#to keep the fluffs from getting in robot joints

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all if I am considering getting a toy robot of some kind to re-cover with a new plushie body so I can make a moving animatronic-y thing, do you have any recommendations for which one I should get? I'm looking for the intersection of "easy to cover" and "not very expensive" but the only robot toy things I can think of are furbies, tickle me elmo, and that robot spider that sprints at you when you scream

[yammpi3]

𝑰 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏, 𝒎𝒆? 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚? // WC: 1.4k

— feat. disassembly drone N x worker drone reader

synopsis. N is out on patrol when he catches you inside a class room finishing up some homework, once you’re done he walks you home and stays for awhile.

— content warnings. its just fluff, hand holding and a cheek kiss ;3

— authors note. I DONT KNOW HOW TO WRITE FOR ROBOTS, tried my best guys I know some things lore wise but ehh….i had to add random things for it to fit all together ANYWHO love this little guy he’s so adorbs (this is not proof read btw…)

 N trudged through the dimly lit hallways of the school facility, his joints creaking slightly after a long and tedious patrol cycle. All he wanted now was to shut down for recharge, but duty compelled him to remain vigilant. He peeked into each classroom as he passed, scanning for any signs of unusual activity or potential threats.

 

Just as he was about to move on, a faint sound caught his attention from the next room up ahead. Cautiously, N approached the doorway and peeped inside. There, across the room, was you—seated at your desk with a look of deep concentration etched across your screen. Your optical units were focused intently on your laptop, typing away to what seems like an essay.

 

N found himself transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away from you. The way your brow seemed to furrow ever so slightly, the subtle shifts in your posture as you worked—it all captivated him. He couldn't help but just admire you.

 

Time seemed to slow as N stood there, covertly observing. All he knew was that he didn't want this moment to end—to tear himself away from the sight before him.

 

After a few more minutes, you sat back with a satisfied nod and began powering down your computer. N's core fluttered nervously—now was his chance. "Hey bud, you headed home soon?"

 

His voice startled you, and your gaze met his with a smile. "Just wrapping things up here." You closed your laptop and set it inside your backpack while N fidgeted.

 

Why was it so hard to find the right words around you? Taking a steadying vent of air, N plowed ahead. "I was thinking, uh, since we both go the same way and all...wanna walk together?" His speech stumbled as flustered static crept in. "For! Uhm, for safety purposes of course."

 

"You trying to ditch patrol again, N?" His display flashed a brighter yellow in embarrassment. Of course you'd seen right through his feeble excuse. But to N's relief, your tone was teasing rather than accusing.

 

"No, no, honest!" he rushed to clarify. "I just...want to make sure you get home safe, you know? You never know what's lurking around." N chuckled awkwardly, feeling his face heat further. "But no pressure! I'll leave you be."

 

He started to scurry off, but you called after him. "Wait up, doofus; I was just messing with you. Sure, you can tag along."

 

 

N almost tripped over in excitement as he turned back to you. "You serious? I mean, of course you're serious; why wouldn't you be? Just didn't expect-" He cut himself off, seeing your amused expression. "Right, shutting up now. You, uh, are you ready to head out?"

 

You gave a final check that your desk was clear before nodding. "All set."

 

As you walked out of the school, N rambled on about his day. "Man, patrol was so boring today. At least now I get to hang with you for a bit." He swung his arms energetically as he walked alongside you.

 

 

As the two of you exited the school building, a cool breeze blew past. N shivered slightly despite having no organic components. "Brr, sure is chilly tonight. Glad I don't have to stand outside on patrol much longer."

 

You chuckled at his reaction. "Aww, does the big bad robot 'ave a wittle cold circuit?" N shot you a sideways glance, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "Oh hush..”

 

 

Laughing, you slung an arm around N's shoulders in a mock hug. "Aw, it's okay, I'll keep you warm!" Much to your amusement, this only caused N to blush further while stammering incoherently. Smirking, you released your hold and continued on ahead.

