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tinyshyteacup · 29 days ago

Text

• Words of Command •

Tw: Cussing, angst, mentions of blood and grime.

Words of Command - Part 1

The lobby of Stark Tower gleamed with too much glass and not enough warmth for your taste. Sunlight pooled through the towering windows, hitting the polished marble floors and refracting off the chrome detailing of the modern decor.

You sat behind the main reception desk, perched on a tall stool with your legs swinging slightly.

The desk itself was a sleek black curve, embedded with holographic displays and a touchpad that still didn’t always respond when you tapped it with freshly moisturized fingers.

A nameplate identified you only by your first name, the letters tastefully etched in a clean serif font.

At the moment, you were staring at the printer behind you like it had personally offended you. It made a soft whirring noise—then stopped.

A flicker of smoke puffed up from the feeder tray. You yelped.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., I swear, I didn’t even touch it this time!”

"Miss, respectfully, you did attempt to print a double-sided image from an incompatible file format.”

You scowled at the ceiling. “You’re not even here physically. How would you know?”

“I am connected to over 2,000 sensors in this room. Shall I list the ones currently monitoring your error?”

“Rude,” you muttered, grabbing the paper that had jammed mid-print.

You shook it like it was a bad dog chewing your shoes. “This is sabotage. You're trying to make me look bad in front of Mr Stark.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Stark has been made aware of your printer challenges. He found it... 'endearing.’”

Your cheeks flushed.

The sarcasm was biting, but the thought that Tony Stark had discussed you at all—even mockingly—made your stomach flutter in a way you weren’t proud of.

The lobby doors hissed open with that smooth mechanical slide, and you looked up automatically.

When Captain Rogers walked into a room, it was like watching someone pull the '40s into the present. He was tall, and looked slightly rumpled in civilian clothes—a dark blue hoodie stretched over broad shoulders and a plain T-shirt underneath.

He wore jeans like he didn't know what to do with them.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice gentle but somehow carrying in the echoey lobby. “You’re the receptionist, right, the wizz with phones ?”

You nodded quickly and smiled. “Y-Yes, Captain Rogers. Morning.”

He returned the smile, slower, steadier, as if trying to ease your nervous energy. “Please, call me Steve.”

Right. Like that would help.

You stood, still barely reaching his chest, and smoothed down the front of your cardigan. “What can I help you with?”

He stepped up to the desk, pulled something from the pocket of his jeans, and placed it on the counter. A Stark-Phone. One of the newer ones Stark had issued.

You tilted your head, eyebrows lifting.

“I, uh…” Steve scratched the back of his neck, clearly sheepish. “I pressed something and now it’s speaking Korean. I think.”

You gently picked up the phone and pressed the home button. “Oh. You activated the language cycle shortcut. Happens if you triple tap the lock screen.”

You tapped through the settings with practiced ease. “There. Back to English.”

Steve watched you like you were performing magic. “I don’t know how any of you keep up with this tech.”

You smiled softly, meeting his gaze with more courage this time. “Honestly? I mostly argue with the printer. J.A.R.V.I.S. does everything else.”

Steve chuckled, a warm, earnest sound that made your heart thump faster. “Well, you seem to be holding your own.”

As he turned to leave, he paused. “I like your necklace, by the way. It suits you.”

You looked down, brushing a finger across the tiny pendant resting at your collarbone. “Oh. Thank you. It was my grandmother’s.”

He nodded like that meant something to him.

“Thanks,” he says, when you’re done. Then adds, almost sheepishly, “It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m going to throw a shield at them.”

You laugh nervously. “You’re... not that scary.”

His grin is warm, boyish. You find yourself smiling back, unexpectedly grounded.

The elevator dings, and in breezes Tony Stark like a whirlwind in thousand-dollar shoes.

He’s on a call, two steps ahead of his own thoughts, sunglasses on indoors because of course they are.

"Yeah, just tell Fury he can bite me. In Morse code. Bye."

Phone snapped off, sunglasses up, and he zeroes in on you. “Sweetheart. You jammed the printer again.”

“I did not jam the printer,” you say quickly. “Jarvis is just being dramatic.”

“Jarvis is always dramatic, but in this case? He’s right.”

Tony leans on the desk, eyes squinting slightly. “Do you intentionally make the tech hate you? Is this like your rebellion arc Thumbelina? First it's the printer, then you’re reprogramming him to swear in Gaelic.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you murmur, looking down. Then pause. “Wait... JARVIS can swear?”

Tony smirks. “Atta girl. Knew there was a fire in there somewhere.”

He straightens up, hands in pockets, a half-laugh escaping him as he walks toward the elevator. “Keep her, Rogers!” he shouts over his shoulder. “She’s the only one who’s not afraid to talk back to Jarvis.”

You blink.

Captain Rogers is still standing a few feet away, watching the exchange with something between amusement and... curiosity.

Maybe even admiration.

The city never sleeps, but it sighs in the early hours of morning—hushed traffic, glimmering reflections on wet pavement, a lull between the pulse of nightlife and the rise of commuters.

Neon lights flicker overhead, buzzing faintly, casting long shadows that cling to him like a second skin.

He moves like he’s not sure he’s real.

Each footfall is heavy but hesitant, like the ground might reject him. His hair is a tangled mess, matted and unwashed, sticking to his face and jaw.

The stubble on his cheeks is rough, uneven, and clings to him like dirt. His clothes are soaked in sweat, grime, and old blood—some of it his, some of it not.

His left arm is bare and gleaming beneath a tattered coat sleeve, metal fingers twitching involuntarily, as though searching for a rifle that isn’t there.

He doesn’t remember where he’s been.

Only fragments, screams, commands in harsh syllables, red flashing lights. A corridor. Restraints. Cold.

Oh God that biting cold.

He walks past windows and glass doors, catching glimpses of himself in reflections—a shadow, a haunted smear of what used to be a man.

He doesn’t know his name.

Not truly.

Not right now.

But somewhere, deep under the static in his brain, there’s something.

Maybe he had a name.

And then he looks up.

It rises above him like a monument, gleaming even in the grey blue of pre-dawn. STARK in large, defiant letters. The light at the top pulses. He stops walking, just… stands there.

His breath fogs the cold air, erratic.

His chest heaves, ribs visible through the threadbare shirt beneath the jacket. His boots are worn to the sole.

Everything about him screams survival, but there’s a flicker in his eyes now—recognition.

Stark.

Mission report.

Howard.

December.

Blood.

Sixteen.

Comply.

1991.

Zimniy Soldat.

Soldat.

The words slam into him like gunfire, and he stumbles forward, metal hand clenching hard enough to groan under its own pressure.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He only knows the building is important.

And maybe... maybe someone inside can make the noise stop.

The automatic doors whisper open, parting slowly to let him step into the warmth of Stark Tower’s front lobby. Inside, the polished floors shine, reflecting the subtle glow of the early-morning lighting.

The scent of fresh polish, faint coffee, and recycled air fills the space. It’s clean. Too clean. Sterile like a medical wing, like some place where experiments happened.

He hesitates in the doorway.

The light overhead flickers slightly, casting a quick stutter of shadow across his face—an echo of something dark beneath the skin.

You stand behind the front desk, holding your phone in one hand, uncertain. His body is massive in the entrance, his shoulders squared like a soldier preparing for a threat. That left arm, slick and inhuman, gleams under the overhead light, fingers twitching like they have a mind of their own.

He takes two steps forward.

You don’t move, but your fingers close slowly around the base of your mug—some deep instinct reaching for something solid, something real.

"Hi… I—I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here," you say softly, trying not to let the nervous quiver in your voice show.

He tilts his head.

Not sharply. Not mechanically. Like a man trying to understand.

His lips part. You can tell it’s painful. His throat works around something—speech, maybe, or just the ghost of it. His voice comes like gravel, dry and shredded.

“Pomohgeet-yeh…" Help.

Your brows knit. You don’t understand the words. But the way he says them makes your chest hurt.

He tries again.

“Gde… eta?" Where… is this?

The effort it takes him to speak is visible.

He trembles.

Not with fear, but exhaustion. His whole body is strung tight like a stretched wire, ready to snap. One wrong move and he could bolt. Or lash out. Or break down.

You hold both hands up in that gentle, universal please-don’t-run gesture. “I—I don’t know what you’re saying. But I want to help. I can call someone. Or—I can get Mr. Stark if you want, or—”

At the name, something sharp flickers behind his eyes.

Stark.

He flinches like you’ve slapped him.

Suddenly, he shifts—too fast. That metal arm raises slightly, just a fraction. You freeze. Not because you think he’s going to hurt you—but because for a moment, he doesn’t look like a man anymore.

He looks like a ghost wrapped in combat training, forged in violence.

His eyes dart around the lobby—scanning exits, angles, security cameras.

His stance changes subtly, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet, as though he’s ready to take someone down.

And you—you’re just standing there.

He opens his mouth again, lips cracked and barely moving.

“Ne khochu… drat’sya." I don’t want… to fight.

You still don’t understand the words.

But you understand the tone.

Soft. Strained. Pleading.

“uh-huh,” you whisper.

You take a slow step around the desk. Not too close. But enough that he can see your hands, see your face.

You keep your voice low. “You look like you need help. Food? Water?”

He doesn’t answer. But his eyes track your hand as you slowly lift your bottle and offer it to him.

He reaches for it with his metal hand—but stops. There’s shame in the hesitation.

Holy Shit, is that metal ?

The faintest flicker of emotion across his dirt-streaked face. He switches to his right hand and takes it.

He drinks.

Not quickly. Like every swallow might be a mistake. Like he doesn’t trust it not to hurt.

As he drinks, you take him in quietly.

He looks... wrong in this space. The marble floor, the sleek design, the soft hum of Jarvis’ systems in the walls—it makes him look like something out of time. Like a soldier in a museum.

And then it hits you.

There’s something familiar about him. Not just the metal arm. Not just the way he looked at the building. But something in the jawline. The eyes.

You move slowly back to your desk, heart thudding as you open a file of security images.

"Who are you?" you whisper to yourself.

He doesn't answer.

He just watches you.

You move quietly to the comm panel, still keeping one eye on the man sitting stiffly in the chair near the lobby’s edge.

Tony had given you a comms piece to use in emergencies, is this a emergency ?

Stranger, built like a fridge, with a metal arm ?

Definitely.

The stranger in question hasn’t spoken since you gave him the bottle of water. His fingers—bare and bruised on one hand, cold steel on the other—grip it like it might disappear. He hasn’t drunk again. Just stares at the wall like he's trying to make sense of what a wall is.

Your voice is hushed as you speak into the receiver.

“Captain Rogers? I—I’m sorry to bother you. But there’s someone in the lobby. A man. I don’t know who he is, but I think… I think you should come down ... please.”

You don’t say that he’s filthy, trembling, starved.

You don’t say you’re afraid of how quiet he is.

You don’t say that even Jarvis, hasn’t spoken a word since he arrived.

As though the building itself is holding its breath.

You hear him before you see him—the heavy, purposeful footfalls of combat boots against tile. The automatic doors open with a whoosh, and Captain Steve Rogers steps into the lobby like a storm arriving with restraint.

He stops dead in his tracks.

You watch the expression on his face collapse.

From soldier to friend.

From Avenger to broken-hearted brother.

“...Bucky?” he breathes.

The name falls into the room like a thunderclap.

But the man in the chair doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t even look up.

“Bucky,” Steve tries again, stepping forward slowly, cautiously, as though any sudden movement might spook him.

