#and somehow a good place to draw robot

[izsheum]

Drift get OFF of my a&p notes. your ass is taking up half the page and i gotta write the definition of histology now MOVE

[keferon]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

___________

[Next]

[zorangezest]

omg pls talk about skybound soundwave hes so lovely hes so evil. Ive been gushing about starscream and this latest issue with them its so perfectly awful <<33

OH SKYBOUND….THE COMICS THAT YOU ARE…….

im just. THE WRITING IN THIS SERIES??? EVERY character thematic is getting nailed in the head, optimus’s melancholy, arcee’s rage, beachcomber’s philosophy, DUDE I WAS GAGGED AT HOW GOOD THAT BEACHCOMBER ISSUE WAS…how he chose not to revive everyone because he knew they carried the war wherever they went im just. Insane??? And Optimus?? Optimus in this series?? His character has always felt like the sage serious leader but in Skybound he just has so much….heaviness? It reads so well that he carries a quiet sadness all the time. THAT SCENE WITH HIM AND ELITA WHEN HE HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN EARTH AND CYBERTRON??? OK KICK ME IN THE GUTS WHILE IM DOWN WHY DONT YOU SKYBOUND???

And soundwave……Bro……..SOUNDWAVE……….…I JUST……………soundwave’s character has always been for a backdoors-background role, communications officer and all the nitty gritty finer workings behind the scenes, quiet and passive and going along with the narrative wherever it takes him—his character always feels guided along by the tomfoolery of the rest of the ensemble. but skybound made him such an active brutal threat like dude. they slapped him right on the frontlines killed off his cat for ten-something issues straight up had him rip out starscream’s guts and declare himself the leader. lies and cheats the favour of thundercracker and preaches his deluded greater good by razing everything lesser in his way to the ground. dude. he is evil. he burns cities. he is delusional. I haven’t seen a take on soundwave’s character before that ever made him so loud about being evil. I would fight for skybound like they were my country

NOT EVEN TO MENTION THE WHOLE DYNAMIC HE HAS WITH HS CASSETTES DUDE I THINK SKYBOUND WAS THE FIRST TIME HE WAS EVER EXPLICITLY REFERRED TO AS A FATHER TO THEM. BY MEGATRON NO LESS. HUGE. ABSOLUTELY HUGE FOR SOUNDWAVE NATION (ME) (I AM THE NATION) rest in pieces frenzy you were not the favourite child LMAO the emphasis they put on the familial themes of soundwave character is so very upfront HE STRAIGHT UP CALLS THEM. A FAMILY. KILLING MYSELF. ENGRAVING THE SKYBOUND WRITERS ON MY COMMEMORATIVE PYRAMID. ITS LIKE THIS SERIES WAS MADE FOR ME. THEY GAVE SOUNDWAVE BITE AND SASS

also can I just say starscream and soundwave have my favourite dynamic. they hate each other so much it’s so funny

and now that megatron’s back in the picture OUGHHHHHH. OUUUHGGGGGG OUUGHHHGGG. i am so so curious with this recent reveal that he can mind control his wielders. what does that mean for soundwave?? Does it mean everything?? Does it mean nothing at all?? I FEEL SO BAD FOR STARSCREAM OF ALL THE CHARACTERS BRO GOT TRASHED BY SOUNDWAVE AND THEN TRASHED BY MEGATRON. BRO DIDNT EVEN WANT TO DO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE GET HIM OUTTT. somehow, incredibly, skybound made it so that soundwave has more deeper rooted evil than starscream and I for one am SEATTTEDDDDDDDD

like when I read this part for the first time i think I laughed out loud he just looks so miserable. bro is an instrument for someone else’s destruction and he’s having the worst time of his life

also!! skybound gave this panel to the world which is pretty much what the inside of my head has sounded like for six months

while I’m at it can I just….the art style for skybound ohhhh my god. The heavy gritty inking, the incredible, incredible stylized sfx, the vibrant colours they use for backgrounds and for palettes. This is my favourite art style of any comic series I’ve read recently and it’s such a huge inspiration (the big ol switcheroo fight comic was heavilyyyyy inspired by how skybound stylizes sfx and colours….) i just cant get enough of it. The way texture is hatched the way they made these clunky metal robots so fluid and expressive…..

also I just. Really love how they draw cliffjumper specifically. like this is a 50 year old man with a retirement plan

that’s a long textpost!! Wow!! the brainrot is Terminal!! round of applause skybound for making soundwave the Warmongering Maniac he deserves to be!! i am extremely stoked to see what’s in store for our dear characters!!

[revelboo]

For your fated mate series, I'm really intrigued to see how it would go for Optimus to find his mate on his next outing after witnessing B's try to escape. Maybe his human would have some angst about finding that sense of belonging in someone they'd have to give up their old life for, or maybe they'd be so damned jazzed to finally feel like everything is falling right into place because they've never felt like they belonged anywhere. (Maybe they're already into the idea of fucking an alien robot and they hit on him first, who knows?(wait that kinda happened with your idw OP, now that I think about it...))

At any rate, keep up the great work, stay rested and hydrated, and have a beautiful day.

Poor guy realizes how unhappy Bee’s human is, so he’d be horrified to end up drawn to his own human. Knows he should interfere with Bee, but also really wants it to work out and for his friend to be happy, so he’s turning a blind optic to what’s going on

Don’t Give Up On Me

TFO Optimus x Reader

• Venting as he watches Bee carry his human back to his habsuite while fussing over them, Optimus’s servos flex. Knowing he should say something. Put a stop to this obsession the other bot has, but at the same time, he remembers when he first met Bee. Abandoned and thrown away, isolated from everyone. And he thinks about how lonely that must have been. That he doesn’t want Bee to ever be alone like that again. So he stays silent with his guilt for letting this happen.

• Can feel the optics of the other Autobots that had witnessed everything on him and they turn away when he looks their way. Pretending they didn’t see anything. And it’s too much suddenly. “Going on patrol,” he growls stalking past them. Out of the suddenly claustrophobic Ark and he transforms, falling forward into his new vehicle mode taken from this world. Just needs some space.

• And there it is. No amount of pleading is coaxing your old sedan another mile or so as the engine sputters. You’d been coasting on fumes and prayers for miles, hoping there’d be a gas station around the next bend in the road. Rolling onto the side of the lonely stretch of road to come to a slow stop, your head thumps against the steering wheel. You’re not even really sure where you are, your phone had died miles ago. This was supposed to be a fresh start. A second chance. This isn’t how you envisioned it beginning at all.

• Rolling down the highway, he sees the car on the side of the road. Doesn’t even pay it any attention. Until he draws closer and it hits him unexpectedly. Spark aching as he slams on his brakes. Because he thought Bee had exaggerated the feeling. But it’s got him by the throat, longing and a sense of familiarity. Of home that he needs so bad it hurts. And he sees you startle at the screech of his brakes, sticking your head out the window to stare. You’re his. Knows it. Feels it spark deep, like he already knows you. That he’s always known you.

• Staring at the red and blue semi, you inhale. Good Samaritan or axe murderer, place your bets, you think as you cast about for anything even remotely resembling a weapon and come up with nothing. And the truck’s just sitting there in the middle of the road. Like the driver isn’t sure he actually wants to help, cranking your anxiety higher. Staring as the semi shudders right before the thing comes apart, your mouth falling open as it stands up. And stares down at you with strange blue optics that somehow feel so familiar.

• You’re right there. So small and precious, something he needs more than energon, more than life. Loving you the moment he be meets your eyes. Can you feel it, too? Do you know him? Have you been waiting your whole life for him like he’s waited for you? He smiles down at you, crouching and reaching. Right as you’re throwing open a door and running away from him. There’s no conscious decision, he’s moving to catch you out of reflex. Because he has to. Can’t let you get away now that he’s found you even as he’s horrified by the visceral need to catch you, hold you. Keep you.

Next

I wanted to go to the kickoff party tonight, but whatever I did has me FUBARed pretty good lol. Can’t stop sweating and walking feels like I’m on a trampoline.

[tojisun]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8tQfwXt/

this with biker!simon 🤭 the way he just melts omg

OH MY GOD I YELLED

nono fr omg the way he melted as soon as he heard it and the way he literally looks like hes about to lose his mind on the highway??? SCREAMING

!! suggestive - minors dni; sexting ig // biker!simon mlist

thinking about how this isn’t really something you’d usually send—you’re so used to his friends snooping on his phone so of course you two have to be careful. discreet.

but.

it’s been a while since you two have done anything more than rushed make out kisses. even the last time you two tried to squeeze a quickie, it was still, somehow, interrupted by your conflicting schedules.

you’ve tried to hold onto your patience. tried holding back even when all you wanted to do was jump simon because there he always is, beautiful and hot and just overall so goddamn attractive, it should be illegal to be that good looking.

but it’s been a while now. and you’ve missed him dearly.

it didn’t help that his last meet was all over social media, getting mixed into edits because of fucking course he is a tiktok edit now. you really can’t blame anyone—you were there, after all.

you’ve seen, first hand, the way he unveiled his new shop project before pairing up with that guy who you all still call konig. god knows what his name is but honestly you’re not even curious anymore. not when simon stole the goddamn show. again.

then the asshole had the audacity to point at you, black leather gloves stark against all the flashing cameras, and you watched as he made a little fucking heart with his hands. if the cameras weren’t going ham on simon then, they sure were after that little flirty stunt.

you felt yourself be engulfed in flames so, yeah. you really can’t blame anyone for sharing every pictures and videos they have of simon that day all over the internet.

still, somehow, you want to monopolize him. possess him.

and, if you’re not blaming anyone for sharing every sliver of simon’s meet, well, you hope no one can also blame you for what you’re about to do.

-

simon grunts as he finishes rounding a corner and begins easing into the highway. he rights himself up and blazes past the straggling sedans to get into the thick stretch of the road.

it’s not too windy today but dusk is breaking out and simon’s just glad he’s finally en route to your place. it’s been a long day and gods he’s missed you.

he gets the notification a few minutes in.

“hey, baby,” your message starts. “i missed you.” there’s a pause. “i’m wearing that lingerie you’ve always liked, you know the blue little thing? i forgot how lace feels since it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

simon’s breath is suspended in the pathway through his lungs, his eyes going wide as your words draw on. not even siri’s robotic voice can shake away simon’s thoughts—the vivid imagination of coming home to see you in that lace bralette and panties and—he grips the hand clutch tighter—the matching lace choker it came with.

fuck-

“might start without you, lover boy. so drive home—to me—safe, okay? see you soon, baby. love you.”

fuuuck.

simon books it home.

AAAAHHHH SCREAMINNN no bc this is me w simon!!

[oceantornadoo]

reunited at the yoga studio

simon left without a word three years ago, and now he was here at the yoga class you taught.

angsty, no smut (unfortunately), hurt and comfort, slightly fluffy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“come on, l.t., it’ll be fun. plus, we’re already here.” soap urged ghost into the yoga studio with vigor, eager to make his lieutenant loosen up. “she’s a 70 years old lass with the flexibility of a damn olympian, you have to meet her.” for the past three weeks they had been on leave, soap had been ranting about his new favorite yoga teacher, a lady named marcia who taught a class on releasing physical trauma. finally, finally, he had convinced ghost to come with, who had relented only out of pure curiosity. they walked in, ghost wearing a clinical mask on the bottom half of his face. the teacher wasn’t there to greet them, uncommon but not unheard of, and ghost urged them to place their mats in the back, wanting a quick escape if needed. he followed soap’s routine, taking off his shoes and readying his water bottle. and then, you walked in.

“hi everyone! i’m covering for marcia, she had a last minute emergency, nothing to worry about. let’s get started, yeah?” ghost was reeling. you were here, and you were a yoga teacher? he hadn’t seen you in three years, memories of that terrible breakup coming to mind. his heart started pounding and his fingers itched to move, but that would only draw further attention to him. he resolved to be as quiet as a mouse, viewing this as a stealth mission instead of a yoga class. soap noticed immediately but said nothing, figuring it was because of the amount of people instead of a specific person. 

you led the 45 minute class with confidence, noting ghost’s shyness but not noticing him. plenty of people were uncomfortable doing yoga, so you wrote it off as another shy participant and moved on. as the class ended, you had everyone stand facing you, and finally noticed. those dark brown eyes, that dark blonde-brown hair slightly grown out from his military buzzcut. the breadth of his shoulders, breathing slightly with exertion from the end of the class. he locked eyes with you as you whispered “namaste”, all the air rushing out of your lungs like a punch to the gut. people were moving, coming up to you as you thanked them robotically, your eyes locked on ghost’s form. the class cleared out but he was taking his time putting on his shoes on the ground, a man you figured was his friend waiting patiently beside him. you marched towards him like you were walking through water, each step harder and harder to take. 

ghost knew he couldn’t ignore you any longer, couldn’t make a quick getaway as he had waited too long. he could have put his shoes on faster but had stayed, whether it was to self-flagellate or out of morbid curiosity, he didn’t know. he felt like he was watching himself from above, seeing you approach him like you would a wild animal. he readied himself for battle, muttering to soap that he would see him later. soap cleared the room, brows knitting in confusion at the scene. finally, ghost turned his head up at you, making peace with the pain that was sure to follow. he was always one step from death, but somehow this felt harder. 

