#small hydraulic table

[denisemedzer02]

Orthopedic Operation Table 

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[kayewrite]

Like I Do

(i just wanna love you)

genre:; fluff, best friends to lovers. word count: 1864

jeongin x reader. college jeongin!. architect student Jeongin! (writing for him cause university jeongin is what i always dream of *sobs*0

wherein: you tried to stop you feelings for your best friend especially he has a girl.

College is something—

Something you don’t want to do but have to do.

Something hard to do, but you need to do it anyway because your future is in there.

You sigh for the third time as you look at the problem you need to solve for your hydraulics subject. You feel overwhelmed, so you decide to close your book and stand up. "This won’t do. I need caffeine."

You walk to the cafeteria, buy what you need, and sit at the nearest table when someone places a piece of bread in front of you.

"Hello. Miss me?" You sigh, then look at the man who sits across from you.

"I’d rather swim than see you," you joke because you hate swimming.

"Aww, I missed you too." He smiles, then takes your coffee and sips, leaving the cup half empty.

Jeongin has been your best friend since high school. Now in college, where you take different courses, you rarely see each other. He’s studying architecture, and you’re in civil engineering. Neither of you is in your dream course, but you took it anyway.

"How’s life?" he asks after you both rant about that one instructor you share—the one who doesn’t teach well but gives hard quizzes anyway.

"Better until I saw you."

He squints his eyes and rolls them. "I think you’ll see me more often. My girlfriend is in your department."

You stop sipping your drink at his words but then pretend it doesn’t affect you.

You’ve had a long-time crush on this best friend of yours. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s handsome and cute at the same time. He knows you better than anyone else in this world and is always there for you in hard times. Tell me, who wouldn’t?

But you tried to suppress it when you realized he’s a gentleman to everyone, not just you. He’s like that to anybody, and you’re not that special. Well, you are his best friend, but that doesn’t differ from how he treats his other female friends. He’s just that kind of potato to everybody.

"Who? Why didn’t you tell me?" You put on an upset face.

"Well, you’re busy. Every time I go there, I see you spacing out, so I can’t tell you."

"Well, that explains it." You try to act calm, but honestly, you’re just as hurt as if you were pricked by a tiny splinter that goes deeper into your skin until it swells. It hurts like hell, but you’re afraid to tell anyone—they might say you’re overreacting. It’s just a small wound.

"Are you angry?" Jeongin suddenly feels uneasy. He knows you well.

"Nothing. I’m just tired, but you drank my coffee, you prick."

He laughs in relief. "Don’t worry, I’ll buy you another." Then he stands up. You’re about to say it’s okay, but you feel too weak to do so and let him do what he wants.

He comes back with the same coffee and two cupcakes—your favorites: strawberry and chocolate.

"Here, our future engineer. Keep fighting!" He places them in front of you, cheering you up. You can’t help but smile. You seek comfort from him. You stay there until who knows when, talking and catching up until you run out of things to say.

You return to your study area, feeling like the burden you were carrying is now gone. You pick up your pen and answer your problems quietly.

-

You step out of your classroom, feeling happy. Your long quiz is finally finished. You’re not sure about your answers, but at least it’s done, and now you can rest!

"Ohoy there!"

You look toward the end of the hallway you’re walking down and see Jeongin with a tube slung over his back (probably his plates).

You smiled. "What are you doing here? Aren't you busy?"

"I was busy, but I need to look for my inspiration. Have you seen her?" Jeongin's eyes twinkled as he teased, but you knew he meant his girlfriend. The words made your heart sink, but you played along.

"She's inside taking the exam. You should be quiet and let her take it in peace," you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

Jeongin chuckled, leaning against the wall next to you. "How's the quiz? Did you ace it?"

"Finished, at least. Whether I aced it is a different story," you said with a small laugh. "But I'm just glad it's over."

"That's the spirit!" Jeongin gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow. "How about we celebrate? Let's go to that ramen shop we used to visit in high school. My treat."

The suggestion brought a rush of memories—late-night study sessions, bowls of steaming ramen, and laughter that echoed through the small, cozy shop. It was your place, your little refuge from the world. But now, the idea of going there with him, with her, made you hesitate.

You forced a smile and nodded. "Sure, sounds good."

Later that evening, the three of you sat around a familiar table at the ramen shop. The comforting aroma of broth filled the air, but the atmosphere was different, heavier.

Jeongin's girlfriend sat close to him, her arm looped through his as she leaned in, talking softly. You tried to focus on your ramen, stirring the noodles absentmindedly. Jeongin noticed and, without a word, pushed a small bowl toward you.

"I asked them to leave out the vegetables and tone down the spice," he said, his voice warm with familiarity. "Just how you like it."

"Thanks," you murmured, trying to ignore the way his girlfriend's eyes narrowed at the gesture.

Throughout the meal, she grew increasingly clingy, touching his arm, laughing louder at his jokes, as if marking her territory. You felt smaller with each passing second, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you.

"I need to go to the restroom," you suddenly announced, standing up before either of them could react. You needed air, needed space away from the suffocating tension.

In the restroom, you stared at your reflection, trying to compose yourself. But the tears came anyway, hot and uncontrollable. It was too much—pretending you were okay, pretending you could just be his friend when every moment with him reminded you of what you couldn't have.

You cried until you couldn't anymore, until the mirror showed a person you barely recognized, someone worn out from hiding too much. Wiping your eyes, you took a deep breath and made a decision. You needed to set boundaries, for your own sake. Jeongin had a girlfriend, and you had to let go of the feelings that were tearing you apart.

The next few days were hard. You avoided Jeongin, making excuses whenever he tried to hang out. You buried yourself in your studies, in anything that could distract you from the ache in your chest. But Jeongin noticed. Of course, he did.

One day, he cornered you outside your classroom, his expression serious. "You've been avoiding me."

You sighed, unable to meet his eyes. "I’ve just been busy, Jeongin. You know how it is."

"Bullshit," he said, his voice unusually sharp. "You’re not just busy. Something’s wrong, and you’re not telling me."

"Why does it matter?" you snapped, finally looking at him. "You have a girlfriend now. Go focus on her."

Jeongin blinked, taken aback by your sudden outburst. "Is that what this is about? You think I don’t care about you just because I’m dating someone?"

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill again. "No, it’s not that. It’s just… I need space, okay? I need to figure things out."

"Figure what out?" His voice softened, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to you.

You stepped back, shaking your head again. "I can’t do this, Jeongin. I can’t keep pretending that I’m fine when I’m not."

The silence between you was deafening. He looked at you, his brows furrowed in confusion, and maybe something else. You didn’t wait for him to say anything else. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, alone and confused.

Days turned into weeks, and the distance between you and Jeongin grew. You tried to move on, focusing on your studies and pushing your feelings aside. But every time you saw him, your heart ached, a constant reminder of what you’d lost—not just the chance to be with him, but the friendship you had cherished.

Jeongin, on the other hand, became more and more withdrawn. His girlfriend noticed, of course, and their relationship began to strain under the weight of his unresolved feelings. He missed you, more than he thought possible, and the longer he went without seeing you, the more he realized something that terrified him.

He liked you. He always had, but he had been too blind to see it, too caught up in the idea of finding the perfect girl that he overlooked the one who had been there all along. The one who knew him better than anyone, who made him laugh, who made him feel at home.

And now, he was losing you.

It was a rainy afternoon when Jeongin finally found you in the library, your nose buried in a textbook. You didn’t notice him at first, too engrossed in your reading. But when he sat down across from you, you looked up, surprised.

"Jeongin, what are you—"

"I broke up with her," he blurted out, cutting you off. His eyes were intense, filled with a determination that you hadn’t seen before.

You blinked, taken aback. "What? Why?"

"Because she’s not you," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Because I’ve been looking for something, someone, who was right in front of me the whole time. And I was too stupid to see it."

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of hope and fear swirling inside you. "Jeongin, you don’t know what you’re saying…"

"I do," he insisted, leaning forward. "I know exactly what I’m saying. I like you. I like you so much that it hurts, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you because I was too scared to admit it."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of joy. You had been holding onto this hope for so long, and now, it was finally happening.

"I like you too," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Jeongin smiled, that familiar, boyish smile that you had fallen for all those years ago. "So, what do you say? Should we give this a shot?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. He reached out, taking your hand in his, and just like that, the distance that had grown between you disappeared. It wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

[bonny-kookoo]

I haven’t seen enough people talking about Unstable! I loved the first chapter, and I’m sooo looking forward to the next and seeing where it goes! I would love any Drabble/chapter about what happens next! • ㅅ •

♡ -> Masterlist

"Human." His voice calls out from the speaker in your tiny cell, and you open your eyes, no other visible reaction given though. "Your vitals are all over the place. What's going on?" He demands to know, and you shrug, hugging the bunched up blanket tighter between your arms and legs.

"Got my period, what else." You huff to yourself.

"You need to speak louder." He s put almost annoyed, and you turn your head towards the small screen giving you a live feed of the control room of his spaceship, where he's sitting on his chair, arms crossed and one leg over the other. "So?"

"I said, I'm on my period!" You bark out, making him nod after a moment in realization.

"Interesting." He simply says to himself. "I'll bring you some water and food later." He shortly tells you, before the feed is brought offline again, leaving you in silence.

Apart from your obvious prisoner-situation and his rather sour attitude, it's not all that bad on his ship. It's warm, you've got a bed, water and food, a small bathroom- definitely better than on earth.

You're just.. a little lonely, that's all.

The hydraulics of the door hisses as he enters, placing a bottle of water and a pack of.. something edible on a small table close by. You're not turning around, more or less waiting for him to leave-

But he doesn't.

"How bad are you, from 1 to 10." He says, and you shrug.

"...like a 7½.." you mumble, closing your eyes again. "..thanks for the water. N' food." You slur, trying to fall asleep again, when you hear the only small chair scrape over the floor a little, as he sits down in the corner of your room. "Huh?" You wonder, now looking at him as he watches you with crossed arms.

"You have yet to complain over your treatment." He says defensively, and you shrug, letting yourself fall back down on the mattress on the floor.

"Nothing to complain about." You answer.

"Earth is attempting to implement more strict regulations on intergalactic traveling for humans. Meaning that you, right now-" he says, leaning back in his seat, "-are legally in a loophole, since the laws changed while you were absent." He informs you. You shrug again. "-I can bring you back by early next.. summer, it would be on earth."

"Hm. Just drop me off the next stop or something." You say.

"My next stop is Etis." He informs you with a serious face.

"So?" You ask, and he clicks his tongue.

"So?" He scoffs, imitating you. "Etis has banned human travel since earth refused to send them any weaponry during the last war with Veon." He tells you with an irritated face. "If I drop you off, you'll be dead the moment I leave."

"Cool." You just answer, turning around to face away from him.

He sighs.

"What am I gonna do with you.." he mumbles mostly to himself as he gets up to walk out, door hissing as it opens and closes, signaling you that he finally left. If he drops you off at Etis, sure, you'll be probably eaten as soon as they get their hands on you- but then again, it's your fault you fucked up this bad anyways.