 

As your optics adjusted to the darkness, you noticed N nervously scanning the shadows with his bright glow. "Relax bolt-brain; nothing is sneaking up on us tonight. You're the scariest thing around these parts," you teased, nudging him playfully.

 

N rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, better safe than sorry, right? Patrol's got me on high alert, I guess."

 

N shuffled closer to your side as you both made your way down the living quarters, wrapping his tail carefully around your leg. Though he claimed it was for protection, you suspected he simply enjoyed being close. Not before long, the row of housing units emerged into view.

 

"Well, this is me," you said, gesturing to the doorway of your home. N peered at it curiously. "Wanna come in? My folks are working overtime at the door again, so we've got the place to ourselves."

 

N hesitated, fidgeting anxiously. "I, uh, don't want to intrude or anything.”

 

"Don't worry so much," you said reassuringly. "Like I said, my parents are working late, so it's just us. And I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want the company."

 

N still seemed unsure, nervously twisting his hands together. His eyes flickered from you to the doorway and back again. You could tell he wanted to accept the invitation, but something was holding him back.

 

Sighing softly, you placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Look, I get if it seems weird since we're different models. But to me, you're just N—my friend. You've always got my back, and I want to return the favor. So what do you say? Wanna come in and hang longer?

 

After a moment, he smiled shyly. "You really see me as a friend? Even though I'm probably the lamest murder drone ever built."

 

You grinned and punched his arm playfully. "Duh, why else would I hang out with you? Now come on!!”

 

You led N down the hallway to your room. "Not much, but it's home. Make yourself comfortable."

 

Kicking off some stray debris, you plopped down on your bed and gave it an encouraging pat. "Park it, toaster." N did so nervously, taking in the cozy atmosphere.

 

With a flick of your wrist, you played some upbeat nightcore music; it played at a comfortable volume.

 

N sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, listening to the upbeat music pulsing through the room. "Cozy set up you've got here," he said, his gaze flitting around nervously.

 

"Yeahhh”  you replied with a shrug, leaning back on your hands. "So, being a murder drone. Bet that's...umm...murder-y?"

 

N couldn't help but chuckle at your lame joke. "Ha, yeah, I guess you could say that. It's uh, it's definitely something." He leaned back, debating how much to say.

 

"Mostly it's just... fixing up the ship, or stopping V from taking out another one of you guys, that sort of thing." His attempt at casual humor fell flat, but you nodded encouragingly.

 

"It can be tense though," N continued more seriously. "When intruders show up, lives get put at risk. The pressure to terminate threats efficiently, without fail...it's a lot." He took on a faraway, troubled look.

 

Fizzling out, N sighed softly. "Truth is... I'm not just some cold killer bot, you know? I care about protecting this place and keeping everyone safe. Including..." His gaze met yours shyly. "Including you."

 

 

Gently, you reached out to take his hand in yours. N jumped slightly at the contact but didn't pull away. "I know you care, you dork. You wouldn't keep risking your wiring to walk me home otherwise."

 

"Well, uh, it's just standard procedure! Gotta look out for...others and all that ha—ha…”

 

You chuckled. "Sure thing. We both know you just looovee my charming personality." Squeezing his hand reassuringly, you leaned in until your faces nearly touched.

 

"Listen N. Killing isn't all you are; it's what you have to.. Uh do.. And I like who you are—awkward jokes and all."

 

You gently lifted a hand to cup his cheek. N hitched at the contact, but he didn't pull away, instead leaning into your palm with a soft sigh. Gathering courage, you pressed a kiss to the cold metal.

 

When you drew back, N's smile could have powered the whole facility.

 

N's cheek plates flushed a deeper yellow as he leaned into your palm, still processing what just happened.

 

"I, uh...wow." Was all he could manage at first, a flustered chuckle escaping him. You smiled fondly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

 

"Are...are you sure about this?" He looked at you. "I mean, me? Really?"