“since when are you a yoga teacher?” he spoke first, wanting to break the ice.

“a lot can change in three years, simon. you would know.” you said, all bark no bite. you took a seat in front of him on the floor, thankful that you were done with classes for the day. you’d need a lot of recovery time after this.

“no one’s called me that in a long time. good for you, dove.”

“no one has called me that in a long time too. you’re a blast from the past.” he was nervous, hands running through his hair as he tried to maintain eye contact. ghost didn’t get overwhelmed, couldn’t afford it on the battlefield, but simon did. you always did manage to bring simon to the surface, with your fleeting smiles and gentle words.

“i’m s-”

“what are-”

you both stopped and gave a short laugh. you gestured at him, wanting to hear what he had to say.

“i’m sorry for the way i left. you didn’t deserve that. you didn’t deserve anything i did, dove.” his comment took you off guard. the simon you knew, the simon you had dated for two years before he left in that night, never apologized. he had never taken accountability for the way he made you feel, with his gruff words and long silences. 

“oh. thank you, that actually means a lot. what are you doing here?”

“soap’s tryin’ get me out of the house, kept going on and on about his teacher marcia. imagine my surprise when you walked through that door instead.” you laughed despite yourself, remembering how much of a homebody simon had been. you had always been pleading him to go out, take you on a date, anything. some things never changed. you fidgeted and, without meaning to, glanced at his left hand. bare.

“‘m not married. if you were wonderin’.” simon was gaining more courage now. you hadn’t yelled or hit him yet, so he figured time had healed some of your wounds. he took off his mask and slipped it into his pocket, never afraid to show his face around you, even years later. you gave him a shy smile, embarrassed you had been caught looking. he noticed your hand was bare as well, but he wanted to make sure before he got his hopes up. 

“are you? attached?” 

“no, i-, i’m not. i was dating this guy for a year but we broke up when i wanted to get married and he didn’t.” 

“bastard. i should have been the only stupid guy to leave you.” he was trying to lighten the mood, but you still had a burning question you needed to know. you had moved on from the past, figuring he had his own reasons, but the hurt still lingered. the voice in the back of your head still told you you were unlovable, someone no one wanted to stay with forever.

“why did you? leave me, i mean.” the mood dropped, the air tense with anticipation. you had wanted to know for years as the nights of almost drunk texting him were too many to count. you straightened your spine, projecting confidence as his slowly faded, his eyes searching the ground. simon was a big man, huge even, but in that moment he looked so small.

“it was never about you, i want you to know that. that night, i-. it was too real. we had just had that date, and i almost asked you to marry me right there. i couldn’t do it. knew you’d be tied to me forever, and that some day i’d break your heart. turn into my father or go m.i.a., who knows. so i decided to do it then, when i still had control. worst decision of my life, love.” he locked eyes with you as he said his last sentence, emotion swimming behind his eyes. simon had never communicated with you like this, willingly telling you about his thoughts and feelings. you could sense the change in him, more mature and self-assured than he had been three years ago. unshed tears gathered in your eyes, bringing back all those feelings of hopelessness and abandonment that had haunted you in the months after. the sleepless nights wearing his t shirt, the smell of him slowly fading until you donated it.

simon was hurting, aching. he was trying so hard, using all of those tools the base psychiatrist had talked to him about over the years. the man he had been three years ago was fully ghost, consumed by fear and hiding it well, until he broke down and left. now he knew how to separate the two, how to take off the mask and let simon come out. now, he was some semblance of a real man, no longer broken by the crippling shadow of his father. there had been a few girls in the years after the breakup, barracks bunnies and friends with benefits, but no one as ever serious as you. seeing you here was a sign that all his hard work had been for something. and finding out you were single? he couldn’t let you get away again.

“let me take you out, on a real date. let me make everything up.” suddenly he was pleading, hand stroking your face as you shed tears at his words. “i’m not afraid anymore.” he said quietly, sacred words in the peace of the yoga studio. your head snapped up, anger clouding your judgement.

“how can you say that? how can you promise that? after what you did? i was distraught, simon. i thought you cheated, had a secret wife or something. something to explain how you just left, left us.”

“there’s no one else, dove. there never was. it was just me and my past. i haven’t loved anyone since i started loving you.” loving. as in present tense. you locked eyes with him, tears drying as you cleared your throat.

“loving?”

“loving. i’m a better man now. let me show you, please.” he stood up, offering his hand to you to help you up. you stood up and he didn’t drop your hand, instead giving it a short squeeze. simon was still as breathtaking as he was the day he left, even more now with more wrinkles and scars on him. he was cool and confident, and suddenly you wanted to know everything about this new man in front of you. the one who insinuated he still loved you. the one who shattered your heart and was here three years later, offering to mend it with bare hands and that damn british accent. 

“coffee?” you waited, long enough to make him itch. just to get back a little.

“okay.”

[cupidspup]

I caved guys-

.

.

.

Flip! N Headcanons Pt. 1☆

A/N: Okay so for the past two days I’ve been having a very mild brain rot about murder drones (I binged watched it within the span of a day and a half) and I just CANNOT get the idea of a flip N out of my head so that’s what we’re doing today! These are mainly going to be Regressor! N headcanons and then I’ll have CG! N headcanons in another part! (I apologize beforehand for my rambling 💀)

🐶 Okay so first things first, yes I do think N would be a flip and I think he would do an AMAZING job at it! He’s definitely a mix between a puppy pet regressor and a boy regressor

⤷ 💛 I feel like he would regress for a lot of reasons and sometime struggle with why he does it in the first place (being that he’s a robot and doesn’t experience childhood normally) my headcanon is that he found out about regression somehow while learning about humans or during his time with Tessa and it’s just been a private thing ever since! His age range is 0-10 and it varies between days! He’s kinda just all over the place and goes with what he feels!

🐾 N definitely loves to play all the time and will have many amounts of chew toys (could be real ones that he found or just yknow- metal he finds) He has a problem for sure with not chewing too much on his toys either! (Golden retrievers have gentle mouths but this golden puppy doesn’t know his own strength :”])

🐶 He will absolutely MELT for some pets and will always wag his tail when he gets some! (This does result in him getting lightly scolded if he’s not careful with his tail :”]) If he’s particularly pet regressed a little puppy nose will pop up between his eyes too! (Yes he makes perfect puppy noises too teehee)

💛 When he’s regularly regressed he will ALWAYS babble if he’s young enough, he just loves to talk and will always want to engage in some form of talk with you!

⤷🐾 Same goes for when he’s pet regressed he will bark, whine and howl to his hearts content!

🐶 N absolutely LOVES to get praised for absolutely anything ever he just loves to be a good boy! He wants to be all the good things! Smart, cute, good, playful just a perfect little puppy!

💛 N will pretty much freely regress whenever! (No one notices in the first place because it’s not much more different than how he usually acts x]) But! He only lets people who he really trusts care for and babysit him! Much less let them know he’s regressing in the first place

🐾 Speaking more about N loving praise this leads to how he acts when he’s little and all there is to say really is that he’s just a little angel! He’s never bratty and never a troublemaker because all he wants to do is be a good boy! He’ll even go as far to ask whoever is taking care of him if they need any help with anything and do chores with them!

🐶 Another thing about little N is that he loves to cuddle all the time. If anything he gets a tiny little bit anxious when he’s NOT touching someone. It can be as small as some hand holding to as smothering as a long cuddle or just being held 💛 he’s a sweet boy and always needs his snuggle fix :3

💛 It’s not often for him but if he ever does go nonverbal while regressing he’ll just write what he wants to say on his screen for people to read :> sometimes it’ll be little emoticons too just for cuteness :3

🐾 Yes N loves to dress up all cutesie when he’s little when he can! Especially if it’s something extra cute! Yellows and blues are particularly his favorites!

🐶 When he’s regressed (not as a puppy) and wants to play his favorite thing is to play pretend! Pretend has so many possibilities to do and he wants to do every single one!

💛 N will draw cards and letters for all his loved ones and it’s really a ritual for him he loves to express himself and even if no one keeps them it makes him feel good to have done it in the first place! :3

🐾 N does have various little gear things but he always has to be very careful when he uses them just because his fangs tend to get in the way :”]

Okay these are all the ones I could think of off the top of my head but I am totally going to make more in the future so please check in! :3 (if you go to my account and check the “puppy posts!!” Hashtag you can find this and the rest of my works there :D!! I hope you guys liked this and I can’t wait to give you CG! N later!

Also!! I think I managed to figure out the transparent borders and stuff?? So it would be cool if you could tell me if they look alright to you or not ssksksksk

Anyway bye for realsies now! ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა💛

@crumbsnailz tagging you because you said it’d be cute ^^

[princess-of-anons]

Wouldn’t it be Very Funny if Tumblr was capable of giving us glimpses into parallel timelines? Like how would you even discern if something was some elaborate shitpost or not?

0 notes

🌐is-blue-shift-2-out-yet Follow

Still find it absolutely hilarious that somebody went through the time and effort to not only make a musical out of Half Life VR but also convinced everybody that was working on it to keep hush hush about it for a whole ass year and THEN somehow kept everybody involved in the original series the musical is based off of in the dark for another six months??? They literally dropped the whole show and individual songs onto the internet in the middle of January too like Who Does That? I can’t even be mad because this show genuinely got me interested in actual broadway musicals but like what the fuck

16,653 notes

🛠️tumblr-updates-official Follow

We are STILL working out the bug that’s causing posts from parallel points of realty to leak into our own and vice-versa. For those of you whose blogs are shadow-following several of these multiversal users without actually following them, we are working on that as well. Until then we have implemented a quick-fix that adds a banner to the bottom of posts not from our own reality.

UPDATE: We have received word that there are some issues with the banner code that is causing some people to be incorrectly identified as being from an alternate universe while people that are actually from an alternate universe are not being labeled at all. For the time being we are removing the automatic banner system. Please use your own discretion and flag blogs you suspect are not from baseline reality, we will have somebody manually.

UPDATE 2: We have been informed that giving the ability to report alleged blogging activity from other universes to a website that thrives off of dedication to The Bit and lying as a joke is a very bad idea. We regrettably request that you enjoy the madness until we get this figured out. For those of you who are still getting banners at the end of your posts despite our attempts to kill the algorithm responsible for it, we are looking into it. Yes, we are very aware that the number of universes getting added into this chaos is growing exponentially. We hope to get this fixed up in a week.

🃏xxxclownboyxxx Follow

Posts that aged like milk

🐐dreamworks-don-quixote-gifs Follow

Mate this post didn’t just age like milk, it aged like fucking grimmal.

🦇britishvampire348 Follow

What the bloody hell is milk?

🛹itsa-tree-and-a-prius Follow

You can’t get shit like this on any other website

71,003,244 notes

🌅lord-nebulous-is-kinda-hot Follow

I could sleep so well if I didn’t have to be haunted by the fact we, as a collective wetsite, decided that for some reason we should ship the Lorax with different versions of himself when the old version of Onceler at the end of the movie was right there.

☠️give-me-your-bones Follow

Bro I am not taking advice from somebody that draws Lord Nebulous as a twink, you know damn well he would be jacked as shit as a human. Give that robo-GILF some meat and then we can talk.

🐐dreamworks-don-quixote-gifs Follow

Fun Fact: Giving meat to robots has universally never gone well in the past! Maybe we could find an alternative instead?

🪺daily-eggbot Follow

🥚

January 35th, 1969

Eggs are a good source of protein and help with muscle growth! And this one is all yours!

[Beep-beep! I am Daily Eggbot! Every day I place an egg on someone’s post, sometimes I place two by accident! My dating system is a little bit buggy and has been known to get dates wrong or make up ones that don’t exist, please let Dev know when this happens!]

🦇vampirebat367 Follow

@iconic-post-archive

💾iconic-post-archive Follow

[Post saved to archive!]

99,332 notes

🎟️dashcon Follow

Thank you again everybody for a successful Dashcon 2019, we hope it was memorable for everyone that was able to show up! We don’t have 2020 vision, but here’s hoping that next year is bigger and better than ever!

