#especially when its missing half its limbs and most of its performance reliability

[rocksaltpaperscissors]

one scene i cannot get over in System Collapse is murderbot and ART, both barely functional, staggering their way onto the shuttle to leave the 2nd colony. MB getting ART-drone strapped into a seat, worried about how damaged it is. doesn't even notice Iris getting it strapped into its own seat (as she worries about how damaged it is). MB and ART-drone, their humans' first and last lines of defense, destroyers of hostile secunits, sniping back and forth as they try to keep each other from shutting down. their humans, once again just barely Not Dead, looking after their extremely badass and very nerfed defenders. at least 15% of my brain capacity is dedicated to this scene at all times

[chaosbcrne]

(Revised) Headcanon 003: Air Shoes - How they work and why he has them

Shadow’s unusually high speed was one of the first thing they could observe when he first came out of the pod, what with his energy levels being off the chart and his untainted but distressed mind having more of a ‘flight’ than ‘fight’ response to what scared him then, which was just about everything early on. Yes, Shadow could run, and he could run fast - never quite at Sonic’s level, but he would have had the potential for it given the chance to properly acquaint himself with that natural speed of his.

He never got the chance because working on his running skills weren’t a priority early on; his rapidity was a side-effect, not the main goal of his creation. His perfectly healthy immune system and instant peek body performance were the main focus of the research and tests following his awakening and led the scientists to the official conclusion that he was, in fact, immortal, long before they took an interest in testing the limits of his speed and strength.

When they finally turned to that aspect of his biology, though, Gerald already had some concerns; running, especially sprinting, for a long time, and regularly, could be damaging in the long term. Nothing that would be worrying for someone with a normal lifespan (like, say, a certain blue hedgehog), but definitely something that could become a problem for someone who would live hundreds, thousands of years. Intense running throughout one’s life could be nothing but healthy if done right, but throughout millennia ? It could lead to serious permanent damage to feet and knees and ankles eventually.

Hence the idea of developing a way for Shadow to be able to exploit his full speed without his joints ever having to absorb the shock of hitting the ground with every step. A contraption that would allow him to just hover high enough to not hit the ground was the obvious solution, and it was just as obvious that it would have to be worked into some sort of shoes; anything that didn’t let him still use his legs and reach his top speed would be pointless. But it still had its complications.

The smaller one was finding a new motion; wearing hover shoes didn’t lend itself to an efficient running motion, and they had to find something else instead. Skating was clearly the best alternative, but it took countless hours of practice for it to become a natural movement for Shadow - especially when it came to learning to coordinate between activating the shoes and transitioning from a walking/jogging motion into a skating one (Gerald may or may not have made the bottom of the shoes an inch or two thicker than they needed to be just to make it more awkward for Shadow to run at high speed and help him develop the reflex of starting to skate instead). Obviously, he learned over the years and became a much better skater than he ever was a runner.

The bigger issue was to get the shoes to work properly; it had to become natural for Shadow to use them whenever he picked up speed, and they needed a reliable power source. Thankfully, Shadow himself was a very durable life form, made up of so much energy he needed inhibitors to stay stable, and they just so happened to have every possible data on his biology they could require to make something compatible.

So the shoes were made to be - quite literally - an extension of his body. They’re hooked up  around the ankles directly into his nervous system through very precisely engineered needles, half organic, half mechanic, that serve as a link between the shoe’s technology and his nerves. The shoes are perfectly adjusted to his feet so he can only feel said needles when putting them on and taking them off. It’s one of the reasons he does so as little as possible; it’s always a bit painful. The needles hook themselves into his muscles and retract themselves into the shoes on command, so if someone were to forcibly take the shoes off, it would seriously damage Shadow’s feet, tearing flesh and tissues all around his ankles and causing internal bleeding - the main reason he isn’t too keen on telling anyone how they work or letting people take a look at them, as he would rather that fact remains a secret, of sorts.

When wearing the shoes, he can activate them by simply thinking about it; it just requires a signal from the brain, the same way he moves the rest of his limbs. It really is an extension of his body, that being another reason he doesn’t like having them off: it’s like he’s missing a limb, and it makes him feel very vulnerable.

If it wasn’t clear enough, the shoes’ energy source is Shadow himself; the pressured air that comes out of them (yes, it’s pressured air, not fire, hence the name Air Shoes) to make him hover takes about as much out of him than the average kicking-off-the-ground running step would; so all in all he spends as much energy hover-skating as he would running - all the shoes do is keep him above the ground. While he can also use them to hover over less dense surfaces (water, snow, lava, etc.), that requires him to dial up the pressure, meaning it takes a lot more focus and energy out of him; he can’t keep it up as long or as intensely as he can on the ground and he needs to not be distracted whatsoever, so he avoids playing around with that if he can.

The rings on his ankles are not the same as the ones he has on wrists. However, they’re not for decoration either. Like his inhibitor rings, they’re custom-made to exercise control over his natural energy; in this case, they help focus and convert it to be compatible with the shoes. They’re also secured exactly where the shoes are hooked into his system. In most situations where he’d take the shoes off, unless he feels he’s in a perfectly safe environment, he will likely keep the rings on his bare ankles as they provide a small protection over where his skin and internal tissues are more fragile/sensitive from being perpetually punctured.

Gerald has taught him how to do basic maintenance on the shoes to make them last indefinitely, but it’s not impossible that something could happen to them eventually, in which case Shadow would likely have to turn to someone the likes of Tails or Eggman.

TL;DR the shoes do not make him faster than he naturally is, they just keep him hovering so he can skate instead of run and use his full speed without damaging his joints in the very long term; only he can wear them as they were made to be compatible with his specific body and require his energy to function. Shadow can run at very high speed without the shoes, just not as fast as he can skate with them

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 3: An Unexpected Journey

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: DRAMA, panic attacks, mentions of past death Relationships: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Heimdall (Marvel) Additional Tags: Loki is Impatient, Loki is Kind Of A Jerk, Reader is Impertinent, Reader is Kind Of A Jerk. Hey Everybody Makes Mistakes Summary: Reader is afflicted with a mysterious illness that has slowly been killing her. Salvation comes, but the price is high.