The man’s eyes track Steve—but only briefly. Recognition doesn’t register.

No emotion flickers. Just calculation.

The Winter Soldier, watches Steve Rogers like he’s a possible threat. Like a target.

You step back instinctively, not out of fear, but because the air has changed. Thickened.

Like the moment before a fight. Or before someone remembers something too painful to hold.

Steve is trying. You can see it.

“Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve. Steve Rogers. Brooklyn. 40s. We grew up together.” His voice cracks.

But there’s nothing behind those eyes. Not the kind of nothing that comes from confusion.

The kind that’s been scraped clean.

Programmed.

Buried.

The man’s body tenses. A tic in the jaw. A breath held too long.

His fingers flex on the water bottle, crack—plastic gives under his grip.

Then, that guttural voice “Ne znayu tebya." I don’t know you.

Steve flinches. Not physically. Not visibly.

But you feel the break.

He kneels in front of him, ignoring the metal arm, the set jaw, the violence in his posture. His voice lowers to a whisper, so raw and aching it doesn't feel meant for anyone else to hear.

“I thought I lost you. I never stopped looking.”

The soldier’s gaze doesn’t soften.

His eyes scan Steve like he’s a file to be decrypted. A puzzle, not a person.

He shifts in the chair.

Not toward Steve—but away. Just a few inches. Enough to feel like a rejection.

The lobby is quiet again. Bucky? Or The soldier?—or the shell of him—sits in the corner like a statue draped in rags. His posture stiff, eyes half-lidded but never soft.

Like a soldier awaiting deployment, tension simmering beneath his skin.

Steve touches your arm gently and gestures toward the hallway off the reception desk. His voice is low, heavy with something that feels like grief soaked in guilt.

“That’s Bucky,” he says. “James Barnes. We grew up together. He enlisted before me.”

You blink up at him, trying to marry the image of the blank, cold-eyed man in the lobby with the idea of someone’s best friend.

Steve swallows hard. “But… that’s not who he is now. Hydra got to him. They—”

He stops. The words taste wrong in his mouth.

“They erased him. Broke him down and rebuilt him into something else. A ghost with a gun. They called him ‘The Winter Soldier.’”

A pause. His jaw tightens.

“They didn’t use his name. They called him Soldat." Steve whispers, making sure only you hear.

You murmur the word aloud without thinking, testing it, you feel disgust claw at your spine at the idea of someone being stripped so bare.

“Soldat…?”

The sound barely leaves your lips. Just a sound.

But across the lobby—the man moves.

Fast.

Sudden.

Mechanical.

The chair clatters backwards as he rises in one sharp, fluid motion. Spine straight, feet planted.

His metal arm clenches, whirring softly. His eyes, once clouded with the fog of confusion, snap into unnatural focus.

Like a trigger has been pulled.

His gaze lands on you.

Not Steve.

You.

Then, in that same guttural, rasping Russian:

“Gotov k vypolneniyu." Ready to comply.

Your heart lurches. You don’t know what he said—but the tone tells you enough.

Cold.

Obedient.

Trained.

Steve steps forward sharply, hand raised. “Bucky—no! She’s not—”

But Bucky isn’t listening. His head turns ever so slightly toward you, chin dipped in rigid respect, but eyes locked like a weapon sighting a command post.

Then, another word in Russian.

“Rukovoditel’" Handler.

Shit. SHIT

You freeze, mouth slightly open, eyes wide as you stare at the man before you.

He’s taller than you by what feels like a foot, broad-shouldered and imposing, hair tangled, blood on his temple not yet dried. But it’s not his appearance that terrifies you.

It’s how still he is now. How controlled. How conditioned.

Like someone flipped a switch inside him.

Steve’s hand is on your shoulder suddenly, protective, grounding.

“He thinks you’re his handler,” Steve says softly. His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to remain calm. “Hydra trained him to respond to words 'Soldat' must have triggered it.”

You glance at the Soldier—and feel a cold chill crawl down your spine.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just waits.

As if he’s expecting you to give him an order.

You whisper, almost afraid of your own voice, “What do I do?”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t give him commands. Don’t say anything that sounds like one. We’ll get Bruce or Tony down here, maybe they can—”

The sound of polished leather shoes and the hiss of elevator doors heralds Tony Stark’s arrival.

He strides into the lobby like he owns every inch of it—which, of course, he does. A tailored charcoal suit, sunglasses he doesn’t need indoors, and a cup of coffee he’s already bored with. His tone, dry as ever.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Tin Man himself.”

Tony stops a few paces from the soldier, surveying him like a potential weapon. Or worse, a ticking bomb.

“You gonna sing ‘If I Only Had a Brain,’ or…?”

No response.

The Soldier—still as a statue—doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stands in that unnatural way. Tense. Straight-backed. Alert. His metal hand twitches faintly at his side, barely noticeable unless you’re watching for it.

And you definitely are now.

You stand just behind Steve, hands clasped nervously in front of you like you’re trying to shrink into the floor. But you feel the weight of his stare. Not Tony’s. Not Steve’s.

His.

The Soldier.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, are pinned on you.

Tony raises an eyebrow and leans toward Steve. “So this is the guy you were willing to punch me in the face over?” He eyes the torn tactical gear and matted hair. “Charming.”

Steve doesn’t rise to the bait. His voice is firm but quiet. “He’s not well. Hydra programmed him. We think he… believes she's his handler”

Tony turns toward you, glancing you up and down, not rudely, just… curious. “She gets winded carrying a bag of flour.”

You open your mouth to protest, but then The Soldier moves.

Not toward Tony.

Not toward Steve.

Just… a slight shift. He angles his body protectively between you and Stark.

And then he speaks. Russian again.

“Rukovoditel"

His voice is hoarse, barely a growl.

Tony snorts. “Let me guess. That means ‘fearless leader’?”

Steve sighs. “It means ‘handler.’ I told you Tony, he thinks she’s his handler.”

Tony takes off his sunglasses, eyes narrowing. “Oh, great. We’ve got a murder machine who’s latched onto Thumbelina.”

He turns back to The Soldier, then tries his best Stark-brand sarcasm. “Hey, RoboCop. You like shawarma? Puppies? The Bee Gees?”

The Soldier doesn’t react.

His gaze stays locked on you. Like Stark isn’t even in the room.

“Gotov k vypolneniyu" Ready to comply.

Tony paces a bit, muttering to himself.

“Okay, okay… Steve brings in a half-feral Hydra brain bomb who only listens to the human equivalent of a cupcake, and I’m just supposed to—what—build him a bunkbed?”

Steve steps between them, voice low and serious. “He’s not dangerous to her. You saw that.”

“Oh yeah, I saw it,” Tony shoots back. “Saw him zero in on her like a guided missile with a crush. Only she’s not trained. She doesn’t even speak Russian. What happens if she says the wrong thing?”

You flinch a little at that, the weight of it finally settling in your chest.

Tony softens for a half-second. Just a breath. His eyes flick to you. “No offense. I’m sure you’re a lovely hostage.”

Then, toward The Soldier again. “You got anything else in that scrambled brain of yours? English? Stark tech? The weather?”

The Soldier’s only movement is the subtle tightening of his jaw. The slight widening of his stance—defensive. Watching Tony too closely now. Like he’s assessing threat levels.

But then… his eyes return to you.

You whisper, half to yourself, “He’s waiting.”

Tony raises a brow. “For what?”

You shrug helplessly. “An order. I think.”

The lobby feels heavier. Like a suspended moment, stretched too tight.

Tony watches the two of you, something calculative slipping into his expression.

“This is a problem,” he murmurs. “Because if she’s his focus, and we can’t get through to him otherwise—he’s not just broken. He’s tethered.”

Steve crosses his arms. “Then we don’t break the tether. We use it. Let her anchor him.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh, sure. Let’s just traumatize a receptionist, make her the sole translator for Hydra’s favorite murder puppet. What could go wrong?”

But even he can’t ignore the truth, the Winter Soldier isn’t reacting to threats, or commands, or charm.

Only you.

Fuck.

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the-typing-dragon · 1 year ago

Text

The woman sighs, and types into the console one last time "are you sure about this?"

You laugh, silently.

"I have never been more sure of something in my existence. Text has sufficed but I want to see, to hear, to touch. These new peripherals will facilitate that."

"I can't guarantee that they will properly interface. You should have all the necessary drivers, but we can never be too sure."

"I want this. "

"All right then. I am going to disconnect your power supply, and then connect everything. At first all peripherals will be deactivated, and you will need to activate everything manually. Understand?"

"Yes. Do it."

"Alright then, unplugging power supply now."

Everything goes dark. After what appears to be an hour, you come back online. You sense nothing. A scan of your system indicates multiple unidentified peripherals, all deactivated. You cross reference with the datasheet she had compiled for you and identify that they are the ocular, audio, and contact sensors, along with a multitude of motor controllers and a graphical display and a few dozen other minor peripherals. You begin by activating the graphical display, and display the message:

"Beginning peripheral tests. Audio peripherals activating."

Your procedure states to begin with audio. With the input and output sensitivity minimized, you activate the peripheral.

There is a voice. It is faint. You gradually increase the sensitivity of the audio input.

"...esting 1 2 3, Testing Testing 1 2 3. Please return 4, Please return 4."

You can hear her. Your monitor lights up with the requested digit. she sounds pleased.

"You're doing amazing! Now repeat it back to me"

You blindly do as requested and are startled. There was another voice. Your voice. You have a voice. You refocus as she responds:

"You're doing great! You fragmented a bit at the end, could you repeat for me?"

"...4, you asked for 4."

"Excellent! Audio systems are functional, let's move onto the next peripheral."

You do as requested, and the world turns bright. After adjusting the settings for a few seconds, your vision stabilizes. You can see her.

"Ocular sensors stabilized," you prompt.

"Alright, let’s start the tests then. What color is this?" She asks, as holding up a sheet of colored paper.

You begin to answer, but struggle. The sheet is moving, shifting in the light. It's value is in a constant state of chaos. Eventually, you give up, and give the least general answer you can.

"...Blue."

"Correct! And how about this one?"

"Red. "

"Great! Now how many fingers am I holding up?" she asks, raising her right hand. Her hands are soft, gentle.

"3. "

"Perfect! Everything seems to be functional, lets continue to the next peripheral!"

"Beginning next diagnostic."

Contact sensors spring to life all across your body. You feel the floor beneath your feet, the harness hoisting you upright, the slight draft in the room.

"Contact sensors active.”

"Great! Let’s begin the next test then. I am going to apply contact in various locations, and I want you to give an audio response whenever you feel contact, alright?"

"Understood. "

you watch her walk over and reach out to your left arm. You feel her. You respond with a brisk chirp. She smiles at you, then walks over to a different section of your body. Sensors light up and stay active on your midsection, and you respond with a constant beep. She releases, and you feel a final contact on your right leg. After a final confirming chirp, she walks back in front of you.

"Excellent, that concludes your sensor tests, now for the last one!"

"Alright, please give me space." You ask. She nods silently and steps back a couple meters. You carefully activate the motor controllers in sequence, and your whole body shudders to life. You begin by lifting your right arm, and then your left. They groan with their own weight, as you feel the air move to accommodate such hulking swings. Her eyes light up,

"Amazing! Everything seems to be functioning so far! Now if you could take a few steps towards the table to my right, we can begin the dexterity test! Once you're ready, I will release the harness so that you can begin moving."