A fitting end, maybe.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Crossover Shenanigans: Korrasami and Supercorp

Korra and Asami stand in front of a strange purple portal. Korra: You know, I'm a little relieved I'm not the reason for this portal for once. Asami: True. Mako: I don't think it's safe to mess with it. Maybe stay here? Asami: How will we be able to determine where it goes? The best way to test a hypothesis is through an experiment. *proceeds to tie the rope around her and Korra's waist and then spools it around hte pulley-crank system she's built. It's several hundred meters of rope* So all you two have to do is keep an eye on this. If the rope is tugged three times, then crank us back. Bolin: *digs into his bag of cookies* Easy enough. Mako: *sighs dramatically* Don't yell at me when this goes badly! Korra gives him a thumbs up, takes Asami's hand, and enters the violet portal. A brief moment of weird stomach-churning nausea hits them, and then they enter a large white room. Two people stand behind a counter with strange devices that Korra and Asami have never seen before. Asami: Wow. That looks like a fancy typewriter. *Points to the keyboard with a strange square attached to it, that looks like a very thin mover screen.* Brunette-and-very-pretty-woman: Who the hell are you two? Korra: Hey! That's not very nice! We're explorers. Investigating the new portal. I'm Avatar Korra. *jerks her thumb at Asami* and this is my super awesome girlfriend Asami Sato. Asami: *blushes* Do you have to introduce me like that every time? Tall-muscular-blonde: Oh, hey! Great to meet you! I'm Kara Danvers, and this is Lena Luthor! *grins and holds out her hand* Asami stares at it for a long moment. Korra rolls her eyes and shakes Kara's hand. Asami bows instead. Lena: Okay, so nice to meet you, now go back through so I can shut this down... Asami: Wait, you made this? How did you make it so small? When Korra made a spirit portal, she energybended a massive explosion, which ripped open the fabric of reality... Lena: What is energybending? Asami: Oh, it's something only the Avatar can do. She manipulates energy in people or the environment. Lena: So she manipulated a massive explosion to create a portal? That seems a very destructive way. *gestures to the portal behind Asami* I built this using Nth metal, magnetic coils, and... Asami: *whips out a notebook from her jacket* What is Nth Metal? And magnetic coils? That's actually a brilliant idea. I've been experimenting with those lately. . .

Kara and Korra watch as the pair dive into an intense conversation about electromagnetics and engineering.

Korra: Yup, that's Asami there. My girlfriend.

Kara: Yup. That's Lena. My girlfriend.

Korra: Huh. So what can you do? I can bend all four elements and metal! *shows off by waterbending the water from Lena's glass, then uses airbending to boost herself upward briefly, and bends stone around the room* Lena: Would you please put my water back in its glass? Asami: It could short-circuit the electronics. Korra: Whoops. *Drops water carefully into glass but then bends the metal bar that's lying on the table into a knot*

Kara: Okay, but that was really awesome. So, as Supergirl, I can do this. *Flies into the air, shoots lasers from her eyes, then lifts up half the lab with one arm.* Lena: Kara, please, if you're showing off, do it away from the portal. *turns back to Asami* So you're saying, you build a powered suit using pistons, hydraulics, and platinum? Are you sure its platinum? Because the hardness and tensile strength you described sounds like titanium to me. Asami: You know, maybe that's what it's called here. Let me show you. *proceeds to draw the chemistry diagram for the metal*

Lena: Fascinating. That's definitely titanium.

Korra: I bet I can beat you in a fight.

Kara: No way. I could beat you.

Lena and Asami: If you're going to fight, take it outside please.

Lena: I'm also filming it. *Reaches over and picks up a round ball and then proceeds to type something into her keyboard. Asami watches fascinated as the ball rises into the air and follows Kara out of the room and onto the porch area of the lab* Asami: Was that a tiny mech? Lena: Robot. Asami: Wait, so what powers it? I've struggled with decreasing the size of batteries due to... Korra unhooks herself, cracks her knuckles, and follows Kara outside. MEANWHILE IN AVATAR-VERSE: Mako: Why did the rope go slack?

Bolin: OH NOES. Do you think they got eaten?

Mako: Bo, by what? *his eyes widen* Oh no, they could really be in trouble then.

Bolin: We go to save them! But we need someone to man the ropes for us.

Mako: Let me radio Jinora. *picks up the portal radio* Jinora? Can you send some help to the new portal?

Opal and Jinora soon join them. They agree to man the ropes while Mako and Bolin head into the portal. MEANWHILE ON EARTH-38:

Mako and Bolin exit the portal and stare in shock at Asami standing by a brunette, while Korra and Kara battle outside. The walls are transparent, and the fight is intense.

Bolin: Asami! We're here to save you! *puts up his fists*

Asami: Wait what? No! Korra and I are fine.

Lena: Who the hell are you two?

Mako: So you're not about to be poisoned or something? *has fire blades ready in his hands*

Asami: NO! Lena here was chatting with me about the technology here. Korra is just sparring with Kara. Lena, that's Bolin and Mako, our friends.

Bolin: Oh. Do you have any snacks? Because I got to see this.

Mako: *sighs* whatever.

Lena: *grumbling but opens snack cabinet and tosses food at Bolin* I hope no one else comes through. I still need to calibrate... Asami: For the calibrations, do you have to manually type commands? Lena: Actually, no, I write code for that. Asami: TEACH ME.

Mako and Bolin sit down with their snacks to watch the increasingly intense fight. Korra has all four elements and is in Avatar state while flying in the air. Kara is blocking all the attacks using invulnerability and trying to get close enough to do a right hook.

After several minutes, Jinora and Opal rush through the portal.

Jinora: Are you all okay?

Opal: Woah, nice place.

Lena: What the fuck is with you people?? Go home! I can't turn off the portal with y'all here!

Bolin: Can't! Got to see who wins!

Jinora: I apologize for the intrusion! I'm Jinora and this is Opal. We were worried about the brothers.

Asami: Here's some snacks. Korra is battling Kara to see who is stronger. *gestures to the windows* I think it's an even match so far.

Lena: *scoffs* Kara is obviously winning. She's invulnerable to all of Korra's attacks. She also has the ability to fly, and her laser vision can easily incinerate most of what Korra fires at her.

Asami: *laughs* So? Korra's ability to dodge with airbending keeps her a moving target. Kara has yet to land a punch. Also, the fire blasts, ice daggers, and stone spikes keep her on the defensive.

The pair fall into an argument into the science of their girlfriends' powers and how they may work scientifically. The argument ends up so heated that Lena finally throws up her hands in defeat.

Lena: FINE. Let's find out who wins then?

Asami: FINE. More snacks are needed though. Bolin eats enough for three, I swear.

Lena grumbles under her breath about insatiable eaters, while she makes popcorn for all of them instead using her bunsen burners.

Alex, Kelly, Brainy, and Nia burst into Lena's lab.

Alex: Are you okay? We heard about the invasion!

Asami: Invasion? We're just visiting.

Lena: Don't interfere! This is important research.

Alex: Who the hell are these people? *gestures to the Avatar-verse people*

Mako: Who the spirits are you? *jumps to his feet with his fire blades ready*

Bolin: We need more popcorn! *waves an empty bowl*

Nia: Did you say popcorn? Yesss. You're my new friend.

Opal: So you're all friends of Lena? *Opens snack cabinet and ignores Lena's glare at her touching Lena's things. Takes out snacks and tosses them at Jinora who hands them to the others*

Kelly: Yes. Don't tell me, she had an accident in the lab?

Lena: Not an accident! I might have unintentionally created a bridge to another multiverse that is directly parallel to ours per M-brane theory --

Asami: M-brane theory? Spirits, we're way behind. We just figured out quantum entanglement exists and how to build planes. Tell me all about M-brane theory please.

Brainy: I posit that if you tell her that could alter the trajectory of their world with dangerous consequences--

Lena and Asami: Shut up Brainy!

Bolin hands out more popcorn for the now TWO shows: Kara and Korra fighting still -- the fight has gotten more and more intense with no sign of either being able to land a significant blow on the other. On the other hand, Asami and Lena fall into an intense argument about physics, which is interspersed with yells at Brainy to stop interrupting them.

Brainy: Sharing this with a person of lesser technology may interfere with the time modality of their multiverse --

Lena: Brainy, if you don't shut up, I'm kicking you out!

Asami: It's not like I'm going to completely rebuild the entirety of all engineering in my world. I mean, I could, I am rich, and you know, that would be a fun project...

Lena: Ah, shaping society through money and technology. Sounds like me... *she trails off and stares at Asami*

Asami: Oh my spirits

Lena: Oh my god

Asami and Lena: ARE WE THE SAME PERSON?

Bolin: *throws popcorn into his mouth* Yup.

Nia: And those two fighting are probably the same person too.

Brainy: I calculate that the probability of two identical people from alternate universes could disrupt the time continuum-- Everyone but Nia: SHUT UP BRAINY.

Nia: *shoves a beer into his hands and pulls him down next to her* Shush, just enjoy the show.

THE END... FOR NOW?

[fakegingerrights]

A Little Support

[Wrecker x Medic!reader, warnings for mentions of medical issues, other than that just fluff! Oh, established situationship, kinda, nothing too lovey dovey. I write with a female reader in mind but try and keep it gender neutral so tell me if I mess up.]

“Hunterrrrr.” You smiled slightly as you hear Wrecker’s groan from the hall. Hunter had called earlier, said he wanted you to look Wrecker over. The bad batch had no real medic, so finding proper care was hard.

“C’mon big guy, they’re your favorite.” You snorted quietly at Hunter’s coaxing tone. “You were so sore after this last mission you could hardly lift your arms. They’re just gonna check and make sure you haven’t pulled anything.”

Wrecker huffed, and rolled your eyes. Pressing a button on the desk you opened the door to your small private workspace. Wrecker jumped a little at the suddenness, but Hunter just rolled his eyes.

“You boys gonna sit out there arguing all day or come in.” You sass, standing up and walking over to the exam table crammed into a corner, unrolling a fresh layer of tissue paper on top. Hunter patted Wrecker’s shoulder.

“Go on, Wrecker. I’ve got some paperwork to finish.” He started to walk away, leaving a slightly bewildered Wrecker.

“You’re not staying?” He called at Hunter’s back. You chuckled, fussing with a drawer full of instruments.

“Oh come on, Wreck, I don’t bite.” You smiled innocently at him.

“No… you stab though.” He mumbled, walking over to the exam table and flopping down with a grunt, wincing a little and not even trying to hide it. “Tech’s gotten enough sedatives to know that.”

“No needles today, promise.” You march up to him and fold your arms. “Stiffness in your shoulders, huh?”

Wrecker nods. “Just a little bit though. It’s been worse. Long necks always brushed it off so I do too for th’ most part.” You frown a little. Kaminoans brushing something off? Especially a long term injury?

“Armor off, top half only.” You think, trying to remember if you knew where they were coming back from. “Blacks too, if you’re comfortable.”

Your frown deepened as he rolled down the top half of his blacks. Bruises and scrapes were dusted across his back, stretching all the way down to the bottom of his ribcage. His armor had taken the most of it, but it looked like he had been thrown pretty hard against something.

“Maker, Wreck! What happened? Did you have Tech look you over?” You asked, instantly grabbing a tube of bacta gel from the cabinet behind him.

“Wall was in my way. Tech said it wasn’t bad, just a deep… fancy word for bruising that starts with C.”

“Contusion?” You supply, pulling latex gloves on before you began applying the bacta to the worst of the bruising.

“That’s the word.”

You kicked the bottom drawer out off the table, the drawer being sealed off to make a step so you could reach his shoulders. “How long have you had soreness like this? Your shoulders are really inflamed.”

“Uh, always?” He sounded confused. “Tech said it was probably ‘cause of my size.”

You nodded, not that he could see it. “Does wearing your armor help?”

“Kinda, with m’back.” He rolled his shoulders as you finished, and a small part of you took a moment to appreciate the slow ripple of muscle. Wrecker’s good eye lit up as he noticed you staring and he winked with his bad one. You just rolled your eyes fondly.

“I’m gonna try some stuff, wear it for tonight and tomorrow, ok? I’m gonna see if I can wrap your shoulders and back, since I doubt we carry a brace in your size.” You grabbed a roll of kinesiology tape from yet another drawer, a couple different kinds after a moment of considering. “Got all different colors and everything.”

