#Titanium Rex

[roleplayallday]

Hey folks! Wondering if someone is interested in roleplaying supermansion with me! I know the fandom is mostly dead but surely there’s someone out there that can indulge me!

I’ve had a lot of ideas that I haven’t been able to do for years that i’d love to rp!

I ship blackgroans and debbie/devizo for the most part but i can do robolex, courtney/lex, and i’m interested in learning about more rarepairs!

Dm me here or on discord! My discord is kazikuns

[botslayer]

Dumb idea for an Invincible War scenario from Supermansion: Devizo summons a bunch of Rexes from other worlds who are better men and better heroes.

One reformed Frau Mantis, One visited Omega Ted enough to save him from the pets, one has double metal fists like Dax, one is still young, one is completely straight edge, etc.

[botslayer]

Casual reminder that that Pig Darth Vader looking dude, Swine Kampf, is the one who killed Hitler in the Supermansion universe.

I fucking loved this show when it was on. I wish there was more of it.

[happi-dreams]

i have watched the first episode of lego adventures with my sister

. i now understand why people ship duke and rex and i fully support it

[deepdreamnights]

TyrannoMax

Real name: Tyrannodus Maximus (translation) Known Aliases: Ty Maxon, the Dinoman of Wisconsin, Shellbreaker Occupation: Champion of Core City, adventurer Identity: Public Legal status: Citizen of Core City. Legal resident of the United States with a criminal record (pardoned), escaped felon in Ultramerica. Species: Dinoid Tyrannosaurus Rex Place of Hatching: Core City Martial Status: Single, betrothed. Known Relatives: TyrannoLucian (father), MegaloDiana (mother), TyrannoMaxine (grandmother, deceased), TyrannoCass (brother), TyrannoJulia (sister), Lady StegoJune (fiance), DeinoSteve (blood brother), Tyler Wrex (second cousin). Known affiliations: Warriors of the Core (member, current), Sevenfold Guardians (member, reserve), Wally Manmoth (ally), Johannes Factotum (ally), WoMinotaur (ally), Dr. Underfang (nemesis), Department of Inhuman Affairs (contractor). Base of operations: Soapstone, Wisconsin, Core City in the Fossilized World. First appearance: Tyrannomax #1 (1975)

From the Coctus Catalog, it's TyrannoMax!

His power/ability box is under the fold.

Physical Strength: TyrannoMax’s strength is exceptional, even for a dinoid. He can lift (press) 10 tons with his arms or tail. Known Powers & Abilities: Like all diniods, TryannoMax’s muscles and bone tissues are more dense and durable than human analogues, resulting in vast strength and resistance to physical damage. His scales can deflect an armor-piercing .50 caliber machine gun fire at 30 feet. TyrannoMax’s bite force is sufficient to bend a 5” diameter titanium rod. His teeth and claws are both sharp and strong enough to rend metal, and he’s able to leap up to sixty feet forward or twenty feet straight up from a standing position. Like all dinoids, TyrannoMax possesses a high degree of psychic affinity, which he can access through his psychic roar. This unique psychic talent allows TyrannoMax to imbue his roars with psionic power. He can attune the pitch of his roar to deliver physical psychokinetic force, stun the minds of those in its path, or induce fear and panic in enemies. Known Weaknesses: Dinoid physiology is only partially warmblooded and is vulnerable to cold. Temperatures below 56 degrees Fahrenheiht reduce TyrannoMax’s speed, strength and concentration in direct proportion to his body temperature. If lowered to the freezing point gradually, he will involuntarily enter a state of hibernation. Rapid freezing is deadly to dinoids.

-

TyrannoMax's art was made in the same fashion as the Wally Manmoth comic, with his body being composited out of several Midjourney attempts and his head coming from Dall-E 3, since MJ's rexes are always too modern for the 70s throwback of Tmax.

From there the colors were removed entirely, and the new lineart touched up and then re-colored using the classic comic colors from the DC 1981 style guide. And then "vintaged" in the process.

[rexheroum]

[Text ID:] Alastair Verse List: Part I

Crown Prince — “Heavy Is The Crown” [Default]

Hero King — “Rex Heroum” [Default #2]

Popular Prince [Modern Royalty #1]

Dragon King - “Rex Draco”

Pirate Prince

Disgraced Prince

Bridgerton #1

Bridgerton #2

Regency Hero

Vampire Prince — “Crimson Kiss”

PJO — Son of Lady Psyche, Aphrodite, or Eros

Rockstar/Popstar — “Like A Love Song”

Generic Superhero — “Heart of Titanium”

Wizarding World [Potterverse compatible; Anti-J/K/R]

S^x W0rker — “Sweet Little Unforgettable Thing”

MCU & Marvel 616

Broadway Performer — “Broadway Bachelor”

Merman — “Under The Sea”

Tudor Era

French Revolution

American Revolution

Ancient Greece

Ancient Rome

Medieval Scotland

HOTD/GOT/ASOIAF/F&B

Lost Kingdom / Atlantis

Disney Hero/Prince

Buccaneers

DC/DCEU

Courtesan Prince — Kushiel’s Legacy / A Court Of Night-blooming Flowers

Modern Man — Trial Scientist

Winx Club

Spare Heir — The Spare Prince

The Prince of Hearts

Reign of the Phoenix Queen

WWI

WWII

Fantasy

Historical Fiction

Historical Fantasy

Cold War

Lunaruz Civil War

Renaissance Italy

Dexter AU

Dragon Rider AU

Arthurian Legends AU

Winter Soldier AU

Witch of Lunaruz

Alien Hero AU [A la Green L.antern lol]

Witch Burning

Tudor Princeling (Son of H8th & CoA)

Supernatural AU

Royalty’s Sweetheart (Modern Prince Verse)

Modern Prince Charming (Modern Prince Verse w/ a job)

Trial Lawyer (Modern)

The Orville

Once Upon A Time/Once Upon A Time In Wonderland

The Old Guard

Wednesday/Addams Family (60s-Modern Macabre)

Mercenary/Black Knight (Crusades/Renaissance/Middle Ages/Medieval)

[asurastro]

"FINISH HIM"

Send in "FINISH HIM" to witness my muse delivering a brutal finishing blow.

____

♫

The clash had only gone on for a mere thirteen minutes, so far. In that time, a series of explosive shockwaves erupted from the fury of their blows. Brilliant, blinding lights followed when they fired at range, from the barrel of an artillery weapon or projected outwardly by one who wielded the very currency of physics, in their control over energy.

The two stood across from one another. Rex was huffing, in spite of the stance he kept up. His opponent-- a robot built to kill high-end superhumans: the Dynamech, made no such motions to indicate faltering. An impacted servo-motor or hydraulics perhaps, if the combat continued. But as long as the fighting computer saw an acceptable percentage for potential victory, it would not lay down. Nor deactivate its adaptive circuit, which let it mimic meta-capabilities. And certainly not its secret weapon: The Chronoton Cannon, a precision particle device whose tachyon utilization meant targets could be hoisted through the timestream. Disoriented, lost, and once they were in the Dynamech's sights, fired upon with a thin beam. Accompanied by a solid railgun round.