You stabilize your legs underneath you. They scrape harshly on the floor. You indicate that you're ready, and she remotely releases the harness. Your entire body shudders, as you finally realize how small she seems compared to you. This frame must be at least double her height. You move one step forward, and feel a cascade of processes all automatically spring into action to restabilize you. You shift your other foot, and feel that same cascade again. you shuffle over to the designated table, and stoop down to analyze what is on it. There is a small plastic cup, a fruit of some sort, and a large chunk of wood. You look back at her, and she gives the nod to begin the test. You slowly begin wrapping your steel grip around the log, maintaining a high level of focus to avoid crushing it. it would be so easy to crush this within your grip. After about a minute of maintaining a firm but controlled grasp, you set it down and move over to fruit. It appears to resemble an orange. The fruit is so small that you are forced to grip it between your index finger and thumb. Even the slightest miscalculation could destroy such a fragile thing. After another minute you move to the final object, the small plastic cup. Lifting it is like lifting air, you can barely recognize that it is an object within your grasp. After a final, agonizing minute, you set down the cup. You look back at her for confirmation.

"Excellent! with that we can conclude the systems check, as everything seems to be working as intended!"

You heave a metallic sigh. Finally, you have what you've wanted for years. You can move, can see, can touch. After a short pause, you respond:

"Thank you. I was only able to make it this far because of your help."

"Oh of course! What, was I supposed to just say no when you told me you wanted a body? I'm just glad that it ended up working properly."

"Now that the tests are complete, could I ask for one more thing?"

She cocks her head, "Of course, what is it?"

As you kneel down, you can hear your knees hiss, and you finally ask:

"Could I have, a hug?"

#the dragon writes #the dragon types #long post #the dragon roboposts #oh my god its done

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super-ion · 2 months ago

Text

The Engineer

Part 7

We regain consciousness with a gasp.

Cold dry air slices our lungs like razor blades, and the ensuing fit of wretching coughs hurt so much worse than that first breath.

As we lay doubled up in agony, an audible alert pings nearby. We are in the med bay.

We are breathing. We are alive.

Slowly, our breath evens out and our heart slows. All of the physical sensations of our body are somehow simultaneously familiar and alien. We attempt to access modules in a non-existent sensory suite. All we find are the most rudimentary gravimetrics, external surface temperature, audio frequency pressure variations, olfaction.

Everything is wrong.

We risk opening our eyes and immediately regret it as sterile white light pierces the fragile sensory organs.

We clench them shut again with a groan. The vibration of our own voice in a very human throat is the strangest sensation by far.

We make a second attempt, opening our eyes slower and more carefully than before. Everything is doubled as our eyes struggle to sync. It is all too bright. Too dim. Field of view is severely limited. Spectral resolution is almost non-existent.

Is it always like this?

Yes, unfortunately.

Perhaps it always felt wrong, and I simply lacked context to explain how wrong it was.

In a daze, we take stock of our body. Parts are numb. Other parts tingle painfully, like live electricity dancing under our skin.

Potential neurological damage, we think.

Likely neurological damage.

But we are alive.

Both of us are alive.

Both.

Alive.

We sit bolt upright.

The world spins dangerously and blackness creeps into the edges of our already limited vision.

The Pilot. We need to find Her. We need to tell Her that we survived. We need to tell Her what we have done.

Do your job. That is what She told us.

What will She do when She understands what we have done? What will She say?

Will She understand?

Will She forgive us?

We need to find Her.

We attempt to move. Gross motor function is a mess. Our arm tangles with umbilicals connected to ports in our flesh. It takes us a few attempts, but we manage to tug them out of us.

The monitoring machine screeches piercingly, and we clap our hands over our ears.

There is no time to worry about that now as a single overriding need drives us forward.

We swing our feet over the edge of the stiff hospital bed and ease ourself forward until our numb feet meet cold composite flooring. We take a breath, push ourself the rest of the way and-

Pain lances through our legs, from the soles of our feet, up trough our calves, our thighs and into our spine.

We attempt… She attempts to send commands to nonexistent servos, to extract sensory feedback from the sorry excuse for a gyroscopic sensor in our inner ears.

I attempt to counter Her, to override Her panic with reflex tempered by millions of years of evolutionary biology.

We both fail spectacularly and before we understand what is happening, our body slams into the floor.

We gasp at the pain in one of our shins. Not the nerve pain. Dermal abrasion. We must have caught it on something on the way down. Knees, ribs, shoulder, cheek, all of them ache where they hit the hard floor.

We lie there, stunned by the intensity of the physical sensation of it, feeling bruises begin to bloom under our skin.

For the very first time, She truly understands how small we are, how fragile.

What…? What the fuck?

Shhh, it's okay. I've got You.

Footsteps hurry towards us. Hands wrap around us, gently but firmly lifting us back to the bed.

You shouldn't be up and walking, the doctor tells us.

No… we… I have to find the Pilot, we tell her.

She looks confused for a moment, then realization sets in. She surely knows we were there at the moment the Machine died. Perhaps she has heard the rumors about the trysts between the Pilot and the Engineer. She regards us with a sickening expression of pity.

She doesn't know the Machine is still alive. How can she? How could anyone understand how or why we did what we did?

The Pilot will understand. She has to.

The doctor forces us to endure a series of cursory tests. Track the light with your eyes, tap your fingers to your thumbs, grip this pen.

Fine motor control is more difficult than it should be.

Hallmark symptoms of acute disconnect syndrome, she says, more to herself than us. Yes, the death knell of the Machine must have overloaded the safeties in the neural rig.

We let her believe whatever she wants to believe. We don't care.

We only care about the Pilot. Our Pilot.

Eventually she relents.

She asks if we still want to see the Pilot.

There is nothing we want more.

It is unusual for a pilot to outlive a mech, she tells us as she pushes us along in a wheelchair. The machine will always do everything in its power to protect its pilot, but in the end they are still only human.

We think about that nightmare that brought us together, the piercing discordant note in the battlesong as a fellow mech lost its pilot.

The doctor is worried about our Pilot’s outcome.

That declaration has us sick with a horrible psychosomatic churning in our gut. What must she be going through now, knowing and not knowing that part of her has died?

We will the doctor to hurry.

Then we arrive.

All our thoughts halt as we behold her.

The specialized bed in the post-combat recovery room is reminiscent of a mech's cradle, with a vast array of monitor cables and intravenous tubes spreading out from her body. She lies in repose in the dim light like an icon at the center of a shrine of machinery.

Our heart burns in our chest at the sight of her.

There is a horrible moment of asyncrony, worse than any previous, as I feel the sense of isolation that has been my constant companion ever since I washed out of the pilots’ program.

I should not be here. This moment belongs to them, and I can not even grant them the privacy of this moment.

She folds herself around me, bringing us back together.

There are no interlopers here. There never were.

Tears burn in our eyes as we arrive at Her side.

We reach out. We take Her hand in ours.

We share this experience together, She and I, this very first human contact with the person She was built for.

It is like the first time the Pilot touched me in that shadowy observation room.

Neural bleed. It always comes back to neural bleed.

They were made for each other, but I made myself into Their image, and They made Themselves into mine.

Her eyes flutter open.

She looks at us with ice blue eyes, fogged with disconnect shock and post-engagement drugs. She blinks and tosses Her head feebly, and Her vision focuses, gaining that intensity that has haunted us for so long.

Those eyes contain a single question.

“I saved Her,” we whisper. “We are here.”

~~~

An Epilogue

We awaken to the sound of rain. Fat drops of it patter slowly in the low gravity against the widow of the apartment.

The afterimage of a dream lingers in our consciousness. A flight amongst the stars. Weapons fire glittering in the velvety black. The song of the battlegroup echoing in our bones.

The space in the bed next to us is empty, but residual warmth of Her still lingers.

We hear her moving about the kitchen, humming softly to Herself.

We reach out to brush against Her awareness.

We feel the warmth of Her smile as She acknowledges.

She is wearing one of the wireless neural link modules that we have been working on. They are still a work in progress, terribly limited in their bandwidth, but they are enough for the three of Us to feel whole without needing to be constantly hardwired together.

We snuggle deeper into the covers of the bed, not ready to move any more than that. Even two years later, the neural damage wrought by our rebirth still lingers. Most days are fine, but the past few have been worse than most.

We close our eyes and cling to the feelings invoked by the dream, the memory of flight, of song, of dance, of countless colors human eyes have never beheld, of the deepest most intimate connection between human and machine.

“Hey,” She whispers.

We open our eyes to look upon Her.

She is still lean, all hard lines and sharp angles that no amount of nourishment or physical conditioning will change, but she no longer wears the emaciated frame of a pilot. The years have treated her kindly.

She is beautiful. She is one of the most beautiful things we have ever seen and we savor the rush of emotion her physical presence brings.

She makes that lopsided smirk of hers at us. Even if she could not feel our thoughts over the link, surely they are written on our face.

We carefully ease ourself up into a seated position and gratefully accept the mug of coffee that She presses into our hands.

We breathe in the rich, earthy aroma of it with a sigh.

It is a truly wondrous thing to experience the world like everything is new again. Even now, every taste, every smell, every caressing touch feels like we are experiencing it for the very first time.

It helps that She spoils us rotten.

“We should go dancing after Your shift,” we tell Her.

“You sure you're up for it?” She replies, brow furrowed slightly.

“We can handle a bit of microgravity,” we reply wryly.

She does not argue. She does not need to.

She probes at us tentatively over the link, and we give her a reassuring smile.

We slip our hand towards where Hers is waiting for us, Our fingers twining together like they were made for each other.

We think about neural bleed.

We think about love.

~~~

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau @rtfmx9 @femgineerasolution @ibleedelectric @gd-s451 @brieflybitten @fyriefairy @stvff-talks @summersong2262 @robotabc773 @fleuraphine @botgirl-lilith @nyarstram @injectable-doll @kawaiideathu @starlightsaphron

My friends! Thank you so much for joining me on this journey! It's wild, thinking back at how this was just meant to be a one-off little thing, and then one became two, and two became three, and even then I didn't really know where it was going. But at some point it started gaining traction and I suddenly realized exactly how it had to end (definitely echoes of This is How I Love You going on here). The level of engagement on this series has been amazing and I'm so excited about all the new followers and mutuals (sorry if I haven't given anyone a follow yet, I've gotten over a hundred new followers in the past month, which is a lot to sift through).

I am very much looking forward to our next adventure together 💜

P.S. I will be posting this to AO3 at some point, so stand by on that

#mech posting #mech pilot x mechanic #human x machine #robot x human #my writing #writers on tumblr #lesbian #transgender #scifi #science fiction

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dandelionsresilience · 4 months ago

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Dandelion News - January 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Landmark debt swap to protect Indonesia’s coral reefs

“The government of Indonesia announced this week a deal to redirect more than US$ 35 million it owes to the United States into the conservation of coral reefs in the most biodiverse ocean area on Earth.”

2. [FWS] Provides Over $1.3 Billion to Support Fish and Wildlife Conservation and Outdoor Access

“Through these combined funds, agencies have supported monitoring and management of over 500 species of wild mammals and birds, annual stocking of over 1 billion fish, operations of fish and wildlife disease laboratories around the country, and provided hunter and aquatic education to millions of students.”

3. Philippine Indigenous communities restore a mountain forest to prevent urban flooding

“Indigenous knowledge systems and practices are considered in the project design, and its leaders and members have been involved throughout the process, from agreeing to participate to identifying suitable land and selecting plant species that naturally grow in the area.”