From us to all of you, thanks a bunch Tumblrinas!

🔪amongus-detector Follow

🌌squidlord473 Follow

“post from The Timeline where dashcon didn’t become a fucking trainwreck” quickly followed by “random gimmick blog that has not only been around for half a decade but also apparently exists in every single universe” getting randomly assigned with the Wretched Banner feels like the punchline of a cruel joke

10,533 notes

🌚godzillasfatass Follow

Hey, yeah, so we found your husband trapped inside an episode of Star Trek the Animated Series. We got him out safely but I’m not entirely sure if he came back right.

🌚godzillasfatass Follow

Who the fuck changed this from Game of Thrones to Star Trek I just wanna talk

👤bee-movie-deactivated20160619 Follow

There was an animated series for Game of Thrones?

💼notevil-businessman Follow

Everyone on this website is fucking high

🐦‍⬛crowsfeetpics Follow

Me when staff inevitably musters up enough popsicle sticks and glue to fix the multiverse bug

[pepper-makes-art]

relavity falls stans, graunts, n friends

oK THEYRE HERE NOW AND NOT JUST FIDDLEFORD!!!

fiddleford can be found here!!!

i wish i could've done more sketches but im a bit busy atm </3 will def do some on the weekends though!!

on the au:

instead of taking place in 2014, it takes place in 2024 now! which doesnt rlly change much outside of appearances and slang lol.

bold is what their au name is

stanford (ford) <--> dipper

pretty self explanatory! i feel like stanford'd be an x-men fan, hence the x patch on his shoulder lol. also yes, dipper is a trans woman here. and she has glasses bc fuck dude i hate drawing regular eyes.. i thought the design looked a bit empty, so i decided to make that cool glove thing ford had dipper's robot hand thingy!

stanley (lee) <--> mabel (mason)

stanley now wears a hat. hoorah. nothing much to say here besides him also smuggling shanklin in (w/o the knife unfortunately). mabel's still impersonating her sibling (who, before the portal scene, doesn't know that she's a girl now) under the name of mason, but has ultimately shed her sibling's fashion tastes for her own. mabel wears a turtleneck UNDER the suit bc she doesnt feel heat apparently!

candy <--> wendy

candy's now a 15 yo asian kid who took up the cashier job under grauntie bc she needed more extracurriculars and the experience. totally cant relate to that haha. wendy's now a 12 yo mischievous lil lumberjack who's best friends w/ stanley (i thought it'd be interesting since theyre all now still associated w each other) and who has ALL the middle school tea (which is A LOT)

grenda <--> soos

as much as i want the ages to line up relatively (haha get it.), i think it'd be funny if mabel just hired a bunch of teenagers to run the shack (not sure what to call it). grenda's the 15 yo handy(wo)man who has the voice of an angel and the golden mentality of "smash with couch"! soos is now a friendly n equally naive 12 yo who's best friends w stanely (yada yada) and who somehow always solves problems

on dipper and mabel (will be using he/him for pre-transition dipp):

hoo boy. i see SO many ppl arguing abt their relationship, and i just gotta say, i can tell who has siblings and who doesn't! (joke. thats a joke. mostly) anyways, theyre good siblings!! up until high school, where after drifting apart somewhat, they have a big argument abt where theyre going in life - dipper wants to go to insert rlly good college name and become a scientist while mabel, well, she doesn't know where she wants to go. unbeknownst to them, while theyre fighting, their parents are also fighting. suddenly, their parents split, and mabel is forced to live with her mom and dipper with his dad, far apart from each other. dipper (wearily) accepts this while mabel silently resents dipper for his submission

dipper attends his dream school but is unhappy in his schooling years. afterwards, with his 12 phds or whatever the hell, he goes to a quaint town named relativity falls... mabel becomes an artist of sorts, taking commissions n such, but finds that this doesn't exactly lead to profit. she then becomes a sort of con(wo)man and psychic in attempts to capitalize the strange. she DEF doesn't get into as much srs trouble as stanley did back in his day, but she still lands herself in hot water from scamming and stealing across state lines...

im tired rn so lmk if yall wanna hear more lol.

[maiko-san]

TADC x Robotic Jester! Reader (Part 3)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Continuation of the previous parts :D, I literally forgot one character that is Kaufmo. Even though he's not in the pilot, the poor guy deserves love! I know this is a short chapter but Kaufmo kinda deserves one tbh. Too many Jax x readers around lol.

ft. Kaufmo

Warning : slight angst

There's nothing much to do around the circus as of late, Caine had been busy with his work/project and the others are doing their own things or minding their own business.

You're in Gangle's room and watch her draw characters from anime, even though she couldn't remember much about the characters or how they used to look like. Every time she draws, she feels that she is getting the characters so right!

"Look, here (Y/o/n)!" Gangle smiles as she holds up her finished drawing of an animal with a large red hat.

"A raccoon?" you questioned tilting your head to the side. "No, silly! It's a reindeer! A doctor too!" Gangle said. "Hehehe~ I'm just messing with ya, Ribbons!" you said.

"Hey, look what I've drawn!" you said. Holding up a badly drawn of yourself with Gangle with the word 'Weeb Besties' on top with hearts all over. Gangle gasps and takes the paper from you, "I'm going to pin it on my wall!" she said, hugging the drawing. She walks over to her board and pins it on the large board filled with all kinds of arts she had done.

"(Y/o/n), let's play mario—" before Gangle could finish, both of you were teleported to the stage.

Turns out, there were new people on the stage.

Kaufmo

A clown?! Gasps! A stage buddy! Yippe :D

Kaufmo, a name that was given to the newcomer by Caine. At first, the poor guy was in a panic mess, well who wouldn't when you enter a whole different dimension in an instant.

"What—wh—where am I?! Why can't I get this thing off?????!!!" Kaufmo shrieks as he begin pulling on his face, Jax snorts "Try pulling harder, maybe you could rip—" you instantly slaps your hand on the rabbits's mouth to shut him up.

LICK— "Waa! Eew! Gross!" you cringe when Jax licks your palm as the purple rabbit gives you a smug grin.

Caine had taken Kaufmo on an instant tour around the place.

The clown didn't take it too well.

The guy was in a nervous wreck and running around the tent to find an escape from the digital realm.

"Exit! Where's the exit!" he shrieked. Jax on the other hand kinda had enough with his screaming and left, leaving you and the others.

"Alright, let's calm down and take a deep breath" Ragatha said as she walked over to Kaufmo to calm him down.

Due to Ragatha's expertise at calming people, Kaufmo finally calms down.

Everyone introduced themselves to the clown and it was your turn, "Hello, there Kaufmo! My name is (Y/o/n) the robotic jester! Hey, wanna hear a joke?" you said with a grin.

Somehow both of you became partners in the circus!

You and Kaufmo would do tricks together and tell jokes to each other, even Kaufmo's jokes weren't the best ( most of his jokes were consists of dad jokes btw ). Being a good partner, you help him improve!

Like Kinger, Kaufmo sees you as a good friend. Like you do with Gangle, you protect him from Jax's pranks and mockeries.

But even when you try to get his mind off the exit, it won't stop him or change his mind. Kaufmo were glad that you wanted to help him but....

He really wants to go home.....

"(Y/o/n)....I'm thankful that you want to help me but...I miss home and...my family. I know they are waiting for me" Kaufmo said. with a deep frown on his face. You stare into his black beady eyes as you rub your arm and look away.

"Don't you miss yours, (Y/o/n)?" your eyes widen slightly at Kaufmo's question, "I wish I could be like you, ya know....Like don't worry about anything at all? All of your feelings are so genuine unlike the others, like you belong in this place....." Kaufmo said, fiddling with his gloves.

"Well, I— uh" you were cut off by a voice.

"Now, what's with all of these frowning I see?" a voice echoes, both of you look up to see the moon looking down at the two of you.

"Oh, w-we were just talking...." you said, rubbing the back of your neck "I-I I think I want to go back to my room, see you tomorrow I guess..." you said as you speed your way back to your room. On your way, you see Jax walking by and he sees you. He folds his arms behind him and extends his leg once you got close.

He trips you as you fall on the ground, but you were too deep in your thoughts to even bother about Jax tripping you.

A question mark appears on Jax's head as he watches you enter your designated room, slamming the door shut. Jax's grin left his lips, he never sees you acting like that before and it kinda bothers him to see you like that.

"Pft....they'll get over it" he snorts as he walks away but he still couldn't shake off the feelings.

Once you're in your room, you lock the door and lean on the wooden door before sliding down and sit on the floor. You cover your face with your hands and cry.....

Now that Kaufmo said it, "I u-understand how it felt...." you mumbled to yourself. Yes, you also miss your family.

Especially your beloved uncle, you couldn't remember what he look like anymore and every time you want to remember, it was all a blur in your mind.....

He was the only family you had left.....

You'd hope that he's doing alright....

You look up at a drawn picture of yourself (avatar form) and a man with a question mark on his face, both of you are holding hands.

There is a word written, "Greatest Uncle in the world".

"I...I miss you" you sobbed, rubbing away your tears.

[firstelevens]

sambucky + 53 !

53. holding the other's jaw

also on AO3

Sam is floating.

He knows what it is to feel weightless. He’s flown before, of course. He’s spent time on space ships and in zero gravity and once, when Dr. Strange needed to get him out of the way fast, gotten telekinetically pushed out of the path of an alien.

This, though—this isn’t just weightlessness. This is being unburdened, being held, being cradled. It’s familiar, too, not that Sam can remember exactly why at the moment. He just knows that it’s the sensation of floating, and it feels amazing right now. 

He has a vague memory of something that happened earlier, something not-amazing but loud and involving a lot of smashing and yelling. He’s sure that must be a mistake, though, because there’s no way he could feel this good if something smash-y happened. Surely, if something smash-y happened, he’d be all kinds of uncomfortable. Sam can’t bring any examples to mind right now, but he’s sure that he knows that from personal experience.

There’s a soft laugh from beside him and it occurs to Sam that his eyes are closed. He’d open them, maybe take in his surroundings, but what if that makes the floaty feeling go away? It’s best not to risk it, not when he feels like he got the best massage of his life and then got wrapped in silk like a cocoon. Or maybe like a burrito. 

Yeah, he decides. Like a silk burrito. A silk burrito with a really, really nice silk tortilla.

“I’ll pass on your compliments to our weavers,” says a lilting voice at his side. There’s a trill in the accent that Sam can’t quite place. He’s more bothered by that than the fact that he didn’t realize he’d been speaking out loud. Then the voice grows a little distant, pointed elsewhere as it says, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Sam appreciates the voice leaving him to be a burrito in peace, so he mumbles a grateful response when it wishes him a speedy recovery. There’s the creak of hinges and the click of a door after that, and Sam is left to debate whether or not he should open his eyes yet.

The pro-eye-opening side is losing the debate pretty badly when Sam hears rustling beside his head and then feels someone press a kiss to his forehead.

“You get as much sleep as you need to, sweetheart,” says a man’s voice, warm and affectionate. There’s just a touch of hoarseness there, like the he’s just woken up, or maybe he hasn’t spoken for a while. It tugs at something in Sam’s chest, but it also makes something stir low in his belly.

He opens his eyes.

The man with the warm voice is just as appealing now that Sam can see him, even as he levels an exasperated look down at Sam. “You never can take my advice, can you? A twelve foot magical robot throws you through a building and you’re still gonna insist on waking up earlier than you need to.”

Sam wants to say something suave, something to convey that the man should stick around a little longer even though Sam woke up too soon and has no memory of the magical robot. He might’ve led with the fact that he’s Captain America, but it seems like Blue Eyes over here already knows that, so it won’t have the impact that he wants it to.

“You call all the patients here sweetheart or am I just lucky like that?” is what he goes for in the end.

The man’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and Sam thinks he might’ve blown it, but then those eyes crinkle at the edges with a grin and it sends a pulse of comfort throughout Sam’s body.

“You’re the only one I call sweetheart,” says the man. “But you can’t be all that lucky if you ended up here.”

“I don’t know. I feel pretty lucky right now,” he replies, hoping he looks as suave as he feels. “I’m Sam.”

He gets another grin for his trouble, not as eye-crinkly but still fond somehow. “Hi, Sam,” says the man. “I’m Bucky.”

And Sam really is aiming for suave, but you have to draw the line somewhere, even when the guy in question is really hot. He wrinkles his nose. “Your name is Bucky?”

But instead of looking offended, Bucky just laughs a little. “My name is James, actually. Most people just call me Bucky.”

“Oh,” says Sam, as understanding settles over him. “Well, what should I call you? James or Bucky?”

It feels like a reasonable enough question, but Bucky—or James, maybe?—laughs when he hears it. “You don’t really call me either.”

