amused grin before getting up to throw away the detritus from your lunch. Stranger things have happened.

#natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #fanfic

43 notes · View notes

vashbug · 1 year

Text

Dropped into No Man’s Land Ch 3

Summary: Vash fixes your phone and wonders about your life on earth. The two of you travel through the desert. You run into an old friend.

Notes: I’m having such a good time writing this. If you want more extensive notes, you can find them on AO3. :)

First Chapter: Here

Second Chapter: Here

Read on AO3: Here

***

Vash thinks his new companion is a little strange. Well, a little might be a bit generous. He thought, at first, that this stranger he picked up in the desert was... quirky. Wearing clothes that looked far too clean and traveling way too light, but innocent-looking enough that he didn't spare a second thought about helping them.

Now he's wondering if he's going to regret that decision.

He sits beside them now, watching them flash through an incomprehensible range of emotions as they practically slam their fingers down on a set of ancient keys. He wouldn't have believed they were a being from another dimension if it weren't for the strange old computer and the pristine coat and shoes. He watches them cautiously as they let out a manic laugh and run their hands through their hair.

He's not going to ask them what they're looking at; most of what he can see on the screen is text and tiny boxes arranged neatly in rows and lists. It's not really his business, and although he's dying to know, keeps his mouth shut.

As his new friend is staring into the glowing screen of their computer, Vash decides to tinker with the strange little brick of technology in the firelight. He flips it over, examining the edges, the buttons, the charging port. They called it a phone, which he thinks he remembers from Rem's stories. At least, the name is familiar. He thought phones would be bigger.

He doesn't ask for permission before he decides to pry it open. Laying out the cloth and tools he uses when he cleans and repairs his gun, he pops the screen off with little effort. The inside has wires and circuits he's never seen before. If he didn't believe this person was from the past before, he certainly believes them now.

He notices that a few wires are loose, probably from their accident. It doesn't take long before he's carefully reconnected everything and snapped the screen back into place. He presses the buttons on the side of the phone, mimicking what he had seen them do earlier.

The screen comes to life in a similar way the computer's did. "Hey!" He laughs and hold the phone up in their direction with pride. "A master gunman and a genius. Who knew?” But his friend is too engrossed in whatever they're looking at to notice, and Vash is disappointed when they don't acknowledge his handiwork. His disappointment is quickly replaced with curiosity when he sees the phone's screen. The background is a picture of the stranger and someone else, bringing their hands together to form a heart. He touches the photo, only to be surprised that it responds to his fingers. It's so interesting how this tech is so similar and yet so different from what he’s familiar with.

He slides up on the screen and the home page comes into view, revealing more neat little squares organized into rows. He taps a few of them, surprised to learn that each one is it's own program. One of the last ones he taps opens a program that is rows and rows of photos, photos he knows he probably shouldn't look at without permission, but he's too curious and they're not paying attention. He glances at them, and with a mischievous grin he decides it's fair game if the thing didn't even have a passcode.

He looks through them carefully. A large portion of them are photos of an animal of some kind. It looks like a cat, a very fluffy cat with pointy ears, but he's sure it's not (later he learns from them that this is an animal known as a Pomeranian). Many of the photos are of them with other people, hugging, laughing, and sometimes posing together. His chest aches as he looks through the pictures; he hadn't really thought about how many people were missing them on Earth. Just how many people had they left behind? You're so far from home, he thinks, looking at their face in the dim light. He knows the feeling all too well.

He comes across a sequence of photos that, for some reason, stirs something deep within his chest. They are all photos of the stranger, candid photos of them somewhere surrounded by books. They're leaning over a few scattered journals and texts, a pen balanced gracefully in their hand. Their face is peaceful, almost bored. His heart stutters at that expression; he doubts he will ever see it in person.

The next few photos are taken immediately after, in which they realize their photo is being taken and they reach out for the camera, first with mock anger and then with unrestrained laughter. He looks at the one where they're laughing for a long time. They hadn't said much about their own life on Earth, cautiously sticking to broader subjects. Who were you? Who are these friends? What was your life like? Did you have someone special to you? Did you have someone you love? Suddenly, he wants to know all the details.

He puts his tools away and gets up, phone in hand. He sits across from them and gently taps the top of the computer screen to get their attention. Their head snaps up at him, and he can see in their eyes exactly how tired they are.

"Hey, I uh, I fixed this." He hands them the phone sheepishly. Their eyes light up as they take it from him, navigating the controls on the cracked screen with practiced motions. He watches them swipe through the photos he had just looked at, a mixture of relief and sadness plain on their face. He thinks, briefly, that with the right voltage he could probably manage to keep the small device running for a while…

His thoughts are interrupted when he feels arms wrap around his shoulders as his companion throws themselves at him, tightening their grip around his neck as they pull themselves into his lap for a clumsy hug.