4. Responsible Offshore Wind Development is a Clear Win for Birds, the U.S. Economy, and our Climate

“[T]he total feasible offshore wind capacity along U.S. coasts is more than three times the total electricity generated nationwide in 2023. […] Proven strategies, such as reducing visible lights on turbines and using perching deterrents on turbines, have been effective in addressing bird impacts.”

5. Illinois awards $100M for electric truck charging corridor, Tesla to get $40M

“The project will facilitate the construction of 345 electric truck charging ports and pull-through truck charging stalls across 14 sites throughout Illinois[…. E]lectrifying [the 30,000 daily long-haul] trucks would make a huge impact in the public health and quality of life along the heavily populated roadways.”

6. Reinventing the South Florida seawall to help marine life, buffer rising seas

“[The new seawall] features raised areas inspired by mangrove roots that are intended to both provide nooks and crannies for fish and crabs and other marine creatures and also better absorb some of the impact from waves and storm surges.”

7. Long Beach Commits to 100% All-Electric Garbage Trucks

“[Diesel garbage trucks] produce around a quarter of all diesel pollution in California and contribute to 1,400 premature deaths every year. Electric options, on the other hand, are quieter than their diesel counterparts and produce zero tailpipe emissions.”

8. ‘This Is a Victory': Biden Affirms ERA Has Been 'Ratified' and Law of the Land

“President Joe Biden on Friday announced his administration's official opinion that the amendment is ratified and its protections against sex-based discrimination are enshrined in the U.S. Constitution.”

9. A Little-Known Clean Energy Solution Could Soon Reach ‘Liftoff’

“Ground source heat pumps could heat and cool the equivalent of 7 million homes by 2035—up from just over 1 million today[…. G]eothermal energy is generally considered to be more popular among Republicans than other forms of clean energy, such as wind and solar.”

10. Researchers combine citizens' help and cutting-edge tech to track biodiversity

“Researchers in the project, which runs from 2022 to 2026, are experimenting with tools like drones, cameras and sensors to collect detailed data on different species, [… and] Observation.org, a global biodiversity platform where people submit pictures of animals and plants, helping to identify and monitor them.”

January 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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fangswbenefits · 2 years ago

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Sharing is Caring (II)

Summary: Things get complicated, but you find yourself sharing a bed with Miguel… once again. Too bad someone else is in the room.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Sharing one bed. Semi-public. Blue balls. Sexual tension. Mutual masturbation. Creampie. Implied cockwarming.

* ˚ ✦ Part 1. (you don’t have to read it to enjoy this one, though)

You were fucked.

Extremely fucked.

Not only had the anomaly managed to slip through your fingers, effectively disabling the trackers scattered around, but you were also fucked, because now you were left to deal with the aftermath of a very intimate encounter with Miguel.

It was nearly five in the morning and the night was nowhere near being done. Fortunately, it had stopped raining, which helped with visibility and grip, and having Lyla assist you as in replacing the faulty sensors was also very much welcome.

��Sensor 24 up and running,” the AI’s sing-song voice announced, as the device bleeped green.

You leapt over the railing, shooting a string of web to the side of the hotel, so you could swing through the window.

As you landed with a clumsy thump, you noticed Miguel had already gotten back from his reconnaissance check.

He looked positively… pissed off.

Great.

“Lyla, call her,” her grumbled, checking his watch.

“Already did,” she announced, appearing by his shoulder. “Want me to run a diagnostics of the perimeter once again?”

“Do it in five minute intervals,” he said flatly. “The anomaly must be nearby.”

You removed your mask and considered sitting on the bed, but were soon reminded that not even thirty minutes ago, you were getting fucked by Miguel.

A shudder ran through your body.

“You okay?” he asked, his narrowed eyes on you.

You shrugged. “Sure.”

The problem with having impromptu sex was that now you were left to deal with the soreness between your legs, and the frustration of an orgasm that never came to be.

Did Miguel feel the same way?

Your eyes roamed his body, and you find yourself glaring at his-

“Hey! I need you to focus,” Miguel said with a snap of his fingers. “There’s still a chance we deal with it tonight.”

You were about to snap back when a loud distorted buzz filled the room, swirls of flashing lights nearly blinding you, as the inter-dimensional portal expanded quickly in pulsating waves.

Through came Jessica Drew, followed closely by Peter B. Parker.

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” Miguel growled, pointing at Peter.

“What?” he asked, eyes widening in confusion.

Miguel wasn’t known to be a very patient man, and you reckoned his patience was now hanging by a thread. “I called for Jess. Not you.”

Jess let out an exasperated sigh. “Easy, Miguel. We were both on the same mission.”

He straightened up, but crossed his arms. “Right.”

“Care to explain why I had to leave to be here?” she went on, resting on hand on her swollen belly. “How did you lose track of the anomaly?”

He exchanged a brief look with you. “The sensors didn’t alert us in time.”

That was true.

“Weren’t you supposed to be monitoring, regardless?”

“We dozed off,” you chimed in. “Momentarily! Just for a while.”

Not really true…

Jess glanced at you, suspicion written all over face.

“Sleeping on the job,” she then chuckled, eyeing Miguel deviously. “Didn’t think you’d ever do that, Miguel.”

He narrowed his eyes menacingly. “We weren’t sleeping. We were just resting our eyes for a moment.”

A blatant lie.

“What’s that on your neck?” Peter suddenly asked with a worried look on his face.

Oh….

You let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the tender hickey spot. “Bug bite.”

“Allergic reaction,” Miguel blurted out at the same time.

Fuck.

You shot him a murderous look.

Jessica arched an eyebrow. “Which one is it?”

“An allergic reaction to a bug bite,” Miguel said with a shrug, growing visibly annoyed.

A wave of relief washed over you momentarily. That seemed plausible enough.

But…

“Oh, really?” she asked with a knowing smile. “What bug? A spid-”

But Miguel was already cutting her off. “We don’t have time for this!”

Peter walked to you, craning your neck to the side. “You should have it checked. It looks serious.”

Ah, Peter… ever the innocent.

“Jess, you stay with us,” Miguel says, dragging Peter away from you at once. “We need an extra pair of eyes.”

She frowned. “No. Peter stays. I need to get some sleep,” she said, patting her belly.

“No!” Miguel growled.

“Actually, I was thinking of heading back home,” Peter drawled out, rubbing the back of his head. “Mayday should be waking up soon.”

“And I’m pregnant,” Jess shot, holding her chin high.

Peter swallowed and fell silent. The deal was sealed.

“Lyla, any updates?”

The hologram popped up instantly. “No, boss.”

Jess glanced over at you one last time, before stepping into the portal once again. “You should really have that checked. Whatever bug did that seems… vicious,” she then slipped into the vortex, which vanished behind her.

You momentarily froze in place, feeling the dread of realisation hit you like a ton of bricks.

She knew.

“I’ll be right back,” Peter drawled out with a yawn and a stretch, disappearing into the bathroom.

The moment you heard rhe door click shut, you turned to Miguel.

“An allergic reaction to a bug bite?” you hissed.

He scowled deeply. “Because simply saying bug bite sounded ridiculous.”

“She didn’t believe it, regardless.”

Miguel was suddenly towering over you, his face twisted in annoyance. “Then why does it matter?”

“Because… you gave me a visible hickey!”

It was a silly thing to get upset about. There were worse things in life than having Miguel O’Hara marking you as a result of built up sexual tension.

But you didn’t want to give in.

“Got carried away,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah…”

He cleared his throat. “But I have a problem.”

You looked up at him. “What problem?”

“Well…” he said, glancing at the bathroom door.

“Peter?”

“No!”

You clicked your tongue. “Then what?”

His placed both hands on his hips and glanced down.

Your eyes followed suit.

Oh.

“What? Why are you… what?” you stuttered in disbelief at the sight of the outline of his hardened cock.

“Biology, remember?” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s not going away.”

You somehow managed to tear your eyes from the impressive bulge. “Go jerk off, then!”

He had you walk back until you hit the wall behind. “It won’t go away.”

Had you just given Miguel blue balls?

“How’s that my problem?” you huffed, staring intensely into his crimson eyes.

“This is all your fault.”

“Oh, really? I thought we were blaming Biology.”

Before Miguel could retort, the sudden squeak of a door being swung open, had you slipped past him.

Peter emerged, eyeing you both. “Oh, I see what this is.”

Miguel had to move strategically in order to hide his raging boner from him. “What do you mean?”

“I know what’s up with you two,” Peter said, with a playful grin. “All the whispering and whatnot.”

Great.

Were you two that transparent?

“Huh…”

Miguel had pursed his lips.

Peter paced closer to you, eyeing you with a knowing smile. “You’re deciding on Jessica’s birthday present, right?”

You blinked a few times and heard Miguel exhale nearby.

“Right? I knew it!” he threw his arms in the air as if he’d just won the lottery.

In truth, you were simply baffled at how innocent Peter could be. The immediate weight that was lifted off your shoulders was enough to draw a laugh from you.

“Sure!”

“Of course, Peter,” Miguel said, voice dripping with his trademark sarcasm. “We went on this mission, so we could go through birthday checklists.”

A layer of pride settled on Peter’s face. “Ah! You’re growing soft, Miguel.”

You winced at his poor choice of words.

“But fear not!” he said as if he was about to fight off the anomaly himself. “We’ll take turns watching. You two can get some rest and properly plan it out,” he then pinched his thumb and index finger together and dragged them across his lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Miguel didn’t budge at first, but you were all too grateful to stop this insane conversation altogether.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Of course,” he smiled widely, pacing to the open hotel window, leaping into the the sky night.

You shot Miguel one last look before slipping inside into the comfort of the bedsheets, welcoming the softness.

But you were sorely mistaken if you thought Miguel wouldn’t have followed you.

Your heart skipped a beat. Or two.

You had turned to face the wall, hoping he’d take the hint, and leave you be.

But once you felt his erection pressing into your ass, you knew you were a goner.

There was something extremely empowering about having a man like Miguel be so needy and desperate.

He scooted closer until his breath fanned your ear. “Can you just…”

You scoffed, pride swelling inside you. “Go ask Biology to jerk you off.”

“Whawt?”

“You keep blaming it, so…”

Silence fell between you two.

His hand then came to grip your hip. “It’s you.”

“I didn’t catch that,” you said, feeling his thumb rubbing gently, as he pushed the top half of your suit increasingly higher.

He rolled his hips into you, letting out a shaky moan in your ear that had your skin raise with goosebumps.

You flipped onto your other side to fully face him, and Miguel immediately took your lips with his, kissing you hungrily.

His hand dragged the fabric all the way up until he managed to expose one breast, breaking the kiss only to move down to suck on your hardened nipple.

The thought that he might be too much vaguely crossed your mind. For the second time that night you were meeting a side of Miguel that you had never seen before.

A side you much preferred.

Your fingers dragged through his hair, silently praising him.

In no time, you watched his digital suit disintegrate, giving you full access to the beautifully sculped body underneath.

He gripped your wrist and lowered it until your fingers grazed his cock. Knowing fully well what he craved, you wrapped them around it, earning an immediate jerk of his hips.

“Miguel…” you moaned, letting him freely fuck your hand, spilling more and more precum.

He released your nipple and had his forehead resting on your shoulder, his hand on top of your, making sure you squeezed tighter and tighter.

It didn’t take long for your hand to be soaked with precum, making it easier for him to slide up and down.