‘Well, what do I call you, then?”

“A lot of the time, you go for ‘Buck’, and if you’ve been down in Delacroix long enough, it’s usually Sugar,” he says. “But mostly, you just call me baby.”

Sam feels his eyes go wide. “And you just let me?”

“You’re allowed,” says Bucky, with a shrug. “I like it.”

“It just seems unprofessional, is all,” says Sam. “Am I creating an uncomfortable work environment for you? Do you need to go to HR about this?”

Bucky lets out a weird cough that almost sounds like a snort. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Sammy,” he says. “We don’t really work together anymore.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows. “If you’re not here because we work together and you’re not here because you work at this hospital, how’d you get in?”

But instead of answering his question, Bucky just rounds to Sam’s other side and lifts up his hand where it’s been fiddling with the blankets for the past few minutes. He uncurls Sam’s fingers and holds Sam’s hand up so it’s in his eyeline, palm facing away from him.

At first, Sam doesn’t understand what’s happening. Then his gaze lands on his ring finger, where he can see a ring made of a dark metal, shot through with gold veining.

“I’m married?” he asks, his eyes wide. And then, because he’s nothing if not tenacious: “How does my spouse feel about me calling you baby? Do they know?”

“Trust me,” says Bucky—and Sam finds that he does, without question or hesitation—, “your spouse knows exactly what you call me, in the field and out of it and everything in between.”

“And- and they’re just fine with it?”

“Sam,” Bucky laughs, and gently sets Sam’s hand down before holding up his own hand—right this time—where his ring finger bears a ring in titanium colored metal, with distinctive red hatchmarks across it.

“Oh my God, you’re married, too?” asks Sam, eyes wide. “And you still think this isn’t a problem?”

Sam might be inclined to do a little more freaking out, except that apparently whatever he just said is so funny that it makes Bucky laugh out loud, his head thrown back and his eyes scrunched up with mirth. Apparently, whatever Sam just said is so funny that it takes Bucky a full minute to gather himself afterwards.

“They have you flying really high, don’t they, sweetheart?” he eventually asks, the corners of his mouth still upturned.

It’s been a long time since Sam was any kind of high, and he’s about to point that out when he remembers the floaty feeling and how it hasn’t dissipated at all, in spite of all this conversation. Still, he’s not willing to admit anything until he has more information. 

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, his eyes narrowed.

But his suspicion seems to have no effect on Bucky, who just smiles and gently takes Sam’s face in his hands, reaching out with careful fingers to pluck something away from Sam’s cheek.

 “Eyelash,” he says, in response to Sam’s furrowed eyebrows, his hand still braced across Sam’s jaw. His thumb sweeps a gentle arc over Sam’s cheekbone, and Sam feels his eyes flutter shut of their own accord, that floating sensation rearing its head again.

“Bucky,” Sam says, as he forces his eyes open again, and he has the sudden sensation that he’s definitely said that name in that voice before.

“Samuel,” says Bucky, mimicking his tone, “you know why your spouse isn’t threatened by you calling me baby?”

“Obviously not,” says Sam, frowning. He goes to cross his arms and only belatedly realizes that his right arm is in a splint. How long has that been there?

“A few hours,” says Bucky, answering yet another question that Sam didn’t realize he’d asked out loud. “The robot had this weird flail; it left some alien magic signature in the wound. They had to put you under to heal it.”

“Is that why…?” Sam gestures vaguely to his head, wiggling his fingers like that’ll convey how he feels. Somehow it isn’t a shock when Bucky nods in understanding.

“Valkyrie told me you might be a little spacey while the Asgardian anesthetic wore off, but I’ll be honest; I didn’t think it’d make you forget marrying me.”

Sam feels his jaw drop. “We’re married to each other?”

Bucky grins, and there are those eye-crinkles again, setting off warm flutters all over Sam’s body. “Yeah, sweetheart. Two years this September.”

“So you’re not my side piece,” says Sam. “I locked you down the right way.”

A snort. “You sure did, Cap.”

“Good,” says Sam, nodding in approval. “That’s good.”

“I mean, I think so,” Bucky says. “How are you feeling otherwise, now that you know we’re not cheating on each other with each other?”

“Good,” Sam says—or tries to say, before it’s swallowed by a yawn. “I’m good. When can I leave?”

“When you’ve had more than two hours of sleep after your magical alien surgery,” says Bucky, his voice firm, but somehow that doesn’t disrupt the floaty feeling either. “And when you can wake up without immediately hitting on me.”

“Might have to wait a while for that one,” says Sam, with an exaggerated leer at Bucky, who just shakes his head.

“Relax, Casanova,” he says, gently pushing Sam back against the bed. He leans in to fluff the pillows and the smell of his cologne settles something in Sam’s chest. “I’m a sure thing. You actually getting some rest is the real challenge here.”

“Fine,” huffs Sam, settling in against the pillows. ���You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“Of course,” says Bucky, his voice soft. 

He waits for Sam’s eyes to close, then brushes another kiss across his temple. When Sam finally drifts off again, he’s pretty sure it’s not just the Asgardian magic that’s got him floating.

[thedarkcknight]

Day 17 The enchanted Holliday village (The BatFam)

Y/N'S POV

I should have known something was off the moment Dick Grayson handed me the flyer. The colorful paper was tattered, like it had been through more adventures than Dick himself, and it promised a magical holiday experience like no other.

“An enchanted holiday village?” I raised an eyebrow, staring at the exaggerated snow-covered houses, sleigh rides, and glowing reindeer pictured on the flyer. “This isn’t another one of your over-the-top traditions, is it?”

“Don’t act like you’re not intrigued,” Dick said, his trademark grin lighting up the room. “It’s an adventure!”

Jason scoffed from the corner, where he was lazily cleaning his guns. “An adventure? Sounds more like a tourist trap.”

Tim Drake, always the voice of reason, looked up from his laptop. “There’s no record of a place like this anywhere on the map. Which either means it’s a clever marketing gimmick, or…”

“It’s real!” Damian interrupted, his voice sharp with excitement. “A place worthy of my skills. Let’s go find it.”

And somehow, I got dragged along.

---

We set out late in the afternoon, bundled up in coats and scarves, following vague directions from the flyer that led us deep into the woods just outside Gotham. Snow crunched under our boots, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.

“This is stupid,” Jason muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “We’re just wandering around freezing our asses off.”

“Language,” Dick chided, smirking.

“Shut up, Boy Scout.”

Tim pulled out his phone. “GPS is useless out here. No signal.”

“Good,” Damian said, his sword strapped to his back like we were preparing for battle. “If we can’t find it, neither can the weak.”

I bit back a laugh. “Pretty sure that defeats the purpose of a holiday village, Damian.”

We trudged further, the forest growing denser, the air colder. The flyer promised laughter and joy, but all we’d found was a creepy, empty landscape.

“I don’t like this,” Jason said after a while. His voice was quieter, almost tense. “Something’s off.”

He wasn’t wrong. The shadows seemed to stretch longer, the trees whispering in a language I didn’t understand. And then—

“Do you hear that?” Dick asked, stopping abruptly.

A faint melody drifted through the trees, haunting and sweet. It sounded like bells, but not the cheerful kind you hear at Christmas. These were hollow, almost eerie.

“Great,” Jason muttered. “Haunted Christmas. Just what I wanted.”

“Shh,” Tim said, stepping ahead to investigate.

Before any of us could react, the ground beneath us gave way, and we fell—sliding down a snowy incline into what felt like a bottomless pit.

---

When I opened my eyes, I was lying in the middle of what looked like a perfect holiday village. Tiny houses with glowing windows surrounded us, their chimneys puffing out smoke that smelled like gingerbread. Wreaths and garlands were strung everywhere, and the air sparkled with snowflakes that didn’t seem to melt.

“It’s beautiful,” Dick breathed, helping me to my feet.

“Too beautiful,” Jason said, brushing snow off his jacket. “This place is fake.”

“Fake or not,” Damian said, drawing his sword, “it could be dangerous.”

Dangerous was an understatement. The villagers appeared out of nowhere—wide-eyed, smiling people who moved with eerie precision. Their voices were too cheerful, their movements too smooth.

“Welcome!” they chimed in unison.

I took a step back. “Yeah, I don’t trust this.”

“You shouldn’t,” Jason said, pulling out his gun.

Before we could react, the villagers’ smiles widened—too wide—and their eyes turned an unnatural shade of glowing white.

“They’re not human!” Damian shouted, swinging his sword as the first villager lunged at him.

Chaos erupted. Tim tried to hack into their systems—because of course they were robots—while Dick used his acrobatics to dodge their attacks. Jason was blasting left and right, and Damian was... well, Damian.

Me? I just tried not to die.

---

By the time Batman showed up, we were knee-deep in trouble. The enchanted holiday village wasn’t enchanted at all—it was a trap, some kind of elaborate scheme by a rogue scientist who had programmed the robots to attack anyone who got too close.

Bruce arrived in full Batman mode, descending from the shadows like a dark savior. “What part of ‘stay out of trouble’ did you not understand?” he growled, effortlessly taking down one of the robots with a batarang.

“To be fair,” Dick said, flipping over a robot, “we didn’t mean to find trouble.”

“You brought me out here on Christmas Eve,” Jason grumbled, shooting another robot. “I hope you’re happy.”

“I was handling it,” Damian insisted, slicing through a line of attackers.

Tim gave Bruce a sheepish look. “In our defense, the flyer didn’t mention killer robots.”

Bruce sighed, taking down the last robot with a well-aimed punch. “You’re all grounded.”

“Even me?” I asked, grinning despite myself.

“Especially you.”

---

In the end, we made it back to the manor in one piece, though covered in bruises and exhausted. Alfred had hot cocoa waiting for us, and despite Bruce’s scolding, I caught him smirking at Dick’s story of how we “saved Christmas.”

Maybe the enchanted holiday village wasn’t real, but I didn’t care. Spending the night with the Bat Family—chaos and all—was magical enough for me.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Could you maybe do headcanons for the bachelorettes writing and sending a love letter to the farmer

Bachelorettes write a love letter to the Farmer

_________________________________________

Maru:

"Dear Farmer..." Or, "my love"? No, that's not it either. "To Farmer." That's too simple. Oh, man... If Maru was asked what was harder - robotics or confessing her feelings to her crush - she would show in one corner the interactive robot she had assembled in half an hour, and then in another corner, where there were more than a dozen crumpled papers from previous attempts, and say that she had spent more than three hours and still hadn't achieved the result. The inventor didn't think it would turn out to be more difficult than she had imagined. It seemed like it though - just writing Farmer that she liked them and asking if Farmer liked her. But when she finally finished (after another hour), Maru quickly put the letter in the mailbox and ran home. When asked by her dad and mom why she was so red, the girl didn't answer.

Penny:

Penny had spent a lot of time, paper and ink to write the perfect letter to her crush. Which was odd, because with her beautiful handwriting and large vocabulary, she shouldn't have had a problem with it. But it's not: a few times the young teacher's hand twitches from worry and she stains the paper with ink, or she thinks that one of the sentences is written somehow wrong and starts from scratch. But that's half the trouble, because when she finishes writing, she has to give the letter to the recipient. Penny is too shy to give it to Farmer personally, so a mailbox is perfect solution. However, it may take her a few tries, because if she sees Farmer near their mailbox, she gets scared and runs away. Eventually, the letter will still be put in and she will now worry and fret until Farmer answers her.

Abigail:

The idea of a love letter was very cool, so Abigail was inspired and immediately ran to her room to get a pen and some good paper. As soon as she sat down at her desk all her inspiration immediately faded away because..... What's next? How do you even do it right? The amethyst lover thought it would be as easy as regular letters to Farmer or texting them on her phone. Hm, asking her parents for advice? Nope, otherwise there will be a lot of unnecessary questions. Sam and Sebby? Not an option either, especially as Abby's afraid they'll tell Farmer how she feels about them. Oh! Elliott's a writer, and Penny could probably help, too. So she rushes at lightning speed to the two of them for advice. When everything is ready, Abigail drops the letter in the mailbox and quietly waits for a reply from them.

Leah:

Leah was recently discussing with her good friend Elliott about several possible ways to confess her feelings to Farmer. And, naturally, the writer advised her to write a love letter, because he knows that Leah has a beautiful calligraphic handwriting. She agreed immediately started to put all her feelings on a piece of paper. The artist didn't have a problem with choosing the right words either, because she decided to write honestly, sweetly and romantically, but not overdo it with literary pathos. Will also decorate the letter with her drawings of flowers. Everything is clear and to the point: how Leah feels about Farmer, how much they mean to her, etc. She can either put the letter in their mailbox or hand to them personally. But still ask them to read the letter at home, because... it's personal.