"Thank you," they mumble into his neck, their voice hoarse. "I thought it was broken. You have no idea how much it means to me... I was worried I would forget what they all look like.”

This alone nearly breaks him, and he returns the hug, holding them tightly against him. He can feel their pain in the way they breathe—short, hitched breaths that shake their entire body. He lets them stay like that until they're done crying again, and they settle neatly into his lap, cradled between his legs like a child. They go back to looking through the photos before turning the device off entirely.

"I need to save the battery," they say. They look up at him with watery eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and he does his best not to break down crying himself. "Did you look?" Their voice is flat, as if they already know the answer.

He's knows he's not in trouble, but he still feels like a child caught in a lie. "I saw a few of the photographs. You have a lot of friends. It looks like you were always having fun with them.” He's smiling, but he can't mask the sadness in his voice. They smile at this and look at their own reflection in the blank screen.

"Yeah, I guess... I did." They lean their side into his chest, curling up against him. “They’re not my friends anymore, though. I don’t have any friends now.”

"You still have friends, they're still your friends," he says softly, gently taking the phone from their hands and placing it with the computer. He’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll be your friend. Your first friend on No Man’s Land. Then you won’t have to be alone. Okay?”

They sniffle and smile weakly. “Thanks, Vash. I’m glad it was you who found me.”

He watches their face as they close their eyes, exhausted. They look so much smaller than before, and he has a hard time believing he ever doubted they were innocent.

He takes in their features in the soft light of the fire, memorizing the shape of their nose, their eyes, everything. He knows what it's like to lose your home, to find yourself stranded on a strange planet. He knows what it's like to have to leave the people you love behind. And what’s worse, it seems like they left behind a happy life, where people really loved them. He looks at them and he feels… Responsibility? Pity? He can’t pin down the feeling, but he knows that he wants to protect them. He worries that this experience will hurt them beyond repair, in the same way he hurts now. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep that from happening.

Once he knows for sure they're asleep he picks them up gently and places them under his jacket near the fire. They groan a little, then curl up, pulling the jacket around them. Cute, he thinks.

He gets up and moves to the other side of the fire, watching it for a while.

And then he allows himself a moment to break. Fresh tears roll down his face as he remembers everything--every moment, in detail. He wonders, as he does often, if this is a curse. A life doomed to losing everything and remembering everything. He finds small fragments of comfort in his memories of Rem, in the kind people he's met, the children he's played with. And now, in his strange new companion who fell from the sky.

After a while he settles down near them, close enough that he can see the details of their face in the firelight. He thinks about their stories of Earth, the sound of their laugh. The photos.

He doesn't sleep.

*** You wake up to the sound of metal clinking together. The soft light of the rising suns is not yet hot enough to make you sweat. You sit up, groggy and still sore, but in better shape than you were the day before.

Vash is sitting three paces away, dismantling his gun and cleaning each part with care. You watch as his hands delicately move the pieces under a cloth.

“Well, well, look who's up. Good morning, sleepyhead.” He has his usual disarming smile. You almost forgot how beautiful he is. You grumble at him and flop back down, pulling his jacket over your head. You hear him chuckle at this. “Not a morning person, are you?”

You answer with another groan. You’re still not used to seeing him, here in the flesh, and you’re embarrassed about what happened last night. He’s seen you cry twice now. And you even sat in his lap. Your face grows hot at the memory and you take a moment to sit under his jacket and compose yourself. It doesn’t help that the coat smells exactly like him.

Last night you were able to read about half of what you had left of the fan fiction before you were interrupted by Vash. As the story goes, he will be in Octovern soon, where he’ll run into Wolfwood earlier than he expected. The two of them fight off a group of mercenaries that are terrorizing one of the local taverns in search of information on… something not really specified by the writer. The important part is that Wolfwood is injured, and Vash blames himself, then tends to his wounds, and…

Your heartbeat picks up as you recall Vash and Wolfwood spending an intimate night together in a room with only one bed. It’s cliché, sure, but it never gets old. The writer didn’t spare any details, either. Thinking about it makes you tense up, and you feel warmth in the pit of your stomach. Get a grip, you think, you’ve read a dozen of fics of them together. The problem is, none of them have ever come true. You’re scared to even look at Vash, worried that you’ll start thinking about it. Come on, you’re an adult. Behave like one.

Either way, you now know the name of the tavern, and that you’ll be seeing Wolfwood soon. The thought of meeting him makes you nervous, like you’re about to meet a celebrity. Which, in your case, is sort of true. You are a little worried that you’ll become a third wheel, and wonder if you should try to stay out of the way to maintain the plot. You’ll decide later, when you’re in the city.