The weapon activated. Rex was launched into a marketplace sometime during the Qing Dynasty. After multiplying the magnification on its scope three times in rapid succession, the shot fired. It connected with the cosmic contender, who could only estimate as to the damage dodging the blast would have been in this crowded area.

Another temporal flash, and they were in Tunguska just before the historic explosion that would cause a 3-30 megaton blast, theorized to have been a meteor impact. But Rex and his foe had no time for research. Another shot connected, to Rex's agony, even though he tried to actually dodge this time. The only solace being that the superhuman-slayer was not the cause of history, as when they departed the original explosion occurred as normal.

Through the swamps of Pangaea and smash-skidding across a couple of now-damaged buildings in Victorian London, the two continued their life-or-death struggle against each other. Until Rex got free of the Dynamech's grappling grip, snaking around to catch it by the shoulders, and activating his hyper-vision. Twin lasers searing into the back of a reinforced titanium cranium!

Then, an uppercut straight up into orbit. Followed by Rex accelerating after the Dynamech, putting his hands together for an axe-handle blow, and slamming his enemy into a patch of desert. Only some kinetic control that was part of his aura, sort of like the inertial dampener aboard sophisticated starships prevented the impact crater from being as vast as it could have been-- enough to cause some catastrophic damage to the planet.

"--Wait. No. It's priming to fire again?!"

With his hyper-vision zooming in telescopically, Rex could see that the Dynamech's Chronoton Cannon was still operational. He dived forward. Racing down as he was scorched by re-entry speeds. Leaving a trail of sonic booms in his wake as he went faster and faster, each thunderclap in the air indicative of his harrowed sprint. Eventually putting his foot down where the CPU was located within the chassis. A whimper of an ending compared to the bombastic collisions mere moments ago.

"Hhh... Hhh..."

He stood there for a moment. Waiting and watching to see if the Dynamech had some kind of back-up functionality. Sometimes it did. It always varied: Whenever one appeared it meant someone had found the secretive blueprints that often traded hands. To the lucky owner, a new doomsday device that if assembled effectively, could lay low even the proudest, most powerful a world had to offer.

At last. Rex did away with the remains. And started on his way out from there...

[myaoiboy]

Rating All The Metal Gears By Hotness

No, not the characters. Yes, literally the Metal Gears. If I forgot any, let me know.

Metal Gear TX-55 - 4/10

This is just a lil guy. A friend, even. Reminiscent of a gonk droid from Star Wars. Sucks that he was made to do murdering. I can see where someone would find appeal, but not really for me.

Metal Gear D - 6/10

This one I can see. He got some depth to him. Kinda shiny. More smooth, less boxy. Kind of insectoid. In most franchises this would be like an 8, but it gets knocked down because of what comes later being so much sexier.

Also can I say that MG2's spriting? Mwah. Chef's kiss. So pretty. Didn't even read the intro the first time I started it up bc I was marveling at the pretty spritework. I fucking love good spritework, just find it so much more satisfying than equivalent-quality 3D art.

Metal Gear G - 2/10

Never actually completed or seen in game. Was supposed to be a smaller, mass produced version of D. Kinda sexy, loses points for being so fictional that it's only theoretical even in the games.

Metal Gear REX - 7/10

OOOO YEAH, NOW WE'RE TALKIN'!! SHINKAWA ERA BAYBEY!!! Man's got impeccable taste. He could make a literal slab of titanium look inviting.

Rex is not the sexiest Metal Gear to me, partly bc Otacon treats it like a son or a pet dog and I find a 25-yo's son-analogue to be offputting. BUT. I must concede. REX is the blueprint for all the sexy traits to come. He's got the hips. He's got the saunter. He's just a lil too brutalist for me.

Metal Gear RAY - 11/10

I know I have psychological problems because this thing's childbearing hips and murderous mandibles distract me during the boss fight.

Why is it so sexy?? What the fuck?? It's like mecha furrybait but specifically for people who are into garrus mass effect. Please tell me I'm not the only one, I'm pretty sure my boyfriend thinks I'm insane.

Arsenal Gear - 4/10

Basically just an aircraft carrier. I would say not fuckable but it DOES, canonically, have a digestive tract and asshole so like. Technically fuckable I think. But at what cost?

Honorable mention for making me deal with Raiden's daddy issues and fight the sexy mech in this thing's enormous rectum (damn near killed 'em).

Shagohod - 4/10

Not technically a metal gear. I can see the appeal, but it doesn't *quite* nail the drider-esque niche for me. It does get a bonus point for the way it moves being kinda sensual tho. Additional bonus point for being piloted by an evil fa-

Intercontinental Ballistic Metal Gear - 0/10

literally could not even find an image of this that wasn't completely dwarfed by the Saturn V rocket attached to it. Not really much to look at. If you've always wanted to fuck a Saturn V, I guess this would be a good way to get introduced.

Metal Gear RAXA - 2/10

Somehow managed to capture "first day of kindergarten" energy in a death machine. I could be convinced based on its behavior tho. Damn, Portable Ops kind of an L design-wise, huh?

Gekkos - 9.5/10

WHY DOES IT HAVE SQUISHABLE THIGHS?? SIR???

And the feet. Like, we gotta talk about the feet. Why? Why the toes? Why does it stomp on me with its weirdly well-defined toes??? Did they make this mech specifically to appeal to dinosaur foot fetishists? Why does it bleed? Why does it MOO???

Extremely fuckable to the point that it loses half a point purely because it *feels* like horny bait.

Dwarf Gekkos - 7.5/10

This is an object that feels like it was designed by and for lesbians. I have no notes. Slightly offputting only due to the odd number of hands but it IS the perfect number for some activities, so honestly that may be a plus.

Metal Gear Mk II/III - 1/10

Adorable. Not fuckable. This is a gopro with a personality. Not to be confused with the vampiric gopro with a personality from Ultrakill, V1. Literally just a baby.

Outer Haven - 5.5/10

Only technically a Metal Gear by virtue of technically being a stolen Arsenal Gear which is technically a Metal Gear. Gains .25 each for being the site of the infamous russian tuant

and whatever fucked up display of devoted homosexuality this is:

also additional bonus point for being piloted by an evil fa-

Pupa - 3/10

This is just the Shagohod but with an AI pod. -1 for being touched by Huey, but balanced out by the +1 from being made by Strangelove. Even if it IS creepy that she made her dead crush/girlfriend's psyche pilot it around.

Crysalis - 6/10

Not super sexy but it does fly and has a rail gun where one could feasibly conceptualize a dick. Kinda MILF-like (has mini-drones). Has a grappling hook, so could do bondage. Probably would, ngl.

Cocoon - 1/10

Pupa, but less sexy. I barely even remember this boss fight because the game became such a rush right around here, pushing you to the postgame/first ending.

Peace Walker - 7/10

Weird dog, functioning by sheer lesbian willpower. She is beauty, she is grace, she would probably rate a lot higher if my emulator didn't suck ass and make me angry every time I see her now, fuck that bitch.

Rage aside, who doesn't love killing their momgirlfriend and then reliving that multiple times throughout the course of a single game, culminating in her just straight up pulling a Virginia Woolf.