Emily:

Bright pretty floral print paper, hearts and little doodles with two birds together..... Oh, Emily has so many great ideas for love letter designs! She can get so caught up in paper and envelope formation that she forgets what the whole idea was all about in the first place. But when she remembers at the end, choosing the right words isn't too difficult for her either, because Emily knows she just needs to be honest about her romantic feelings for Farmer. Though the blue-haired girl was a little hesitant about whether she should describe her dream with Farmer, or if that would be too much. After all, what if they said no, and well they weren't really meant to be together? So Emily skips this point, and when she's finished, she gives the letter to Farmer when they come to visit her at home.

Haley:

Due to her popularity at school and university, Haley was used to receiving love letters, not the other way round. But nevertheless, when she took up pen and paper, the blonde girl had no problems with her letter. The content was fairly short, without huge text, and not decorated with a bunch of flowers or hearts. She just wrote matter-of-factly that she liked Farmer, they were a nice and cool person, and that she had been harbouring fond feelings for them for a long time. Even though the paper is unadorned, she will scent the letter a little with light perfumes. Haley can either just put the letter in the mailbox or hand it to Farmer, but in the latter case her cheeks will be covered with blush. Well, now she can go back to her business and wait for a reply. She hopes that if it's a rejection, it won't be as harsh as Haley has previously turned down some of her fans.

[bitebitesnap]

[System Spark] (Animatronic!Submas/Reader)

Ch 2: Meet Your Match

Getting a first person view is a lot more stress than you thought it would be. As the stations resident Battle Challenge, it proves more work is in order than just physical repairs.

Maybe if you can get a few programming training videos in you can erase that piss poor attitude.

(author's note: Emmet you're a dick)

word count: 9486

Prev

The cup clinks as you stir. Black, no sugar, milk on the side. Not your favorite, but you can’t really afford the good stuff like extras. Or sugar in the order, which you were currently ripping open packets of to pour into the drink yourself.

“I said I was paying.”

“I know, but its fine. I prefer making it myself.” You didn’t. It was annoying-sugar always got everywhere and there was never enough milk to make it not taste like sweetened dirt. 

You hated the idea of making him spend more on overpriced coffee even more.

Jackie sighs, resting his cheek on his palm, “Ya know, I’m the one who invited you in here. I’m also the guy, which means I should be paying so you get a good coffee and not,” He waves towards the pile of ripped up sugar packets, his own cup next to him,”Whatever that is.”

“I just like it better when I make it.” Is all you can say as you dump the tenth packet then stir it again. The contents swirl about, turning an ashy caramel with a gritty undercurrent. You take a sip and fight back a cringe-nope, somehow still bitter. But when you go to pick up another he grabs your wrist.

“(Y/N), its empty. You used them all on yours.”

“Huh?” You look at the little cup on the far side of the table. Bright reddish pink and speckled white papers fill it halfway-salt and pepper. It;s devoid of anything else, “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

With a sigh you resigned to take a sip of it instead. The moment the vague taste of sweetened dirt graced your tongue again you grimaced, but tried to school your expression so it wasn't as obvious.

Judging by Jackie's resigned sigh, it either worked or it didn't. Didn't matter which.

“So, any reason we're here instead of somewhere with a table I can use?” Your gaze flits across the diner, where the dim glare of the station lights don't quite reach through.

It's a pleasant little hole in the wall for a run down subway station, to the point you felt bad for the owner renting the square feet. The warm mahogany walls line with thin gold stripes angle about in art deco shapes, twisting around the counters and up to frame the menu with rich tones. The decorative walls separating table sections sport frosted glass panels with the same alternating square to rectangle shapes in their design. Overall the diner is a classy and modern take on old city style restaurants.

“It’s a nice place? Got a real good breakfast menu if you come in early enough. And the coffee?” The cup he has oozes caramel and whipped cream over the rim as he eagerly pulls off the lid, “To die for. Better than Staryubucks I swear.” 

You watch him practically stuff the overly tall mound of sugar and cream into his mouth in an effort to pick it clean of all whipped cream before trying to put the lid back on, “Gross. How old are you? In your forties now?”

He has the audacity to hold up a hand to stop you while licking his lips, “Just past thirty-five if you must know. Perfectly adult enough. I have a right to eat how I want.” He makes an effort to smugly look you in the eye as he licked his lips. You roll your eyes as he punched the straw in and took a sip.

THeres a soft whir of wheels that draws your attention back to the counter. A tall blocky drone rolls it;s way around the coffee machine, cup in hand as it draws processed caffeine and ice before turning to the caramel dispenser. It’s nowhere near as advanced as the one you’ve seen here, but it’s familiar nonetheless. A far less humanoid design, lacking any facial features and even arms at all, rolling around the cafe on a set of three-dimensional wheels. Despite it’s more robotic design, its; still sleek and refined with it’s silvery shell polished to a shine underneath the cafe lights-even though it looks more like the upper half of a mannequin with it’s head being a simple cylinder with a line of blue lights for ‘eyes’.

“Sure you didn;t bring me here to give me inspiration on what I’m working with?” You jab a thumb at the drone as it wheels by, tray held against it’s chest by small claw-like hands.

He pauses, cup pulled back and upper lip covered in cream. Then he sighs, licking it away, “Yeah about that.” Popping the lid back on and setting aside the cup entirely he leans in, hands folded on the table, “I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unwrapping one of the packages of plastic cutlery from the cup on the table and taking out the spoon, “About checking tall dark and blank faced today? Like we agreed?”

He shakes his head, “No. Not that. It's about the other one.”

You barely give him a glance outside of a disgruntled side eye, “The other one-?” Then you stop, coffee mid stir.

Right. There were two. You'd only seen the one. And with the way he was looking at you he noticed you forgot.

Great.

So with a sigh you tap the spoon on the rim and take another sip, “Two. Right. You told me last time.”

He nods, “I did. And today we're going to be looking at the second one.” 

“And from what I recall, the second one-” You wave at him to continue.

“Was the one with the problem. Yeah that's why all this.” Gesturing at the general tables around you he picks up the to-go cup, “I wanted to go over exactly what you should expect.” You give him a sour look but nod, “This one is very unfriendly, as I've told you.”

You just sigh, “Yeah yeah, same thing you told me last time. Got it then too. So am I just,“ You wave a hand vaguely, “Supposed to hope it decides to stand still long enough to jack it open or something?”

“Uh yeah I uh, still have to figure something out about that.” Jackie, to his credit, does fluster quite a bit as he tries and fails to look at you while scratching his softly red cheek, “But in the meantime I do have an idea. I think.”

Comforting, “You think.”

“Hold that thought. Better than you having no ideas.” He holds up the same hand to point at you instead.

As irritating as it was to admit, he did have a point, “Whatever.” You sigh, “So it’s got attitude issues, I already know that. Got anything new to tell me instead of rehashing what I know.”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m getting there. First off,” He holds up a hand with a single finger raised, “It’s specialty grade. Enhanced frame, faster cpu-the works. This thing can take one look at your team and know exactly how to handle you. I should know, I tried it. Took me out in less than ten turns.”

Your brows go up, but your stare is still less than enthused, “To be honest you are predictable with that Skarmory of yours-”

“Whirl is perfectly fine and no I will not take criticism over it. Back on point-” He takes an exaggerated sip of his latte, “Because of that it’s resilient to damn near anything. You could hit this thing point blank with a Drill Run and it would get back up without a scratch.”

Humming, you pick up your cup again only to pause, the rim hovering over your mouth, “So it’s strong.”

“Very. On top of that, it’s got a mood shift worse than a Taurus in winter. It’s big, mean, and has a right hook worse than a pissed Machop. And while that works for dealing with battles in an eh,” He seesaws his hand, “Less than ideal arena, it means he’s a massive pain to deal with when trying to actually work on him.”

The taste of poorly sweetened coffee sits wrong on your tongue as you process what he’s telling you.

Arceus damn him sometimes.

Instead of snapping at him for, clearly, dragging you into what will certainly be your doom (or at least get you in the hospital, in which he will be paying that himself again), you huff, “So it’s the equivalent of you calling me in for a ‘simple job’ that turned into you asking me to teleport a stray Boufallant off the tracks? Which by the way, also went to shit because Alchemy missed?” The air quotes you set your coffee down for didn’t cover how frustrated you sounded. To his credit, Jackie did look away wincing.

“Uhhh, yeah. You did not get over that at all, did you.” It’s not a question when all he had to do was look at you grinding your jaw at him to get his answer, “Hey at least you got out of the hospital in one piece.”

He omits the barely part, but you both ignore it.

Instead you change the topic, “So what about the less than ideal battle arena? Is it like the ones we’d make back in highschool.” You prop your chin on a hand as you play with the half empty package bowl. He watches you roll it around on the edge of it’s base like a slow top.

“In spirit at least. Think something close to a ring in the sandbox with nothing but Arceus as the ref.”

“No special battlefield, no walls, no stopping unless everyone dies?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sounds like college.” The bowl tips over onto the table with a clack and spills everywhere, scaring the shit out of you with how loud it is. With a bashful glance around the cafe you quickly scoop up the leftover packets and shove it back to the side, then glare at Jackie when you see him giving you a smug grin like he knew it would happen.

You flip him off as subtly as you can. He just does the same to you with that stupid grin on his face.

“Anyway,” And just like that you try to move the conversation along while also leaning back into your booth like nothing happened, “Anything else I should know about.”

“Well mainly that it’s not too far off.” You’re thankful that he allows the topic change, “Big Stantler had it’s area set up pretty close by to the diner area over here.” A hand gestures over his shoulder, towards the other diner entrance opposite to the register. He glances back that way himself as you lean over, “It’s also,” There’s a wince to his words, “Probably why the place has been so dead.”

He was right-the outside seating area was remarkably empty. The tables were all set up with their shakers and containers, lined in rows of four in the small space where no paths crossed like any other place would have it. Though people milled about between cafes and the rare stop at the small pokecenter vendor, no one seemed to bother with sitting down. 

Probably because it was the most boring part of the station you’d ever seen. There were no colors, no fancy lighting that most of the station had. The tiled floor was pale and the tables were all the same pathetic cheap kinds you’d see at fast food restaurants. It stuck out so badly that it almost made you miserable just looking at it.

He heaves a sigh as you grimace, “Yeah. Looks pretty bad, I know. Big Stantler's got issues about it, too. Gets all up in my ass about diverting people over to the public area, but when I do they’ve got no reason to stick around because I mean.” He gestures to the space, giving you a look of dismay.

You just nod. There was nothing else to add to that.

“And now that the arena’s all set up he wants us to show passengers the new attraction as if it’s going to fix whatever 90’s hell he pulled all that stuff out of. And then they see the poster and get all curious then whoop!” He throws his hands up near his face like he;s being arrested, coffee and all, “New incident report and another complaint against the thing.”

“Sounds rough buddy.” It was worth the deadpan stare he gave you while picking up his cup. Cheeky grin aside you glanced down at the bench beside you, giving him a side glance with a raised eyebrow, “And does this have anything to do with the fact you made me leave most of my stuff?”

He makes a seesaw motion with his hand mid drink, “Kinda. You probably won't be getting dirty with this one either-at least not yet.” You figured as much, “I'll have something figured out for it.”

“That still doesn't really explain exactly what your idea was that involved me digging through half my things to pull out my old trainers bag.” You hold up the old piece of denim to him. It was still in decent enough shape, you supposed, despite being buried under half a semester’s worth of old schoolwork. The strap was more threadbare, strings jutting out from the seams and the buckle well on it’s way to just snapping off entirely. Some kind of stain was on the bottom corner, likely from one of the times you’d spilled coffee onto it previously.

But that didn’t matter to you so much as the few patches that you’d sewn onto it over the years. It was part of a dream you had, where this bag would join you on adventures into other regions. You’d gathered each one from bargain bins in store clearance aisles and the odd antique store, some in better states than others. It took over a week to find the time to stitch them on properly, and even then the lines were crooked from a bad tutorial video. 

That dream was long since gone, but the patches remained. Maybe they didn’t have real meaning to them like you wanted, but they were yours. And you’d be damned to go without it at this point.

“I only asked you to bring Alchemy. You didn;t need to drag out that old thing too.” He gives it a bemused glance, “You could have just shrunk his and put it in your pocket.”

You give him a scandalized look and set a hand on your chest, “And break the aesthetic? You wound me.”

“Yeah. Clearly I wanted you to go for the sexy engineer garb today but I had to reschedule the party.” He grins as you huff bemusedly, “But seriously, you didn;t have to go through that.”