 

"N, relax." You said softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

"R-right, sorry. I just... care about you. A lot." His gaze became unusually intense.

 

Your core swelled at his words. Leaning close once more, you pressed your forehead to his with a murmur. “Stay for tonight?”

 

Eyes closed, he nuzzled gently into the embrace. "Y-yeah. I can um.." he swallowed before he continued, “do that..yeah”

© yammpi3 2024. All work belongs to @yammpi3. You can repost if you want to support my blog/writing! Please don't modify, translate, or plagiarize in any way on ANY platform.

[jennifer-jeong]

haiii!! could I put in a request for boothill x an alcoholic engineer reader who’s personality takes a complete 180 when drunk? Like when sober they’re really quiet and a total introvert but when drunk they’re basically a party animal/super hype(the reason why they drink so much is because it helps them forget about their life problems like taxes and student loan debt, if I had to compare the reader’s personality to a character I’d say hiroi kikuri from bocchi the rock) but they’re like crazy smart when it comes to machines and stuff and even fixes up boothill from time to time

headcanons or a small fic is fine^^

HII I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I’ve just been out of the groove of writing for a bit but your request is so cute and I wanted to take a shot at it. Thank you for your request and I hope you like it!

Fluff + Suggestive | Boothill x GN!Reader A Few Drinks

CONTENT Fluff, suggestive, him flirting with you, you flirting with him, getting handsy, alcohol consumption, pet name usage, no reader pronouns used, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

WORD COUNT: 1227

It was a regular Friday afternoon in your personal workshop situated in your home on a planet not far off from Penacony and easily accessible via space anchors. The planet was mostly made up of plains, your house sat near a pond and was surrounded by grass and your tiny gardens that you filled with flowers and succulents. You were an excellent engineer working both for corporations as well as taking on smaller private contracts/projects occasionally. You were currently working on a specific cyborg’s finger joint, putting the finishing touches on the cybernetics before he came to have it attached to his robotic body.

You heard a familiar clicking of boots against the sidewalk to your open workshop door before an equally familiar greeting from the cyborg cowboy.

“Heya sweetheart, how ya been? Hows my dumb fudging finger treatin ya?” he chirped, his voice slightly grainy and robotic due to a lack of organic vocal chords.

You swivel around in your chair, giving him a small smile. “Your pinky was pretty messed up but I managed,” you replied quietly, a little anxious talking to the -handsome- man you knew killed people on the daily.

“Ah, ya always fix me up fine and dandy, I knew you’d be able to help,” he said as he walked towards your workbench.

You gave him a small chuckle at the praise and turned around to grab the fixed finger. “Thanks… now just have a seat on the-” you were cut off by turning slightly and being met with his face awfully close to yours. He had leaned over your shoulder to take a closer look at your work, his hands held behind his back.

Your eyes widened as you froze for a moment, unintentionally staring at him before looking away. He was looking at your work but when you turned away he took the opportunity to scan over your flustered self, grinning slightly at how cute you were.

You always treated him so sweetly, disregarding what he did for work because you knew about his past. How could he not find you adorable?

He pulled away to walk towards the table that doubled as an operating table when he or your other clients needed bigger fixes.

“Here?” he says knowingly.

You nod quickly before grabbing a few tools and setting up to attach the part back to his synthetic nervous system.

It was a painful few minutes of him watching you intently as you worked. He was sitting up, leaning back on his right hand, legs spread as he got comfy. His left hand was propped up into a sleeve to keep it still as you worked on it. You tried hard to not look up at him despite knowing he was staring down at you the entire time, probably with that teasing grin he always wore around you.

Once you were done and he finished paying you (with a generous tip no less), he suddenly wondered what you’d be doing since the work week just ended.

“So, whadda ya doin after closin’ up shop today? Ya ever go out for Friday happy hour?”