Metal Gear Zeke - 6/10

Really just nothing that special. Okay, wait, +2 for being piloted by an evil little girl in her panties for some fucking reason.

Also +1 for the sick ass boss fight.

Walker Gear(s) - 8/10

HERE we go!!! Hell Yeah Babey!!! Basically human sized! Has lil Fuckin' Roller Skates!!! Carries My Ammo! My Best Friend! (Okay, third best friend, after Quiet and DD)

Yeah Huey developed it but it gets WAY more bonus points for letting me manhandle him.

Sahelanthropus - 7/10

I can't deny the raw sex appeal of Sahelanthropus. Also, it's literally piloted by pubescent rage which is something I deeply resonate with ngl.

HOWEVER it DOES get docked points for uhhh

-getting strangelove killed

-making baby otacon a child soldier

-huey :/

Battle Gear - 0/10

Is there even a single frame of this entire thing? Especially without Huey??

negative 1 billion points for blue balling me in the late game, i want to ride this motherfucker right into the kgb outposts and let 'em have it for what they did to babygirl

[altruistresistance]

INFO DUMP FOR MY PRIMARY AU

SONIC: BATTLE LINE

PLOT

On the Planet Mobius, all is quiet. The population of Humans and Mobians alike live in harmony. Or so it seems. Under the shining exterior, a cold war between extremists and the government is starting to boil over. Head of the Science Division, Dr. Ivo Robotnik plots to use scientific advancements to turn the population against one another. As such, the Guardians of the United Nations scrambled a small platoon of heroes with remarkable powers in order to stop him. The conflict has been going for three years... and it's reaching a boiling point.

THE SECOND STAR RESISTANCE

Cole "Sonic" Aleena the Hedgehog (Powers: Super speed, mild wind manipulation.)

Michelle "Sonia" Aleena the Hedgehog (Powers: Invisibility.)

Jordan "Manic" Aleena the Hedgehog (Powers: Super strength, limited seismic manipulation.)

Miles "Tails" Prower the Fox (Powers: Two-tailed flight.)

Amy "Rusty" Rose the Hedgehog (Powers: Super strength, invisibility, cyborg anatomy.)

Elijah "Knuckles" Meadows the Echidna (Powers: Super strength, hyper durability.)

Clara "Rouge" Hopkins the Bat (Powers: Psionic shield.)

E-123 Omega (Powers: Internal nanometal arsenal.)

Samson Robotnik Beowulf "Shadow" Terios the Hedgehog (Powers: super speed, super strength, mastery over Chaos manipulation.)

THE ROBOTON REGIME (HIGH COMMAND)

Dr. Ivo "Eggman" Robotnik (Powers: Cybernetic enhancements Badnik control.)

Jason "Sleet" Fredrick the Wolf (Powers: control over the nanometal drones known as the Dingo Pack.)

Snively Robotnik (Powers: Badnik control.)

Neo "Metal Sonic" Metallix the Android Hedgehog (Powers: Nanometal copy ability.)

Xander "Infinite" Oliver the Jackal (Powers: Unstable Chaos energy manipulation filtered through the Phantom Ruby.)

Agent Breezie the Synthetic Hedgehog (Powers: Hypnotic mist.)

THE ROBOTON REGIME (BADNIKS)

MotoBugs (Motorcycle beetles armed with submachine guns. Weak point, wheels.)

Buzz Bombers (Small VTOL wasps armed with low-burn plasma beams in the stinger. Weak point, torso.)

Crabmeat (Crustacean sentinels with claw-mounted rocket launchers. Weak point, joints.)

Optic Pods (Single-eyed scouts with micro missile salvos. Weak point, power core/eye.)

Slicers (Praying mantis guards with reinforced titanium blades. Weak point, back of the neck.)

SwatBots (Elite humanoid Badniks capable of speech that use built in high-burn plasma cannons and smart-lock missiles. Weak point, Achilles heel.)

Hover Units (Large helicopter drones armed with ultrasonic concussion cannons, fusion core missiles, and a deployable energy shield. Weak point, rotor blades.)

Tank-Rexes (Huge theropod-like tanks with powerful jaws, optical plasma cutters, drill tail, and hyper-concussive roar. Weak point, internal generator.)

WEAPON TYPES

Melee (Swords, hammers, pile bunkers, the list goes on.)

Ballistic (Firearms that use traditional bullets. Effective against lighter Badniks, but useless against SwatBots and large units.)

Plasma (Firearms that utilize plasma engines rather than standard ammunition. Rare, but effective against more elite Badniks.)

Explosive (Be it a rocket launcher or grenade, these weapons pack a punch. Can be just as damaging to the wielder as it is to the enemy.)

HEADCANON VOICES SO FAR

Sonic - Benjamin Diskin

Sonia - Erica Mendez

Manic - Johnny Yong Bosch

Tails - Anthony Del Rio

Knuckles - Khary Payton

Amy - Jamie Lamchick

Rouge - Grey DeLisle

Omega - Keith David

Shadow - Ian Hanlin

Eggman - Charlie Adler

Sleet - Steve Blum

Snively - Peter MacNicol

Metallix - Ron Perlman

Infinite - Liam O'Brien

Breezie - Laura Bailey

SwatBots - Isaac Singleton Jr.

[romeonotromeo]

pls sneak me on the ship. -@rexs-plant

Contact @exoskeleton-of-titanium

[roleplayallday]

I haven’t heard much from the supermansion fandom in years however I really want to roleplay some Debbie/Devizo, Blackgroans, and Lex/Courtney.

I read a lex/courtney fic last night and it was suxh a good rarepair that i’d love to write something between these two!

Not to mention, I’ve been itching to do a debbie redemption story and i’d love to write that with someone as well! Where she redeems herself by saving Devizo from a big villain and destroying the heart of amore, which returns all the love to his heart.

If any of this sounds interesting please dm me here or on discord! My discord is Kazikuns

[botslayer]

If I had a nickel for every Superman expy that fucked a bug, I would have two nickels. You know the rest of this copy pasta.

[memesterotwpod]

"If you can make your own destiny, so can we."

Power Rangers Time Force was the 9th season of Power Rangers produced by Saban and ran from February 3rd to November 17th, 2001. 

I mention this because I think it’s important to remember that the War On Terror was just getting its boots on the ground when the finale of a children’s action show ended in peace and regret rather than a big robot spectacle. 

Normally a lot of the drawing points for a PR series is the Zords, the costumes, and the cool gear they get along the way, and sure, Time Force has a ton of that. It’s all decent bait designed to make kids buy toys, but this season didn’t impress me a lot. (With exception to the Quantum Ranger and the Q-Rex, that fucks.)

No, the best thing about Time Force is that this season has so much heart and isn’t afraid to have a few laughs as well. 

The Movie-Director mutant doing a bit about producers ruining things after the main villain pushes for his daughter to be in the movie. 

The same main villain being protective and sweet to the Blue Ranger when they mistakenly think he has a crush on his daughter. 

There's more than a few times the series embraces it’s goofy premise and it elevates the episodes. 