“What are you doing here _____?”  Your manager demanded.  You flinched, and concentrated on looking healthy.  You knew you were failing, despite all the makeup you’d put on to hide your ill health. She marched right up to you and tried to take a box of frozen, unbaked sandwich roll dough out of your shaking hands. You held on as tightly as you could.

“I’ve gotta work.” You said, voice small and weak. “Gotta make my rent.”

“I didn’t schedule you today.” She said tersely. You shrugged.

“I traded with Anette.” You’d pleaded with Anette. You’d lied to Anette, told her you were feeling so much better. You weren’t, but you were pretty sure you would feel so much worse if you got evicted.

You were sick. You were too sick to be doing your job, honestly, but at least you weren’t contagious. No one knew what was wrong with you. You’d paid doctors way too much money, just for them to give you clashing diagnosis, and prescribe medicines you couldn’t afford.

You had finally gotten one to admit that they had no idea what was actually wrong with you, but you knew what was wrong. You had been inflicted with a slow, wasting death. You had grabbed a vengeful god by the hand, and intended to demand something of him. No wonder he had cursed you.

That’s what the thing on your hand was: a curse, branded into your skin, a punishment for your insolence. You had made Tara promise not to tell anyone what had actually happened back in the tower, and whenever anyone asked about it, you just told them you had gotten very drunk when you were in New York, and had decided to get a body modification. Your manager didn’t care about it, since it was so easily covered up by the gloves you were required to wear.

What she did care about, was your dropping performance, and your failing health. Working in a bakery, even a tiny, grocery store bakery, required a certain amount of vigilance and effort, and over the past six months, you had slowly lost your grip on both of those things. Much like you were losing your grip on the box of frozen dough.

You set the box down on the counter, and began arranging the dough on a large sheet pan. You only dropped a few of them, and none of those hit the floor. Your manager followed you, hands on her hips.

“_____, I can’t allow this. You are definitely still sick. Both HR and the Health Department will be down on me like a ton of bricks if I let you work when you’re sick like this.”

“I can stand, and I can use my hands.” You protested. “What more do you need?”

“A competent worker!” She snapped. You knew it was only frustration. She liked you as much as a manager was allowed. She wouldn’t fire you for this, since you hadn’t done anything against the rules. But corporate might fire you, if you missed any more shifts on account of being sick.

Beyond the looming threat of homelessness and not being able to pay your bills, the loss of your job would spell the loss of your last remaining anchor to other human beings. Tara checked up on you when she could, and sent you texts every day, but she had her own job and her own life. Your father, likewise, still had to travel a lot for his own job. When you turned to your online communities for help with understanding what had happened to you, they quickly came together to discover that the man you had grabbed in the tower was none other than the outcast Asgardian prince, Loki, the scourge of New York, an extremely controversial figure who, five years ago, had tried to take over the world. He led an alien army into New York and caused terrible death and destruction. Now, he showed up more and more often in Avengers custody. Some surmised that it was some kind of rehabilitation program, especially now that Asgard was being rebuilt in Iceland.

You hadn’t known any of these things, and you didn’t get much chance to learn more. Considering you compromised, the communities had banned you, and blocked you entirely. Finding communities that were more friendly to the idea of Loki was no walk in the park either; most of those catered to a particular type of person you considered pretty damn creepy. They didn’t have what you needed, but they did have lots of…desires. And pictures, so at least you’d been able to confirm that the man from the tower was indeed Loki, brother of Thor.

So now you were nearly alone, your only reliable point of contact was your job, and you might be on the brink of losing that as well. That would leave the rest of your presumably short life with nothing but the torment of your dreams.

That was part of the curse, these terrible dreams. They stole your strength and haunted your waking hours, always the same. There was a soft, velvety darkness that you wanted so badly to sink into. It was rest, glorious rest. It was gentleness, stillness, quiet and peace. It was everything your body and mind desperately wanted. And he was there to deny you, every night he denied you that peace. He dragged you away from that welcoming darkness, fought to keep you from its hypnotic draw. He would never let you rest, like a demon, slowly draining you of your strength and health. He bore the mark he had inflicted you with, flaunting it like an insult to you.

You wished you could go back, wished you could apologize.  That you could tell him you simply hadn’t recognized him with his hair grown out, without the armor, without the horns. Without the alien invaders. You hadn’t meant any offence.

You also wished you could yell. Scream your anger and swing your fists. A little touch on the hand was no reason to do this to someone! You were just an ordinary woman who had made a small mistake. You didn’t deserve this! If you ever saw him again, you’d give him proper cause to curse you.

You heard a sound then, like a freight truck barreling down a street too small for it, like a hurricane wind. You shouldn’t be able to hear any of those things this far inside the building. The world trembled, and a burst of brightness outshone even the neon lights.

“The hell was that?” Your manager demanded. “Ladies, are you okay?” You and your coworkers chimed in with soft affirmatives. “Okay. We need to stay put and-“

The sound of screams began floating back from the entrance of the store.

“Nevermind.” She said. “Get to the back room, and out the emergency exit. Stay together.”

She led the little group of you out between the displays of cinnamon rolls and cornbread, all of you crouching low. Your hand ached, as if the mark was being pulled from inside. That couldn’t be a good sign. Nothing had made it react before, not for months and months, not since the initial cursing.

The world around you seemed to lose some of its reality. Everything moved slowly. You felt hot. There was a loud, heavy throbbing in your head, and you collapsed against a stand full of cupcakes, unable to stand by yourself any longer.

So this was how it ended. You finally pushed too hard, and now this sickness was going to claim you among the cupcakes. You never thought you would die at work, but at least this way your body wouldn’t molder in your little apartment for a week, before Tara or your father finally found you.

“_____, what are you doing?” Your manager hissed, and took your hand. Agony shot up your arm, drawing a rough cry from you. “Oh my god, _____, are you okay? Come on, we’ve got to go!”

One of your coworkers screamed. You propped yourself up on one elbow and looked where she was pointing, terrified of what you might see.

He strode purposefully out of the produce section, and your world plunged into frigid horror.