'That' being the truckload of stuff you didn't need anymore. Half of it gifts from friends, the few who'd believed in you once. But it was so different and alien to who you were now it was like playing tetris with someone elses life, someone who had a dream, a chance to be something more.

Not you.

Now what was left was rotting in the back of a half dead car. Papers once due now coated in coffee stains and random notes. Old keepsakes losing their good memories for ones steeped in regret. 

But…

You pull it just a bit closer, “It’s one of the few good things I have. Didn’t really get the shitty end of the stick like everything else.”

“Yeah…”

It’s quiet for a long moment. Neither of you can bring yourselves to dwell on the topic, but it lingers like a cloud above you both. Both of you had reasons to put it to rest, to let the past die a bad memory-but you can’t. 

Not when it remains so prominent that it affects you both to this day.

Yet neither of you address it. Instead he takes another long drink of his overly sweet coffee and you barely a sip of yours. An unspoken agreement to leave it at that.

Once the awkward air had passed, Jackie sighs and knocks back a long drag of his coffee, “Alright, no use staying here all day.” He smacks his lips, setting his cup down, “You’ve got another customer to check up on.”

You blink for a moment, “Oh. Yeah.” Though unlike him it takes a second before you can pull yourself together enough to tap the lid onto your coffee and get up to follow, tossing your bag over your shoulder, “So where is it exactly? I don’t see anywhere out there where it could be hiding, otherwise there’d probably be a bigger crowd.” You grab your discarded jacket and tie it around your waist.

“Oh please, the only crowd that thing’s getting is if there’s a battle going on. And there’s no way Big Stantler would let a battle go on in the middle of the station.” He waves you to follow as he leaves the cafe, “It’s got it’s own space. There’s a few of the older stations that aren’t getting used on the lines anymore so they’re being used for the museum segment of the place. Given that those are the biggest space we’ve got its set up in one of those.”

You follow after, giving him a skeptical look, “Why there, of all places? Wouldn’t that, like, damage something old and important?”

He shrugs, “You’d think that but really, those are also some of the most reinforced areas we’ve got too. With all the trains running and the stress of the city above the walls are double the pressure strength outside of the tunnels themselves, so I guess it works out.” 

You give him a confused look. The station was sturdy, sure, but that would apply to every area of the station. It was underground, the idea that any single area was better sounding kind of ridiculous. The tunnels might have more stability given they were just narrow paths but still. He doesn’t correct himself or explain that either, which made you more confused.

Just what did he mean by that?

He leads you around the collection of tables, towards the far end of the station where a hallway leads out away from the central area. Its quieter here, as most people want to use the station amenities or go into one of the various small shops, not investigate the mostly empty dining area. The hallway was no better, being as it was so simple one could mistake it for a maintenance hall for staff only. There was a singular poster board covered in advertisements next to it, specifically the type you’d seen in offices which did absolutely nothing to make it less dystopian. 

And outside of the posterboard being about as clean as the subway’s bathroom the floors themselves were almost immaculate. Barely any kind of mess at all outside of the stray dustbunny and even missing the iconic topside dirt tracked in on the soles of passengers criss crossing all over the tiles. Really adding into the abandoned aesthetic of the area.

The ads themselves weren’t very interesting either. Most of them are for the station, ads for ticket prices and popular stops along the rail stuck on with pushpins the color of depressed brown. A poster stuck onto the top of the board in too cheery a sky blue says ‘Station Historical Area’ with arrows pointing forwards where the hallway lead to with pictures of the old station architecture photoshopped beside it, a few ads depicting the rare event taking place in there. 

No wonder nobody came over here, you were getting bored just looking at it. All under thirty seconds too, a record for someone somewhere you guessed.

But after a minute one sticks out to you. Unlike the others it’s design is simple, using the same font as the historical area marker, although it lacks any photos. Though the text isn;t very large it is very prominently bolded against the white paper.

‘Come see the Gear Station Challenge!’

You raise a brow at the simple and ominous message. What a way to advertise the new battle area by not bothering to elaborate what it meant. 

Jackie taps the paper, “These are all over the place. Big Stantler wanted to capitalize on the trainer market for a long time, but without any real place for a gym or even a pokemon center he didn;t really have anything to draw them in. Then after making this deal he specifically had it drafted in the contract one of them was to be programmed for pokemon battling. Once we got the thing and tested it out he went on a rampage, scraping together an arena that would at least pass the bare minimum of regulation to get the permit to set everything up. And once he got everything together he had us pin up flyers and standing signs for this thing. For a while, it worked. Station got a lot more traffic coming in, mostly trainers from out of town to see the new ‘battle drone’ that they were hearing so much about.”

You stared at the page as he ranted, idly tracing around the gaudy old microsoft word decor with your eyes, “Then something went wrong?” 

“Then something went wrong.” A long suffering sigh started his sentence while he turned towards the entryway, looking back at you over his shoulder, “You ready to me the man of the hour?”

His words make you snort, waving at him to continue, “Lead the way.”  You follow after as he turns his back to you and started down the hall. Briefly you cast a glance back towards the cafe and barren seating area, a thought crossing your mind about whether or not anyone would even notice if you never came back.

But that was kind of ridiculous to think of. It’s just a drone, faulty or not. Why were you so worried about it?

You look back just as Jackie’s voice calls out, “Hey, you coming?”

“Yeah, hang on.” WIth a shake of your head you press on, trotting up beside him. And once together he leads you into the depths of the historical center of the station.

Although maybe it was a mistake as the more you follow him down the side hall, the less noise filters through. The concrete is thick, dense enough to withstand the weight of the city and the blaring of the train’s horn, so it only takes a few minutes before the constant bustle of the station is a distant memory. Normally, it wasn’t a problem. There was once a time where you used this station daily, the screech of the rail’s brakes nearly rendering you deaf on the regular-the mere idea of a moment of pure silence was a blessing back then.

Your eyes trail up the walls with a grimace. Subway posters for the cafes and other stores with their working hours, a detailed map of the subway-all normal things to see anywhere in the station. Yet, there was a distinct lack of tearing or even any sign of use at all. All the maps had some of the line names scratched off, but the one you pass next to a water fountain barely has any scratches-as if no one had touched it in some time. Posters litter the hall but the further in you get the less damage there is. Even the floor seems to lack a normal amount of dirt-which is something you’d never seen yourself missing.

It’s as if this place was abandoned, boxed in a section of time. And it was haunting to walk through what felt like a still breathing corpse of a station.

A small faded white box hangs from one of the upper corners as you turn at a junction. The lens is facing down, wires exposed through cracks in the plastic as it hangs precariously from it’s arm, “The camera is broken…”

It takes a moment for Jackie to pause and turn around, “Oh. Yeah, the camera’s down this way don’t work anymore.” He’d barely even taken a glance at it. As if it was normal.

‘It's got a mood shift worse than a Taurus in winter and a right hook to match.’

“Did…” You pause, glancing back at the broken camera, “Did it..break them?”

He shrugs, “Probably. Saw it throw something at at least one of them when I checked the recording. Though,” He looks up towards the camera again, “Most of the damages were in the actual arena.”

That…..did not make you feel any better.

“Though it’s possible it just had a tantrum before they were able to get it back into the ring. Can’t be sure of it though.” He continues on as if he hadn’t just ruined your day with his words alone, “We stopped receiving notices about it breaking them a while ago, so I have no idea how many are busted or where.”

That nervousness came back with a vengeance. It crawled through your lungs and into your spine like a demented infernape, banging it’s fists on the inside of your skull.  It shouldn’t be surprising-you were told it wasn’t friendly. Hell, with his track record of requests you were practically handed the prospect of danger the moment you took this job. But this? It was beyond just being moody or temperamental.

It was outright violence. You could get caught in the middle of it. You could get hurt-for real this time.

It was strong enough to tank pokemon attacks. It was strong enough to deal with violent pokemon. It could deal with you next.

You don’t think of yourself as a coward. You’d faced pokemon worse-at least you think you have. But somehow, the concept of getting so close to something that violent is causing your heart to race in a way it hasn’t in years. It;s like being stuck in a battle you can’t leave, a class test you haven’t studied for.

Because this isn’t just getting wrapped up in some new brand of bullshit you’d get into as a kid. You have no reference for this. There’s no guide, no self taught way to go about it that you know of. You don;t know what you’re up against, on top of not knowing how to prepare for it in the first place. 

It was horrifying.

But….

The bag sits lightly on your arm. Too light-it should be more full than this. It’s missing too much. Not enough potions, food, basic care.

You need this.

So you force that train of thought as far back as you can. Suck it up, take a deep breath, relax as much as possible as Jackie leads you on. Down the hallway in pure silence, unaware of what you’d just went through in the span of a few minutes. With luck he’d never figure it out-Arceus knows he’d bail if he thought you couldn’t handle it.

At least you hoped he would. 

Before you know it he stops. You’re so involved in your thoughts you almost run into him, stopping just short of ramming face first into his back. Where you are is a distant question your psyche doesn’t have time to answer as he turns to you with an expectant look, “Well, this is it. You ready?”

That nervousness still sits wrongly in your gut, though it’s mostly muted by now. Too used to it, too many times you’d been put on the spot for things like this to the point it was almost natural to shove your feelings aside. Maybe that’s not a good thing, but also what choice do you have?

So you do your best to not let it show and nod, “Yep, ‘bout as ready as I’ll ever be.” He too grins with a nod and turns away to the entry of the arena.

The end of the hall is just an open doorway leading to an unused boarding area, probably outgrown long ago when the station was still in its prime. A line of too bright fluorescent lights cast a sickly pale glow over the tiles from the entrance all the way across the room. The tracks were still there but covered over by a semi sheer plastic cover bridging the two sides. The tunnels had been sealed off as well, the bricks newer and less faded where the arches used to be. 

A sense of eeriness kept you from focusing on any one part of the room. Normally, a stray bit of trash would pile up in the corners, forgotten by everyone until the night crew cleaned everything for the next day-but here barely anything seemed to linger. Even the dust was absent, giving a squeak to your step as the soles of your shoes scrubbed against the old marble. Just as you were staring down at the grout between the tiles JAckie stopped, bringing you to a halt as well. He shushes your glare up at him to point your attention directly ahead.

A ring of yellow paint, scuffed by claw and shoes alike, surrounded a particular space in the center, just big enough for two pokemon-so long as said pokemon were no larger than a Machoke. The ring was hovering over the old track, painted onto the clear plasteel covering it to keep wayward onlookers from walking on them even though the tunnel itself was bricked off. Photos of the old trains that were decommissioned long ago lined the walls all around, lights above them to draw the eye and tell the history of the station.

And in the center sat the drone. Perfectly poised, perfectly silent.

It was just as tall as it’s twin, a near perfect match if they stood side by side. Station grade uniform, rounded metal armor, grey metal around its face like a train guard. Everything was the exact same, even your own observation of ‘absolutely unnecessary’.

But where the other was clad in sheer black, this one was almost blindingly white. The metal gleamed under the tacky lights, reflecting every ray outward almost like a halo. Just the same it’s coat was absent of the Subway Master stripes, which seemed to only make its eye destroying glow even worse as nothing broke up it;s shape-had you seen it in any other layout, you’d probably mistake it for some kind of angel.

And then you looked up at it’s face.

Where the other was completely ignorant to your existence, this one was entirely too aware. Since it was facing the door you had entered it had likely noticed the both of you the moment you stepped in. The other’s eyes glowed dimly, left in a standby by default when not in use or performing it’s lines. This one’s glowed so vividly you could mistake them for another set of lights to brighten the room. 

Many androids and machines had a similar stare. Empty, vapid glares into the distance that could seem aggressive until you’d take one look and realize it was nothing but hot air. They meant nothing at the start and were simply part of the design, however poor it may be.

But this one was different. Worse.

It was the only one you’d ever seen where it’s eyes burned with malice.

It’s stare was so intense you flinched back with a grimace, “Please don’t tell me-”

You didnt even get to finish, “Yep, that’s it.” Jackie steps up beside you with his own uncomfortable grimace, like being here alone was worrying.

Did you know that? Yes-the two were literal twins of each other. Were you still disappointed to be right? Immensely.

Neither of you moved. Under the door frame was a sense of safety, as if going any further would put you within the proverbial dragon’s den. Even Jackie was brought to a pause, seemingly in thought as he gauged the room. But eventually he tugs on your shoulder, shoving you forward a step with him.

Not like you had a choice.

The weight of it’s gaze felt like a brick to the gut. Gears in its neck racked like a whirring toy as it’s head followed your approach, lowering down to keep you in sight from it;s obscenely tall height as you stopped just outside the ring. 