The other side of the coin there is how serious the content and subplots of the show can be. From the jump it’s a story about how a minority group (mutants)  weren’t being taken care of in their world, which pushed them into desperation, crime, and hate. Then that hate compounds itself with the addition of robots and the origin of the secondary villain of the series. 

The cycle continues over and over in the show, with multiple episodes convincing characters to set aside some bias, until in the finale of the show, after injuring and nearly killing his daughter and a human baby, Ransik sees the error of his ways, and turns himself in. No bloody conclusion, no screen filling explosion, just penance. 

The Time Force Rangers aren’t immune to life lessons either. 

Jen, The Pink Ranger, is the de facto leader of the group at first, and is driven on this mission to capture Ransik after the supposed death of her fiancé, the first Red Ranger Alex. 

Wes is Alex’s ancestor, is some rich kid who’s dissatisfied with his father’s plan for him, and so when Jen and Wes meet, Jen is so full of grief that she hates him. Over the course of the series we see Jen loosen up a bit and learn to love Wes for who he is, and realize that Alex is too married to the rules for her. (Alex is alive btw  don’t worry about it). 

Wes struggles with earning  his father’s love, but forges ahead on his path to do the right thing, regardless of the financial cost. We see him struggle with pre-determination, and fight to choose his own destiny rather than follow the easy road laid out before him. 

His father, Mr. Collins, goes from a greedy slimeball millionaire CEO to a proud, loving father, who is willing to search all night in a disaster to find his son, and learns the value of helping people along the way. We meet Eric, a foil to Wes who struggled to get to where he was and resents him for growing up in privilege, and the best part is that they never really just let him suddenly be cool with everyone. He’s the antihero for most of the series, and even in the finale states outright why he’s had a problem with Wes the whole time. We see him soften and work towards having peace with the others, but he’s never fully just part of the team like Tommy or the Titanium Ranger before him. 

The rest of the rangers are fairly flat characters who might learn a small lesson here or there, but are mostly around to help people. 

A big exception to this is Trip, the Green Ranger, an alien who in the series deals with self doubt and being treated differently because of his race, and defends a mutant who doesn’t want to fight from the Quantum Ranger. 

Most of these characters have some level of depth and motivation, and although we got a bit less from the villains in the season, how we see the characters grow makes up for that. 

Time Force is copaganda for sure, but it exists in a fictional world where billionaires can change into loving fathers, private military forces can become public and used to help people, and the good guys always catch the bad guys. Sometimes it’s nice to visit that world. 

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 8

[Read on AO3]

“Don’t know what to say, sir.” The crew chief’s young enough that his knees don’t click when he levers up from the scaffolding, sandy hair made mussed and muddier still by the amount runnels his fingers have tracked through it. Youngest to ever make the grade, hand-picked by the Marshal himself-- though scuttlebutt had always painted that more as a punishment than a promotion, punitive action for a job too well done. “We’re still waiting on some of the diagnostics, and I’ve got some of my guys running over the wiring with a fine tooth comb, but I gotta say...”

It’s clear Shuuka’s never thought of it that way, not when he reaches out, giving Rex Tyrannis a chummy chuck on the chest plate. “There’s nothing wrong under hood here, far as I can tell.���

It’s difficult not to clench, not to let even the smallest nerve in his jaw jump, but if there’s one thing Mitsuhide knows how to do, it’s to pretend everything’s Situation Normal when it’s all Charlie Foxtrot. There’s a verve on the deck today, a current just beneath the skin of that scuffed up steel that puts a spring in every step clad in combat boots and coverall gray. The King’s out of his box, the air seems to buzz, and some big motherfuckers are gonna learn how to kneel. He’d hate to ruin it.

Shuuka’s palm presses flat against the plate, almost reverent, grease stains streaked so deep it’s hard to tell where skin ends and titanium begins. “Old girl’s fit as a fiddle for something two marks behind what’s rolling off the assembly line.”

Funny that he can place a man on this deck by just that: an old girl and smile. When the Marshal sat in the hot seat, no tech worth his tags would sling anything else but he’s and hims around the Tyrannis; there was just something about that edifice of titanium and tungsten and hubris was all male from the moment it rolled off the line. But a few years on the shelf and suddenly the memory of it goes soft; a monster made from miracles and mental turns into a spry she needing a little extra handhold to get past the finish line.

Kiki would have something to say about that, if she heard it. Probably several somethings, and all of them not fit for polite company. Not that there was much of it to go around here, but still-- most of these coveralls were a stone’s throw away from the academy. Didn’t need to demoralize them right out the gate.

“Good job, LT.” Kid must be holding a breath; a clap on his back knocks a hiccup right out of him. “Keep me updated.”

“Will do, sir,” Shuuka wheezes, rubbing at his shoulder. “Crazy stuff, isn’t it though? Whole deck would have been would have been FUBAR if Tyrannis let that charge go. Not to mention what would have happened to you all in Mission Control.”

Mitsuhide’s gone toe-to-toe with acid-spitting kaiju, with mountain-class monsters whose mouths have more in common with can openers than teeth, with actual hand-to-god nightmares from the deepest recesses of his childhood subconscious, and yet--

Yet none of them have thrown him from his bunk in a cold sweat, heart galloping a mile a minute behind the ragged cage of his ribs. Blue haunts the edges of his vision even now, waiting for him to close his eyes, to simply blink before it ambushes him, death painted on the back of his eyelids in scintillating detail. Even in his dreams, he’s only got one lifeline: some microphone smaller than his finger joint and the blind hope that there’s someone who can still hear him on the other side.

It’s the sort of thing that would land him on Shirayuki’s couch if he stopped to think too hard about it. Which he can’t; any second that siren could scream out and set them all scrambling to stations. His head’s hardly top priority when there’s more important parts needed in a rig.

A laugh rasps out of him, stilted even to his own ears. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t you worry, sir.” Shuuka hooks his hands around his hips, fingers painting gray streaks across even grayer coverall. “The whole crew’s real serious about getting to the bottom of it. A malfunction like that wouldn’t have been fun for any of us. ”

“Great.” That’s the sort of attitude he’d love to see if there were anything to get to the bottom of. Shuuka and his crew might be able work miracles on a mechanical failure, but they could do fuck all for a pilot one. Unless whatever’s wrong with Obi can be fixed with good old deckhand moonshine, which-- well, he’s heard of stranger things. “Glad to hear it.”

There’s a pause, a long one; a chasm filled up with speculation and secrets neither of them are at liberty to let loose. Instead, Shuuka just squints out over the floor, a strained concern stretching the corners of his smile as he asks, “Say, you think they’ll be sending anyone to take Tyrannis out for a drag anytime soon?”

It’s an innocuous question, just the sort the crew chief should be asking now that they’ve taken his baby out of its box-- there’s a difference between regular upkeep and active-duty maintenance, a world of it, enough to keep a kid up at night wondering whether his uncrossed T or his naked I will kill a man come morning-- but coming off a handshake as hot as that one...

Well, he wouldn’t be the first to park his fishing expedition on Mitsuhide’s pond today, that’s for sure.