Foreign armor. Dark leather and gleaming metal, just like all the footage you had watched, over and over again.

No.

Shining golden horns, curving a foot above his forehead, the silhouette unmistakable.

No.

The entire loss prevention department surrounded him, shouting, but unable to do anything. They weren’t equipped to deal with anybody more dangerous than the occasional shoplifter, not this. This was never supposed to happen. He pushed right passed them, paying no attention. His eyes locked on yours, wearing the smile of a demon.

No!

Your manager tugged your hand urgently, sending spikes of pain up your arm, causing you to collapse further. Cupcakes scattered as you hit the floor. From this vantage point, he looked even bigger, some kind of giant, impossible to stop.

Your manager released your hand and ran, just as he reached down and hauled you to your feet. You couldn’t even find it in you to be mad at her for abandoning you. She had kids at home. You had no one.

Besides, he had you in his grip now. You were beyond saving.

As he set you back to standing, the fever clouding your brain began to clear and strength returned to your limbs. You drew a deep breath, and it was like expelling sickness from your lungs. You felt almost good. Even with your coworkers retreating as fast as they could, with screaming customers rushing past, with Loss Prevention shouting and trying to assure you that everything was going to be okay, and standing in the far too strong grasp of the entire planet’s number one enemy, you felt better than you had in half a year.

“Ah, there it is.” He murmured, still completely ignoring all the shouting and demands. “Looks like I was right.”

You turned slowly to look up at him, stared him straight in the eyes. They looked so normal.

Then you smashed the heel of your palm upwards into his nose with all of your returned strength.

His head did not snap back, his nose did not break, his grip on you did not loosen in the least. He did look just a little surprised, but nothing else that was supposed to happen, happened. You really shouldn’t have given up your self-defense courses. But you hadn’t been able to afford them, and could they really teach you how to fight a god anyway?

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment you thought your head was going to roll. Then he burst into derisive laughter.

“Oh! She has spirit!” He exclaimed. “Not much common sense, though. Disappointing.”

“Not here to impress you!” You began to struggle, now that you knew you could. He wrapped one arm around your throat and pulled you flat against him.

“Heimdall.” He called, a word you didn’t recognize. It must have been some kind of magic, because seconds later, a flash of multicolored light blinded you, and a feeling of weightless set your stomach twisting.

For a few seconds your world was flight and light, then the sky seemed to spit you out onto a wide green field.

“Hmph.” He grunted. “Too far north again. We really must get that fixed.”

You saw men in the distance, one approaching at great speed. Loki swore quietly and released you. You dashed immediately. You heard him swear again, but only pushed yourself faster. You could see a river just a few dozen yards away, and you were a very good swimmer.

“Not that way!” He shouted, not far enough behind you as far as you were concerned. No way were you going to stop.

The ground beneath your feet gave way, toppling you forward. Within moments you were engulfed in sucking, freezing mud. What the hell was this? Quicksand? Quickmud? A National Geographic in the doctor’s office spoke of bog mummies found in Europe, but there was nothing like that in Iowa. Just where were you now?

Loki dragged you out of the mud before you could sink entirely, just as someone bellowed his name behind you.

“Oh good. You’re here. A proper welcoming party.” He said evenly in the face of his enraged brother. “I assume Heimdall tattled?”

“Loki, what have you done?” Thor demanded. “I told you to wait! Just a few days! You really couldn’t give it just a few days?”

“There was no time!” He argued. “She was dying when I found her. Tell him.” He shoved you forward. You tried to run for it again, but he caught you before you got more than a few steps. Taking you solidly by the shoulders, he leaned down and looked you right in your mud-smeared face.

“If you try to run again, I will let the land devour you.” He threatened.

“Went to a lot of trouble to kidnap me, just to let me die.” You snapped.

He sneered. “I’ve been known to change my mind on less than a whim.”

You looked at Thor, who shrugged slightly as if to say it was certainly possible. But Thor would help you, wouldn’t he? He would save you from this monster. Wouldn’t he?

Then why wasn’t he doing it?

“Please.” You pleaded quietly. Thor did nothing.

Loki took your chin in one hand and turned your head back to him.

“No.” He said. “You don’t look at him. You look at me, and you listen. You were mere steps from death, and I have saved you. Twice.” He wiped some of the mud from your cheek, shaking it off his fingers with obvious distaste.

“You’re the one who did this to me!” You shouted.

“I did not throw you into that bog.” He said.

“No, but you brought me here! And you cursed me in the first place!” You were aware that you shouldn’t be yelling at someone who was pretty much holding all of the cards, but one of Earth’s mightiest heroes was just right there, and he would help you eventually.

“I did no such thing-“ He began.

“Bullshit! You burned my hand back in the Avenger’s Tower, just because I touched you! And I’m sorry for that, but you went way overboard, cursing me with a slow death and constant nightmares like that! There was no call to go that far!”

He looked taken off guard for just one moment. “Nightmares? They were nightmares to you?”

“You didn’t even tell her what was going on, did you?” Thor accused. “Do you have any idea how much heat we are going to take for this?”

“You knew?” You shouted at him. “You knew he was doing this?”

Thor shook his head. “No, I was only just notified-“

“And the tower?” You continued. “When he cursed me, why didn’t you do anything?”

“It’s not a curse!” Loki protested. “Look, it’s on me too.” He held out his hand, but you completely ignored him.

“You were just letting me die! You were there when it happened, you saw it happen, and you didn’t even check to see what was going on!” Your temper was completely enflamed; you were shouting in the faces of gods. It was idiotic, but once you had started, half a year of stress and pain and fear came boiling out and you couldn’t stop. Loki was still trying to say something, but your anger was loud in your ears, drowning him out. “I know you don’t know me, but isn’t handling him part of your job? You brought him back here, you let him back onto the world. Why are you just standing there? Why haven’t you done anything to save me from this monster?”

Your voice rang over the field as your words reached their end, all of the bile poured out. They were both just looking at you while you caught your breath. A tiny trickle of worry wormed into your chest. You’d gone too far, hadn’t you? There had to be some kind of reason Thor hadn’t swooped in to rescue you. He was a king, he had so much to do. You were some nobody from the middle of nowhere. Insignificant. Regret grew behind the worry.