“What’s it gonna do?” He looked at the different rolls.

“It’s… hmm. You know the hydraulics under the ramp of your ship?” You ask. He nods.

“Yeah, Tech’s had me lift the ramp when he fixes ‘em.”

“Ok. Think of those hydraulics as your muscles, and the ramp hinge as the joint. Without the hydraulics working, the ramp breaks, right?” Wrecker takes a moment to think about this for nodding.

“Yeah. This last mission it broke while Cross was usin’ it as a ledge to line a shot up off of and it almost dumped him into a canyon!” Wrecker laughed. You chuckled as well, while also making a mental note to drag Crosshair in by the backplate if need be.

Wrecker seemed pleased at getting to laugh nonetheless. You tapped the rolls of tape. “Right, like the ramp then. These help your muscles along a bit, so there isn’t as much strain on the hinges, your joints. It also is good for taking the strain off in general.”

Wrecker nods, following along. “They go on my skin? And stay there?”

“A couple days if you can keep yourself from tearing them off.” You supplied. “Ok, scoot. I gotta sit behind you to do this. Wrecker slid to the edge of the table and you climbed up behind him, grunting as you kicked off the ground to hoist yourself up. The bench height table for Wrecker came almost up to your ribs.

He held still as you took the backing off a piece of tape and pressed it to his shoulder, stretching it as you pressed it down until it was fully on before rubbing it to seal it in place. Wrecker’s skin practically radiated heat as you worked, forcing you to push away the urge to just press yourself against him and doze. It had been a long day.

Wrecker was quiet as you worked, a tension you hadn’t noticed seeping out of him as he slowly relaxed into your touch as you worked your way down his back with the kinesiology tape. You added a second layer on his lower back to help the strain on the muscles there before going back up to his neck one last time to double check everything, smoothing a hand down the patchwork of brightly colored tape.

“Ok, how does that feel?” You asked, sitting back a bit. You couldn’t see his face but Wrecker seemed to pout a bit at the loss of contact. He stood up and stretched, several joints cracking as he rolled his shoulders.

“Kinda weird.” He grunts. You snort.

“Yeah, it will. That’s just temporary until we can get you proper braces.” You smile softly and pass him the top of his blacks. He pulls it on, giving you one last chance to discretely admire the amount of work the kaminoans put into him even if they are heartless sleemos who screwed up a perfectly good man in their desperation for a perfect specimen.

Wrecker pulled his head out through the top and you looked away, flushing slightly and clearing your throat. “Is that everything, trooper? Not gonna pull a Crosshair and try and hide injuries from me?” You tease as he tucks his stack of armor plates under his arm.

“Hah, we might have to drag you back to the barracks t’ look at him.” He shot right back.

“I can make a house call later.” You begin collecting your mess of flimsi and datachips from your desk. You were surprised when scarred hands helped you with the mess, pushing the pile into a neat stack and dropping them on the desk to even it out before handing it to you. It was hard to tell on his dark skin, but his ears were looking a little red.

“And if I want you down there in case I mess the tape up?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“Wrecker, are you trying to take me home for the night.” You lean forward on your desk, watching as his eyes go wide and his entire face goes red as he tries to explain himself. “Relax, I knew what you meant.”

You knock your hip against his as you pass, taking the flimsi stack. You bounce right off, but Wrecker still seems a little stunned.

“I’m gonna change and grab dinner for us, ok? After all, Crosshair probably needs to be checked after he nearly fell down a cliff.” You were playing coy and you knew it, but Wrecker still lit up like a kid remembering their birthday was tomorrow. You watched in amusement as he fistpumped the air in celebration before realizing you were watching him.

“Oh. Uh, I’ll see you soon?”

“Sure, Wreck. See you soon.”

[hrodvitnon]

Okay, I need to calm down... so I've been working on another SIGNALIS fic, this one considerably lighter in tone than Ne Cede Malis, in which Ariane has art block and seeks to fix that by sketching Elster. Gay Panic ensues. But before that Gay Panic, there is...

---

Well, why not?  It's not as if they've probably broken a dozen extremely specific rules by this point in the voyage.  Elster holds out one hardtack.  Ariane scrutinizes the cracker-like foodstuff, leans in to sniff at it as if that will make it more palatable, and gingerly presses her teeth into it.  What little flavor she gets on her tongue is a whole lot of... nothing.

"Harder," Elster instructs with an amused lilt in her voice.

Ariane applies more pressure, but Elster wasn't kidding about tooth strength – do Replikas have hydraulic jaws just to crack these things apart?

"Do you require assistance, Officer Yeong?"

Ariane shoots her a look that says, Yes, and would you kindly please not take so much enjoyment out of this?  Elster cracks a smile, her fingers snapping the infernal thing with a loud crack so that Ariane can be left with a much smaller and more manageable piece.  It's rather funny seeing how the officer's face scrunches with every audible crunch as she meticulously works through the aggressively dry hardtack.

"Not to your taste?" Elster surmises.

Somehow, Ariane reduces it into small enough pieces to swallow without choking her.  "I wasn't aware that clinical depression came in cracker form."

Elster makes a chuffing noise, Ariane taking a spoonful of oatmeal to wash the nonexistent taste out of her mouth.

"It's not that bad."

"We could use that stuff to repair a damaged hull!"

"Yes, but then what would I eat?"

Ariane slides the bowl to stand between her and Elster, scoops up some oatmeal in her spoon and holds it up in offering.  Elster doesn't plan to start diving into the Gestalt rations just to get away from panzerplatten for a cycle or two, but Ariane isn't the sort to back down from an offer and she has to admit, the idea of tasting actual food is tempting.  Elster leans in and opens her mouth, tongue extending to catch a bit of oats and fruit about to drip down from the spoon.  There's a silent hitch in Ariane's breath as she watches this.

And then her cheeks flush the instant Elster's lips make contact with the spoon.

Elster's lips just touched her spoon.

The same spoon she needs to finish her breakfast with.

Schoolgirl giggling from Mandelbrot Polytechnical echoes in the chambers of her memory, of popular girls at a crowded lunch table gossiping over So-And-So getting an indirect kiss from Such-And-Such.  Ariane has never been kissed before, directly or otherwise.  Her only experience with it had been the maternal affections of her mother pressing a peck to her brow or on her cheek.  At the time, Ariane pretended it didn't bother her because why make a big deal out of some spit when she had more pressing concerns, like not getting jumped by a gang of upperclassmen when Erika wasn't around to protect her?  Nobody liked the creepy ghost girl from Leng anyway.  Boys didn't draw her eye and girls were pretty but insidiously cruel.  Such things were locked away in the realm of impossibilities.

But now here Ariane is, and Elster's lips and tongue have touched her spoon.

Meanwhile, Elster is blissfully unaware of the fact that she just caused Ariane's brain to shift gears without a clutch.

[weepylucifer]

Esprit de Corps and Inland Empire >:)))

inland empire: if video game Disco Elysium was put in a hydraulic press. if it was bundled and squeezed into a small object that fit in the palm of your hand. what would that look like? what would you do with it, then?

it'd look like a cubical object in scintillating metallic colors and patterns, and images of the locations and characters shimmering across the surface. i would use it as a fidget toy and have it in my hands whenever i need something to occupy them while i read kapital. i would also take it in my mouth

esprit de corps: what are your feelings about the RCM?

oh boy deep breath. under cut because it got long

The RCM is a glorified neighborhood watch. The RCM is old communists trying to trick the Moralintern into letting them stay organized. The RCM are pigs and bastards and bootlickers. The RCM has failed its purpose. The RCM is working exactly as designed. The RCM are trying to protect citizens. The RCM are actively ruining lives. The RCM are gonna back the revolution. The RCM are gonna squash the revolution. No one trusts the RCM and they are right not to. The RCM are doing what they can with what they have. The RCM are just another gang in a city of gangs. The RCM are a sworn brotherhood. The RCM are a vile, toxic, soul-sucking tar pit of a workplace. The RCM are a bunch of delusional weirdos clinging to a figment of legitimacy and “law” that was handed to them by the oppressors. The RCM come from the people. It’s wild out here

The thing about them is that i can absolutely see the in-universe "RCM = ICM + 4 decades of time" theory being true. I can absolutely believe that people in there, like Pryce, are trying to organize another push for independence, and maybe even communism. But the thing is, most people have forgotten all about this, and there are no communards in the RCM anymore (even Pryce is the son of the original Pryce). So by now they're pretty much just the police, not much more to it. They've recruited anyone off the street, which means they've recruited a ton of people with the Cop Mindset, who were drawn to the opportunity to play around with guns and exert authority over defenseless civilians. When the Return comes, the RCM will collapse like a poorly made soufflé, and i do not doubt that we would have seen that in a sequel if there'd been one. There would have been a split into the "serve the people by joining the uprising" camp and the "keep being cops by enforcing moralintern law and suppressing the uprising" camp, and the former would be in for some interesting times

in coup attempts, it can be beneficial to have (para-)military on-side, because they're many, they're armed, and they're trained for combat, and you'd probably prefer them with you than shooting at you. but the people hate the RCM, and the unions hate the RCM, and there are good reasons for that, so for many it would be unacceptable to have cops at the table. plus, from what we've seen of Precinct 41, you do NOT want those bozos in charge of ANYTHING, and you do NOT want a Return that just ends up enforcing police rule. what Pryce and whoever people he has would do when confronted with that, it would remain to be seen

[spikezonebby]

Can I request a song fic? TFP Shockwave with a human fem reader, Monster by Starset. Genre: your choice really. Song lends itself well to several things depending on how you want to play it (angst, comfort, romance).  

Monster - TFP!Shockwave/Human!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,849

Shockwave could not think of a single instance where he would ever describe a human as truly capable. However, their application of energon-based tech was getting close. Energon crackles through what would normally be frail fiber optic cables surrounding him, turning into truly formidable bonds.

The cables wind around his back, anchoring him by the neck into an arch with his hips tilted forward to hold his balance. More cables bound up his thighs to his calves, leaving the struts tight and close, without a single millimeter of give. And the final pièce de résistance was, of course, his hand and his canon folded tight against the small of his back, forcing his chassis up and flat. LIke a massive heaving table, imbobile and exposed.

They even unhooked the latching cord of his canon, letting it lay limp and useless on the ground next to him. 

There’s a click, and then a whoosh of doors opening somewhere in front of him that he couldn’t see. But he knew the sound of your steps.

“Good morning, Doctor Shockwave.” You greet him in the same blasie manner you had a hundred times before. Complete with the strained whirl of hydraulics. The mechanical arm of the traction belt lift fashioned in the center of the room beside him came to life.

He says your name, complete with title of doctor yourself, as a simple and even acknowledgement that you were in the room. Ire burned in his chassis but he learned long ago that his imprisonment here was not your specific doing. No, you were just the pair of hands tasked with studying him. You were accompanied by two other human guards, dressed to the nines in carbon fiber and armed with prods, also powered with energon. 

“Where do you find all of the energon to power your contraptions?”

You make a soft hum, then finally he can see you out of the corner of his optic. The lift rises up level with his chassis, and there, you pull sterile medical gloves with a quick latex snap. 

“Doctor, you know I cannot answer that. You’re smart enough to figure it out anyways.”

It was your simple way of saying that his hypothesis was probably close. Cybertronians weren’t the only ones capable of harvesting the powerful blue crystals.

“Hmph. How disappointing. Normally you at least appease me with some mildly stimulating conversation while you poke around in my spark chamber.”

“Well, I have received some very disappointing news today.” You begin, and he feels the itching sting of your fingers dragging over the access ports over the side of his neck, then plug in an alien line that feeds prompts directly into his processor. No matter how many times he tries to deny the incoming commands, his HUD view floods with them again. He knows what you want, but Shockwave wasn’t known to be an easy subject to study.