“Can’t say anything for sure,” he tells him, face aching from the effort. “But if the Marshal says anything where I can hear it, I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

For as fast and high as Shuuka’s climbed the ladder these past few years, he’s not the sort to raise his voice-- hell, he’s not even one to frown. But the kid looks at him now, and there’s none of that happy-go-lucky left in him, just the hard evaluation of a man whose job is to find a nicked wire in rat’s nest.

“Just between you and me, sir?” he hums, voice pitched so low Mitsuhide can hardly make him out over the welders. “The old girl’s been up on the shelf for a while. She was built solid-- built to last, like all the Mark 3s, but--” a breath whistles through his teeth “--she was made to be used too.”

Mitsuhide keeps his posture casual as a he can bear it, being the officer on deck. Anything to make it look like they’re just shooting the shit, and not...whatever this is. “Something I should know about, LT?”

“It’s not anything to worry about.” Strange thing for a man to say when he’s checking his corners, stepping close enough for their arms to brush on the scaffolding. “Just...sometimes when the older ones sit on the shelf, it makes their suspension a little lose. Joints don’t quite move like they should. Parts aren’t always right where you expect them. Not like the newer chrome, you know?”

“Right.” He lets the word roll around in his mouth, fully tasting the flavor of it before he asks, “So what’s that mean for getting boots on the deck?”

His hands fly off the rail, waving off his worries. “Ah, nothing, nothing! Really, Rex is ready to take a walk the minute she’s off the leash. Fighting condition! It’s only...” Shuuka hesitates, casting him a long look from the corner of his eyes. “Something like that...sometimes it makes it harder for them to fight up close. Puts more kinks in the armor when they go hand-to-hand.”

Mitsuhide scrubs at the back of his undercut, stubble scraping at his palm. That’d be a death knell for a machine like their Redwood Dancer. But Rex Tyrannis... “Good thing Kain Wisteria designed that thing to dominate a battlefield, not dance on it, I guess.”

“Guess so,” Shuuka agrees, shoulders slumping over the rail. “A few days ago, I would have told you the girl’s better than new, but, sir-- I could have sworn we did every check on that plasmacaster the lot of us could come up, and still it nearly took out half the dome. I swear--” he lets out a huff of a laugh, almost fond “-- these older ones, it’s like they got a mind of their own. Or like they’re still haunted by the pilots, even after...ah, you know...”

Oh, there’s a lot Mitsuhide knows. He knows he’s never once stepped on stage, but if Shuuka ask him to chassé-sauté-pirouette right off this scaffolding right now, his body would remember how. He’s never once read Alice in Wonderland, but he can recite the Lobster Quadrille by heart. His hair has been military regulation since sixth grade, but he knows how it feels to have someone wrap their fingers through it at yank. “Don’t think it’s the jaegers that are haunted.”

Shuuka blinks up at him. “Sir?”

It’s not the sort of thing they talk about in the dome-- actively discourage, the Marshal would say with that smile of his, the one that never quite makes it to his eyes. It’s bad enough when one of them chase the rabbit in the pod, but to admit there’s something that lingers, that the ride doesn’t just stop when they hop out of the harness--

Well, the last thing people here need to think about is how thin a thread their lives are balanced on.

“Ah, sorry there LT.” He clasps him on the shoulder, smiling hard enough to make his molars creak. “Chasing the rabbit and I don’t even got my party clothes on. Hazard of the job, I guess.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, sir, you’ve been going more hours than you haven’t.” Shuuka sends him a skeptical squint. “When’s the last time you saw your rack?”

Truth is, the last few nights he hasn’t so much seen his bed as stumbled to it, so exhausted he was asleep before he hit the mattress. But that’s not the sort of answer a subordinate wants to hear when--

“You know, if you gotta think about it--” a smile rucks up one side of the chief’s mouth-- “it’s been too long.”

“Ah...” Mitsuhide scrubs a hand across his hairline. It comes away moist. “I guess I could do with a break.”

“Not much that eight hours and three square can’t fix, major.” This time it’s the kid who claps his shoulder, not enough to sting but enough that he steps out of his stupor, suddenly exhausted. He’d be embarrassed by how much if only Shuuka wasn’t smiling, the kind that said he’d seen it all before and he’d see it a hundred times before he finally set aside his kit and coveralls. “Go hit the showers.”

It’s not that Mitsuhide doesn’t appreciate the sentiment. If anything, it’s just the sort of wall poster positivity Zen accuses him of giving on the regular, still wiping sleep from his eyes as he grouses, there’s something deeply wrong with you. No one’s this chipper in the morning without coffee.

It’s just that in his experience, there’s a good number of things that food and sleep won’t fix no matter how much of it a body get. No three course meal is going to soften the blow of a kaiju, no full night’s sleep is going to take the edge off losing someone out in the drink. It can’t help how many miles he is from home, how long it’s been since he’s seen his mother’s face on more than just a grainy screen. It won’t change that every time she giggles out bisous at the end of their calls, it might be the last.

And it’s certainly not going to help whatever went down in that Conn-Pod. Nothing this commissary can whip up, at least.

Or so he thinks, right up until the shower spray hits his back, and every muscle there relaxes.

“Jesus.” He bows his neck, letting more of the water sluice down his spine. “Maybe I did need a break.”

“Good.” 

For one, blissful moment, he’s sure that voice is inside his head, that it’s just that small sliver of Kiki that’s worked deep under the nail bed of his brain until it’s impossible to tell where it begins and he ends. A nice thought, a sane one, but he knows: that voice wouldn’t have an echo.

Mitsuhide turns, not-- not all the way, but enough that the water splits over his shoulder, spraying down chest and back with equal fervor, and--

And she’s just standing there, blank tank clinging to her like a second skin, her coverall pushed to her hips with a thin strip of pale flesh peeking through the gap between. “It’s dinner time.”

And of course, the icing on this particular cake: she’s got his towel.

There’s no secrets in the drift, no fantasies that get to stay hidden in the shadowy corners of his mind, and so there’s no use pretending that this isn’t how half of his start: showers steaming and Kiki catching him in a corner, both of them getting wet, as--

Ah, no need to make this worse. It’s, er, already hard enough to hide what’s going on below his waist, let alone if he goes and makes an event out of it.

“Kiki,” he gasps, scrabbling at the lifeline she tosses him. Stupidly, of course; the water’s still going at the only pressure it knows-- full blast-- and by the time he’s got it tucked around his waist, the towel’s as soaked as he is. “What are you--?

“It’s dinner time,” she repeats, slow as the stare she drags up him, mouth hooking into a smirk. “You hungry?”

The knot slips at his hip; only those ranger reflexes keep him from flirting with disaster. “W-what?”

“I am.” Her arms fold right under her breasts, and it’s a struggle to keep his eyes from tracking the movement. “Zen is too.”

Mitsuhide blinks, the shift in tone leaving him stymied. “H-he is? He told you that?”

“No.” Annoyance flashes in her eyes, lightning from a distant storm. “But he needs to eat. Whether he wants to or not.”

Her hip cocks, both the angle of it and her brows daring him to chide her. 

“Kiki,” he sighs, fist clenching tighter in the cloth. “You know as well as I do that the only way out of a hangover like that is through. If he’s not ready... we can’t just brow beat him into being better.”