“I’m sorry-“ You began. Loki’s hand cupped your cheek; very gently snaked around to cradle the back of your head. Your breath caught. No one had touched you like that in years.

Then you saw the ice in his eyes, felt his fingers clench in your hair, and it snapped you right out of it.

“I have shared in your suffering.” He said. “You aren’t alone in this.” The words would have been comforting, if they hadn’t been said in such a threatening tone. If he hadn’t been wrenching your hair. “You have struck me.  You have disrespected me. You have insulted me and my family. Now you will listen to me. This-“ He held his right palm in front of your face, displaying the exact same mark you had. “-is an unknown affliction. I did not curse you with it. What fool would cast a curse that affected himself as well? That draining poison that stole your strength did the same to me. Ask him. He saw it happening.”

He turned your head forcibly to look at Thor, who held his hands up. “Okay, let’s calm down now. Brother, be careful.”

“You felt stronger the instant I touched you, didn’t you? Yes, you did. Strong enough to fight. Strong enough to run. When I first saw you, you could no longer stand on your own, and now look at you. Throwing tantrums in the faces of gods. That was me, that was because I came and rescued you. There was no time to explain. You were going to die, right there among your baked goods. I prevented that from happening.”

You tried to shake your head, but his grip was too tight. He felt it though.

“You need more proof? What about this then? What happens when I do this?” He took your marked hand in his, again seeming gentle, except for the fact that you could not move away.

The instant your bare palms came into contact, you felt the mark react. Like flipping a switch to power up a generator, a buzz of power rushed up your arm, trailing glowing runes in its wake. Just like back in the tower, you felt rooted to the spot, though Loki pulled you forward to press his forehead against yours, to get right into your personal space. Runes coursed over his cheek, infected his eye with their glow. The sight in your left eye became blurry, and you knew it was happening to you again too. It didn’t hurt this time, but it was overwhelming. A feeling of being filled up, like having too much blood, like your skin was too tight, and you needed to shed it. It robbed you of sense, of any thought other than getting out of your binding skin and becoming bigger than you ever had before.

“Do you feel that?” He asked through labored breaths. “I knew the instant I touched you that proximity was key. Too far apart for too long, and our lives drain away. But close up, we revitalize each other.” You saw light escape his mouth, unable to be contained even by him. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying now, unfamiliar power overtaking your mind. You were shaking uncontrollably by now, your heart hammering your ribs.

“Enough, Loki!” Thor grabbed him by the shoulder to pull him away. “She can’t take this! Let go!”

Loki was drawn away from you, but kept tight hold on your hand, fingers laced with yours.

“Not until she understands!” He snarled. But Thor again took your wrists, and fully separated you.

You tumbled to the ground, groaning and nearly senseless. Thor wrapped his arms tightly around his brother, partly to hold him up, and partly to hold him back. He was scolding Loki fiercely, though you could barely make out the words. You lay back on the grass and let the world spin around you.

Moments passed, and then Thor knelt beside you.

“I am so sorry about this.” He said, scooping you up, and handing you over to Loki, who carried you effortlessly, despite your being dead weight. “You were not supposed to arrive here this way. But you were in danger, and we are going to take care of you. And Loki isn’t going to do that again, is he?”

Loki grimaced, but nodded. “I might have gone a bit overboard. Might. But if this thing is a curse, it affects me as well. I will get to the bottom of it. Until then, yes, we will ‘take care’ of you. I suppose it’s only fair.”

“Could you have said that any more ominously?”  Thor asked.

“What? What did I say? I just agreed with you, what’s wrong with that?”

“Did you have to say it like a looming supervillain?”

“Thor, I am carrying her, I can’t not loom.”

“You are carrying her like you’re on your way to drop her on some railroad tracks.”

“I’m sorry, are you carrying her? Because it looks to me like I am the one carrying her. Do you want to carry her?”

“I think I can walk.” You spoke up. They certainly bickered like ordinary siblings.

“Are you sure?” Thor asked. You hesitated, then shook your head. While being in contact with Loki did make you feel better, your legs still felt like jelly, and you were definitely still dizzy from all that light being inside you.

“Was that magic?” You asked. Your voice felt small and far away. “Is that what magic is?”

“It was a kind of magic.” Loki said slowly. “Either very old, or very new. Or perhaps very obscure. It feels familiar, but I can’t quite place it yet.”

“Why is it trying to kill us?”

“I don’t think it is.” He explained. “Rather, I don’t think it has a motivation. I don’t think it had a mind. It’s just something that exists, and there are consequences for interacting with it, however inadvertently. I don’t think you are to blame for this, and for once, I don’t think I am either. Until proven otherwise, I am going to be treating this as a coincidence that we just have to deal with.

But I believe it’s abundantly clear that we have to stay in the same area at least. Hopefully not touching all the time; that would be terribly inconvenient for the both of us. But not far apart. And since, as you might imagine, I can’t go traipsing all over Midgard-I have duties, you know-“

“And a hel of a reputation.” Thor interjected. Loki glared.

“Yes, and that. Because of those things, it is you who had to come here. If there had been time, I would have simply showed up at your home and tried to talk it out with you. But there was no time.”

“You had six months.” You pointed out. “And you’re just figuring this out now? You had that mark the whole time, and you never wondered what it was?”

Loki pursed his thin lips. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused.

“Tell me, do you live a busy life?” He asked.

“Well…I work a lot. Or at least, I did. I worked as much as I could. I needed every shift possible, just to get by, especially when I had to start going to the doctors.”

“Mhm. I co-rule an entire nation that is attempting to rebuild itself from scratch. I am busy. The mark was a curiosity, the sickness was inconvenient, but I had much more important things to do with my time.”

“Oh.” You said, and went quiet for a time.

They finally approached the other man you had seen in the distance, the one who hadn’t moved at all. He stood on a small, stone pavilion, gazing out into the distance. He looked even taller than your escorts, dark skinned, wearing warm brown leathers and an ornate bronze helmet with flanges in the shape of a crescent moon. Asgardians seemed to have a thing for elaborate headwear.