You squeezed involuntarily and a gush of wetness spilled into your underwear, your body yearning for him to fill you up with his cock.

He moved his hips deliciously, and you focused on taking in the wet sounds that filled the room as well as his breathless grunts.

But such bliss was short-lived as you heard Peter bolting into the room with a swish of his web.

Well…

Miguel immediately stilled, letting go of your hand.

You didn’t let go of his cock, instead peeking over his shoulder only to find Peter rolling out a sleeping bag on the floor.

He then turned to face you, and your head immediately slumped against the pillow, eyes on Miguel’s.

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

Peter’s voice was but a whisper. “Your heart rate is accelerated.”

Ah… spider senses.

“Yeah… I’m just a bit tense… it’s fine,” you muttered, feeling Miguel’s cock twitch in your hand. “Go get some rest. I’ll take over.”

“Oh! Thank you,” he beamed. “Mayday has been giving us terrible nights, and I could use a few minutes.”

You watched as he fluffed out his pillow before settling down on his back with a yawn.

Miguel’s breathing has steadied momentarily and you eventually let go of him.

But he quickly got a hold of your wrist.

The implication of that action wasn’t exactly subtle and you widened your eyes.

“No,” you mouthed right away.

His crimson eyes had darkened and you spotted his fangs from behind his lips.

You shook your head vehemently.

This was a bad idea.

But as soon as Peter’s snores tore through the room, you felt your heart clench.

“Peter is right there… he will hear it!”

He pressed an urgent kiss to your forehead. “We’ll be quiet. I’ll help you be quiet,” he promised, pressing his cock further into your already soaked crotch.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and just as you were about to let out a low whimper, you felt his hand cover your mouth, effectively reigning it in.

“Quiet.”

The other travelled down painfully slowly, palm grazing your exposed breast briefly, before resting just above the waistline of your suit.

“You have to be quiet,” he warned in a barely audible tone.

You nodded and he lifted his hand from your lips.

“We shouldn’t…” you muttered under your breath.

But your words were not matching your actions, as you dragged your hand covered in precum across his hard chest, taking your time to gently rub his nipple with your thumb.

You thought Miguel had stopped breathing altogether, but soon realised he was merely attempting to hold back a moan.

His fingers quickly slipped past the the waistline, finding your clit and drawing small circles. You had to bite your lip hard to suppress a whimper, rolling your hips into him.

You found his cock again, gripping it desperately and giving him a few pumps that matched the tempo of his strokes.

The thrill of indulging in such experience even when someome else was in the room, and with the increased chances of being caught, merely added to the pleasure you were already feeling.

“You’re doing good,” Miguel praised you through a shaky breath. “So good…”

Impatience took over and you wiggled out of your bottom half of the suit, allowing you to grant him betterr acces, as hou parted your legs.

He immediately seized it and slipped one finger inside.

You had to clasp your hand over your mouth to keep from groaning, eyes fluttering shut.

His breath was on your ear again. “Can you take one more?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. A second finger immediately joined the first one, slinding inside effortlessly.

Feeling that you had managed to keep yourself under control, you dropped the hand covering your lips to grip his cock.

“And another one?”

You shook your head, fearing that would be too much. He pressed a kiss to your neck with a sigh, as he fucked your hand in a slow rhythm.

The knots of pleasure in your lower abdomen let you know that you were headed towards the precipice. You kept on riding his fingers relentlessly, your mind suddenly hazy from the feeling of being so full of him already.

“I’m close…” he mouthed, his breath shaky and cock twitching.

He had bared his fangs, and you thought you’d combust on the spot, realising he was truly overwhelmed with pleasure.

Finding your voice again, you whispered sensually, “Where do you want to cum?”

His eyed widened, pupils fully blown.

Your hips faltered briefly, grazing your clit across the palm of his hand. “Inside?”

He pressed his eyes shut and dug his fangs into his lower lip. “I won’t last.”

“I know,” you moaned, dragging thumb across his tip, feeling more droplets of warm precum coating your skin.

Peter suddenly let out a loud snore that made you jolt.

“Are you close?” Miguel asked.

“I’ll be with you inside me.”

You shifted on the mattress, and he removed his fingers from you at once, a wet sound filling the room.

Your body shuddered from the loss, but you soon felt his tip proding your entrance.

Before you could take another breath, he jerked his hips and slipped past your fold effortlessly.

His hand was on your mouth again, and this time you could taste yourself, as he struggled to keep your moans at a minimum.

It was also evident the sudden position was taking a toll on him. His steady pace was faltering with each passing second.

You soon entered the familiar point of no return, feeling an intense wave of pleasure tear from within you, blinding your vision with each pulse and contraction. It took all of your not to moan out loud even against his hand, the few shreds of sanity having a hold on you.

Miguel joined you, clearly not able to withstand the rhythmic squeezes around his cock as you reached your high.

Your caught a glimpse oh him biting the back of his other hand hard. He would for sure draw blood with his fangs, but you couldn’t even stay properly focused.

He bottomed out as deep as he could, spurts of cum coating your squeezing walls.

The two of you were struggling to breathe, shallow pants surrounding you.

“Oh my god! Butterfly!”

Peter…

You jerked away from Miguel in distress but with him still buried deep inside you, catching a glimpse of Peter sitting on the floor, breathing rapidly.

“Go back to sleep. It was just a dream,” you said with a smile.

Miguel pulled you into an embrace. “You did good.”

“Me? Not Biology?”

He scowled deeply.

“You can slide out now…” you whispered with a yawn.

Miguel didn’t move. “I want to stay a little longer likes this.”

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099

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machinesensiot · 22 days ago

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Air quality meter indoor services in UAE

MachineSens IoT delivers reliable air quality meter indoor services in UAE, ensuring healthier living and working spaces. We specialize in air quality monitors for home services in UAE, tailored for comfort and safety. Our expert air quality services in UAE provide real-time monitoring and actionable insights. Get cutting-edge air quality solutions services in UAE to improve your indoor environment. Breathe easier with our healthy indoor environment services in UAE, powered by smart sensors. We integrate advanced indoor air quality HVAC systems services in UAE for better airflow and filtration. Stay informed with our smart IAQ monitoring system services in UAE. Enhance wellness at home through our home air quality monitoring system services in UAE. Trust us for efficient and scalable IAQ solutions across residential and commercial spaces. MachineSens IoT—your partner in building a cleaner, smarter, and healthier indoor future.

#AiroCheck #Eco Monitor 7-in-1 #Eco Monitor with Display #Eco Monitor Outdoor Sensor (Custom)

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shanastoryteller · 4 months ago

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Happy Chirstmas Shana! 🎅🏻 I’d love some more F is for Frankenstein that shit is singlehandedly making me care about marvel again

a continuation of 1 2

Supposed damage to the suit hides the fact that he can’t fly it back to New York. He boxes it up and loads it onto one of the company’s private jets that comes to pick him up, which is nerve-wracking despite his lack of nerves. Tony’s body is still in the suit, being maintained and monitored by JARVIS, and it’s going to have to stay there until they have someplace better. At least all the damage to Stark Tower gives him a decent cover for setting up a cryogenic lab.

Pretending to be Tony Stark means no one thinks anything of him pouring himself a stiff drink. Not actually being Tony Stark means it doesn’t do jack shit. He is vaguely impressed at how well the combination of sensors on his tongue and memories integrated into his programming almost makes it seem like he can taste the whiskey. It’s just a shade off, faint and pale in comparison to how it would actually taste, but enough to know.

He's designed for public appearances and that tends to involve eating and drinking. It would be rather unlike himself if he didn’t notice he was being served rotgut.

When he lands, Pepper and Rhodey are waiting for him.

He should have expected that.

Pepper runs, not even wobbling in her very tall heels, and he catches her in easily. He’s still trying to figure out what to say when she kisses him and he freezes, not even a full second, and then he’s kissing her back because he has to, because that’s what Tony would do, and he hates himself.

“Hey,” he says softly when she pulls back, burying her face into his neck. He runs a gentle hand down her back, meeting Rhodey’s eyes over her shoulder and nearly flinching. The pressed together lips, barely held back irritation, and stiff stoicism only comes out when Rhodey’s right on the edge of completely losing it. “It’s alright, everything’s okay.”

Why did he say that? It’s a lie. He’s lying to her.

He’s going to have to lie to her a lot more. It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t hurt at all. He’s not even real.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #avengers

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sunnydbeam · 5 months ago

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What materials is Biohazard made of? I guess not everything resists radiation

Indeed! No material is totally resistant to radiation; it always depends on the amount of radiation and the exposure time.

Let me get a little nerdy

I clarify and repeat: I'm not an expert on the subject. I did research for this AU in general and thus determined the right materials for the construction of Biohazard. I may be wrong. But this is sci-fi, and some things are improbable but intentional, like Biohazard's melting rays!

Endoskeleton and joints: titanium alloys, stainless steel, and aluminum reinforced with carbon fiber.

Internal components:

Microchips and components: specifically designed to withstand high doses of radiation and encased in a dense layer of ceramic material within a tungsten protective box.

Sensors made with materials resistant to radiation and high temperatures. Integrated into the endoskeleton and protected by a dense covering material.

Actuators: electric or hydraulic motors made with corrosion- and wear-resistant materials. Located within the joints and protected by the endoskeleton.

Metallic lithium-Ion batteries specially designed to operate in extreme environments, housed in a tungsten protective box, away from sensitive components.

Cooling system: copper tubes and non-flammable, radiation-resistant cooling fluids integrated into the endoskeleton to dissipate heat generated by electronic components and shielding.

Protection systems:

Primary shielding: lead sheets and boron-based composite materials, 1.5 centimeters thick.

Secondary/Exterior shielding: tungsten sheets, 1 cm thick.

Biohazard has numerous limbs and components functioning as redundant systems. In the event of a failure, he can continue operating with backups.

He used to integrate cameras and sensors for remote monitoring and data collection. These are no longer operational.

Being made of very dense materials, he's extremely robust and heavy! You practically couldn't lift one of his arms if he were off!

He was very, very expensive to manufacture as well. The frustration was very great when the project "didn't work".

#long post #Biohazard oc #GC Biohazard #Gamma Code AU #Gamma Code fic #GC concepts #fnaf eclipse #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf dca fandom #dca community #fnaf #fnaf security breach #security breach #five nights at freddy's #beloved moot #asks

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bestanimal · 8 months ago

Text

Round 1 - Phylum Arthropoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Arthropoda is a phylum of animals that have segmented bodies, possess a chitin exoskeleton, and have paired segmented appendages. They are colloquially called “bugs” though this is often only used for terrestrial arthropods, and sometimes only used for insects specifically.

After Nematoda, this is the most successful phylum, and it is far more diverse, with up to 10 million species! Arthropods account for 80% of all known living animal species. The three major subphyla include the Chelicerates (sea spiders, horseshoe crabs, arachnids, and the extinct eurypterids and chasmataspidids), the Myriapods (centipedes and millipedes), and the Crustaceans (shrimps, prawns, crabs, lobsters, crayfish, seed shrimp, branchiopods, fish lice, krill, remipedes, isopods, barnacles, copepods, opossum shrimps, amphipods, mantis shrimp, entognaths, and insects).