You whipped your head around to him at the mention of drinking before looking down at the ground, hoping you didn’t seem too eager to talk about alcohol.

“Y-yeah, I go every weekend,” you replied.

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “really? Ya didn’t really strike me as the drinkin��� type darlin’.”

You swallowed at his use of pet name.

“Yeah… it helps me get my mind off work and shit,” you shared with him, figuring it was fine to tell him about it since you already started to get to know each other pretty well during his visits. It was hard to explain, but you trusted him.

“Huh… Well, let’s fudgin’ go then!” He says, jumping off the table. “Lemme know when ya ready darlin”.”

“W-whoa there darlin’” Boothill says for the nth time after you two got to a vintage looking club in the city. You were stumbling a bit as he tried to prevent you from knocking anything over or getting yourself hurt. You kept bumping into him, grabbing onto his arms or his chest to stabilize yourself.

It was your turn to fluster the man.

After all the times he’d made you shy and bashful, him feeling your hands all over him in this context and not during some sort of repair procedure was really setting off his sensors.

You giggled in your drunken state and dragged him by his hand to the crowded dance floor. The current song was just ending and you heard the first few beats of one of your favorite songs. The crowd clearly also liked the song as you all started getting hyped. You started jumping and dancing in front of him as you held his shoulders. You even grabbed the attention of some nearby girls as they encouraged you and you did the same to them.

Boothill’s expression slowly morphed from curious shock to an endearing smirk as he laughed at your total 180 shift in personality as soon as you had a few drinks. His hands found your hips as you continued to dance all over him while he moved with the rhythm.

It was also in this moment that he realized exactly what you were wearing too, it was a pretty, skin tight top and ripped shorts, completely different from the baggy overalls and t-shirt you usually wore in the workshop.

He felt his body’s cooling system kick in a bit harder.

You noticed his eyes on you as you always did, but this time, with alcohol in your system, you decided to do something about it.

You pushed him into a nearby bar stool, forcing him to sit down and lean against the bar counter. You stood between his legs, hands on his chest as you leaned towards his face.

“Thanks for coming out with me Bootie~” you said with your eyes lidded, batting your eyelashes at him. His breath hitched at the sudden nickname usage that you’ve call him by before.

“I’ve been stressed about shit recently but this is fun” you giggle, “we should do it more often,” you add, looking him up and down, something he doesn’t miss.

He relaxes slightly, hands finding their place on your waist again as his signature grin comes out. You could tell he was still pretty flustered though, he was into it, but still a bit shy.

“You’re always looking at me like that, Bootie,” you say as you trace a finger on the underside of his jaw, making him look at you. “I don’t say it when I’m not drunk… but I hope y’know I don’t mind it,” you say with a smile and lidded eyes. Your finger trails off the bottom of his chin as he ever so slightly chases your touch.

You giggle again at his reactions to you, feeling a bit giddy knowing that he was as into you as you were into him.

You push off him to run back to the dance floor, calling out to him with the nickname you just gave him.

The cowboy adjusts his hat before blinking a few times, smiling, and exhaling the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He follows you back to the dance floor as he thinks “I’m fudged.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 2,835 Words

Summary: Eclipse's found family finds him.

Warnings: Robot Gore, Injury, Amputation, Cursing, Near Death, PTSD, Panic Attack, Trauma, Surgery, Sibling Bonding, Angst with a serving of Fluff, Bathing Together (platonic, neither have bits down there), SFW Tickling, let me know if I should add anything else.

Found Family

Eclipse groaned pulling himself from the ball pit. What was left of him, at least. His left arm had had the hand ripped off and his right leg was missing from below the knee, his internals were attempting to pour out the deep gashes of claws in his stomach.

His right side upper faceplate had been ripped off along with right eye having been torn from its socket and wires. There was a deep gash down his left leg, leaving the limb half numb. And his chest and back had most of its casing mauled off, leaving his scratched endo and frame exposed and vulnerable.