Even for you, she who had worked her dexterous fingers into circuits countless times before. Violated the sanctuary of his body. Painless as your examinations had been, they still left him with no less ire and humiliation. 

He shuts down another dozen prompts, you simply send them again.

“I hardly care for your turmoil.” He hisses. You don’t seem surprised.

“I thought you would be interested, since it involves you.”

Shockwave curses when his surprise gives you a window to bypass his consent commands, flicking his chassis plating open and exposing the outer covering of his spark chamber. With the glass pane coverage and purple plating dripped down, the roiling magenta and cobalt shades shone through the glass outer covering. Not fully exposed yet, but getting there, slowly. 

Like the world's slowest and least sexy strip tease.

“What, has opening me up like a toy and playing with my internals not yielding fascinating enough answers for you?”

“I’m afraid not.” You agree, gravely, and he’s surprised yet again that you’re not sending more codes to open him up further like he’s some kind of clam and his spark a pearl. Instead, he’s able to barely turn his helm enough to watch as you take something out of your coat. 

The housing of his spark itself didn’t carry any sensors, but he could feel the proximity of you close enough to his essence. He can feel the energon cables biting into his throat as he tries to look down. There’s pressure and something heavy laid atop it. Then the cable is yanked from his port and he instinctively snaps his plating back over.

…What had you affixed to him?

“You see, something has become very clear to me. The work I do here is unappreciated.”

There’s an electric pulse over his spark, like a pacemaker buzzing tight and hard against him and forcing his spark to echo back the electricity. It momentarily steals the breath from his vents. The guards behind you seem confused, their grip tightening on their prods.

“My work is being stolen from me beneath my nose and my name erased from it. I didn’t start working for Silas so I could build weapons. I wanted change. Real change that having power and knowledge brought.”

That’s when he notices the heavy welding glove you pulled on over your dominant hand. It slides up over his neck, hooking under the edge of the energon cables with something cool and sharp he didn’t remember seeing you pick up. A human-sized scalpel.

You lean over him, rising up above his view, your reflection cast in the glowing red glass of his single optic. 

“Why build a weapon when the perfect one already exists right here?”

“Hey! What are you doing?” One of the guards finally cries in outrage, snagging you by the back of your coat. They haul you away from him with an outraged shriek– his spark pulses again with painful electricity that he doesn’t understand– and ripping the barrier of your glove out of place from the scalpel against his neck.

Energon electricity crackles against the scalpel, defusing it and sending energy rippling through Shockwave’s body with a roar. His entire body tenses, snapping delicate unpowered fiber optic in the brief nanoseconds between waves of power. He snarls, flexing his shoulders and snapping the cables off of him in a storm of crackling wires.

In a cloud of fried wires and nostril-burning smoke, the guards scream and call for help, damning your name. The crazy scientist! The mad doctor finally lost her marbles! Shockwave can feel his tanks churning as aftershocks of pain make his protoform and artificial muscles cramp.

“CALL THE BREAKOUT TEAM! CODE PURPLE! I REPEAT: CODE PURPLE!”

“Quiet, you!” Shockwave hears you hiss, the crackling of an energon prod ripping through the air. Your silhouette fights through the smoke, ripping a prod from one of the guard’s hands by the mace head before you turn it back on the guard and smash them across the head with it.

Shockwave finds the end of his power cable and jams it back into his gun with a satisfying click then low whirrrrrr that has the whole room going silent. A jolt of electricity jostles his spark again and a half-charged bolt of pure blaster energy crashes into the ceiling, carving through alloy and wires, drywall and fiberglass insulation, like it’s paper.

When the smoke clears, Shockwave cycles his vents against and again, trying to dismiss the overloading heat and pain. His struts quiver and he catches himself on the hydraulic lift. Finally tall enough to rise above it, the vents along his ribs draw in another breath of stuffy air that does little to clear his processor.

And then he sees you. Stumbled back over the lift’s safety rails with an energon prod clasped in your gloved hand and an unconscious guard laid out behind on the ground down below where you’d thrown them. 

“Doctor.” Shockwave says, as he lifts his cannon level with your whole little body. “I must commend you. Letting your test subject destroy the facility that used you does seem like fitting revenge.”

“Not so fast, Shockwave.” You pant, hooking a finger in the collar of your shirt, “Did you really think I’d set the monster free without a backup plan?”

Then you pull it down, revealing a heart monitor strapped over your chest. As you take careful, measured breaths your heart rate slows and the dull thrum against his spark does too. Shockwave’s grip on the lift tightens, bending the metal beneath his fingers like a dry leaf.

“...A dead man’s switch.”

“Not exactly, but close enough.” You say, leaving him with more rage-induced questions than answers. “You know the drill. It can’t be removed unless it’s bypassed, and if my heart rate drops to zero…”

“The only thing that could kill me that close range without being directly on my spark… would be an EMP pulse.”

“Bingo. Now, let’s strike a deal.” You push yourself up fully, finding your pace and your footing before your legs can turn to jelly. “I set you free, so you get us both out of here. Because if you leave me here, I’ll just remotely set off the pulse.”

“It’s not much of a deal if I’m not getting anything extra out of it.” He says, his cannon still shoved in your face. But your heart rate stays the same. You weren’t scared of him. No.

You had him right in the palm of your hand.

“You’re not dead and you’re not tied down. That’s what you get out of this.”

“...And I get to be your monster. Rampaging through the remains of MECH, tearing through your colleagues.”

A smirk crosses your lips, and he wants to blast you just to wipe it off your face. It might even be worth dying, if it wasn’t completely illogical.

“When you put it like that, it almost sounds like you’re getting some stress relief out of it too.” You chuckle, and then… you’re offering him your hand. Your tiny, human hand that he could crush without a second thought. Yet it was those hands that outsmarted him, bound him up, tied him to you by blood and energon.

It was clever. He hated it. He hated you. He wanted you dead. It was commendable.

“That is… logical.” He admits, begrudgingly. “But mark my words, Doctor…”

Shockwave feels another pulse of electricity rattle his spark and make it skip as he lifts his cannon to the wall behind you. Then he lets loose a blast of sheer power that blows a hole in the wall behind you, hitting you with a wave of heat that billows your hair and your coat.

“I will find a way to remove it. Then I will kill you. For now,” He drops his cannon and turns his attention instead to the newly blown hole in the wall. “We have a deal.”

Your heart monitor buzzes, breath leaving you in a single punched out wheeze. For now, you had the tyrant in a new kind of chain. For now long, you didn’t know.

But it would be long enough.

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson: The Engineer's thumb

Part 2; The fun bits

A good part of the deduction in this case rests on this horse and carriage trick: between the inconsistency between Hatherly's calculations of about twelve miles, and Stark giving the distance as seven, we have the absolutely fresh horse. It must be clear quite early to Holmes that the carriage ride is a decoy, since Hatherly clearly got himself back to the train station despite his severe injury.

Hatherly notes the "absolute stillness" which he takes to mean that they're in the country. Not knowing much about the English countryside, I take it as a city boy not knowing that the sounds of nature at night can be fucking loud, and that the stillness he hears is a lack of the normal amount of people that would live in a country or small town house, because it's abandoned.

Based on the german-speaking woman's words, I am fairly certain that killing Hatherly was always the fall back plan. An orphaned bachelor with a failing consulting business would not be missed for potentially several days, at which point it could be extremely difficult to track him to Eyford. The carriage chicanery points to Stark and his partner initially planning to leave Hatherly alive, at least temporarily, but murder was always on the table.

The "chinchilla" beard is probably not a specific hair style, but just a tufty or scraggly beard.

The hydraulic press being built into a room, and the fact that neither Stark nor his partner thought of checking the gaskets, suggests to me that they likely had someone who knew more about presses involved in this forging operation when they started out. I wonder what happened to him?

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @elsie-writes!

Find the Word Tag

My words: cup, desk, sparkle, calm, hundred

Your words: ground, convert, circle, link

Pulled from MG book 2 ;)

.

"A cursed weapon, huh...," the woman breathed.

"Oh, the Garell boy's curse is actin' up again!" Elwe piped up. "I was supposed to tell you when ya got in."

Astra sighed long-sufferingly. "I told you, momma, that ain't a curse. He's got asthma. Tell 'em to keep makin' 'im breathe the vapor from a cup a' branic tea twice a day. It ain't ever gonna go away, but that'll help some."

.

Her hand made no sound against the sturdy, iron door. The noise of her hydraulic pump and dragging foot, however, betrayed her. The rhythmic pings that had echoed from inside ceased at once.

Vermir stepped into the darkened interior. Azidor's was a small shop, specializing in only certain materials and catering to a specific crowd. Strewn about the tables and benches, she could see metallic hands prepared with hidden tools, silver faces etched with beautiful, floral designs. A sign at the front desk read in both Janazi and Kevete: High-quality adjustments for robotic parts and prosthetics alike. Ask about our sensory rune upgrades!

.

"We ain't never gettin' into that central lab, are we?" Astra muttered. Her gaze flicked up to meet his. None of the typical mirth or bravado sparkled in her blood-ringed eyes.

"It's...." The man swore under his breath. "What other choice do we have?"

.

"I'll be right behind you," Mashal said. By his tone, it was obvious he was trying to calm her anxiety while being rather afraid of the crossing himself. "If you slip, I'll catch you."

"If'n I slip, you keep your hands to yourself so I don't drag us both down," she answered a little more snappishly than she intended.

When Mashal's expression went sad, Astra took a deep breath, berating herself internally. She had to get a handle on her fear. Her ma had always said that when the night was dark, there was no need to start painting with pitch, even if the colors matched.

"We're gonna be fine," Astra said, offering a smile over her shoulder. "I ain't gonna fall and neither are you. In fifteen minutes- Nah, twelve. I'm gonna beat my record, I can feel it. In twelve minutes, we're gonna be home free."

.

"You're taking your sweet time for some squiggles." Thibault's eyes darted nervously to the hall they'd come from. Mashal and Avymere stood ready and tensed, prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.

"My momma always said, if ya don't know shit about a thing, you'd best keep your mouth shut 'fore that shit starts leakin' out from 'tween your lips," the witch muttered. "I need you to remember this number though - one thousand six hundred and seventy point fifteen. If I ask for the Tamm unit conversion, talk it back to me."

Thibault's ears flicked anxiously. "That's a hell of a number...."

"Well, all ya gotta do is remember it, thank the gods," Astra shot back.

.

I'll tag @mk-writes-stuff @aestheic-writer18 @winglesswriter @autism-purgatory and anyone else who's interested :)

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Ultimate Treasure Hunter

Skies and the Vault Hunters learn about the asteroid and meet an old friend.

--

The Treasure of Captain Red-eye Part 2

The sound of gunshots and explosions is deafening, only rivalled by all the yelling and cries. Bullets fly in every direction, attempting to hit someone, anyone.

Gravity on the asteroid is low, only strong enough to keep people anchored to its surface, but if anyone jumps too high, they can easily exit the gravitational pull. Unfortunately for those poor fools, it’s happening quite regularly, their cries for help ignored by those below them.

Moze’s Iron Bear charges through the mess, smacking away anyone who gets in their way. Riding on his back is Skies and Zane as they fire their rifles into the crowd. Amara and FL4K and Mr. Chew cover the rear, making sure anyone who tries to follow them doesn’t get too close.

“Iron Bear is running low on gas!” Moze warns.

“There’s gotta be somewhere we can hide out,” Skies muses and looks around, her robot eye zooming in on the surroundings. Not too far away through the crowd of chaos, she’s see a building. “There! Follow me!”