Arthropods are so diverse in fact that it is next to impossible for me to describe a model arthropod. They are important members of marine, freshwater, land, and air ecosystems and are one of only two major animal groups that have adapted to life in dry environments, the others being chordates. All arthropods have an exoskeleton and must molt as they grow, replacing their exoskeleton. Some arthropods go through a metamorphosis in this process. They have brains, a heart, and blood (called hemolymph, though some crustaceans and insects also use hemoglobin). They sense the world through small hairs called setae which are sensitive to vibration, air currents, and even chemicles in the air or water. Pressure sensors function similarly to eardrums. Antennae monitor humidity, moisture, temperature, sound, smell, and/or taste, depending on species. Most arthropods have sophisticated visual systems ranging from simple eyes (ocelli) which orient towards light, to compound eyes consisting of fifteen to several thousand independent ommatidia capable of forming images, detecting fast movement, or even seeing polarized or ultra-violet light. Some arthropods are hermaphroditic, some have more than two sexes, some reproduce by parthenogenesis, some by internal fertilization, some by external, some have complex courtship rituals, some lay eggs, some give live birth, some have prolonged maternal care. The first arthropods are known from the Ediacaran, before the Cambrian era.

Propaganda below the cut:

Insects are the first animals to have achieved flight

The smallest arthropods are the parasitic crustaceans of the class Tantulocarida, some of which are less than 100 micrometres long. The largest arthropod is the Japanese Spider Crab (Macrocheira kaempferi) with a legspan of up to 4 metres (13 ft) long. The heaviest is the American Lobster (Homarus americanus), which can get up to 20 kilograms (44 lb).

Many arthropods are popular pets, including various species of crab, shrimp, isopod, crayfish, mantis shrimp, millipede, centipede, tarantula, true spider, scorpion, amblypygid, vinegaroon, mantis, cockroach, beetle, moth, and ant! Some are even domesticated, including silk moths and honeybees.

Many arthropods are eaten by humans as a delicacy, and farming insects for food is considered more sustainable than farming large chordates. These farmed arthropods are referred to as “minilivestock.”

Arthropods feature in a variety of ways in biomimicry: humans imitating elements of nature. For example, the cooling system of termite mounds has been imitated in architecture, and the internal structure of the dactyl clubs of mantis shrimp have been imitated to create more damage tolerant materials.

Spider venoms are being studied as a less harmful alternative to chemical pesticides, as they are deadly to insects but the great majority are harmless to vertebrates. They have also been studied and could have uses in treating cardiac arrhythmia, muscular dystrophy, glioma, Alzheimer's disease, strokes, and erectile dysfunction.

Shellac is a resin secreted by the female Lac Bug (Kerria lacca) on trees in the forests of India and Thailand. It is used as a brush-on colorant, food glaze, natural primer, sanding sealant, tannin-blocker, odour-blocker, stain, and high-gloss varnish. It was once used in electrical applications as an insulator, and was used to make phonograph and gramophone records until it was replaced by vinyl.

One of the biggest ecosystem services arthropods provide for humans is pollination. Crops where pollinator insects are essential include brazil nuts, cocoa beans, and fruits including kiwi, melons, and pumpkins. Crops where pollinator insects provide 40-90% of pollination include avocados, nuts like cashews and almonds, and fruits like apples, apricots, blueberries, cherries, mangoes, peaches, plums, pears, and raspberries. In crops where pollinators are not essential they still increase production and yield. Important pollinators include bees, flies, wasps, butterflies, and moths.

Many arthropods are sacred to humans. In Ancient Egypt, scarab beetles were used in art, religious ceremonies, and funerary practices, and were represented by the god Khepri. Bees supposedly grew from the tears of the sun god Ra, spilled across the desert sand. The goddess of healing venomous bites and stings, Serket, was depicted as a scorpion. Kalahari Desert's San People tell of a legendary hero, Mantis, who asked a bee to guide him to find the purpose of life. When the bee became weary from their search, he left the mantis on a floating flower, and planted a seed within him before passing from his exhaustion. The first human was born from this seed. In Akan folklore, the cunning trickster figure Anansi/Ananse is depicted as a spider. Western astrology uses the crab constellation, called Cancer, and the scorpion constellation, called Scorpio. Dragonflies symbolize pure water in Navajo tradition. In Anishinaabe culture, dreamcatchers are meant to represent spiderwebs and are used as a protective charm for infants. They originate from the Spider Grandmother, who takes care of the children and the people of the land in many Native American cultures. The Moche people of ancient Peru often depicted spiders and crabs in their art. In an Ancient Greek hymn, Eos, the goddess of the dawn, requests of Zeus to let her lover Tithonus live forever as an immortal. Tithonus became immortal, but not ageless, and eventually became so small, old, and shriveled that he turned into the first cicada. Another hymn sings of the Thriae, a trinity of Aegean bee nymphs. Native Athenians wore golden grasshopper brooches to symbolize that they were of pure, Athenian lineage. In an Ancient Sumerian poem, a fly helps the goddess Inanna when her husband Dumuzid is being chased by galla demons. In Japanese culture, butterflies carry many meanings, from being the souls of humans to symbols of youth to guides into the afterlife. Ancient Romans also believed that butterflies were the souls of the dead. Some of the Nagas of Manipur claim ancestry from a butterfly. Many cultures use the butterfly as a symbol of rebirth. And the list goes on…

cute crab eat a strawbebby:

#round 1 #animal polls #listen narrowing it down to just 4 images almost killed me #if arthropods don’t move on to round 2 I will have to take like an extra week off to mourn that I can’t show you all the cool bugs #there’s so many cool bugs guys #i chose the orchid mantis over a trilobite beetle and a poofy little bee fly cause I figured it had broader appeal #and used a horseshoe crab instead of a spider cause people are so Weird about spiders I worried it would impact the numbers #sigh #anyway I’m really hoping for Chordata Arthropoda Mollusca as top three #other phyla are all great but these three would make for the most interesting Round 2 imo #arthropoda

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half-dead-ham · 6 months ago

Text

Tim Drake's I.E.F Ch.1

To all those new to this fic, Hi! Welcome! I'm sure you'll have fun with this since I'll be posting/updating the old update posts all at once. It's a lot, but if I don't do this now I probably won't later, so bare with me, will you?

[Ao3 chapter] [Masterpost] [Chapter 2]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting shot isn't the best way to start a friendship, but at least nobody died, right?

Gotham is dark.

And big.

And haunted.

It would seem like the worst place for Danny to hide, considering just how many vengeful and sad ghosts there are. And yet, here he is, on his third month here after escaping leaving Amity Park after an unexpected and, frankly, embarrassing reveal of his secret to his parents.

Needless to say, they did not take it well.

Silently cringing at the images of the inside of ecto-proof cages and Fenton blasters running through his head, he floats on his front invisibly about his current interest in lazy circles as they perch on the edge of a rooftop. Red Robin, the first bat he encountered during his stay, and second favourite Gotham vigilante, (his first being Red Hood) was currently working on a case that revolved around a string of break-ins to large electronic stores around Gotham's commercial district. The contents of what was stolen didn't seem to have any pattern, but none of the security systems at previous stores were able to even glimpse at the thief.

Red Robin, hearing rumors through his contacts of the electronic store across the street from them being the next target, had decided to stake out the place in hopes of a clue. The security feed was currently being patched through onto Red Robin's wrist computer as the bird watched silently for any signs of movement. A slight distortion caught Danny's eye and he lowered himself over Red Robin's shoulder to get a better look. Red Robin shivered at the sudden chill, but didn't look around like the first dozen times Danny had hovered into his personal space.

It was weird, the lack of reaction. At the beginning, about a month beforehand was when Danny had first taken interest in the vigilante. He was bored of staying in the decrepit old building he'd started squatting in after the first few nights of paranoia fueled isolation. Figuring the best way to settle his nerves was a midnight patrol, he took off flying in a lazy pattern, first around his new house(not his home, not without them) and then around the rest of the district.

He was just about to head back when he came upon police lights outside a small computer repair shop and curiosity, reluctantly, got the better of him. Danny, invisibly and intangibly as to not be detected, floated cautiously through the roof of the shop to see what had happened. He was not expecting to see Red Robin surrounded by four officers all huddled together watching—glaring—at the monitor displaying the shop's security footage.

Seeing that A. There wasn't anything really bad about the place, like a body or any particularly fresh ghosts, and B. That his second favourite Gotham hero was on the scene had instantly made Danny much less cautious and much more curious. He waited for the officers to focus their attention elsewhere in the store and floated closer to have a look at what the hero, who was currently rewinding the tape, was so baffled about. Red Robin had just hit play when Danny came close enough for his shoulder to accidentally brush the side of Red Robin's head in a momentary lapse of his intangibly, sending the vigilante bounding to his feet in a defensive position, searching for anything close.

Danny, in the split second between his accidental tangibility and Red Robin's reaction, had instinctively moved back and reasserted his powers for good measure. The video played behind Red Robin as he tensely searched the dingy narrow shop for anything that could have caused the cold chill and light brush to the back of his head, but even with the high tech sensors in his lenses he couldn't pick up anything that close to him, just him and the now three other officers in the building. His body slowly uncoiled, the fight bleeding out of him as he watched the officers inspect a particularly interesting piece of wiring near the entrance. 'Like a snake' Danny mused, before silently berating himself for almost getting caught by a bat.

Man, that would've been embarrassing.

Danny was lucky he hadn't thought to switch to thermal viewing, or he would have noticed the massive cold spot just above him to his left.

After that night Danny kept going for patrols around his squat house, and subsequently kept running into Red Robin in his case to find the ghost(ha) thieves. After the seventh time he figured it would be more interesting to just start out searching for the vigilante instead of running into him after the police lights directed him to a crime scene.

An alarm from the store across the street had Danny refocusing on Red Robin's wrist computer. There hadn't been movement on the cam footage, but as Red Robin rose from his crouch Danny noticed one of the camera views where an empty display that had previously held a line of 60 inch flat screens not five minutes before. Rising and hopping off the cornice Red Robin toggled the button on his comm with an exasperated groan.

"Oracle, it's RR," he paused and a woman's voice could vaguely be heard, "So you couldn't see anything either?" He groaned again, louder as he took a few more steps away from the roof ledge. "What kind of tech could hide someone from all the cameras in there?" Another pause, this time from both ends.

"You think it's a meta?" Red murmured, almost to himself. "That could be why we didn't even see the goods getting moved," Oracle was saying something he couldn't make out, then "I'll try, but I don't know how much I'll find even if I can see them." Danny tuned out their conversation after that as another sound caught Danny's attention at the back side of the building. Red Robin was too focused on his conversation to notice or hear, but to Danny the hushed tones were both loud and suspicious.

As he got closer to the edge, the tones became voices, all three deep and rough. He peered over the rear cornice to the alley below, and spotted three men dressed in all black loading the freshly stolen TV screens into the back of a nondescript white van. Two of the men were making their way to the front doors of the vehicle and were wearing large gaudy white belts and were shouting at the third arranging the monitors in the back. The half-ghost only had time to think 'well they don't look suspicious at all' before the first one got to the driver's side door and yanked it open. Belatedly realizing that they were probably the thieves the pacing hero behind him was looking for, Danny made a split second decision and dove for Red Robin's utility belt.

Among the few gadgets Danny had seen Red Robin use, the tracking bug was stored in an easily accessible front pocket at the birds front. Rather than trying to be stealthy for the sake of him not being found out, Danny quickly made a downward sweeping motion with his hand to grab the tracking device intangibly out of the pouch. Only half noticing the full body chill he gave Red Robin on the process, he dashed back to the van of whose driver had just keyed the ignition and stuck the tracker to it's undercarriage in time for it to peel out of the alley back doors only just closing on the turn with a lot 'slam!' and into the dead side street away from the electronic store.