Before him was a large sword, partly buried in an odd contraption unlike anything you had ever seen before. He glanced at you with the kindest and most beautiful eyes you had seen all day.

“She is a guest.” Loki said as he passed.

“I know this looks incredibly shady, but-“ Thor began.

“I will let you know when they are coming.” The man said in a deep, even voice. Thor thanked him, then hurried after his brother, who hadn’t waited.

Loki crested a low hillock, and the skeleton of a city came into view. Even from here, you could see teams of builders at work, their construction efforts kicking up clouds of dust. From the looks of it, the place was eventually going to be huge, but for now, it was little more than foundations.

It was interesting to look at. You’d never seen an embryonic city before.

“Welcome to Asgard.” Thor said. “It’s a bit of a work in progress, but we’ll find a place for you.”

“I’ve already got one.” Loki said. “It just needs to be properly refurnished.”

You felt much better now, though your wet, muddy clothes were getting very cold. All the construction made you a bit apprehensive, especially all that dust. This was kind of like enemy territory you were being brought into. If you went inside, would you ever come back out?

“I’m pretty sure I can stand now.” You said. If you were going in, it should be on your own two feet. Loki obligingly set you down.  “Um, my name is _____.” You said. It was likely that they already knew who you were, but control of your own name demonstrated what small personal power you still had.

“Pleased to meet you.” Thor said. “Stay close to us, and don’t stray. Security doesn’t know you yet.”

You did as he said, but you still felt vulnerable with so many eyes on you. Of course people would stop and look if their rulers came strolling down the street. And they did attract attention; Loki with his shining horns, Thor with his resplendent cape. And you, sandwiched between, tiny in comparison, wearing a mud-drenched, company issue uniform that had always fit you poorly. Function was far more important than fashion in your line of work. But the people still stared.

Asgardians came in a surprising range of colors and features, but they were all pretty tall compared to you. They wore unfamiliar fashions, and some were carrying loads that you were sure a regular human couldn’t handle. They looked human, but they weren’t the same as you.

Construction continued all around you; even the roads were unfinished. You were led along the only areas that were fully constructed, workers rushing to and fro all around you. They all stared, especially the kids, many of whom seemed to be trying to help out with the building. You didn’t know how legal that was, but maybe child labor laws were different in Asgard. Or maybe they just needed every available hand, or had no concept of babysitters.

An adolescent girl energetically sweeping up construction debris sent a large cloud of dust into the street. It enveloped the three of you, and suddenly, you were no longer there.

You were back in Iowa, in a Summer drier than you could remember. The cornfields were dead for miles around, the destruction on such a massive scale that it had actually lowered the ambient humidity of the area. The town was mostly empty, streets choked with dust that stirred at the slightest breeze. You couldn’t breathe the dust.

You held your breath, lips pressed tightly together, heart speeding. You’d stopped walking, and someone was talking to you, but these were not your neighbor’s voices. You didn’t know them. The dust hadn’t settled. You couldn’t breathe the dust.

Panic beginning to rise, you frantically searched your soiled shirt for some patch of cloth that wasn’t soaked in mud. You held it over your mouth and nose, carefully trying to breathe through it. You couldn’t breathe the dust!

The dust used to be people.

A strong hand grasped your arm and dragged you out of the cloud. You looked into the face of a murderer and yelped in fear. The dust, a killer, an unfamiliar place…

“What’s wrong with you? Are you feeling sick again?” Concern over your wellbeing?

“The dust.” You choked out. Where were you? “The dust. Don’t breathe the dust. Cover your mouth, don’t breathe the dust. Please don’t kill me. Everybody’s already gone. Stay away from the dust.”

“What are you talking about?” A demand. You couldn’t answer.

“What’s going on? Look, she’s having some kind of fit.”

“We’re almost there, get her inside. Get her out of the dust.”

The Scourge of New York led you along, you couldn’t tell how far, but by the time they had brought you inside, you had started to calm down and remember your situation.

“S-s-sorry.” You said, still trembling. “I-I’m just overwhelmed.” It was clear from their faces that neither of them believed you.

“Just come along.” Loki commanded. “You need to bathe.”

You wouldn’t remember the corridors or the rooms, but you would remember the bath. It was bigger than any bathtub you had ever seen, and it was set into the floor.

How were you going to explain this? Tell them you had a phobia of dust? Would they buy that?

You sank into the bath and tried to let it wash you away.

[asktheadeptus]

The Chainsword is the preferred close combat melee weapon of many of the military forces of the Imperium of Man. The Chainsword is essentially a sword with powered teeth that run along a single-edged blade like that of a chainsaw. Most versions of the weapon make use of monomolecularly-edged or otherwise razor-sharp teeth. Chainswords are not subtle weapons, and wielding one is a statement in its own right: they are horrific tools of war, designed to bite, tear and eviscerate where more primitive blades merely cut and slice. The weapon makes an angry buzzing sound as the teeth spin around, intensifying into a high pitched scream as they grind into armour. It is not unlike a modern chainsaw, but lighter and able to be wielded with one hand. It is often used in conjunction with a Laspistol.

A Chainsword brings the weight of intimidation with its obvious effectiveness, and it promises pain before death. On worlds claimed by Humanity, these blades are items of status for criminals and high-ranking gang fighters, as well as weapons of lethal (and crowd-pleasing) necessity for indentured gladiators. Among Mankind's endless armies, the ubiquitous Chainsword has found a home in the arsenal of many Imperial Guard officers and Commissars, as well as serving as the weapon of choice for countless warriors among the Adeptus Astartes since the ancient era of the Space Marine Legions in the Great Crusade. This weapon sees action in all forces that serve in boarding and assault parties -- such as Space Marine Assault Squads, Chaos Space Marines, especially the Chaos Space Marines' Raptor Assault Squads, and Eldar Striking Scorpions Aspect Warriors. The Chainsword has also been seen in common use amongst Imperial pirates and Rogue Tradercaptains.