Kiki’s spent the better part of a decade proving to the boy’s club here that’s she’s one of them, that there’s no need to relegate her to the personnel head just to keep the dress on the door, or for some private shower to be set aside for her own use. That she can go to the mat with any one of them and end up on top without special treatment. That her blood, sweat, and tears was just as real any anyone’s.

But she lifts her chin, and with every imperious inch she proves she’s General Seiran’s daughter.

“Not--” the edge of each word clips to a point “--with that attitude.”

The Academy might only be nine months, three trimesters spread across twenty-four weeks total before they roll their shiny new recruits into the grinder, but it’s not all just simulations and bushido. No, before they’re even allowed a glimpse of the combat room, they have to go through the basics-- engineering, K-science, tactics. And there’s no learning all that without talking about the greats.

Kain and Abel Wisteria. Haruto Jiran, usually in the same breath. Duc and Kaori Jessop. Mason Arleon and Ren Haruka. Lo Hin Shen and Xichi Po. Lata Forzeno, before he up and disappeared from the program. And of course, no tactics course would be complete without discussing Luke Seiran.

Most Rangers made a name for themselves by bold maneuvers and suicidal risks, half of them going out in a blaze of glory before they could rack up more than three kills. But General Seiran did it by living, dodging acid sprays and chainsaw teeth until those lizards left a scaly side open, waiting to spring until victory was no longer an opportunity but a certainty. He’d kept that reputation as a marshal, only losing two rangers from his dome during his five year tenure, until they bumped him up to top brass.

There’d been speculation when his daughter joined up that she’d be much the same. Slow to speak and hard to rile, everyone had seen her father in her, and yet--

And yet, the knock at his door is all the warning Zen has before she drags him through it, locking his arms in a hold he’d need at least six inches and eighty more pounds to break. A fact Mitsuhide’s learned through hard-won experience. Even still, his shoulder doesn’t sit quite right.

“I already said,” Zen grunts as she steers him through the commissary doors, “I’m not hungry.”

“Shut up.” Kiki’s never had much need for eloquence when her eyebrows can do so much of the heavy lifting. “Last thing you ate was a cup of yogurt, and that was last night. You’re hungry, and you’ll eat.”

If you knows what’s good for you, her tone implies, along with the dire consequences if he doesn’t.

It’s enough to get him on a bench. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I’m hungry.”

Kiki Seiran’s frown could make battle-hardened soldier spring for the head, but Zen just weathers it, drawing this stand off to a stalemate. “I’m gonna get you something. I’ll even make it green.” She glances across the table, scowl sending shivers down even Mitsuhide’s spine. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

There’s not enough showmanship in a Seiran to stomp, but Kiki moves with a purpose, exuding the sort of don’t fuck with me energy that makes seas of servicemen part in her path. She might be one of the smaller rangers on deck, but everyone who has dreamed of sliding on a drive suit knows that an altercation with her is career limiting. Mostly for the joints. 

Or at least the ones that didn’t grow up with her being two doors down do.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” Zen hunches over the table, shoulders hiked up around his ears as sharp as pickets, like that might warn everyone to keep their distance. “All I say is that I’m not hungry, and she thinks she can get all up in my business. Like there’s something wrong with me just because I don’t need to eat all the time.” He glances up at him, annoyed. “I’m fine, you know.”

The thing is, Zen believes it. His eyes are jumping all around this room, not able to hold a gaze while saying it, but he’s convinced he’s okay. All his parts are in the right place, nothing’s bleeding, and he’s not waking up in the wee hours screaming, so what’s there to complain about? A couple skipped meals here and there, a few extra hours of sleep, none of that feels like trouble, not to a guy who has trained his whole life to climb into a Conn-Pod and leave it all to the drift.

So there’s no point in starting in argument, in scolding him for not taking better care. Instead, Mitsuhide hums, not quite an agreement, and not quite not. Middle of the road--

“Oh, fuck you,” Zen sneers, digging a fist through his hair. “I am. Just had one hell of a drift. You know how those are. It’s just like...”

Like your body isn’t your own. Or that there’s more of it, a whole person’s worth, that won’t work no matter how many signals your brain pumps out.

“A hangover.” That’s what they used to call it in the Academy. Made sense when the first trip through the Pons System usually ended with a cadet hanging over the toilet. “I still eat.”

Zen glares. “Of course you do. You’d die if you didn’t eat a whole cow every day.”

“Be fair.” A tray slams down on the table in front of him, leafy greens fluttering in disarray. “Sometimes he eats a whole turkey instead. For cardiovascular health.”

“Hey.” It’s always like this when the two of them snipe at each other; if he stands on the sidelines long enough, he’s the one bound to end up in their sights. “I abide by the PDPC’s nutritional guidelines. For a man my height--”

Zen snorts. “Don’t pretend this has anything to do with your height.”

“That’s--”

“You think all those calories are going into your bone structure?” Kiki folds her arms behind her own dinner, one perfectly plucked eyebrow rising with the sort of searing skepticism only a Seiran could manage. “Please, if they let Zen in, I think the PDPC isn’t concerned with inches on a yardstick.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zen forehead fouls up with the signs of a stormfront even the Pacific would be hard-pressed to match. “I’ll have you know that I grew at least two inches in basic, and after the Academy, I--”

His teeth snap shut with a clack, hard enough Mitsuhide’s molars ache with sympathy. Every inch of his body quivers with tension, alert the way a ranger is in his rig, ready for conflict to rear right up out of the waves--

And that’s when the doors swing open. The commissary is packed shoulder-to-shoulder now that third shift’s let out, J-techs and K-science and admins all bumping elbows to make some space; even a familiar faces could get lost in the crowd, and yet Zen whips around and fixes on this one right away. 

Not because of the full head of dark bristle, or the cheekbones so angular they could cut glass-- that’s par for the course in a place that specializes in picking clean the bones of other service branches, poaching only the best of the best. No, it’s how he slips through the door, not with the macho swagger the Academy breeds into its recruits, but with a cat’s boneless saunter, like his skin is just a suggestion of where he ends, not a hard boundary. He’s got that ranger confidence, the kind that says he could take down every body in the room, but on him it’s not hot air, not some way he gasses himself up to fight ten ton monsters, but--

But the truth. There’s a ruthlessness to him, an edge that says he’d be willing to turn that even onto himself if it meant he stayed breathing.

It makes Mitsuhide’s hands itch, makes him want to pick up a jo and see just how much of that really bears out on the mat. To see if he’s all attitude like most of the rangers that strut under the dome, or--

Ah, but another cracked chin isn’t what this situation needs. Not when Zen’s already half out of his seat, quivering like a dog at the end of his leash.

Not when Obi catches a glimpse of him, a flash of red hovering at his shoulder, and ducks right back out the way he came. Zen practically collapses back on the bench, all that nervous energy turned to despair.

“Oh, I get it,” Kiki hums, leaning a chin on her fist. “He’s ghosting you.”

Zen spears a spinach leaf. “It’s complicated.