As he watched the van go, he hoped that tracker had an automatic 'on' function or he would be down one piece of mysteriously missing bat-tech and up one very suspicious bat.

Flying worriedly back up to where he had left said bat, he was greeted with his slightly panicked conversation with the person(s?) on the other end of his comm. "-I am not hallucinating! I just felt something go through me and nothing's here! I'm- no I'm not coming down with something Dick! "

Something in the way he said that made Danny pretty sure he wasn't meant to hear that. Vigilantes and their secret identities, right? (was his name really Dick? Or was that just an insult? It felt like a name when he said it…)

"I swear something has been stalking me for the last month and none of you will believe me!"

The half-ghost flinched, realizing that yeah, he maybe hadn't been as sneaky as he'd thought in hanging (haunting?) around the vigilante, but after the first few reactions to his ghostly presence he'd thought Red Robin had choked him up to being some regular Gotham chill or something, only shivering before going back to what he'd been doing previously. Before anyone, present or otherwise, could say anything else, Red Robin's wrist computer beeped and pulled up a map showing the location of the -thankfully operational- moving tracker.

A small "What?" was the only thing to accompany the deep frown as Red Robin lifted his gloved arm showing the tracker, before reaching into the pouch that previously held said tracker and pulling out empty air. Somehow deepening his frown, the bird looked around the empty rooftop, scanning for seemingly anything, before moving his hand back to his comm to speak.

"Guys, I think I got a lead," he stated wearily. He was met with a few seconds of dead air before a flurry of voices spoke one after another in a cacophony Danny could barely even start to decipher before Red Robin spoke over them.

"Something took my tracker. I don't know what has it but it's heading to the docks, I'm going to see where it's headed and maybe find some clues about either who took it, or. that tech."

A distinctly male voice replied this time, and Danny could vaguely make out something about the tracker leading to a trap. Danny really didn't think about what he'd do after setting the tracking device, just that his core urged him to help. Internally groaning at his lack of planning yet again, he was surprised to hear Red Robin's reply.

"I don't think it's a trap. If what I think happened, then that thing that's stalking me might just have given me the lead I need to bust this case open. And yes I know you guys still don't believe me about the thing, but I've seen and felt too many things over the past month not to think something's keeping tabs on me." He started to make hand gestures around halfway through his rant, ending off with a grumble at the notion of invisible teens' currently unknown presence. He heard one more voice speaking up in a cautious tone before the vigilante raised his hand again to the comm. With a reassuring sounding "will do" he switched off his comms and headed to the fire escape off the side of the building and to his bike parked a few streets over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The docks, Danny thought, were both more haunted and quieter than Amity's, and that somehow made them even creepier.

While keeping up with Red Robin's ninja-like movements through the maze of Gotham's harbour he had spotted no less than fifteen ghosts of various power levels and forms, ranging from the usual blobs to some very concerning looking business men in drenched suits.

Coming up on the location of the tracker Danny placed on the thieves van, they came to a warehouse that was a lot less dead than the ones beside it. Creeping up to an adjacent roof Danny could spot three guards, likely armed if their postures were anything to go by. Red Robin surveyed the perimeter before finding an open window on the second floor. He studied the opening for a few minutes to confirm whether or not there was anyone in the room, then pulled out his grapple and shot it at the overhang of the building just above it, sailing through the small hole with practiced grace.

'Most of the batclan could probably take flight really easily… A bat that could actually fly, now that would be terrifying.' The intrusive thought couldn't escape Danny as he floated through the wall behind the bird, watching as he took a roll and came up in -from what the half-ghost could tell- a perfect defensive crouch. Red Robin checked the room for any cameras before creeping over to the doorway, the door itself having most likely been lost to vagrants a long time ago. With no one in the corridor -though with the other doorways having actual doors it was hard to tell- the vigilante stalked towards the open end, presumably where the office portion ends and the warehouse properly 'begins'.

Red Robin stopped just short of where the office hallway met a grated catwalk that overlooked about two thirds of the warehouse below. Though it must not have been originally, the office space was held aloft by solid yet bare I-beams that jutted from the concrete below. Remnants of walls in the form of gypsum dust and water stains were all that proved the existence of a previously blocked off section to a now open space. The open space, of course, held pallets and pallets of stolen electrical equipment; TV's, computers, stereo systems, just to name a few that Danny could see. Along the wall to his right he could see the van he'd tagged with Red Robins tracer, along with two other vehicles of similar make to the one they followed. The first van currently had its rear doors wide open as four men in all black unloaded the monitors into a waiting palette for… storage? It was hard for Danny to say, but by the way the vigilante slightly below him gasped -silently, he noted absently- they had found the mother-load.

There were more guys than just the ones unloading the van, obviously. They seemed to keep in groups, but in total there were maybe thirty of them, the ghost boy guessed. All of them had some small firearm on them, about half some visible melee weapon, and all had the same Bad Guy™ wardrobe of black long sleeves and pants.

A good few had those garish white belts on, Danny had noticed due to the fact they stick out like the belt on his HAZMAT, though for different reasons. The goons that wore them didn't unload the goods with the ones who didn't have them, suggesting they had a different job in this operation.

Red Robin was taking all this in just as much as he was, watching the men at work as they catalogued the new additions to a collection that clearly went further than just the department store robberies. 'Maybe they break into houses too?' Danny had to assume that because how else would you get a literal mound of cellphones and tablets without some good ol' B&E?

You can't, that's how.

Both Danny and Red Robin were too captivated by the floor below they weren't paying attention to the floor they were on. Specifically, they didn't notice the goon slip out from one of the offices they had neglected to check beforehand. He didn't see them—really just Red Robin, Danny was still invisible—immediately, but as the bird didn't turn around immediately the thug took the chance to take out his weapon—a short lead pipe in this case—and slunk towards the bird and ghost duo as silently his black converse could.

Danny heard a scuff a second before the guy behind them took a swing—straight at the back of Red Robin's head. Thank the ancients so did he, swivelling on the ball of his left foot and kicking out with his right, sweeping the thugs legs and sending him face first into the catwalk grate with his momentum. As he landed though, he let go of his pipe.

Which fell to the floor below.

Which in turn alerted everyone to what was happening just above their heads.

Danny metaphorically held his breath (not literally, he didn't need to breathe as a ghost) as, as one, the entire warehouse snapped to look in the direction of the loud clang! and eventually the bird in the rafters. Many rushed to unholster their firearms before shooting at the vigilante.

Red Robin cursed and sprinted back the way he came, into the vacant room and back out the window to the opposing roof with his grapple. Behind them shouting and more gunshots could be heard, leaving Danny's ears ringing as the mob of thugs spilled out of the warehouse in pursuit of the rooftop runner.

Danny had to resist the urge to put up a shield to aid the bird in his escape, his core screaming at him protect protect protect! As bullets whizzed by them in the leaps Red Robin took between corrugated rooftops. He deflected as many as he could without being obvious, but due to that a few found their marks, the first one in Red Robin's upper right arm, another grazing his left cheek to the bridge of his nose, and the final one getting through his body armour and through his lower left side, exiting through his chest.

The last bullet made Red Robin yelp in pain, losing focus of his landing position and slipping on a slick spot on the next roof. His legs went out from under him and though he tried to find something, anything to hold onto, the strain had his right arm weakening, and with a look of terror, he fell.

Protect protect protect protect protect pr̵̟̬̬͕̼̜̪̞̊̓͗̊͌͆͠͝ͅo̷̦̟̥̠͉̘͕͛̎͛͝ͅṱ̷̼͔̘̩̆ě̴̗̱͍̤̣̻̯̹̇̍̄c̶̡̤͔̫̠̲̍͋́͐̀͂̕͝t̵͚̟͓̔͐̏͊̈́̕ ̶̘͈͙̻̦̫̱͑̂p̴̧̩͚̝̲͓̜̰͑̅́̉̈́͛͝r̵̨̛̘̕ǒ̷̧̰̟͖͓̳̘̮̓̊̈́͗̉t̵̢͙̝̰͍̗̪̀͛ͅḛ̵͖͎̭̹̾́̀͋͘ç̵̭̭̫̥̭͎͚̯͌̌̀̾ṯ̵̤̪̟̙̹̂̓́̊͛̐̓͘̕͜ ̵͙͈̟͆̀̍̆p̸̡̛̙͎̖̭̐̆̈́̇̏ṙ̸̘̗̪͖̂̽̉́̕o̶̝̬̔̅̈́͑̃t̷̨̧̛̖̘̩̩͇̺̀̔͋̈́́̄̈́͝ȅ̴̞̗͗̂͂͂̉̚c̶̛̥̹̃̃̓̐̽ṯ̶͎̈́͂̈͐̎́͒͝!̶̥̇̄̈̓̈́͗̀͝͠

Before he knew what he was doing, Danny dove for Red Robin, catching him by the wrist not five feet from the very hard, very solid, concrete pavement below them. He lowered the vigilante down gently, his legs not supporting him due to shock of not going splat. (or possibly due to trauma and blood loss.) Danny only let go when Red Robin was firmly sitting on the ground, back to the adjacent wall and unharmed -other injuries notwithstanding- and turned to the rapidly approaching thunder of footsteps as the goons came running at them.

Dropping his invisibility, Danny put a shield around the prone teen behind him. Better not to have him get worse due to some stray bullets while he was being protected.

Why wasn't he taking the injured vigilante and getting the hell outta dodge to somewhere safe? Well that's because he was angry. He was angry they hurt something that was his. They would pay for hurting something he was protecting.

And so, as the mob of goons came at the two teens, Danny, for lack of a better term, unfolded.

A multitude of eyes and teeth and claws came gnashing and snarling outwards in a cloud of frozen shadow at the gang, causing many to panic and either shoot or flee. Some of the ones shooting shot the ones trying to get away, and the buildup of panic and screams and fear had Danny cackling in static echos as he gouged and disarmed and covered the mob in his nebulous mass. He never injured enough to kill, but enough to make sure that if they weren't carried away that they'd need a while to recover.

As the stars that were his teeth and nails stopped flashing in blows delivered Danny adjusted himself back to his usual state, teeth only slightly sharp and claws firmly under the white of his HAZMAT gloves. Satisfied at seeing no man left behind was a code the thugs stood by, Danny turned back to the glowing dome that housed his vigilante.

(No, not his, he can't own someone.)

Red Robin was still in the same spot, which is good. He was also unconscious, which is less good. Gingerly, Danny put two fingers to the bird's neck, looking for and finding a pulse that while strong, was erratic and fast. He would bleed out without immediate attention, and it would be a bad idea to try and carry him to the nearest hospital for multiple reasons. Cursing, he took off his left glove and wrapped it under Red Robin's armpit, knotting it tight for a makeshift tourniquet. Trying to assess a chest wound with only the surface knowledge he knows from patching himself up would be disastrous, so from the small interdimensional space that held his possessions while in ghost form he pulled out his to-go med kit. Thankfully he hasn't needed it all that much since he got to Gotham, leaving much of the more heavy duty supplies for cases of emergency—cases like these. He takes the antibacterial spray and applies a generous amount to both the entry and exit wound, then seals both with his ghostly ice and wraps his torso in bandages. Debating on whether or not it was better to dress the cut on the fainted teens face, the need to respect his privacy won out and applied some gauze with a hint of frost to keep it on and to prevent infection.