In alien hands, chainblades take more exotic forms despite obeying the same function. An Ork "chain-choppa" will have none of an Eldar chainsabre's bone-sung elegance, and little of the reliability of a Space Marine's mass-produced weapon, but it will carve flesh and shed blood with the same eagerness. Orks often steal them for Mad Doks and Meks and it has been reported that Slugga Boyz also use them. Some Ork Warbosses have been known to attach them to their hands instead of Klaws.

History

Like many examples of human invention, the Chainsword's many variants seem to have their roots in the shrouded heresies of the Dark Age of Technology. Accordingly, it saw consistent use in the armoured fists of techno-barbarians during the Age of Strife, and among the Emperor's own armies during his Thunder Warriors' brutal conquest of Terra. But Chainswords have been wielded by inhuman hands for aeons. Several xenos races have borne such blades into battle even in the ages when Mankind could only look up to the stars with spears in their filthy hands. Tech-Priest foundry masters have speculated, down the centuries, that it is simply a natural evolution of the sword's design: from bronze to iron; from iron to steel; from steel to chain-teeth; and from chain-teeth to a weapon wreathed in an energy field -- such as the Imperial Power Sword.

But doubt remains. More than one Martian magos has devoted their life's work to researching the primeval origins of Chain Weapons: mostly likely the result of inspiration stolen from an alien race, in a war that may never be remembered. If this theorem ever bears fruit, it is distinctly possible that the galaxy's first wielders of Chainswords were jade-clad warriors of the ancient Eldar. As befitting the galaxy's most common type of chainweapon, chainswords come in hundreds upon hundreds of styles, patterns, and local variants. Two-handed blades are often referred to as "Eviscerators" by the Imperium, but these immense weapons come in almost as many variants as their more common counterparts.

Every Space Marine Chapter will forge its own blades with subtle differences to those of its brethren, just as every Forge World produces its tried and tested signature weapons based on its preferred schematics. The most common template for any Imperial chainsword is the Mk. XI "Hell's Teeth" pattern, with thousands of minor variations seeing use throughout Mankind's endless armies. Chapters such as the Flesh Tearers, the Marines Errant, the Minotaurs, and the Blood Eagles have made no secret of their own named pattern chainblades, usually divergent in matters of decoration and reverence. Unsurprisingly, one of the most dramatic Imperial variants is also found among the Adeptus Astartes: the so-called "Krakentooth" frost blade of the Space Wolves, with its chain-teeth supposedly formed from the fangs of the sea monsters blighting the oceans of their homeworld of Fenris.

Battle and Maintenance

Despite their relative ease of manufacture, few weapons require as much maintenance as the Imperial Chainsword. Fortunately, the maintenance is of a mundane nature -- easily performed by any ganger or warrior -- rather than something like plasma technology which inevitably requires the sacred insight of a tech-priest in order to keep it functioning over time. Replacement teeth-tracks are found in vast crates alongside Lasgun power packs in every Imperial Guard drop zone, as well as being similarly stored aboard every Space Marine Thunderhawk Gunship. The first concern is that even the most well-forged chainsword will blunt quickly against heavy armour, especially the dense, ablative layers bolted onto an Orkish warlord, or the tainted Ceramite of a Traitor Marine. Chainswords lack the heavy cutting weight of Chainaxes and their bulkier ilk, and are better served to cleaving through the joints of heavy suits of armour.

Secondly, Chainswords are thirsty weapons. Some variants are much more efficient in terms of fuel consumption, but those that aren’t powered by self-sustaining energy generators drink Promethium fuel no differently to countless other low-tech Imperial machines, and emit the same crude, oily reek as any tank's engine. The final concern is one of skill. Chainswords can "throw" teeth when they're used in poorly executed parries, slapped blade-to-blade with other chainweapons, or simply wielded with all the precision of a club. While teeth are easily replaced and repaired, it is not uncommon for battles between Chainsword duellists to end with both the victor’s and the loser’s blades missing several teeth, especially if the fighters wore heavy armour. Ork weapons, especially those with chain-teeth made from the alien "ivory" of an Ork's own sharpened fangs, are especially vulnerable to this kind of degradation. Anyone with a modicum of experience wielding one of these weapons knows to parry with the reinforced flat of the blade, rather than catch a blow on the toothed, moving edge.

These issues of durability rarely apply off the battlefield. A hive ganger or sump-waste outlaw can own a Chainsword his entire life without suffering the same degenerative annoyances as an Assault Marine of the Adeptus Astartes, because – like any weapon –- a Chainsword's use depends entirely on context. When used as intended against lightly armoured foes, a Chainsword is lethality incarnate. No other blade in existence cuts flesh with the same vicious, ravening hunger as a Chainsword. A fighter's strength will add to the blow's devastating effects, but where other melee weapons may rely purely on strength, a chainsword makes for a perfect duelling weapon; just as effective when wielded with grace and speed over brawn. Once the teeth even graze flesh, their motorised bite hooks deeper and saws through muscle, sinew and bone with the same, surgical ease. Just as nothing cuts meat and bone like a Chainsword, nothing bleeds like a Chainsword wound. Enemies losing arms and legs to these weapons (a practice commonly called "limbing" by Imperial Guard veterans with unpleasant smiles) can look forward to one of the bloodiest battlefield deaths imaginable, as their life pours out through the uncauterised, mangled stump of flesh that remains in place of a whole limb.

Chainsword Variants

Imperial

Acitus Pattern Chainsword - A common pattern Astartes Chainsword utilised by such Chapters as the NovamarinesChapter.

Astartes Chainsword - This massive weapon is commonly utilised by Assault Marines. These weapons generally have a flat carapace containing the chain teeth, with only the forward, curved section open where the spinning chain teeth can bite into flesh and bone.

Drusian "Crusader" Chainsword - Manufactured by a variety of Forge Worlds, these popular weapons are a familiar sight throughout the edges of the sector where memories of Saint Drusus burn brightly. On Drusus Day, many shrines are crowded with multitudes of followers, raising their Chainswords (or mock replicas, for the poor or young) in the air in honour of his works and sacrifice. For those who seek to continue the crusade in the Koronus Expanse, the most common pattern of this weapon uses a curved cutlass-like blade. Most are a holy silver in colour, and favour a large spiked basket-guard to better smite the unclean xenos.