“I gotta tell you, major.” Shuuka lifts his hands, something less than a shrug but more than a sigh. “This whole thing’s got me stumped.”

Mitsuhide hums, a toneless question, palm scraping across the bristle at his neck. “You don’t say.”

“We’ve gone over every bolt of the old girl and there’s not a thing out of place, not even a line of code left to bug.” He hooks his hands around his hips, squinting straight up into Rex Tyrannis’ sightless eyes. “Either this whole thing was a fluke, or...”

There’s a whole sea of things that aren’t said in that silence, a hull full of hunches that are too dangerous to air out. Shuuka struggles there, mouth working around an allegation with too much armament to bring into civil conversation. But they both know: he has to. It’s not his job to spit out what the higher ups want to hear, but to accurately assess the problem.

And by the pained look in the crew chief’s eye, he’s done just that. “I’m thinking that there might not be a problem with the plasmacaster itself,” he says, winding up so slow Mitsuhide can see every word before he hears it. “But maybe there is one between the pons and pod.”

Pilot error. Chasing the rabbit. His jaw clenches on reflex. “I--”

Red flashes, right down past his feet. He can see blaze through the grating, flitting from bay to bay like a cardinal in a bush. The same way it had fluttered by Obi’s shoulder in the mess, there one moment and gone the next. Haah, now there’s someone who might have some answers.

“We’ll have to pick this up later, LT,” he says, giving the kid a pat on the shoulder. “Something’s just come up.”

There’s no reason to rush; his target isn’t much of an elusive one, even when she’s got a purpose-- short legs and too many hours behind a desk don’t really promote hustle-- and she’s sure not in a hurry now. No, by the way that professional-style ponytail is idling down by Rex Tyrannis’s toes, she’s looking for a reason to stick around. One that might have to do with the six-foot shadow she’s conspicuously missing.

Still, Mitsuhide bounds down the scaffolding like there’s a fire under him, hopping down entire flights when there aren’t J-Techs to worry about on the rebound. It’s the kind of physical stunt he thought he outgrew when the Academy put their patch on him; the kind of showboating that had been smothered out of him when they stood him in front of a hundred ton killing machine and told him to protect mankind or die trying.

But one jump down rattles the scaffolding, enough that she looks up, big-eyes rounding as she lands on his face. Her mouth shapes itself around his first syllable, but he’s the first one to wave, to call out, “Shirayuki! Just...just a minute, please!”

“Ah...” Shirayuki doesn’t have the sort of voice that implies volume, the kind that only lifts itself to fill the space between two bodies, not a room. But she takes one look at him up on the grating and lets her chest expand enough to boom out, “Take your time!”

It’s a kind sentiment-- one he appreciates when the most common one he gets from up top is, and put some hurry on it-- but Mitsuhide’s got no intention of making the doc wait around. He cans the cadet-style antics, sure, but being a big man in a hurry tends to clear a path real quick. He pounds down the stairs two at a time, hitting the deck with a friendly, “It’s been a while.”

Weeks at least, if he doesn’t count the commissary. Not since he and Kiki spent a whole afternoon idling on the sidelines, watching some boys from Hong Kong skid to victory by the skin of their teeth. The dividing lines had come down, him on one side, and her on the other, and when they lifted, well...

“It has been.” Shirayuki smiles the way he wears his drive suit: easy, like she’s made for it. “Things have been going...well?”

“No kaiju.” That’s the only metric that matters under the dome; whether that’s good or not comes down to personal opinion. By the grimace on her face, Shirayuki knows it. “And you? Everything going...ah...?”

This should be it: his moment. The perfect place to insert a conversational elbow and steer this whole topic right around, to finally ask what’s been itching at him since last night. And yet--

He can’t. Maybe Kiki could just come out and ask if Obi’s tearing himself up, if he’s locked himself in his bunk and gone on some sort of hunger strike, the way dogs do when they’ve really got a mind to pine. Not without admitting that’s just the sort of thing Zen’s been up to these last few days, and considering what he thinks of Shirayuki, well, it seems a little cruel.

But Shirayuki’s standing in front of him right now, politely waiting for him to wrap up these pleasantries, so he settles for, “...Fine?”

“Oh!” That easy smile of hers strains under her laugh. “Keeping busy!”

They say rangers have an instinct, a gut feeling for opportunity. In a jaeger, that’s an opening, a sense for the weak spot on a body that’s made of muscle and scale and whatever spite the Pacific can spit at them. It’s the bleeding edge between success and failure, of limping home alive or being an empty box at your mother cries over at a funeral.

With two feet on dry ground, it’s listening to the whistle of a soft pitch as it passes you by. Which is what’s going to happen right now, if he doesn’t figure out how to put a question together.

Just blurting it out is too...blunt. Too much like vulnerability, a voice like Shirayuki’s opines in his ear. He’s got to switch up his tactics. More than one way to skin a cat, after all. Something more subtle, maybe.

“So I’d imagine.” He hooks an arm over the railing, casual. “Since there’s, uh, been a lot to sort out. After...everything.”

There, perfect.

“You, uh...” He coughs, so natural, into his shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

All right, that not so much.

Her smiles twitches, too tight, before it melts away, a hiccup of a breath rolling right into a giggle.

“Oh no,” she manages around it, clutching her belly. “We’re doing it again.”

Mitsuhide stares. “Ah...we are?”

A small hand waves between them, utterly helpless. “We’re both asking around the same things again. Fumbling around in the dark from different directions!” She collects herself with a sniff, wiping tears from her eyes. “So I’m guessing you haven’t gotten much out of Zen? When I saw you out yesterday, I thought...”

“Ah...” He grimaces. “No, that’s as much headway as we’ve made all week. I thought since you were out with Obi, that maybe he had been...?”

Seeing you, he doesn’t say, which means there’s no need for him to rush to tack on, professionally. Not that personally seems to be off the table. Just a few weeks ago, Zen and the good doctor had seemed like a done deal save for some thorny professional ethics to work around on her part, but now--

“I’m sorry.” Her smile strains at the corners. “Even if had, I couldn’t tell you.”

Well, it looks like she might not be in a rush to be ethically complicated over this one.

“Welp.” He lets out a chuckle of his own, thumbs hooking hard into his belt loops. “Guess we’re both coming back empty handed after this fishing expedition, huh?”

There’s a rueful slant to her smile as she flicks her gaze away, not so much bashful but frustrated. “Seems like. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“No, no!” He waves a hand between them. “Don’t worry about it. I’m the one sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”  

Her eyebrows furrow, a reflection of her frown. “That’s not a very generous interpretation. Zen used to be your copilot, it’s only natural that you would have strong feelings about his happiness.”

He used to be Zen’s copilot, but there no way to explain that distinction to someone outside the drift, to try to explain what having a jaeger means to someone who hasn’t dreamed of being in one.

“Everything’s going to work out on it’s own, I’m sure,” he says instead. “We just have to let it.”

There’s a dubious rumple to her mouth, a question in her eyes that she knows better than to ask. “If that’s what you think...”

He doesn’t, not a bit, but Mitsuhide puts on his brights smile when he says, “Of course I do.”