Skies leaps off Iron Bear and floats for a couple feet before landing on some random bandit. She drives her fist blade through his skull and leaps off him as he collapses. Moze and the others follow close behind, knocking away anyone else who gets too close.

The crowd thins somewhat as they approach the building- a large round structure. A small crew is at the door, attempting to open it.

“Got it!” one cheers as the hydraulic doors slide open.

“Hey, thanks,” Skies chimes as she and the Vault Hunters land behind them.

The poor adventurers aren’t ready for them and get nailed with bullets. Skies and the others let themselves into the building, sealing the door behind them.

“It’s got oxygen,” Moze observes as she exits her Iron Bear.

“This must’ve been the camp of those Dahl researchers,” Skies muses.

The inside is clean. Space suits hang on the wall next to the door. On one side of the room is a table holding small samples of the asteroid. On the other is a desk with a computer. At the far end of the room is a deep pit. Skies and the Vault Hunters approach it and see it ends at a metal floor with a hatch.

“A mining tunnel?” FL4K questions.

“We could use it to get deeper into the asteroid,” Skies suggests, “maybe that’s where the treasure is. See if you can get it open. I’m gonna check out the computer.”

[hashal-nutcracker]

The model of the Hussar "Gashal" was created in the middle of the war, by one of the engineers Jacob Farakaso, his work attracted the attention of the military due to the fact that the designer, even despite his injuries sustained in the war, had a very sad effect. The lower limbs lost their mobility, but by exerting strength, he managed to assemble a semblance of an endo-skeleton that allowed him to move as before, connected to the cervical region and stretched inside with fibers of synthetic flesh with nerve endings allowed him to return to service, but since he was commissioned. He spent some time with his family, learning about the applications of nutcrackers in the news and other sources, and seeing that they have their own weaknesses as flaws, the dying creature caused pity, because he also lost many comrades.

he began developing his own model that would allow the nutcrackers to be more protected and maneuverable, but for a long time he did not come up with engineering solutions, which depressed him. Except that the daughter had just brought a hussar figurine, its mechanics, although simple, but reliable, movable joints, a head that could be retracted into the shoulders, as if a soldier was hiding his head from the shots that came from an easel machine-gun pillbox.

sleepless nights spent at the table brought out a very effective model, his ideas on reinforced mechanical parts, as well as an ultra-sensitive hydraulic system capable of reacting much faster, like a powerful computer, it could protect its owner from a blow, from a shot from a heavy gun, give speed that was not a strong feature, jump over trenches, not fall into mud traps where so many wounded died, because such a simple trace from a shot by a large artillery shell collected water and blood inside itself, becoming quicksand

Sample number one: Hashal – passed the tests of basic motor skills based on computer modeling of the military and staff situation, tests without substance.

entry number 0-19/F-1:

the test revealed small failures in the body and joints of the cervical spine, yet it is very difficult to create a body for creatures when you do not have a sample, it cost a lot to establish system consumption, but a very impressive result. The chest opening was adjusted to the maximum, the spike was not so important, the magnetic belts turned out to be strong, but the check related to water turned out to be very unsuccessful, as well as for chemical reagents, some types of gas melt wires and their insulation, I do not have enough material to protect the cables.

Maybe I should turn to an old friend, he was sorting out the nutcrackers, maybe I can find the answer in them

Revision: this nutcracker took me a lot of time, I had to use ship cables with their insulation, but I had to look for details from undermined and faulty installations, tanks, and similar equipment, this made it easier for me to fuse some fragments, as well as microcircuits.

The control has improved, the balancing is almost calibrated, I made the inner ribs from titanium and aluminum, I had to melt a whole sheet of plate armor of the tank, oh gods, they will obviously kill me soon

Entry 0-20/F-2:

My fears were true, my adventures were noticed by those whom I clearly would not like to see in my house, they were looking for my prototype, the workshop was destroyed, I can't say how long I still have to live, they can kill my daughter, except for her I have no one left after that the case.. The projectile flew into our complex, damn freaks! So many civilians died then, and Jesse.. she was torn apart, the Collie was not sleeping then and did not let go of my hand: daddy, please.. Don't leave, there's a war! They're killing there! I'll work as long as I can, but how long will I last?

I don't remember how much time has passed since I finished it, it remains only to carry out the final touches, but how to carry them out without filling? Where will I get such a creature, even though such creatures could try to escape the same way, or have offspring, but here? How can this happen at all, especially here..

The Collie began to behave more closed, as if hiding, even though I said that secrets should only be told to those whom I am ready to entrust them, she is probably afraid to tell me about it, the main thing is that it does not attract too much attention to us.

entry number 1 from a personal notebook:

Well, still, these weasels watching my family noticed my daughter's behavior, they came with weapons to the complex! This is not acceptable! The rules do not give them the right to come here with weapons, with soldiers.. but among them I saw white coats, damn scientists, always climbing where they shouldn't and playing gods

Insomnia is killing me two or three months after people came to the complex, but I finally managed to get an answer from my daughter, damn it! She found the offspring of these creatures, even two, where should I put the other one? Of course, I can restore and upgrade the previously destroyed nutcracker, but how much will it be useful?

To the touch, these lumps of flesh are pleasant to the eyes, they are quite small, and so inquisitive, one of them with grayish-blue eyes constantly asks me, if I take it, he does not come off me all day. I feel like a mother to these creatures, if they can reproduce, then I can assume that two nutcrackers could have hidden them initially in our complex, but they could have got in other ways, they are difficult to see if they climb through the ventilation ducts. Collie became their babysitter, but they trust her more.

[dayfalwastaken]

Iron Bleeds Golden, Extremis - Iron Man Fanfic Preview.

“…Yeah… Yeah. No, good job. I owe you dinner. That Greek place with the belly dancer you like.” He waited for the ecstatic thanks on the other side of the phone before speaking once more. “Send it all over. Nice work.” Tony said as casually as he could in spite of what he’d just heard.

This job never gets easier.

He ended the call and paused for a second, looking quietly at the door in front of him. Maya was no doubt staring daggers into his back, her anxiety almost palpable throughout the plane’s cabin. If he hadn’t known her better, he would’ve sworn she was on the verge of a breakdown.

Tony inserted the eight-digit password into the door lock and opened it, then turned around to face Maya. He kept his mouth neutral for what he was about to tell her, not wanting to raise her distress further. Years of practice ensured his voice didn’t tremble. He had been doing this for a long while now, but being the one to deliver the bad news was always painful no matter what.

“My guy hacked your dead boss’ files. He gave Extremis to a group of militiamen local to you. Domestic terrorists.” She gasped softly, and Tony had to stop himself from placing a hand on her shoulder. “I have to make some calls.”

Her expression said it all. A hopeless glimmer in her eyes that swiftly betrayed the tough front she attempted to put up. She broke down right after, burying her head in her palms, tears beginning to spill. Tony didn’t blame her.

He wished he could’ve stayed there to comfort her. Tell her it’d be okay, that this would all be over soon, but he lacked the precious luxury of time, and he had a responsibility to uphold.

He walked into the tail end of the plane and closed the door behind him. Noticing his presence, the transparent screen in front of him lit up, permeating the small room in a dim blueish hue. Entering a special combination on his Stark Phone, he tuned in to a secure frequency and brought the device to his ear.

“Avengers intermediary channel. Priority A-1. Iron Man.”

A profile picture of himself popped up in the upper left corner, sporting a wall of text about his current location and so on right under it. To the right, a scan outlining his armor appeared, along with a vertical progress bar near it that was already starting to fill up. The word “Power” sat at the top. Beneath it all was another bar, this one numbering the loading time for each suit section, as briefly detailed by the \Sequence Activated plastered onto it.

“Information regarding attack on F.B.I Station, Huston. Forward to all relevant law enforcement entities.”

REMOTE WARM-UP AND DIAGNOSTICS, he read unconsciously.

Main Power Supply – Arc Reactor “STARTUP CYCLE” mode Engaged

A white line connected to the centre of the chest piece, highlighting the entire area.

\Capacitors Pending:

Unibeam… 100%

Chiming rang out upon the charging sequence’s completion. It was plenty effective at bringing Tony out of his thoughts, in particular those about the fifty burned bodies he had seen just twenty minutes ago.

“Upload of related files to follow two minutes behind this message.” He took a seat in the small chair, tapping on the table impatiently. The armor’s gloves were selected next, their progress visible on the bar bellow. They finished charging before he ever got the chance to finish his sentence. The tracker moved on to the next part.

Boot Jets… 100%

Electro-Hydraulic Exoskeleton… 100%

Multifaceted Pilot Interface… 100%

“Perpetrator is in superhuman aspect, possibly suffering side-effects of process.”

Main Circuits… 100%

Life Support, Medical Treatment Override… 100%

Magnetic Field Generators… 100%

Dampeners… 100%

“Perpetrator and associates likely to be in transit from Huston to Bastrop at this time.”

Auxiliary Power Supply… 100%

Munitions [Secondary]… 100%

Control Surfaces… 100%

Secondary, Tertiary Systems… 100%

\Capacitors Charged.

“Details of superhuman aspect pending.”

Onboard Assistant A.I Loaded

Full Diagnostic Scan – All systems “OK”

Main Power Supply – Arc Reactor “POWER SAFE” mode Engaged

Backup Nuclear Battery – Radioactive Isotope “PRIMED” for Decay

\Sequence Finalized.

Variable Threat Response Battle Suit “Iron Man”, model 25, codename [Liaison] – Online & Ready

“Iron Man is available for intercept and engagement.”

The screen cleared save for the armor hologram, which had stopped spinning and was reimposed in the middle, clicking repeatedly to draw his attention. Tony closed his phone and crossed his arms, leaning forward to stare into ole Shellhead’s newest incarnation. Field tested and deployed, that was… And yet he wasn’t satisfied. There was still so much to be improved, just at a glance Tony could see where he had gone “wrong”, even though thinking that was a lie by this point in his career. If he had truly made mistakes in the design process, he would’ve died long ago, and Iron Man wouldn’t have made it to the history books.

Nothing was wrong with the armor per se, he simply couldn’t help not accepting his achievements. Tony supposed that was in part the greed talking, but that’s just how he worked.

He’d make an armor, think it was revolutionary, take it on a test ride and be thoroughly impressed with it, then the next day be disappointed and begin working on the next instalment. It was like an itch- an addiction, always bugging him to keep tinkering, to keep improving. Because that’s what he did, and staying atop the competition was his whole deal.

What competition, the PR department would remind him to say. Well, at least they had a good reason for doing that. The phrase had become the most successful marketing slogan in his company’s history.

The point being; he always needed to wear the best version of the suit, otherwise it wouldn’t feel the same. However, when one went by the name Tony Stark “best” was a relative term. It was temporary, meaning he’d never truly be satisfied with any iteration of the Iron Man, no matter how far ahead of the modern world it’d be.

Which in reality was a weird metacommentary on his own person as well as his metal persona, but the distinction between those two he still hoped to blur. If he bled the best parts of one into the other… There was no telling how much good he could achieve. Really, Tony was the only thing holding himself back. Tony kept himself from being enough.

And what a depressing little thought that was…

Pillinger’s interview echoed through his head. He had asked the man if he had changed anything, if he was certain his journalism had improved anybody’s life over the years, even by a small margin, but truthfully speaking, Tony had asked himself that.

It haunted him that he didn’t know. He should, he knew more than most people ever would in their lifetimes, but regarding this matter he just… didn’t.

…And all he wanted was to help. To not be that Ghost of the Twentieth Century. To not leave behind a legacy of corpses, all piled atop the nigh infinite cache of Stark brand weapons hidden in the grounds of war ridden countries. Whether to make up for what he had done, or out of a genuine desire to aid others- the answer eluded him. Some days it was crystal clear, others he had his doubts for a majority of the time. But he knew he wanted to be more than what he had been.