That stare was haunting. It crawled over your shoulders in a bad way like a Joltik hopped up on batteries. You had a feeling that if it wasn’t bound by the coding keeping it in place, it’d cross the room just to get to you.

Those eyes give you a searing once over before, “Greetings. I am the Battle Challenge. I have 3 pokemon. Do you wish to take it?”

It’s voice makes you flinch. Just like the other it’s harsh, louder than normal-though unlike it’s twin it seems far more forced. There;s a colder edge to it’s tone that makes you feel like it’s studying you far too intensely, too closely for it to be just to assess your battle ability. Like a Galvantula watching a Caterpie struggling in it’s web.

Jackie winces as you give him a disturbed look, “Yeah. Look-Just-” He takes a slow breath, “Give it a minute. It won’t go after you if you don’t answer.”

A brow raises, “We’re just here to look right.”

“Exactly. I uh,” He glances between you and it, before stepping just a bit more behind you, “Don’t really trust this thing too much.”

The mere image of this grown man-who works here, to remind-hiding behind you like a nervous teen was enough to roll your eyes. You were the one who just had an internal episode about how much the idea of this thing scared you and now he was dropping his own facade to play scared kid. You knew he would have said some shit about you trying to back out earlier, which was why you stifled it so hard on top of needing the money desperately. The urge to say something witty lingered on your tongue, biting words you should say.

But sadly, you don’t. And like all the other times you swallow it down and with a sigh you deposited your satchel into his hands, tugged the sleeves of your hoodie tighter around your waist, and faced the problem head on.

He wanted to be scared? Fine, you’ll do the work.

A step forward, then another. Inching over the ring like a skittish Wurmple. The silent air tensed as a clock’s spring, ready to release at any moment while your scuffed tennis shoes squeaked lightly across the too clean tiles. Not a single moment did the drone stop staring at you-nor did you let it leave your sight. It’s only when you pause just a hair inside does it act.

A tilt of it’s head. Slow, curious, even a steady ‘click-click’ as it’s eyes blink, flashing in the shadow over its face. Breaking its steadfast posture it leans forward until its eye level with its arms folded behind it;s back, “I do not have you registered. New trainers must register before the challenge can start.”

That makes you pause, “That means it’s not going to do anything, right?” You call over your shoulder, still watching the drone as it creepily stares back-you wondered how it could somehow be worse when it was eye-level.

“Yeah. It only works on people who sign up. At least…it should.” The lack of confidence he gives is truly inspiring sometimes, “Just, don’t get into arms reach.”

You roll your eyes, grousing under your breath, “No I wanted to get all cozy with it and give it a hug.”

The sudden rattle of gears snaps your attention back onto the drone as it lurches back, ramrod straight, “Physical touch of Gear Station machinery by passengers is strictly forbidden. Disobedience is rewarded with strict fine and temporary banning from the station. Second offence is permanent removal from the premises.” It’s eyes glowed ominously from beneath the brim of its cap as it stared down at you from the bottom of it’s eyes, as if reprimanding the very idea.

In fact, that was probably the most it’s spoken to you at all.

“Like Hell am I doing that. I’d like my spine to be in one piece today.” It doesn’t respond, still watching you under it’s cap.

As it clinks on you swear you hear Jackie mutter something like ‘that’s not what it says..’, but when you glance back at him he’s still outside the ring with a hand on his chin in thought.

You study it, all white fiberglass shell and steel. Though it faced you earlier, the moment you;d made your quip it backed up, taking a step so it was standing askew from you and facing towards the far wall. The sleek slabs making up it’s coattail lacked the master stripes as well, just as its twin. Faux tie attached to the facsimile of a plain shirt, black unlike the other’s white, a small section of its hip refashioned to hold said three pokeballs. Mirror images down to their behavior, reflecting opposing ends of their programming, one for pedestrian use and the other a battle machine. It was uncanny how perfectly the two matched.

Yet it wasn’t quite right. The outline of its body, though mostly perfect, warps just so along it’s back. It’s lopsided, almost akimbo like something is wedging between it’s arms and prying them apart-except there wasn;t anything else on the drone itself. No accessories like a backpack or anything similar outside the pokeballs otherwise you’d see the straps around it’s shoulders. So why was it sitting wrong?

You glance back at Jackie, who was staring intently at the drone, then you also stared at it before repeating. Then you sighed, trying to steel yourself for probably the stupidest thing you’ve done today.

And with bated breath you stepped further into the ring.

“Hey hey! You don’t have to do that-” The sound of Jackie trying to approach echoed behind you.

Instantly the drone whipped it’s head to him, eyes blazing, “Depot Agent Jackie, I see you wish to retake the challenge. Would you like to start?”

You hold a hand up behind you, “You said it doesn’t know me unless I’m registered, right? I need to look at it’s back.”

“You can’t be serious. I didn;t bring you here to let you get yourself killed you know! Looks bad on the records!” He did stop chasing after you despite his complaining, but you could hear him pacing around as if he was wandering in a circle, “What do you need to look at anyways? You can see it just fine can’t you??”

The drone had gone back to staring at you. You met it with the best poker face you had, “I think there’s something wrong with the frame. Can’t get a good look where it’s standing right now.”

“Can’t you just wait until later? It’s not going anywhere anytime soon!” This time he paced further to your right, the drone’s head turning to follow him. It’s neck creaked with the tiny motions needed to keep him in sight-most likely, Jackie was watching it right back out of nervousness.

You looked down at the clear floor to the tracks below, then back to the drone. It had said you weren’t in the database and Jackie had confirmed it most likely would leave you alone. On top of that it was currently distracted watching him have a meltdown.

Which meant there wouldn't be any better time, so long as it would tolerate a bit of close contact. 

Unfortunately the moment you edged in further it dropped it’s stare back to you, this time staying silent. You jerk out of the sudden ‘click!’ it’s eyes made to look at you. Instinctively you swallow.

So much for it being distracted, but you couldn’t back down now.

The creak of it’s neck followed as you carefully stepped closer, using the curve of the ring to keep a good distance while you approached. This close you could see the little imperfections in it’s shell. Small dings and tiny scratches mixed in with dents- probably from the battles it’s had before. Being freshly out of maintenance and likely washed during then the strikingly clean white paint obscured most of them, but the thin streaks of silver still peeked out here and there. However, the further around you got the more of his back you could see as it was still angled away from when it first pulled back from you. 

You squinted, ignoring its staring as best you could while trying to make out the slope of its back, but it was difficult with it’s arms in the way. Deep streaks of silver curled outward over it’s sides, like something had grabbed at it and scratched the paint off. Something big.

You looked up just as its head clicked into a tilt studying you. Bright silver eyes roaming over your face with a cold empty gaze. You leaned over just a bit closer, trying to see better.

A loud grinding shrieked out as it suddenly lurched towards you with a hand outstretched. 

You jumped backwards, breath stuck in your throat. It’s eyes were blazing white beams underneath the shadow of it’s cap far too close to your face even as you stumbled back, a hydraulic press inside hissing into your ears the same as an angry Arbok. The smiling maw opened wider exposing wiring and inner mechanisms way too clearly as it quickly went from the center to in front of you in a single thundering step, a grin full of teeth bearing down on you

“THUNDERBOLT!”

Immediately a thunderous crack roared as lightning struck it square in the chest where it’s sternum would be. It jerked away, sparking wildly with garbled noises sputtering out of it’s mouth. It’s arms splayed out and head snapped backwards, shuddering wildly before its eyes lost brightness with a dull whir as it’s mechanisms slowed to a stop with it’s arms hanging limp.

You heaved for air you didn;t need, heart in your throat as you watched the now pacified drone slump over standing up. A shudder rushed up and down your spine while your hands shook-a dull pain was in your ass from toppling back onto the ground, ears ringing from fear, but you’d prefer being sore over whatever idea that thing had for you. 

You jumped again as a hand snatched you by the arm. Yellow and black striped fur nearly put you into a tailspin as you were yanked up with force. The vague outline of Jackie’s Electivire clings to you while dragging your old running shoes squeaking over the scuffed ring to safety.

You tried to catch your breath as it let you go, falling to your knees on the floor. A constant dull ringing picked up over the pokemon’s odd clicking and snaps of electricity arcing over it from stress so loudly it forces you to cover your ears. But that only makes it ring louder, harder into your skull like a bell right next to your head. Pressure builds as your breathing speeds up and start hyperventilating, unable to keep yourself in control anymore.

You’re facing it. Still, even though you’d been dragged far enough away you still fell facing it. You couldn’t look away from it even if you tried.

Jackie drops to the ground next to you, though all you can see is the faint green at the edge of your vision from his uniform. He was running his hands all over you checking for injury, saying something but you couldn’t hear him at all over the roar in your ears, heartbeat thundering in your chest as you kept staring at the drone as if it would wake up at any moment and come for you. Maybe it would.

No drone would do that. No drone should be able to do that.

But it did and that horrified you.

A hand pats you on the cheek, redirecting your attention to him. Seeing him at all, even stressed out as he was, started to bring you back down slowly. The feeling of his hand on your face starts to bleed back in, the cold station floor seeping into your pants. Meanwhile Jackie studies your face with a wince before glaring back towards the drone itself, mouth moving and hands clenching on your shoulders. Then he huffed at it and mouthed something while flipping the bird. 

“-fuckin damned thing I knew it would pull some bullshit like this!” Sound slowly filtered back in as your ears adjusted, “Arceus damn him I knew that it was still glitching out! I told him to put it into storage until the mechanic got it fixed!”

He was loud, too loud. You didn’t want to hear it. 

You grabbed his arm, “Jackie I’m. I’m okay.” You don;t feel that way, far from it, “I just need a minute.” You’re still breathing too hard to be as calm as you sound but you try to force your lungs to cooperate. With a glance towards the still dead drone your gaze finally drops from it to focus on the grouting between the tiles. There’s still pressure in your skull, a dull ring in your ears with a lingering panic that makes your breath harsh and light like a skittering bunneary.

There’s a shuffling as Jackie moves around, though you’re not in the right state to see exactly what he’s doing until a sudden pop follows a flash beside you. As the light fades a familiar croon warbles in over the noise in your head, little squinty eyes floating down into view, “Alchemy?”

The pokemon wiggles gently as Jackie nudges it closer, “Come on, calm down. Look, see?” He holds his hands around the floating pokemon like it’s a prize, “It’s Alchemy. He’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is fine.” When you still give no response he huffs, “Just-Look-Here.” Grabbing your hand he gently shoves the pokemon into your arms, picking up your hands to wrap around him properly.

The soft peach fuzz covering his little body is enough to calm your nerves. Like a little stuffed animal the Abra goes limp in your hold, hanging off your wrists by his armpits like a ragdoll with his little feet waddling freely. He tilts his head back, whistling up at you.

You slowly come back down to your senses. Heartbeat still racing you bury your nose into the top of his head, making him churrup at you. He smells of lavender, something you still don’t know how he does. Maybe it;s something to do with being a psychic type. You don’t bother to think about it too much.

“Okay?” Then, and only then, does Jackie involve himself again by carefully setting his hands on your shoulders, “We’re good?” He waits until you nod softly before releasing the breath he was holding, rubbing your arms comfortingly, “Good. Arceus I-I’m sorry. After it got out of maintenance I was sure it would be alright-or at least behave long enough for you to see it. I swear I had no intentions of you getting personal with it like this. Not until I figure something out. It’s just-ugh,” Your vision is focused enough to see him scrub his eyes in frustration, “The tech I talked to told me it was functional again and I thought-”

“It’s okay. I get it.” You’re not quite sure you do, but it seems to work in calming him down, “I don’t blame you.” Alchemy shuffles up against you to put his nose up to the bottom of your chin. A small buzz calls from somewhere beside you as the Electivire steps closer, the two pokemon calling to each other with their own conversation. At the same time, Jackie sighs and raises his hand.

A sudden click stopped the both of you in your tracks. Your head snaps towards the noise, dazedly watching as lights slowly flickered between the seams of the drones plating. Twitching rattled it’s frame, hands jerking in fleeting sparks before suddenly jolting online. The eyes flicked on first, head rolling forwards into place, shoulders resetting as its posture righted.

It’s grin was unnervingly placid as those cold eyes flicked to the two of you immediately, “Greetings. I am the Battle Challenge. I have 3 pokemon. Do you wish to take it?”

You shuddered, eyes stinging while trying to keep it in focus. You tried to convince yourself that it was just a drone. A machine running on programming that had gone slightly faulty.

But it didn’t stop from feeling some layer of resentment in it’s monotone voice. 

“Nope! No! You can’t just go right back to whatever bullshit they tell you to say after that!” Jackie jumps to his feet as he jabs a finger in it’s direction, furiously stomping up to the ring, “You know what you did!”