In a dome full of rangers and ranger-hopefuls, there’s no magic hour when the gym clears, when crowded machines and rubberneckers are exchanged for freedom and silence. Or at least, no reasonable hour; Kiki keeps suggesting he join her at midnight, but for a man raise on the military’s clock, that’s...way past his bedtime.

So instead he settles for an audience, racking up his plates while a tidy little crowd idles just far enough away for plausible deniability. Or it least it would be, if there weren’t so many of them, whispers gaining an edge as he loads a ninth plate on either side. By the time he sets his soles against the footplate, it’s a quiet roar, and when he presses through his first rep, it cuts to a gasp.

It’s the machine that does most of the work on a press; he squats half this-- well, a little more; last thing he needs is some J-tech fainting because he went to ten plates. But there’s no need to share that, not when the room’s actually quiet while he does his reps, letting him think for once, his thoughts as disjointed as they are in the drift, dwelling on--

Well, not Kiki cornering him in the showers, that’s for sure. They spend a whole trimester on mental hardiness at the Academy, on keeping that iron grip whenever they take a dip in the drift, but all it took was one handshake with Kiki Seiran to turn all that training useless. He’d like to believe she’s just kind enough not to say anything, not to mention how unprofessional it is for him to blurt all his sexual fantasies out the moment their handshake’s complete, but sometimes she looks at him, mouth hooked slyly like it was in the head last night, and he wonders...

“Well, well.” A shadow falls over him, just as oily as the smirk that casts it. “Lowen. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you hard at work.”

Mitsuhide’s teeth grit down into a smile. “Hisame Lugis. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, you know.” That floppy hair of his shifts-- not regulation-- baring the vicious glint in his eye. “If I’m going to be moving around ten tons of metal, I figure I can put in a few hours to prepare.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Good thing my right side has always been my best, I suppose.”

It’ll take more than a few bicep curls to replace me, Mitsuhide doesn’t say, struggling to keep that sunny disposition. “You don’t say. Hadn’t heard any news that we had a seat open in a pod.”

“Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.” The smirk hooks to a deeper slant, and Lugis leans, fingers close enough to brush his kneecap. “Better keep that leg in good condition, Lowen. Since it’s the only half of you that’s any use.”

That scarecrow of a man stalks off, and oh, Mitsuhide likes to give everyone a fair shake, to let everyone have their chance to grow, but he even he has to admit: he does not like that man.

“Wow,” hums a voice right in his ear. “He seems fun.”

Mitsuhide knows better than to startle on the bench, but he does jump, footplate dropping hard into his soles. “Jesus.”

“Easy there, big guy.” He’s never seen Obi up close, but now he’s got a a hand on his shoulder, patting him the same way a man might soothe his dog. “Guy could lose a finger like that. Maybe a few toes? I don’t know, I try not to think about how that stuff works with these things.”

“Ah, I...” It’s stupid how his chest heaves, how this has pushed him more than thirty reps. “I wasn’t really expecting...?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” The hand on his shoulder helps guide him up, making him level with that grin. Alright, maybe he does get why Kiki punched first, asked questions later. “Used to get told to wear a bell. Not that it would have helped here. Your eyes were for that snake and that snake only.”

“Hisame Lugis. He’s kind of a...” Bastard. “Prick.”

“Yeah, he seemed like a real barrel of monkeys.” Obi steps back once he’s upright, arms slung behind his head. “Have to admit, I’m a little jealous.”

Mitsuhide glances up at him, confused. “J-jealous?”

“Yeah, I came in here and saw you lifting, and I thought, he’s Master’s guy, he’ll be all on me like white on rice.” Those strange eyes of his narrow, only a flash of gold between the lids. “But snake boy got all the attention.”

He’s too busy trying to catch his breath to keep up with the conversation. “Zen wouldn’t like it if he knew you called him--”

“Listen, big guy, I know what you’re after.” Obi’s all grins when he bends down, but none of it reaches his eyes. “You’re thinking that if all your friends there took me to the mats, you want a spin.”

His first instinct is to deny it, to say prefers civil conversation to combat, but--

But his hands itch. He’s a ranger, after all.

“Yeah,” he pants out. “Why not.”

The gym isn’t as well equipped as the combat room, but there’s jo slung against a rack. None of them big enough for him, of course, but--

“I was thinking we might do something a little different.”

Mitsuhide squints over his shoulder. “Different?”

“Yeah.” There a sharp edge hidden in that smile, something that says it’s looking for a bloodier sport. “I was thinking...Big Guy like you must do well at hand-to-hand.”

His fingers curl, knuckles cracking as they settle into a fist. “I’m not half bad.”

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

A Titanium armored T-Rex with laser guns on its back has appeared to aid the FF.

Alright, go get 'em girl!

That's still happening even here!?

[thedragonlover95]

Name: DeathWing Species: Cyborg Beast Gender: Male Age: 16 Sexuality: Pansexual Personality: Calm, Patient, Strong Headed, Gentle Giant, Protective, Strong Willed Powers: Berserk Mode, Fire, Ice, Electric, Poison, Nuclear Beams and wings, Sturdy Body, Regenerator, Flight, Titanium Claws, Steel Blades, Scan, Resistant to Fire, Ice, Water, Poison, Upgrade Form Appearance: Giant raptor with sturdy feathers that can become spikes, mechanical parts and flexible wings. Height: 12.5 Weight: 1500 Likes: Listening to music, Dancing, Relaxing, Traveling, Sight Seeing, Trying new things, Spending time with others, Playing Piano and Keyboard, Video Games, Reading, Helping out friends, Quiet places. Dislikes: Being seen or called a monster, Seeing innocent people hurt, being used as a tool or means to bring destruction, feeling or being isolated. Bio: Was created within a bio lab that studied ways to help improve people and natures lives, with the use of special crystals that have mystical powers as well as elemental attacks. Originally he was called Project D(Defender Rex) and was made with the DNA of different creatures, such as Raptor, T-Rex, Gigasaur, R.R.A.D Dragon, Horse, Shark, Frog and Tiger. He was designed to be a defender of the innocent and his creator made sure that his code also had a spirit as well as the free will. The mechanical body was built to withstand the toughest of pressures, but was given the crystals and act as the main power source inside the body. As well as adding a grinder within the throat area to help sources go down easier, while some parts were added that would aid in uses, which included swapping wings and tools. The flesh, blood and other parts give a more realistic look and to hide the metal bulk. However one day there was an alarm, set by a strange creature, and some of the computers were acting up, DeathWing had suddenly fell under a strange glitch, which caused him to go into his battle faze, and was out of control. Thankfully the creator with fast thinking, was able to shut him down. Feeling that this experiment was a failure and abandoned the place due to a strange chemical that turned the area in a place of darkness. Strangest thing is that it did not effect the bio weapon, as he was in a long sleep mode, once he awoken, he was in a whole new world, and thanks to his other animal scenes as well as intelligence, was able to survive. He was given the name due to the wings being able to be the real threat whenever they glow in one of the five abilities. While dangerous does not mean he acts like one, rather he can be described as a teddy bear, in fact he means no harm to those who don't pose a threat. He is described as the Ultrazilla of all beasts that were made.