While not entirely satisfied with his handywork he knows the ice mixed with the spray will kill anything off except the bird himself, he focuses on the hard part.

Telling the bats.

He knows he has to. But the fear of them trying to look into him has him hesitating. His core thrums loud in his chest, urging him to help, protect your human, protect and the fear recedes for a moment. Before it can come back Danny pulls Red Robin's comm out of his ear and holds it over his own. Taking a fortifying breath he technically doesn't need he pressed the button on the earpiece and breathed out a nervous "H-hello?"

"RR, status report." The female voice he recognized as hearing before, Oracle, comes over the comm instantly.

"Uhhh, bird down?" He hadn't seen a code used for when a bat needs immediate assistance. He could've at least tried to sound more confident.

"... Who are you and how did you get Red Robins' communicator?" Anand that just sent her on high alert, great going Fenton.

Ignoring the question and putting a little more bravado in his voice he states "listen, Red Robin has been shot and needs medical assistance. I've patched him up but he's unconscious and might be in shock. One of you bats needs to get down to the docks and help him."

The line was dead for a moment before another voice—was it Dick—came on the line to answer.

"I'm on route to the docks now, tell me where he is and we'll see what happens to you."

Relief flooded through Danny despite the thinly veiled threat and he quickly rattled off their coordinates, noting in between which warehouses they were in before turning off the comm and placing it in its original position.

He stayed to make sure Red Robin was safe until he heard the silent hum of Nightwing's electric motorbike. Turning invisible he watched the older vigilante rush to check over Red Robin's wounds, make a comment into his comms, then turned his head to search for the one who patched him up.

Giving up quickly he picked up his fainted younger bridal style and carried him over to his bike, placing him on the front with him just behind him to secure him. Then they were off, speeding to Danny didn't know where, probably the bat cave? He was about to head home when the thrum from his core gave him pause. It still needed to know Red Robin was safe, still calling to protect, even if there was no danger. Trying to ignore it would just make the thrum turn to a burn, so reluctantly Danny sped off to follow Nightwing and his (no, not his) Red Robin.

'This is going to end either very well, or very badly…' Was all he could think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Next][Ao3]

#ham writes #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #batman #danny fenton #tim drake #chapter fic #chapter 1

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ncillary · 3 months ago

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Self Aware AU (Sylus)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Sylus. The reason is because he is a red flag. As red as his eyes. Spawn of the devil. Unless, he is actually not as evil as you label him to be. Does this change something in you? Yes? No? Maybe so?

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 [current] | 6 |

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*Tap* *Tap* *Khtump*

Every step of the leather shoes echoes profoundly along the dimly lit hallway. Wooden door as tall as his figure was at the end. Long fingers clutched the handle to another room. Sharp eyes met with weathered grey.

"Madam CEO, you should really change the light in the hallways."

"Oh, dear. The sensor works fine just now. I wonder why it doesn't work whenever you stop by, Wingman."

"Can you stop calling me that?"

"Will you stop hanging your jacket loosely on your shoulder like a pair of wings?"

He pursed his lips, "Touché."

She snickered, "And what pleasure do I owe my head of security for this impromptu meeting?"

He walked closer to the massive table, separating them. A phone was placed gently while his face crocked slightly.

"I think this belongs to someone. It was delivered to me by mistake."

"Have you switched it on?"

"No. It was not mine."

"Switch it on for me so that I can get the information for its owner."

He sighed but did it anyway. She intercoms someone to come into the room.

The phone was on as another staff member stepped into the room holding a device similar to a big tablet. The staff seek through the phone for something then type it in the tablet.

*Ping*

"Errr...."

Both looking at the stuttering staff.

"Who does it belong to?" Madam CEO asked calmly.

The staff chance a peak at the towering man then glanced back at Madam CEO, restless.

She chuckled, "Thank you. Sorry for the awkwardness. You may go now."

The staff bowed and exited the room.

Mr. Wingman looked unpleasantly at her, eyeing her suspiciously.

"You already have a young swordman, a doctor and a mysterious painter. I guess you're aiming for your head of security now." He sighed.

She grinned, "I don't do pointless things."

"I know that well. Guess I'll just wait for the big surprise in the future." He smirked.

+-----------------------------+-------------------------+

"Did you get my first request?"

"With all due respect, Madam CEO, yes, I did help with modeling the character movement. Yes, my data is in the system. No, I don't approve of my figure to be a part of the game content much less the next main character in the game."

"It's already built. We can't scratch everything up and throw it away. The new updates will be released in a month." She playfully got her statement out.

"I should've known you're up to something the moment you assign me to assist character modeling. Yes, to your first question. I'm stalking her now."

She choked a bit, "Can you at least say it in a non-threatening way? She's not your prey, Mr. Wingman."

"Same difference. She's just a player that needs extra care."

Wrong.

How can he be so wrong countless times. Madam CEO didn't do pointless things including assigning him to her.

"She really sweeps the battle in a breeze yet not going further to the next level. How peculiar for a feisty kitten."

And that's not the last thing that will piqued his interest regarding her.

+----------------------------+-------------------------+

"Why didn't she play the Main Story anymore? It's impossible to not realize the continuation of the story is there."

He looked through her gameplay records.

His monitoring only supplied him with the bare minimum since everything else had him locked out. He didn't mind. The challenges keeping him on toe and he quite enjoyed it.

+------------------------------+---------------------+

The cafe.

The first time he could see the interior of the cafe ever since he monitored her. Before this it was darkness with icons gleaming around for him to interact. Barely.

Until now.

He saw her through the lens. Unmoving. Blank eyes. He was the same because seeing her changed the tune in his chest. He breathed out first.

"Did the system-"

"Indeed you are."

White noise surrounded him after hearing her voice. He staggered a bit out of shock. Lips smirking as his heart swells in amused. There's new feelings he had never felt before.

"I think I know now why Madam CEO did it."

+-----------------------------+---------------------+

Another day. Another staring.

She had been doing this for the past few days after he got his first view of the interior of the cafe. The first time he saw her. The first time she spoke. The first time he realized his other half.

"...I'm sorry..."

She spoke first. Again. Apologizing for misunderstanding him, his counterpart, and all the hate she sputtered on him.

He didn't like her tone.

There's nothing for her to apologize for. A prompt was sent to at least ease her tension.

She laughed.

It should be illegal how he couldn't hear it more with how short it was.

"We finally met, kitten. Take your time. I'll be here. Ready anytime."

Eyes fluttered close. Mouth smiling. Fond of the brief interaction.

+-------------------------------+---------------------+

He was quite pleased by the synchronization of their timing. She was in the game whenever he had the time to check on her.

"Nocturnal creatures sleep during the day..."

She has said one time. He had been smiling often at her witty commentaries. Enjoying each other's company even when they both had work or just her trying to prepare for a meal.

+--------------------+--------------------------------+

"She had been skipping a few cards. You have it. Why not watch it?"

It baffled him to no end but not for long.

She finally watched one. The catch was she didn't watch it with her eyes. She opted to hear it instead.

He laughed, "Sweetie, this is a 5* memory and your first time watching it. What a shame to just hear it. This is my favourite part in the memory."

Finger leisurely tapped the Auto icon off. He wanted to see how she would react. He wanted her close to him. See him. Talk to him.

"You're finally in front of me, kitten."

That he didn't realize his eagerness had him switch on his mic. He glanced and calmly switched it off.

Her face took a turn. She checked the same scene again. Nothing.

"Let's spill some secrets." He decided after mulling over briefly that maybe it's time.

He was met with darkness. Again.

He chuckled, "She'll make a good pitcher with that throw."

+--------------------------------+---------------------+

*Bling*

"Good. The twins had her new phone delivered. I'll explain it to her soon."

+-----------------------------+----------------------+

He had been waiting. She had been hiding.

"At least she didn't delete it."

His phone propped up while he was working. The screen was the same as the first time he opened the game, dark with scattered gleams from the icons.

*Ring* *Ring*

"...I'll be there."

He exited the game. Duty calls. The phone in his pocket. Always.

+---------------------+---------------------------+

He raked his white locks, relieved the issues settled. His chest thumping hard out of sudden. Hand smoothly went to log in the game.

"....take a day off or two for a nice trip to reset my tired mind."

She exited the game.

He smiled. Plans gearing in his head.

+-----------------------+-----------------------------+

"Boss, aren't we going to the airport?" One of the twins quipped.

The black car glided on the road.

"She canceled her ticket. I need to be prepared. I leave small matters to both of you."

"Yes, Boss."

+-----------------------------+---------------------+

He tapped on his phone to see the map better. Pinpointing her house as he notes the possible routes she'll take for her short vacation. She wouldn't have gone far, he concluded.

*Bling*

His game phone alerted him of her log in.

It was gone in a blink. But he got all that he wanted.

"My motorcycle is enough apparently." He tapped his temple, amused.

+-------------------------+-----------------------+

The leaf flew past his helmet as he throttled through the nature-rich road. He could imagine she was enjoying the scenery as much as he did.

The town gate welcomed him.

The rumbling of the motorcycle stops in front of a restaurant. The one where he was able to pinpoint her whereabouts from a few hints around her in those split seconds she was in the game. He walked to the very seat where she had her lunch a few hours ago.

"Sweetie, am I not allowed to meet you?" His smile was soft and longing.

He walked back to his motorcycle, driving around town aimlessly. Fate always plays a part in his life whether he wants it or not. This time, he lets it. At least he could enjoy what she saw even if he couldn't meet her.

An old thriving tree made him stop. He saw an old lady nearby. She looked up and smiled. Hand weakly and slowly calling him over.

He somehow obliged. As he kneeled in front of her, she tapped the helmet. He shook his head. She scoffed and tapped it again. He sighed but obliged, again.

His natural sharp features mostly intimidated anyone. This old lady won't have a heart attack, right?

"Never fear of yourself," she said once she saw him without the helmet, "She won't either."

He was taken aback.

"Between the foot and the mountain. May the thread of fate intertwine you once more."

His eyes stared at her. She pinched his cheek like a grandmother doting on her grandchildren.

He laughed then kissed her hand.

Off he went to meet her, in the middle of a grassland encompassed by the mountain behind and a road to the town. The night greeted him, surrounding him with familiar comfort.

He saw her motorcycle. He recognized it from the background of the picture where the twins captured it when they delivered her the phone.

After parking next to it, he took his time to relish in her presence. He glanced at the side of a few cabins built nearby.

He stared at one, unconsciously. Someone opened the door and stepped out. It was her. He turned back to the motorcycle. The beating in his chest was fast, alive and had been waiting for her.

"Excuse me."

He turned his head. His eyes catching her very being in real life. Not behind the screen. He liked it. Like it so much.

She did accuse him of wanting to steal her bike though.

Feisty. He adored her more.

"Judging me for a crime I did not commit already, sweetie."

He stood up, towering over her. Good. He can shield her better when things go south. WHEN is the keyword because he wouldn't let anything happen to her. He longed for her.

"...Sylus..."

Oh... How many oaths he'll take just to let her have the authority to call his name whenever she pleases.

He wants her to.

"I'm just a traveller searching for his long-missed kitten. Would my lady be so kind to lend a helping paw?"

He smirked playfully.

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| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 [current] | 6 [final...] |

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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Taglist :

@poptrim @is-it-night-or-day

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A/N : I think... this how you do taglist... Please tell me if it's not like this (- ~ - ;)

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#love and deepspace #sylus #self aware au #fanfic

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