Perhaps a… beacon like Steve? Tony half chuckled internally, dismissing the idea. That was a nice fantasy, wasn’t it? For people to look up to the skies and see a red and gold knight descending from high above, knowing then and there that everything would be okay. Those were the types of dreams he used to have in his childhood, back when he’d spend his afternoons playing with medieval knights in shining armor. Slaying dragons, helping the people and many such adventures.

Life had a funny way of coming full circle. What he’d imagined so long ago had become true to some capacity, but, well... Things could be better. Or maybe that was the ungrateful perfectionist in him talking, never content with the present.

Again he would have to brandish his sword, a regular practice these days, and make sure more people lived than they died. Somehow the prospect of helping people to continue on living made the sacrifices worth it. A small blessing if he’d ever seen one.

Tony caught his reflection in the glass and narrowed his eyes. The sight was identical to the one he saw in the morning every single day, but for the moment it didn’t bother him. The more he looked, the less he felt the need to turn away.

“Oh, now you can look at me.”

o0o

He had cut off his main propulsion as soon as he’d hit about 60 miles up, entering a controlled orbit right on the edge of the mesosphere. Sadly, He couldn’t appreciate the beauty of seeing the Earth’s curvature, as he could only stay there for exactly one minute before having to fly black down. Any more and the Earth’s rotation would lengthen his trip instead of shortening it.

“…Since the station burned to the ground, there’s no security footage I could ask for.” Tony thought out loud. “And anyone who did have access to it is either dead or injured. Give me a summary of his powers from publicized witness reports. I’d like to know what we’re dealing with.” He ordered the suit.

Processing data… Main powers include standard super-soldier enhancements. Quote: “The guards were shooting at him but he was too fast for them. You could barely see him. Some got lucky and managed to nail him but he just shrugged it off like it was nothing. Anyone that didn’t get out in time was torn apart or burned alive.”. Statements indicate suspect is also capable of fire breathing.

“Yeah, I gathered as much.” Tony tried not to associate what he’d heard with the pictures he had seen, but the images had already been carved into his head. He was reminded of the man whose face had been burnt off almost down to the bone. Poor bastard. “…Go on.”

Low to average imperviousness. Subsonic movement, possibly higher. Unclear if strength is a result of speed. Nature of “Extremis” compound raises the potential for further developments. Prolonged fight is ill-suited. Threat level five but remains unknown. Moderate caution advised.

Tony hummed, keeping his gaze on the countless stars hanging above. Having the armor speak to him had proven to be a good way of sorting through his thoughts. Things got messy if he talked to himself all the time.

Use his enhanced senses against him. Hit him hard and do it fast. Attempt a quick knockout or restrain him when his guard is down.

He cursed himself for not having asked Maya to explain what other stuff Extremis could do. Improving the human body was only half the equation. She’d been pretty adamant about the fact her serum wasn’t your typical Erskine rip-off. And, well, Tony could imagine the consequences… A biological compiler that could rewrite the brain to improve the body was a horrifying concept. Erskine’s serum bettered what was there to begin with, but Extremis imposed those changes, and could be made to do literally anything… What if those changes occurred during the heat of battle, or after a prolonged period of time? It’d make someone super adaptable to any environment.

What if the guy who had taken Extremis would grow more dangerous by the hour? What if he developed more powers, or cancerous mutations, or biohazardous side effects? If Extremis was still in the prototype phase, what stopped an error from forcing the brain to keep editing the body?

The guy was a walking timebomb. Every second spent out in the open could mean a potential epidemic, or worse. If he felt threatened, his brain could make him secrete poisonous gas to kill people around him and so on. The possibilities were endless…

…Okay, maybe he was being a bit too paranoid and didn’t trust Maya’s work, but how could he take any chances? He knew better than most what happened when people attempted to play God with human biology. These days the examples of such endeavours were visible at every corner.

The alert sound of his HUD’s timer snapped him back to reality.

One minute has been reached. Orbital repositioning successful. Execute re-entry manoeuvres.

And Tony did just that. He began by angling himself head first toward the ground and raised his hands to shield his helmet. Once in the proper position, he fired off into a nosedive without so much as a warning. Clocking in at Mach 6, he passed through the high-altitude clouds before the suit could even ignite into flames.

When the fires of re-entry did engulf him however, the heat was dispersed across the armor’s surface, plates further negating the melting temperatures. Tony was kept nice and cool beneath the metal, and as that was happening, the excess energy was syphoned into an afterburner for added thrust.

At the speed he was going, the ETA to Bastrop was two minutes on the dot.

[antichristual]

a small fic request: some fluff about Papa IV. pairing can be reader insert / one of the ghouls / OC or platonic relationship is okay, too. maybe a birthday fic would be nice...? 😊 thank you in advance if you will write this 🧡

HELLO ANON🫂 !!! this is my first time doing this, im squealing over the fact that people actually sent in requests..literally so sorry it took me so long to post this, i wrote it like two days after you sent this in and then i just never posted it cuz i didnt like it at the time, i think it okay now though, so here you go! also im not sure if this was for your birthday, but if it is then happy birthday :3 most likely very late

You had been part of the ministry for years now, working alongside Sister Imperator, making sure all of the pieces of the tours stayed on track. Keeping them all together was hard work, and it had slowly taken a toll on you. Sometimes the looming idea of another long day amongst ratty organisers felt like carrying a bag of bricks on your shoulders. You were some hardy earthen clay, but this much going on in your head was a hydraulic press.

It had been a rough day, Sister had said it herself as she sipped on a random cup of coffee she had laying across your planning table. You didn’t know how she did it, keeping all of it in and still making such a wonderful outcome. She had kept you in late today, for some odd reason. All the work was done, you’d already stacked all the maps and papers and booking files for the next tour together in one, intimidating pile. Every time you tried to leave though, she would call you back to look over very random things.

“How does this email look? I want it to be perfect.” Sister Imperator mumbled timidly, with a strangely still smile, like she was keeping a terrible secret to herself. Everybody knew she had the most pristine email skills in the world. It should’ve been criminal how that woman could get anyone under her thumbs with the click of send or a meek phone call. Of course though, you nodded and returned to the table. Leaning down, you ignored the crimp ache in your back and read through the— as expected— incredibly well written message. It was condensed but not lacking what it needed. Simple, quick, effective. That was how she rolled, and she executed it with a clean cut every time.

“It’s…fine, Sister.” You replied after a quick pause, holding a heavy drawl in your voice. It was your birthday, for hell’s sake, and all you’d done all day was work. Your eyes hurt, your spine feels twisted and damn…how does your right leg go half numb? Don’t get it wrong, you loved your job; and you didn’t blame anyone for having you labour on your special day. You were just tired, and yearning for your comforting bed in the abbey.

Sister Imperator closed her laptop with a swift hand, the screen coming down across the keyboard silently. A look of sympathy flashed in her eyes, followed with a sparkle of guilt, almost as if she were hiding something from you. “I’m sorry for keeping you in, you know how this gets.” Her hand waved sluggishly over the table. Following her gesture you pondered over her words, eyes fogging over briefly.

“I do, Sister. It’s not a problem. Um…” You looked sideways hesitantly, your bag hanging limp over your shoulder. “Is that all?”

She opened her mouth quickly to say something, and your knees drew somehow more magnetically drawn to the floor at the idea of her proposing another task. In a split moment, her lips sealed.

Sister’s eyes dashed to the doorway behind you, and a riveting smile dashed across her face. Satan, she looked so excited you half assumed you’d turn around and see the anti-christ himself waltzing in with a pretty bouquet of wild roses. Your feet dragged against the floor as you spun to face the door. You were seriously contemplating popping out to go to the store, and maybe grabbing a nice treat so you could at least get yourself something nice on your day. Almost immediately— after your sleepy head processed the sight in the doorway— a sweet warmth bubbled in your chest.

Copia stood there in his usual zip-up jumper, lazy sweatpants underneath, and the most gorgeously handmade cake ever in his palms. Weakly lit candles burned in the middle, lighting up the cute piped icing around the edge. You swayed on your feet with the soft mellow melting down your heavy limbs.

“Happy birthday!” He blurted awkwardly, removing one hand..dangerously..from the cake to make jazz hands…jazz hand? You just stood there, eyes wide and fatigued, a pure smile tugging helplessly at your lips. Copia shuffled forward to put the small cake on the table before he shucked his hands to his hips, a little proud expression over his usual.

[eldritchships]

7 + 8 :D??

I said "Okay I'm not going to get flustered by this one!" and then. Well.

7 + 8 - Neck + Collarbone (Word count: 1297)

Shockwave checked his internal chronometer. His helm tilted forward, mimicking a furrowed brow, and he entered the laboratory. There was only one bot within the coldly-illuminated space, currently hunched over a microscope. As Shockwave approached the pink bot, there wasn’t any acknowledgement given of his presence.

“Flatline.” Shockwave noticed Flatline’s small jump at the sound of his voice, but the doctor didn’t tear his gaze away from the microscope’s eyepiece. Shockwave stood behind his shoulder pauldron, blank optic watching as Flatline reached out with a servo and scrawled notes onto a datapad on the table. “You are in need of rest.”

“I’ll be there soon.” The same servo waved non-committedly, too vague to communicate any discernible meaning. Flatline swapped out the sample he was examining for another nearly identical one, “I just need to compare this to my control group.” Shockwave didn’t move a single hydraulic, so it would have been impossible to tell that his gaze was scanning down Flatline’s form. The rotor blades on his back were slightly flared, and the pulse displayed on the monitor on his chest plate was weak, but noticeably fast. The most logical conclusion was that Flatline was battling exhaustion. The best course of action was to attempt to persuade him again.

“You have not left the laboratory in several solar cycles. Further effort could result in physical harm.” Shockwave stepped forward, leaning around in an attempt to place himself within Flatline’s peripheral. Flatline finally looked up from the eyepiece, turning his helm with a sharp movement. Shockwave’s finials whirred and twitched back as he processed Flatline’s faceplate the same way he had his body; A grim frown was set on Flatline’s lips, and his blue optics didn’t seem as bright as usual.

“I promise, just one more thing.” Flatline pleaded, gesturing to the table. Shockwave’s finials remained pinned back.

“That is unlikely, given that you often find another task to take the former’s place.” With Flatline, ‘One more thing’ often led to another, and then another, until megacycles had passed and he was no closer to resting than he had been before. Shockwave’s intervention was necessary so that his partner didn’t burn through his own fuel reserves.

Flatline appeared to think otherwise, as his frown tightened into a scowl and his rotor blades twitched. He curled more protectively over his current project.

“I’ll be fine, Shockwave. I need to finish this.” He pressed a servo against Shockwave’s stomach to emphasise the statement, nudging firmly in order to convince Shockwave to drop the issue and go away. Shockwave considered it somewhat ironic that he had done similar towards Flatline in the past during the medic’s attempts to court him, before they had become partners. He thought it appropriate, then, to do what Flatline had done in the past and completely disregard the request to leave.

Flatline had returned to the datapad, writing more notes and mumbling to himself. His pink plating groaned when he shifted his weight, betraying the strain of having been locked in one position for too long. Shockwave stared at Flatline’s back, his cannon arm held tightly beside him. His stature was immobile, but his processor was running intently.

He had failed to convince Flatline to take a break by using reason. He would need to change strategy, and find a method that would both hold Flatline’s attention and relax the stress that had built up in his systems over the previous cycles. Past evidence suggested that he would be receptive to acts of physical affection, and as such, that was suitably effective for Shockwave’s goal.