Finally, you gather the courage to sit up again, just as Vash begins to clean up his equipment. He notices you and smiles again. “Did you sleep okay?”

You look at him and your face gets red immediately. What happened to behaving like an adult? “Yeah, thank you for lending me your coat.” You hand it back to him with some reluctance, hopeful that he doesn’t notice the blush on your face.

“I’m happy to help,” he beams, slipping his arms into the sleeves and fastening the protective plate back onto his left arm. You feel a little disappointed that you can’t see that tight-fitting turtleneck anymore.

You turn your attention to your laptop. When you flip it open, you find that you drained the battery while reading last night. You’re not surprised in the slightest. “It’s dead,” you say nonchalantly.

Vash looks concerned. “Did it break?”

“No, it’s just run out of battery. I have a cable for it,” you say, pulling it out of your backpack. “But it’s going to need electricity. I doubt you guys have any adapters for American plugs here,” you say with a laugh. Vash gives you a puzzled look. “Ah… never mind.”

“We can find a way to charge it, it should be pretty easy when we get to Octovern.” He looks at you with your laptop in your hands as though he wants to say something.

“What is it?”

He realizes he's staring and looks away. “Sorry, it’s nothing. We should probably eat something.” He walks over to his bag and pulls out a few rations. They look sort of like candy bars. “I usually only carry meal bars when I’m traveling. Perishable things don’t do well in the heat,” he says, handing one to you. “It’s enough for one meal, which should be enough to hold us over until we get there.”

You take it, your eyes wide in awe. You flip the small bar over in your hand, looking for the nutrition information out of habit. So cool, you think. I’ll finally know what this tastes like.

Vash is watching your face as you study the bar, peeling the wrapper off his own. He laughs. “You look like I just handed you a priceless artifact.”

Your face flushes a little. “Well, to me it is. I never thought I would get to try one of these.” You tear the package open carefully and bite off the corner of the small, pinkish bar. It tastes like styrofoam. “Ew.”

Vash laughs again. “Sorry, it’s not very good.”

You eat the rest without complaining, washing it down with a bit of water. You put the wrapper inside your backpack for safe-keeping. If you do ever get home, you’ll want to show your friends every little bit of your adventure. Vash watches you do this with an amused look on his face, but he doesn’t tease you further.

“Okay,” Vash says, standing and dusting off his pants. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say, shoving your belongings into your backpack. “How long will it take for us to walk there?”

“Oh, probably only about… three or four hours?” Vash says casually. “We’re pretty close.”

You try not to look too upset about the idea of walking that long through the desert. It isn’t hot yet, but it will be soon. You wish you had worn more comfortable shoes. If only you knew you'd be dying yesterday.

Vash notices you look at your feet. “If you get tired or your feet hurt, just let me know. I’ll carry you.”

He’s doing this on purpose, you think. “I’ll probably be fine. I walk all the time.”

You follow Vash into the great expanse of sand, determined to get there without a complaint. Your determination runs out after about two hours of walking. Walking on pavement or on a hike is one thing; walking on sand for hours is exhausting. The heat from the suns isn’t helping.

Vash notices you grow quiet as your pace begins to slow down. “You okay?” He stops to look at you.

“I’m… fine…” you pant. “I think… I need to sit down.”

Vash doesn’t hesitate to take your backpack from you and sling it over his chest. He positions his own bag so it hangs off his prosthetic arm and kneels down, his back facing you. “Come on,” he says. “You’re probably not used to the desert. I can’t have you passing out on me again.”

You aren’t in a position to argue. Feeling ashamed at your neediness, you climb onto his back. He hoists you up, careful not to jostle you too much. Much to your relief, he seems entirely unaffected by the extra weight.

He smells faintly of gun oil, a smell you’re beginning to find comforting. You let yourself lean into the back of his neck and close your eyes. He hums a little to pass the time, and you can feel the vibrations from his voice. You think you might be getting used to being around him, although you’re positive he can feel your slightly elevated heartbeat through his back. You hope you can blame it on heat exhaustion.

“What were your friends like?” Vash asks out of nowhere. His tone is soft.

This takes you by surprise. “Uh…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Vash says quickly. “I’m just… curious about what your life was like on Earth. I mean, you told me a lot about Earth, but you didn’t tell me much about yourself.”

His interest in you makes you feel shy, and you’re glad he can’t see your face. You tell him about your friends, about your family, your job. It feels a little silly to talk about your comparatively easy life on Earth, knowing what he’s been through. But as you talk you can tell he’s hanging on to your every word. He sometimes asks follow-up questions, but mostly he listens intently.