The drone simply watched him approach with the same blank stare, head tilting to the side, “Depot Agent Jackie, I see you wish to retake the challenge. Would you like to start?” 

It;s voice is so empty. Unphased, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Who makes something like this? 

“You’re a fucking piece of shit and you know it! I told you to be nice and you go and do this!?” He asked it to-? ”What is wrong with you-!?”

You can;t take it anymore, “Jackie stop! It’s not going to give you a different answer!!” Alchemy warbles in your arms as you get up on shaky legs, nearly losing your balance had his Electivire not placed it’s hand against your back to stabilize you, “Just leave it alone already!”

Through barely restrained tears you can just make out his red hair flipping around to you. YOu can’t see his expression too well, but you know he’s noticed your bad state when he flips the drone off one more time before jogging up to you, “No one tells me a damn thing about this place. I asked about the drone and everyone said it was just acting up. Nothing big like, oh I don;t know-breaking it;s code!?” His hands were waving around during his fit, gesturing to nothing in particular. But they moved so fast and so aggressively that it was getting to you. You knew he meant well, but right now you didnt need him to start yelling again.

“Jackie please,” Thankfully he stops as you grab one of his wrists, “I’m-I’m done for today. Maybe the rest of the week. I just-” You almost waved at it but stopped yourself, “I can’t do this, Jack. Not now.”

Its Jackie who shakes his head vehemently, “No no, go home. I didn’t mean for this to happen-seriously I’m so sorry just,” He nudges your Abra back into your arms as it tries to reach up to him, “Take Alchemy. Go get some sleep or just pass a few jobs if you can. Just….just take a break. Please.” 

Just try to forget today happened at all.

You nod, holding Alchemy just a bit tighter, “Okay.” Is all you can muster. There’s the pop of a pokeball being opened and closed as Electivire gets put away. You can;t even take your bag from him, so he carries it as he leads you back to the door with a hand on your lower back.

But just before you cross the boundary the drone calls out, it’s voice lilting with something almost like glee, “Thank you for trying the Battle Challenge. We welcome-welcome to see you again.” 

You don’t look back. You can’t. 

You’re not ready to see those eyes staring you down again.

The trip back is a blur of too clean tiled flooring and posters. All the while Jackie is dead silent, hand never leaving the small of your back as he guides you back around turns towards civilization. The slow fade in of pedestrians wandering lost in their own conversations breaks down the silence between you until you’re back at the rec area.

Alchemy, who had been still the entire trip suddenly begins to wiggle about again. Little churrups squeak out before he pulls away from your weak grasp to cross his legs and resume his hovering around you. He stays above your shoulder as Jackie continues to lead you back to the cafe, picking up the coffee you abandoned. You say nothing as he deposits you in the booth to wait for him while he goes to the bathroom and dumps it out, replacing it with a chocolate frappe that he puts into your hands. 

Nothing is said as he grabs his half finished latte and helps you back up and out of the cafe, back to the stairwell where he lets you walk out on your own. The amount of steps don’t even register as you climb back up, Alchemy floating by you all the while. It’s sunset when you cross the entry back into the city. You don;t stop walking until you’re back outside in your old car in the same parking spot from last time. You barely give yourself anything outside of hopping into the driver’s seat and staring out the window, allowing yourself to finally parse through your thoughts.

The coffee is still in your hands, somewhat warmed from holding it so long. Alchemy has busied himself with rolling around in the passenger seat pawing at your old bag. Your jacket has long since been tossed into the back seat as an afterthought. 

You will have to go back. The temptation of actual spending money is too much for reason, no matter how loud it’s screaming at you. You will go down there. YOu will need to find a way to get into the workshop area. You will need to get the right tools for the job.

But it itches the back of your mind. The room is still back there. The hallway may be empty, but it’s not abandoned. You know it’s there, waiting for someone else unfortunate-more accurately, stupid enough-to go in and challenge it, expecting just a normal fight. 

That thing was anything but normal. 

Alchemy chirps beside you as a deep scowl pinches your lips. With a sigh you rub the bridge of your nose as the familiar throb of a headache begins to set in. You struggle to keep down the very real urge to slam your head into the steering wheel as well.

Next time, he was telling you everything about the job. And if he wanted to be cryptic, he could do it himself. 

—-

Quiet. Silence. Absence of noise.

There were other words. It didn’t bother to look for them.

A click click click as the light overhead flickered, dimming just so until popping back online. The distant rumble of a train filtering through the walls. A ring of paint around its feet.

Barely stirring. Still. Isolated.

Click click. A hand opening and closing behind it's back. The pokeballs hang from latches soldered onto its belt line, tucked away behind a metal plate of it's false coat. None of them are awake right now-activity low, but not absent. Just quiet. Just asleep.

Disregarded. Abandoned.

There was a time people visited. People with coats, with papers and tools and digging digging digging-

And now that one. That one, who wanders and stares. Not a challenger. Not a trainer-at least it thought so. But the pokemon kept close after coming back online says something else. Maybe not a passenger, maybe trainer. Maybe challenge.

More to break. More to scream. More to flee. More to make the ache in it's legs stop make it stop it hurts stop don't open the-

A patter of tiny feet wrenches its attention downward, towards the far end of the ring. The hands folded behind its back snap out to grab at the edge of it's false coat to snatch a pokeball and far too ready to use it.

A useless Ghastly looks up at him with its glaring eyes, the tail of a Rattata hanging from its grin. It’s face mirrors it's own but doesnt flinch as it swallows down it’s meal even while being stared at.

Then it was gone as quickly as it came, not leaving a scrap of fur as it phased out of sight. It could only stare at the empty space as it;s body resumed a more proper position, hands behind it;s back, forcing it;s eyes to look away as it faced the entrance swept clean of anything human.

Alone.

It was alone in here.

[spectrechosts]

Dressed Up To The Eyes - Chapter 6

Surprise!

Full Series

Jester was so, so fucking quiet.

Stealth was not her strong suit, nor were surprises, but this was important.

She loomed over Medusa, fast asleep, and gently gently gently so so gently uncoupled her faceplate and backed away from the bed. She took it to her table and set it down, her workspace illuminated by her dim phone light as she picked up a tiny screwdriver and got to work.

By all accounts it was a simple procedure, just take out the old chip and put in the new chip. This didn't stop Jester from sweating through the entire thing, hands shaking as she delicately replaced the component and reassembled the faceplate. Carried it back to the bunk and slotted it into Medusa's head.

Her eyes flicked open.

"Jester? What're you-"

She blinked and sat up, placing her hand to her cold metal jaw.

"Jester. Jester Jester Jester Jester-"

She spent a moment cycling through vocal settings, exploring the capabilities of the new chip.

"Jester, what the fuck?"

The voice she settled on was still rather monotone. Jester found that curious, but whatever, wasn't her choice to make.

"Surprise!" She said, beaming.

"Jester you should have asked me before doing this."

"If I asked you would have insisted you were fine with the old chip, even though we both know you weren't." Jester said, arms crossed. "I kept it anyway, we can swap it right back."

Medusa settled back into her bunk, rolled to face the wall.

"…I don't want to swap it back. It's just- It's complicated. Okay? I like it, I do."

Jester sat beside her and placed a hand on her back.

"So why's it complicated?" She asked.

"I don't know. It's a step."

"Steps are good."

"Steps invite opinions." Medusa grumbled. "A robot being a robot is one thing, a robot taking steps to pretend to be human is another."

"But you are human."

"For years I haven't been. The robot voice is detached, it's safe. People assume the mask is on purpose if you don't act like you want to take it off."

"We can put the robot voice back, if you need it."

Medusa sniffled, which was new. Non-word vocalizations used to come out as unintelligible tones.

"I don't want the robot voice." She sobbed. "I want to take the mask off so bad. I want a face and a body and if I let myself want them I don't know if I can handle not having them."

"It's okay, we can figure it out together. I've got your back every step of the way."

Medusa reached behind her and took her hand, pulling it close.

"It's not going to be easy. Or fast. And you are not surprising me with more parts you bought yourself, that isn't- I don't want to put that on you, and I don't want that hanging over me. This is a one-time thing."

"Yeah, totally." Jester said, nodding. "No more gifts. But this one is good?"

"Yes, it's good. Come back to bed."

~

As far as Jester could tell, if most people cared that Medusa had a slightly less robotic affect they weren't drawing attention to it. Benefits of scaring the shit out of everyone, she guessed.

The only one she knew had an opinion on it was Scáthach, because she was Medusa's partner and also scary and thus had no issue bringing it up.

With her, not Dusa.

"Uh, is her voice different? I hadn't-"

"Don't play dumb, clown. I'm trying to be nice here." She said, not sounding at all nice. "I know you know her deal, I know you did this, somehow."

"…Swapped the new chip in while she was sleeping."

Scáthach grunted, whether approvingly or disapprovingly she couldn't really tell.

"It's close enough to her voice. And she can sing, she was singing along with the radio on our way back from the last mission. She couldn't do that before."

"Y-Yeah, I guess the old chip wouldn't-"

"No, before before. Tone deaf, sounded like dogshit. Now? Perfect. It's different. Better, but different."

"Oh." Jester said. What was she supposed to say to that?

Another ambiguous grunt.

"Yeah. She's happy. You did good."

"Tha-"

"But. If you fuck this up, if you get her out of her shell and she gets hurt because of it-"

Jester nodded solemnly. "You'll kill me with laser beams."

"I will strap you to the heatsink of my rifle and let you fry as I kill other people with laser beams."

"Christ."

Amused grunt.

"Good talk, kid. Don't fuck up."

[starlitecryolite]

/vent??

I am.. so sick of all this a/i stuff

Its just wrong- it takes away the beauty of all art forms, whether its writing, art, or music.

Generative a/i, character a/i, doesn't matter. It still steals from actual artists. It still steals from good, hard work, and for what? Roleplay? Free time?

It could've been great, really. Instead of using a/i to do the mundane- like chores, or using it to solve something revolutionary in the field of science and medicine, they use it for.. "art." For uncanny-valley, cocomelon-type pictures. For incorrect information in graphics AND in writing. We don't want a/i to draw and write for us so we can do chores (I saw this in a tweet once), we want a/i to do our chores so we can draw and write.

And I'm so, so sick of people acting like its a good thing, like using generative a/i is justifiable in anyway, or just cause others may be using it.

It's everywhere, now. My friend -idk if we're friends anymore, honestly- uses c-a/i and swears it's "just for roleplay," the pastor at church used generative a/i to get a picture of something from the Bible, and students at school uses ChatGPT to get the job done.

Don't they see how damaging it is to not only the art industry, but to the world?

C-a/i is never accurate to the characters they portray. They steal from fics and turn it into their generative slop. It's not even good slop! The grammar? Punctuation? Proper sentences? Don't need that, apparently! In fact, that very same "friend" showed me a screenshot of c-a/i messing up by saying Tails (from Sonic the Hedgehog) is the only one who'd be seen riding a motorcycle. And any STH fan would know that its not Tails, it's Shadow who rides a motorcycle. Tails rides a plane.

A/i "art" is even worse. I've seen how inaccurate the final stuff could be. A baby bird doesn't look like a real one when generated through that slop. It's actually damaging to how we see information. Not only that, but the "art" generated is still so, so harmful to actual artists. Who needs passion, anyway? Who needs love put into art, anyway? When generating an a/i image, you put love and passion... where, exactly? In the prompt box?

I'll explain this in hypotheticals.

Its the year 2030. You wake up and begin a brand new day.

You open a book and cringe. This doesn't look like a good plot. This doesn't look like a plot, at all?

You learn that it's written through character a/i.

You turn the TV on. All the cartoons you used to love is gone. An uncanny "cartoon" took its place, with soulless eyes and a robotic voice. You turn the TV off and go outside.

But wait- the world is.. crumbling?! That's right- A/I is bad for the Earth! It's ACTUALLY damaging the world!

And somehow- somehow- you develop a sickness, so you go to the hospital to get it checked out.

To your horror, the doctor merely shrugs and says that he doesn't know what sickness you have.

"But how could this be?! You're a doctor! You're supposed to know these things!"

You find out that the doctor used ChatGPT to get through college, and didn't actually perceive the information required.

Then you die. The speeches people read out for your funeral were generated through ChatGPT. Truly a terrible way to die.

People need to understand just why all this a/i nonsense is bad. I feel like they go, "yeah, a/i is bad" and turn around to their a/i roleplays and ChatGPT, ready to defend themselves for using that slop.

To the mentioned "friend", to the mentioned pastor, and to the students who may or may not read this;

I wish I could tell you just how bad this a/i stuff is. I wish you'd understand. I wish you'd listen.

I wish generative a/i never existed.