Shockwave’s finials whirred back upright, and he stepped forward. He placed his servo on Flatline’s back, noting how the rotor blades clamped tight at the contact. He started to rub slow, gentle circles across the pink plating, occasionally dipping higher into the space between the rotors. Flatline paused and the pen slipped from between his digits, dropping back onto the table as Flatline’s concentration was pulled back to Shockwave.

“Dear…” The term of endearment sounded flat, exasperated, and almost like a warning. Shockwave didn’t acknowledge it, and instead leaned down to close the distance between their heights, nudging the flat corner of his helm against Flatline’s temple.

“The quality of your work will also benefit if you attend to your personal needs. No aspect of it requires immediate attention, so you have time to leave it for a short period.” While he continued to reason, Shockwave’s helm trailed further downwards, hovering over the cabling and metal that made up Flatline’s neck. Lacking a conventional faceplate, Shockwave settled for nosing the bottom lip of his hexagonal helm against the surface. His finials perked when he heard the click of ventilation fans, stuttering for a moment as they struggled to find the proper amount of fuel to operate, sounding even louder from their close proximity to his audio receptors. Flatline wriggled in an attempt to get away from the sensation plaguing him from all sides, his samples forgotten as he tried to push Shockwave’s helm away.

“I’m not- you can’t sway me that easily…” Flatline huffed out a laugh despite himself, refusing to make optic contact with the singular yellow optic peering at him from between his digits. Shockwave quickly examined Flatline’s faceplate again; the attempt to push him away lacked the necessary effort to be genuine, the previously noted cooling fans continued to vent overheated air, and Flatline was smiling for the first time since Shockwave’s arrival. He concluded that Flatline’s attempts were not sincere, and he was enjoying the affection Shockwave was providing. Encouraged by this assessment, Shockwave switched target, pausing the ministrations of his servo and pulling his helm out of Flatline’s.

“I would not insist if your wellbeing were not important to me, Doctor.” Shockwave’s voice lowered, the shift in tone only slight but he knew Flatline would be able to notice it. His servo moved around to Flatline’s side, brushing across the surface until he found a seam in the softer metal. Flatline squirmed again with choked noises of protest from Shockwave touching him where he was especially ticklish, only succeeding in pressing himself against Shockwave’s chestplate. Shockwave’s finials wiggled and he pressed more firmly against the seam, following along it before moving back up to the space between Flatline’s rotors.

Shockwave was intimately familiar with Flatline’s body. He knew where he was most sensitive, where he carried the most tension. He could take Flatline apart piece by piece if he so wished. When Shockwave massaged the spot between Flatline’s rotors, his optics fluttered and his pink shoulder pauldrons fell.

“I’m trying to work…” Flatline argued while his helm fell back to look woefully at the ceiling.

“Your work will remain untouched until you return. You are exhausted, and require rest.” Shockwave returned. He continued to provide pressure to the tense spot, watching the stress slowly unwind from Flatline’s frame like rivulets of motor oil. Satisfaction warmed his spark at seeing the noticeable improvement in his partner’s mood. After a long moment, Flatline finally sighed.

“Fine.” He dragged the datapad off of the table, tucking it away to ensure that the details of his project would be safe. Shockwave’s finials perked upright again, and in encouragement, he leaned down once more to press the lip of his helm against Flatline’s collar. He wordlessly presented his servo, and although he saw Flatline’s optics linger on the samples, there was a tired delight on his faceplate when he eventually placed his servo in Shockwave’s. Shockwave led the way, coaxing Flatline away from the table and then out of the laboratory, their servos entwined. He stopped only long enough to ensure the laboratory’s doors were locked, providing further peace to Flatline’s processor that his work would be secure until he returned.

[borealisbarbie]

borealis

chapter 1.: for now, it's time to run chapter tags: queer (m/m), sci fi, heists, kidnapping, referenced human experimentation, grumpy x bitchy, angst chapter warnings: implied noncon body modification, technical kidnapping, gun violence, language, mild gore, PTSD word count: 4243 A/N: the first chapter of my baby is here and ready to be shared! this is the first original work i'm posting in more than 5 years so i'm super excited to finally start sharing her with you all!

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   Every time he had to break into a building Dawson was acutely jealous of the shows and movies he’d watched as a kid— his life would be so much smoother if he could just slide through a couple air vents and be done with it! But no, instead here he was, 2am on a Thursday, knee deep in piles of whatever undoubtedly filthy laundry an illegal medical laboratory produced. Not his favorite way to enter a place, but it was one less code to remember— just a single key to lift off of an unaware janitor. The face mask he wore felt inadequate, but it would have to do. 

  The laundry facilities were on the very bottom floor of the lab, but Dawson’s target was only a few floors up— packed up and ready to be transported for sale tomorrow morning, according to Dawson’s employer. He didn’t know what, exactly, it was that he was stealing, but he wasn’t in any position to turn down a job that paid this much. He made his way swiftly down the hall and up the barren stairwell— which had required a convoluted code to open— in silence. The stairwell opened into a short hallway, only three doors occupying the limited space. He strode towards the 2nd door on the left, as his intel had instructed, and input yet another door code. The little blinking blue light swiftly turned green and the door slid open, bringing a satisfied smirk to the thief’s face. That smirk drops when he takes in the contents of the small room. Whipping his phone out of his breast pocket, he pulls up the single blurry shot of the case he’s supposed to be looking at.

   That shitty fucking intel, is all Dawson can think, looking from the picture of his target on his phone back to the large metal crate looking thing that stood in the center of the cargo hold. He was here for a weapon, sure, but a fancy gun or laser sword, not something he would need a damn forklift to move. The crate had a number pad on its side, which would explain the extra passcode he’d been given. He lays his gun down within easy reach inputs the code, wincing as each button press emits a loud ping sound. It’s an obnoxiously long code too, even for some high-tech government laboratory, but finally he types in the last digit and hits enter. The box’s seams glow an ominous red before blinking to green, and there is the hiss of hydraulics before the lid of the box lifts and recedes on its own. Thick clouds of fog rise and quickly dissipate, revealing the contents; his target. It’s not a gun like he had hoped, or a bomb, or even a tiny, mysterious microchip. 

   It’s a dude. A curled slip of man, nude and nestled into perfectly cut out insulating foam. Dawson inhaled sharply, taking a step back. Because what the fuck. What the fuck was this? Was he stealing a corpse? Apparently not, because just as he goes to step closer, reaching out a hand to check for a pulse, the still form suddenly heaves a ragged breath and flies into a frenzy of movement, flinging himself from the box in a panic. Dawson reaches blindly behind himself for his gun on the table, clicking off the safety and pointing it at the man— fuck the payout, he wasn’t about to be mauled or maimed by some feral lab experiment! The man doesn’t attack though, instead scuttling backwards until he hits the wall, wild gaze flitting about and taking in his surroundings with an expression of pained confusion. When his gaze settles on Dawson the thief clutches his gun tighter and lets out a hissed curse; because those eyes are not human eyes. They shine an unnatural shade of teal, and the pupils shift and dilate like the lens of a camera. Mechanical. 

   But not one like anything Dawson has seen before, not even the fancy pretty ones the wealthy like to flaunt online. He’s breathing for one, still dragging in labored and brittle breaths, and sweat drips down his face, dampening unkempt curls. There’s an air of humanity to him that shouldn’t be possible in a mechanical.

“Who are you?” Dawson finally grits out, knowing that the clock is ticking and he doesn't really have time for an in-depth interrogation. The man just recoils further against the wall, though his breathing does at last appear to be mellowing out. A glance down at his watch shows that he has exactly 17 minutes to make his escape before the change of the security guards. “Fine, don’t talk. Look, I've got less than 20 minutes to get out of here so it looks like you’re coming with me. I was expecting a nice little carrying case, but I can make this work.” Still no reaction. Dawson feels a little bad for the mech— inhuman or not, the fear in his face and body language is palpable. He lowers his gun with a sigh before coming forward to kneel in front of the man, meeting his gaze with what he hopes is a reassuring expression— he’s not the expert on comforting scared people. There’s a barely audible hum as the mans’ eyes focus on Dawson, repeating that same camera lens effect.

“Look, clearly I don't know what’s going on here and neither do you, but I don't think you want to hang around here— they had you locked in a box in a basement. Something fucked up is happening here, and you can either come with me, or you can stay and try explaining to them how you got out of that box on your own. I don’t think the people here would be very happy with you escaping, do you?” And yeah, maybe it’s cruel to manipulate him like this, but whatever got him off of the floor and got them out of the lab was good enough for Dawson.

“Juno.” he blinks at the abrupt tone, but nods anyway. He— Juno, apparently— could speak, at least. 

“Great. Nice to meet you Juno, I’m Dawson. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” And with that, Dawson stands yet again, this time taking Juno by the wrist and pulling him up to stand too. It’s sheer luck that hanging on the back of the chair in the otherwise barren room is an abandoned lab coat— he swiftly covers the mech’s nude form with the white fabric and instructs him to keep close and keep quiet, before leading them out of the room. 

   The long reaching hall is still blessedly empty as far as Dawson can tell, and it should remain so for the next five minutes— enough time to get them to the ground floor. Gun at the ready he pulls an annoyingly slow-paced Juno along— the smallest thing seems to distract the mech, as if they are not currently trying to escape a life or death (or unpleasant jail time) situation. They reach a fork, the hallway splitting into two identical paths. The map Dawson’s employer had provided said to go to the left, but Juno refuses to follow, digging his bare heels into the ground when Dawson tries to jerk him along.

“Not that way.” the mech unhelpfully says, a mulish expression on his face. He tilts his head in a way that suggests he is listening to something, and that something is evidently not Dawson— or anything Dawson can hear, because both halls are silent. “This way.” and he shifts his hand so he is the one holding onto Dawson now and, much to the thief’s chagrin, tugs him along without any effort, taking the right hall. They come to a stop in front of a closed door, which doesn’t budge when Dawson jiggles the handle. 

“A dead end, seriously?” he hisses at the now bored looking mech. “I have been studying the schematics of this building for the last three months, kid, our way out was the other hallway!” He’s about to throw the mech over his shoulder and carry him to the proper exit fireman style, when Juno none too gently shoves him aside and gives the door handle a single firm yank. There is the sharp sound of wood cracking before the door gives way, swinging open, easy as anything now that a skinny little mechanical has just ripped the locking mechanism out of the damn door. 

“Faster. And no cameras.” He gently sets the door handle and its guts on the ground, before gesturing for Dawson to lead the way once again. Something was seriously wrong with this mech and the way he functioned, but there was no time for him to ponder that. Quickly familiarizing himself with this portion of the map, Dawson manages to navigate himself and the mech up to the first floor. Which was where things were going to get seriously tricky. Where the bottom levels had been paroled by a barebones crew, the main floors were much more stringently supervised— guards patrolled each end of each level in synchronized pairs, armed to the teeth in the latest tech and paid handsomely enough that there wasn’t much they wouldn’t do for the company. Their escape would have to be timed perfectly, and helpful as he could apparently be, there was no time for deviations from Juno.

“You do what I say from here on out, got it? I’m not about to die because you think you found a shortcut.” The mech nods, but the mulish expression is back— quite the contrast from the trembling, fear filled thing he’d been just a few minutes ago. Time would tell if it was a welcome change. “And— hey, this is important—” he adds sharply, noting the mech’s gaze beginning to wander once again, this time distracted by the rattling of the air con. “If I get shot, or if they catch me? Don’t fucking leave me to die, got it? I am not getting paid enough to die for you. You come back for me.” The mech nods and it’s go time.