He’s quiet for a while after you finish.

“I’m a little jealous,” he laughs softly. His tone strikes you with guilt, but he keeps talking. “Not in a bad way. I’m glad you’ve had such a peaceful life so far. It must be why you’re such a good person.”

You bury your face in his neck and say nothing.

“Earth sounds amazing, even with its flaws. I hope No Man’s Land is like that someday. I’m going to do my best to make it that way.”

“I think you will,” you say. “I mean, the book never said if you do or not. I just think that you will. If anyone can, it’s you.”

He laughs. “Thanks, but I won’t be able to do it without everyone’s help. I can be pretty useless on my own. The only reason I’m even still alive is because others always help me out.”

How can someone be so arrogant and so modest all at once, you think, chuckling softly.

“That’s true. You’re a walking disaster,” you say, pressing a finger into his cheek.

“Hey! Only I get to make fun of me,” he laughs, and it’s bright and warm. “I supposed you know me better than, well, almost anyone.”

Oh, that’s definitely not true, you think. “In No Man’s Land, maybe.” You pause. “But it also feels like you’re… somewhere hard to reach. It’s hard to explain. I know a lot of things about you, but you’re a stranger to me, and it feels like it will always be that way.”

You’re worried you were too honest with that last part, but he hums thoughtfully.

“We probably won’t ever be able to fully understand each other; it’s always like that. I know I’m a plant, and I’ll always be strange to you. The only person who knows what it’s like to be a plant is Knives.”

You can feel him holding back. You know that he is trying to tell you that he is dangerous, far more dangerous than you can imagine; that he has powers even he doesn’t understand. You know this is a younger Vash, one from before… everything. But you think about what he said during the Fifth Moon incident. Maybe we should never have been born. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest.

“You know a lot about me, though. More than any other human I’ve met. So,” he adjusts you on his back. “I don’t think we’ll always be strangers.”

You smile into his neck. “Yeah, I guess.” What about Wolfwood, you think. But it’s not the same. They’re partners, something beyond lovers, sharing the kind of bond you can only share when you go through hell with someone. You won’t take that from him. You’d never want to take that from him.

You think of the couch and quickly push Wolfwood out of your mind. You don’t want to think about that right now.

Vash carries you on his back for a while longer, and you tell him more details about Earth. In exchange, he tells you things about No Man’s Land. He talks about how the days are a similar length to yours, how the planet takes less time to travel around the suns so they have to measure the years in days, not orbits. You tell him about American units of measurement, and the idea of measuring things in ‘feet’ makes him laugh. You keep the topics light, exchanging the mundane parts of your lives.

You begin to see the city in the distance about three hours into your trip. You insist that Vash put you down for the rest of the way, too embarrassed to be carried into the city. Still, he asks you several more times on your way there if you’re okay.

When you arrive, you’re surprised to see how normal it looks. There are homes and shops, children running and playing in the streets. In the distance you can see what you assume is the tower housing the city’s plants.

Vash buys you each a surprisingly normal looking sandwich, and you eat while you walk.

“I think we might want to get you some new shoes,” Vash says, looking down at your feet. You can’t argue with him, and silently wonder how Wolfwood is running around in loafers.

You find a pair of sturdy black boots that have a bit of a platform, and Vash manages to haggle the price down to something reasonable. As you focus on lacing them up, you feel something wrap around your shoulders. You look up to find that Vash is knelt down and reaching around you.

It’s a cropped jacket with a hood, made in your favorite color. It’s clean and new, and looks well-made. You look at Vash, your eyes wide. “The boots were already enough, I can’t accept this…”

He chuckles softly at your expression. “It’s not much, but it will help keep you out of the sun. Think of it as a welcome gift. Plus I couldn’t help it when I saw the color.”

Warmth blooms in your chest as you slip your arms into the sleeves. Somehow he guessed your measurements, because it fits perfectly. The material is soft but durable.

Just as you are about to thank him, you hear gunshots ring out from down the street. You and Vash exchange worried looks before taking off in the direction of the shots.

You come to the tavern just in time to find three mercenaries brandishing their guns. Vash puts a protective arm up in front of you instinctively.

Across from the mercenaries, standing in front of the cowering patrons, is a single man. His shoulders are broad, and his eyes are shaded by a pair of dark frames.

He is holding a massive cross under his right arm.

He looks in your direction when you enter, and his mouth cracks into a wry smile.

“Well, well. Fancy meeting you here, needle-noggin.”

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun fic #trigun fanfiction #vash the stampede #vash x you #vash x reader #vash fanfic

132 notes · View notes