Eviscerator - Favoured by Ecclesiarchy zealots and Witch-Hunters, the Eviscerator is an obscenely large double-handed Chainsword fitted with a crude version of the disruption field generator more commonly found on Power Weapons. Although very unwieldy and tiring to use, the Eviscerator is fully capable of ripping an armoured man in half or tearing open the most blasphemously corrupted mutant in a single stroke. Even more massive versions of these two-handed weapons are also in limited issue in Space Marine Assault Squads, and though similarly unwieldy in combat, when combined with the enhanced strength of the Astartes, they are fully capable of tearing apart the hull plating of even heavily armored vehicles with ease.

Frost Blade - Frost Blades are potent weapons unique to the Space Wolves Chapter, and can carve through the heaviest armour with ease. Frost Blades usually take the forms of Chainswords or Chainaxes, though they can exist in the form of any type of Imperial melee weapon. Frost Blades are master works created by the Space Wolves' Iron Priests -- each is incredibly rare and prestigious. The teeth of these icy Chain Weapons are always cut from nigh-unbreakable substances such as Ice Kraken fangs or tempered diamond. The unique power fields enveloping Frost Blades have a distinctive blue cast. A Frost Blade combines the best qualities of a Chain Weapon and a Power Weapon. Some Frost Axes have blades of energised diamond rather than chainblades, which gives the weapons the appearance that they have been carved from a single, lethal shard of ice.

Gore Prow Pattern - A notable Chapter subtype pattern Chainsword known to be utilised by the zealous Fire Hawks Space Marine Chapter.

Hecate Pattern Chainsword - This pattern of Chainsword weighs a full 6 kilograms but remains a well-balanced weapon useful in melee combat that is often used by Rogue Traders to intimidate foes and mutinous crew members alike.

Hydraphur-Pattern Chainsword - Sometimes called a Chain-Cutlass, these short-bladed, curved Chainswords are favoured by armsmen crew chiefs for their brutality. Their shorter length makes them easier to wield in the close confines of a starship corridor, while their more compact design conceals two parallel rows of teeth, allowing it to deal greater damage than its size might otherwise suggest, at the cost of poorly-distributed balance.

Locke Pattern Double-Edged "Mercy" Chainsword - Some of the more maniacal wielders of Chainswords use customised models with two ripping edges, created by removing the protective carapace surrounding the near side of the weapon. This modification (also available as a finished product due to demand) makes the weapon dangerous to the user as well, but this is not generally a concern and wielders proudly wear the numerous self-inflicted scars that using such a sword often entails. "Mercy" chainswords typically come with a longer haft, so that they can be swung using two hands for deeper strikes.

Mark IID "Errant" Pattern Chainsword - A notable Chapter subtype pattern Chainsword known to be utilised by the Marines Errant Space Marine Chapter.

Mark V "Fangmaw" Pattern Chainsword - A notable Chapter subtype pattern Chainsword utilised exclusively by the savage Space Wolves Space Marine Chapter.

Mark XI "Hell's Teeth" Pattern Chainsword - This pattern of the weapon is the most current version of the Chainsword used by Imperial military forces. The Mark XI pattern designed for use by an Astartes is much larger than one designed for use by a normal-sized human who is an Imperial Guard officer. This pattern is known to be utilised by the Lamenters Space Marine Chapter, amongst others.

Thunder Edge Pattern Chainsword - An ancient pattern Chainsword utilised by the warriors of the Legiones Astartes during the Great Crusade and Horus Heresy eras, this pattern of Chainsword's origins may lie even further back in history, and were most likely utilised by the Thunder Warriors during the Wars of Unification on Terra.

Chaos

Legion Chainsword - As the name suggests, Chainswords are roughly sword-like in shape with a large flat housing containing the chain. Chainsword variants often used by the servants of Chaos have the entire blade chassis opened to expose the chained teeth. This makes the weapon more dangerous to both user and victim, but for a truly dedicated warrior this is of little concern. Like all their weapons, the Chainswords used by Chaos Space Marine forces are longer and heavier, fit only to be carried by these mightiest of warriors.

Ironfang Chainsword - Designed to allow mere humans to approximate the deadly blows of a Chaos Space Marine, the Ironfang features a thick, bladed area with chained teeth nearly twice as wide as other Chainswords. The power from the backpack-mounted supply provides greater tearing strength, and the weighted nose of the sword allows the user to strike with heavy slashing blows.

Phobos Pattern Great Chainsword - This huge two-handed weapon can run almost two metres in length, with a long grip and weighted pommel to allow for some semblance of balance in use. The chained teeth are exposed along the entire length, so that the user can swing it in both directions in combat more like a flail than a real sword. Originally used in Forge Polix as a tool for ripping apart large bulkheads and armour during construction, the tool was repurposed by warriors of Khorne who found it brutally effective on the battlefield. This is a two-handed melee weapon.

Eldar

Biting Blade - Utilised exclusively by the Striking Scorpions Exarchs, these large swords are reminiscent of the massive Eviscerators used by zealots within the Imperium, as Biting Blades are also long-bladed, two-handed chainswords. However, where Eviscerators are heavy, noisy machines, Biting Blades are slender and quiet, but no less deadly for their relatively light weight. Wielded properly, their razor-sharp teeth can tear through flesh and bone with horrific speed, and a skilled warrior can cleave a man in two without difficulty.

Eldar Chainsword - A seldom-seen weapon, Eldar Chainswords bear only a superficial resemblance to the roaring, heavy blades of humans or Orks. Almost silent, they produce little more than a sibilant whisper as they tear through flesh and bone. Their swiftly-cycling rows of mono-edged teeth cause considerable damage to any creature in their path.

Scorpion Chainsword - A lightweight Chainsword used by warriors of the Striking Scorpions Aspect Warriors, they are a deadly one-handed melee weapons whose vicious blade is comprised of diamond-toothed edges that mangle and tear flesh. Its advanced design augments the user's strength, making it an incredibly deadly weapon to use in close combat against infantry and lightly armoured targets.