   Dawson’s favorite kind of jobs were the ones where he got to break out the fancy equipment— harnesses for repelling down buildings, gadgets to disable alarm systems or cut through the glass of windows or display cases. But sadly, this was not that sort of job. Initially, his escape plan was to walk out completely undetected after going back the way he came, but by now someone was sure to have noticed Juno’s little door demolishment; it was only a matter of time before security was alerted of their presence. And unfortunately, he wasn't exactly able to tuck the mech into a backpack or pocket like he could have with his typical targets. So instead they had to do things the much more dangerous, life-threatening way, and tiptoe through the halls just as they emptied of guards, letting the timing of the guards’ schedule do the heavy lifting for them. So long as they didn’t do anything overt or loud, they were in the clear.

   So of course. Of course Juno— who walked so silently Dawson could almost forget he was there if not for the bruising grip he had on his hand— slips on the slick tile, letting out a small cry as his ankle twists. It’s faint, but it’s a noise, and that’s all it takes for the sound of boots pounding in their direction to pick up. With a curse Dawson pushes the mech more fully behind him, sandwiched between his back and the wall, and clicks the safety off his gun once again. He can feel the mech breathing harshly against his neck, and thin fingers dig painfully into his hand as two guards come from each direction, cornering them with guns drawn. Dawson notes that they do not aim at them, despite clearly having the upper hand.

“Who are you, how did you get access to this floor?” One guard barks while another approaches, pulling handcuffs from his belt and reaching for Juno. And that, apparently, is the wrong thing to do, because the mech’s gaze snaps to the guard’s hand, and in the space of what can only be a few seconds the mech darts a hand out and grabs the guard, pulling him in close before flinging him bodily towards the other set of guards, sending them all tumbling down into a pile of limbs. The remaining guard, the one with the gun, quickly descends into panic, waving his gun around and shouting. Still, no actual shots are fired. Dawson is torn between trying to talk his way out of this or just knocking him out when Juno makes an executive decision. Hand outstretched like a superhero in one of the old movies Dawson watched as a kid, unnerving gaze glowing, and a little ball of light grows in his hand, giving off sparks and increasing in size until it’s on par with a large marble. The mech— or whatever the hell he actually was because mechanicals couldn’t form matter— closes his hand around it and the light disappears. Juno then opens his hand to reveal a shiny silver ball and Dawson only has a moment to study it before it flies forward and embeds itself in the guard’s chest, punching a hole straight through. 

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims, roughly wiping the blood spray from his face. Juno merely blinks, eerily unaffected, and follows easily when Dawson grabs him and drags him full speed from the scene. Hopefully the shock of their coworker's violent death keeps the other guards off their tail long enough for them to escape. 

   They make it to the exit, but Dawson would be hard pressed to recall how the hell they did it. After escaping the lab itself, it’s a simple matter of slipping down several tiny alleyways and taking a few twisty little side roads until they reach Dawson’s bike. Which swiftly presents the next dilemma; getting the lab grown superpowered mech onto said bike. Juno accepts the helmet easily enough, and even puts it on himself, though he bats away Dawson’s hands when he tries to adjust the straps. He sits behind Dawson when he says to, wrapping thin arms about the thief’s waist. He’s perfectly compliant until the bike turns on. The second it roars to life the mech is gone, scrambling off of the bike and away from its now offensive form.

“NO!” he yells, pointing an accusing finger at Dawson as he shuts off the bike and tries to approach Juno placatingly. “It’s too loud, I don’t like it!” It’s the most he’s heard from the mech since he opened that damn box. Dawson isn’t keen on having his head exploded or being set on fire, or whatever other powers Juno possessed, and so they are at an impasse. 

“What do you want from me here, kid? We need to get out of here, and this is how we do that.” He gestures behind him to the bike. “It’s perfectly safe, I promise.” The mech glares unwaveringly from under stringy curls, and he appears to be shivering— from the cold or from shock, it was hard to tell. Either way, he needed to get him indoors and fast. Could mechs even get sick from exposure? 

“Come on, we’ll get you some clothes, something to eat…” The promise of food seems to do the trick, mistrusting gaze softening to something almost hopeful. 

“Chocolate, I want chocolate, the shiny ones.” Demanding thing.

“I— Yeah, yeah okay. Get on the bike and we’ll find you some damn chocolate.” He offers his hand again to pull Juno back behind him on the bike, but he’s still a little surprised when icy fingertips graze his own. Again, he wonders if it’s a product of Juno’s inhumanity or the winter temperatures. Dawson guides him onto the bike, holding an arm securely over the thin ones clinging with much more fervor to his waist before starting the bike. Juno gives a little whine of fear but doesn’t run away this time, so Dawson counts it as a win and takes off. 

   20 minutes later and they pull up to a dark, run-down looking building. Dawson shuts off the bike and after some light jostling manages to get Juno to let go and get off the bike, before leading the mech inside. The interior is just as grim as the exterior— a welcome desk that has sat unoccupied since Dawson moved in fills one corner, while a pile of unusable cleaning supplies from when there was a cleaning crew 10 years ago takes up the lobby. Juno is again taking in his surroundings with all the interest and newness of a child or cartoon alien, running his fingers across a tabletop before grimacing at the thick dust that now clings to them. Dawson wrinkles his nose when the mech absently wipes the grime on his pilfered coat, drawing attention to how out of place he looks outside of the illegal lab setting— barefoot and clad only in a now bloodstained and filthy lab coat, which slides off one shoulder as it has lost several buttons. The dried and flaking blood spatter across what would otherwise be a sweet face completes the upsetting visage.

“Let’s go, we can’t let anyone see you like this.” He takes Juno by the hand and leads him up to his apartment, smirking a little when the mech groans at the sight of several flights of stairs. It was nice to know that there was some humanity programmed into him. 

10 floors later and they’re finally there.

“Home sweet home…” Dawson mumbles under his breath, pulling his keys out and opening the door. Juno all but runs inside, leaving the thief alone to lock back up. He kicks off his shoes by the door and then follows the sounds of Juno’s exploring to the living room, where the mech is stroking the blanket strewn carelessly over the back of the couch with reverent hands. Dawson clears his throat, feeling a little bad when he jerks his hands back as if burned.

“There’s a shower through there, go get washed up and I’ll have some clothes ready for you when you’re done.” he points to the doorway on the left. Juno seems to deflate before nodding shortly, stripping off the ruined lab coat right there in the living room, which… Okay, technically Dawson had already seen him nude, but he hadn’t planned on doing it again any time soon. He averts his eyes, and before he can muster up a response, the mech is gone, and the sound of the tub running starts up shortly. Shaking his head, Dawson grabs a trash bag from the kitchen to store the coat for now, planning on burning the thing when he gets the chance rather than risking someone finding it in the trash and poking around. Then he goes to his closet to find the aforementioned clothes he promised Juno.

   He doesn’t have much that will fit the slight mech, but he digs up a sweater from an old fling and some shorts with a tie that would work until he could get to a shop. There’s no underwear, but he suspects the mech isn’t used to wearing any anyways. Clothing sorted, Dawson decides to tackle the food problem. He’s not sure what the mech can eat, or, in all honesty, what in his kitchen is still edible. 

   The fridge is hours away from becoming a biohazard zone, and the fruit bowl on the counter has sat empty since the day his elderly neighbor brought it over as a housewarming gift. The pantry, however, yields a mostly not stale pack of crackers, a jar of pickles, and a half empty bag of halloween candy. He arranges his findings on one of the two plates he owns before checking his watch and frowning. It’s been less than 10 minutes and yet he can already hear Juno turning off the shower. There’s a pleased sound and then the quiet shuffling of someone getting dressed. 

   Juno emerges not soon after, rubbing a towel aggressively over his head. He has forgone the shorts for some unknown reason, but the sweater does technically cover everything, the hem hanging awkwardly to graze the mech’s bruised knees, and Dawson lets it slide, taking the towel from him before he can drop it carelessly to the ground like he clearly plans to. He takes one of the mech’s eternally cold hands and leads Juno over to sit at the table, setting the plate of food in front of him. Immediately he can tell he’s made some sort of grave error— those unnatural eyes narrow, and the mech pokes at one of the little gherkins with an unimpressed air.

“What… are those?” he asks disdainfully, selecting one of the less offensive crackers to shove into his mouth whole instead.

“They’re pickles, you never seen a pickle before?” Dawson asks defensively, taking one and biting into it with an obnoxious crunch. And maybe it’s a little more sour than usual, what would Juno know about it if it was? The mech just shakes his head, continuing to scarf down crackers whole. He’s a mess of contradiction, equal parts fearful and demanding, knowledgeable and clueless. And then there’s the whole ‘killing people with little balls of light’ thing to consider. Hell, he probably hasn’t ever heard of a pickle before. 

“So… What the hell was going on in that lab?” he finally asks. Juno looks up from his food (he has abandoned the plate and is now digging through the Halloween candy bag, pulling everything out and sorting them into piles— the non-chocolate candy is piling up on the floor beside his chair.) with eyes narrowed with distrust. He clearly isn’t about to bring Dawson into the loop, returning back to his candy sorting with an added flair of irritation. “Oh, so I save your skinny ass— nearly die in the process, might I add, take you in and feed and clothe you, but I can’t ask why they had you stuffed into a box? That seems fair.” He rolls his eyes when he is ignored yet again, reaching across the spindly table and grabbing the bag of candy from the mech’s lax grip. Juno hisses in surprise, baring pearly teeth at him— Dawson is pretty sure the mech might really try to bite him. Very animalistic for something so clearly machine.

“Nuh uh, you get these back when you answer my questions.” The little bastard actually has the nerve to snatch for the bag but he easily holds it out of reach. “Are you going to cooperate?” he reiterates once again, shaking the candy enticingly. Juno heaves a beleaguered sigh before giving a single sharp nod. As a token of good faith Dawson chucks a Twix at him— and is a little miffed when the brat catches it seamlessly.

“Good. Let’s start with something simple: why the hell were you in that box?”

“I always sleep in the box, if I’m not in use.” 

   That's… concerning. Mechs had developed so much in the past decade, it hardly seemed humane to lock them away when they weren’t ‘in use’. And those were just standard mechs, built to be companions, factory workers, and glorified pets. Whatever Juno was, it was clearly nearly human in its’ design, the lab could have at least sprung for a bed for the guy. The mech looks unconcerned though, gnawing at his candy’s wrapper with his teeth.

“What are your prioritized functions?” Some mechs don’t have them preprogrammed, or aren’t allowed to disclose them, but it's worth a shot to ask. Maybe if he knows why the lab was creating hyper realistic mechs, he could better figure out what to do with this one. Again though, Juno just looks confused by his question.

“I don’t know what that means.” It’s said fully deadpan, but Dawson can sense the unspoken disdain. 

“Well what the hell are you, then? They obviously built you for something— are you just some sort of fancy weapon?” This, at last, has an actual, visible effect on Juno. And Dawson immediately regrets saying it. Confusion, hurt, and guilt flicker across his face before his expression settles into something supremely pained. Then the tears come, only to be dashed away by the sleeve of Juno’s borrowed sweater before they can fall. 

“They didn’t. Build me, I mean. No one did. They just… added things. Removed things.” He’s looking down now, fiddling with the candy he still hasn’t managed to free from its wrapper. “I don’t remember everything, side effect of—” he waves his hand vaguely around his head, “but I was— I guess I was sick, as a kid? Really sick, and my family couldn’t afford the treatment, or maybe I didn’t have a family. The lab was running a trial for some special procedure and they picked me. Fixed me right up. Then they… kept finding new things to fix.” Dawson doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond. He settles on pushing the candy back across the table, avoiding the unbearable weight of that odd gaze. Silence, for a few moments. 

Then rustling sounds pick up. 

A package of Skittles hits the linoleum.