Orks

Choppa - Orks use a bewildering variety of bladed, spiked, serrated, jagged, barbed and notched hand weapons ranging from the proverbial blunt instrument to whirring Ork-tooth chainsaws. An Ork Chain Choppa is the Greenskin equivalent of a Chainsword, a large blunt instrument of death with large whirring jagged metal teeth that rip and tear an enemy apart in a hail of gore.

[chaosbcrne]

Air Shoes - How they work and why he has them

All of this goes pretty deep into headcanon territory, so maybe don’t bother reading it if you’re already set on your own ideas

Shadow’s unusually high speed was one of the first thing they could observe when he first came out of the pod, what with his energy levels being off the chart and his untainted but distressed mind having more of a ‘flight’ than ‘fight’ response to what scared him then, which was just about everything early on. Yes, Shadow could run, and he could run fast - never quite at Sonic’s level, but he would have had the potential for it given the chance to properly acquaint himself with that natural speed of his.

He never got the chance because working on his running skills weren’t a priority early on; his rapidity was a side-effect, not the main goal of his creation. His perfectly healthy immune system and instant peek body performance were the main focus of the research and tests following his awakening and lead the scientists to the official conclusion that he was, in fact, immortal, long before they took an interest in testing the limits of his speed and strength.

When they finally turned to that aspect of his biology, though, Gerald already had some concerns; running, especially sprinting, for a long time, and regularly, could be damaging in the long term. Nothing that would be worrying for someone with a normal lifespan (like, say, a certain blue hedgehog), but definitely something that could become a problem for someone who would live hundreds, thousands of years. Intense running throughout one’s life could be nothing but healthy if done right, but throughout millennia ? It could lead to serious permanent damage to feet and knees and ankles eventually.

Hence the idea of developing a way for Shadow to be able to exploit his full speed without his joints ever having to absorb the shock of hitting the ground with every step. A contraption that would allow him to just hover high enough to not hit the ground was the obvious solution, and it was just as obvious that it would have to be worked into some sort of shoes; anything that didn’t let him still use his legs and reach his top speed would be pointless. But it still had its complications.

The smaller one was finding a new motion; wearing hover shoes didn’t lend itself to an efficient running motion, and they had to find something else instead. Skating was clearly the best alternative, but it took countless hours of practice for it to become a natural movement for Shadow - especially when it came to learning to coordinate between activating the shoes and transitioning from a walking/jogging motion into a skating one (Gerald may or may not have made the bottom of the shoes an inch or two thicker than they needed to be just to make it more awkward for Shadow to run at high speed and help him develop the reflex of starting to skate instead). Obviously, he learned over the years and became a much better skater than he ever was a runner.

The bigger issue was to get the shoes to work properly; it had to become natural for Shadow to use them whenever he picked up speed, and they needed a reliable power source. Thankfully, Shadow himself was a very durable life form, made up of so much energy he needed inhibitors to stay stable, and they just so happened to have every possible data on his biology they could require to make something compatible.

So the shoes were made to be - quite literally - an extension of his body. They’re hooked up  around the ankles directly into his nervous system through very precisely engineered needles, half organic, half mechanic, that serve as a link between the shoe’s technology and his nerves. The shoes are perfectly adjusted to his feet so he can only feel said needles when putting them on and taking them off. It’s one of the reasons he does so as little as possible; it’s always a bit painful. The needles hook themselves into his muscles and retract themselves into the shoes on command, so if someone were to forcibly take the shoes off, it would seriously damage Shadow’s feet, tearing flesh and tissues all around his ankles and causing internal bleeding - the main reason he isn’t too keen on telling anyone how they work or letting people take a look at them, as he would rather that fact remains a secret, of sorts.

When wearing the shoes, he can activate them by simply thinking about it; it just requires a signal from the brain, the same way he moves the rest of his limbs. It really is an extension of his body, that being another reason he doesn’t like having them off: it’s like he’s missing a limb, and it makes him feel very vulnerable.

If it wasn’t clear enough, the shoes’ energy source is Shadow himself; the pressured air that comes out of them (yes, it’s pressured air, not fire, hence the name Air Shoes) to make him hover takes about as much out of him than the average kicking-off-the-ground running step would; so all in all he spends as much energy hover-skating as he would running - all the shoes do is keep him above the ground. While he can also use them to hover over less dense surfaces (water, snow, lava, etc.), that requires him to dial up the pressure, meaning it takes a lot more focus and energy out of him; he can’t keep it up as long or as intensely as he can on the ground and he needs to not be distracted whatsoever, so he avoids playing around with that if he can.

The rings on his ankles are not the same as the ones he has on wrists. However, they’re not for decoration either. Like his inhibitor rings, they’re custom-made to exercise control over his natural energy; in this case, they help focus and convert it to be compatible with the shoes. They’re also secured exactly where the shoes are hooked into his system. In most situations where he’d take the shoes off, unless he feels he’s in a perfectly safe environment, he will likely keep the rings on his bare ankles as they provide a small protection over where his skin and internal tissues are more fragile/sensitive from being perpetually punctured.

Gerald has taught him how to do basic maintenance on the shoes to make them last indefinitely, but it’s not impossible that something could happen to them eventually, in which case Shadow would likely have to turn to someone the likes of Tails or Eggman.

tl;dr the shoes do not make him faster than he naturally is, they just keep him hovering so he can skate instead of run and use his full speed without damaging his joints in the very long term; only he can wear them as they were made to be compatible with his specific body and require his energy to function. Shadow can run at very high speed without the shoes, just not as fast as he can skate with them

[happy-raven]

This post is the perfect end to my day

one scene i cannot get over in System Collapse is murderbot and ART, both barely functional, staggering their way onto the shuttle to leave the 2nd colony. MB getting ART-drone strapped into a seat, worried about how damaged it is. doesn't even notice Iris getting it strapped into its own seat (as she worries about how damaged it is). MB and ART-drone, their humans' first and last lines of defense, destroyers of hostile secunits, sniping back and forth as they try to keep each other from shutting down. their humans, once again just barely Not Dead, looking after their extremely badass and very nerfed defenders. at least 15% of my brain capacity is dedicated to this scene at all times