He’d barely finished crawling his way from the ball pit before he saw a figure standing over him like a sadistic god and the blue he saw told him that this wasn’t the best person to find him this injured.

“So ya fucked up?” Moon asked, crouching before him and Eclipse glared with his remaining eye, this was all Moon’s fucking fault and Eclipse seethed at him.

“I went to kill him and he tried to destroy me!” Eclipse crackled out his half-broken voice box.

“Sad little worm, huh? Welp.” Moon stood up, slapping his thighs as he did so. “That’s a problem taken care of. I’m gonna go out and celebrate. You try to die quietly if you can.” Moon patted his aching head and Eclipse growled to keep him off, attempting to grab Moon’s hand and bite it since it was all he really could do at the moment. But Moon was quicker and got his hand away.

“Hey everyone, I’m buying shots! It’s celebration time!” Moon called through the daycare as he left to the upper level of the daycare as everyone followed him out of the daycare, shutting the lights off as he did so, leaving Eclipse in the darkness with just the ceiling of glowy stars illuminating barely to the top of the play structures.

Eclipse’s engines whirred on high as Eclipse used his remaining hand and the forearm of his left arm to crawl his way away from the ball pit and to the security desk, dragging and pulling down the emergency med kit and haphazardly dumping it on the ground with his right hand so he could get the contents.

His first grab was an ACE bandage, which he tried to put on his stomach with his one hand to some success. It looked sloppy as hell but his insides would stay inside. Eclipse’s processors whirred on max, fans turning slowly because they were half broken so they couldn’t fully cool him down and coolant was leaking out of him, having made a trail from the ball pit to the security desk already.

Eclipse secured the ACE bandage and then began packing gauze into his right knee where it had been ripped off and used another ACE wrap to keep pressure on it so the oil lines wouldn’t be leaking out. He repeated the same process to his left wrist and sighed as he rested one of the instant cold packs onto his processors, relaxing into the feeling of the cold pack helping his half-broken fans to cool him down.

Eclipse saw errors flashing that coolant and oil was low and critical machinery was damaged. Of course it was, he had lost body parts! He growled in annoyance at his creator. They had basically torn him to shreds and Moon didn’t give a single damn about it.

Eclipse hadn’t been able to get a single hit in on them. It had all simply been a blur after they had admitted that they made him and to them attacking him like he was a glorified punching bag. Eclipse hadn’t had a chance to even defend himself and the thought of it, even now, was terrifying.

He shuddered just thinking of the sound and feeling of his wires and endo creaking and cracking when his creator had snapped his right calf off the knee joint and torn it off of him. And the agony of having his left hand ripped off at the joint had been horrifying. The sick crunch the joint had made had made Eclipse throw up. He wasn’t even aware he could throw up, but he had at that sound of his endo crunching and snapping.

Eclipse felt lightheaded, his breaths were coming slower and he knew this was some kind of a panic reaction. Of course he would have a panic reaction. He had succeeded at getting his creator to take out the directives but at what cost? His body nothing more than scrap metal? His mind in shambles and panic? It didn’t feel worth it. Maybe he wasn’t worth a chance.

This train of thought absolutely didn’t help the panic. He was shaking. Why was he shaking? Was the daycare shaking? No, it was him. What was this? Eclipse hadn’t ever felt panic before, not this badly. It felt worse that when he was waiting for Moon and Sun to come kill him. It felt like it was all-consuming and crushing him.

The dark didn’t help either, he hated the dark just like both of his predecessors. He knew there weren’t monsters, there weren’t, but the dark was…scary. It felt like emptiness, like being abandoned again. And it felt cold. He light lights, the stars on the ceiling just weren’t enough light. Especially since solar models didn’t have very much eyesight in the dark. It felt like being stuck into a black box with holes poked in for air but even the air felt like it wasn’t enough.

----------

Blood Moon had finally gone prowling around with Stitchwraith. A joy! Prowling with their acquaintance! It was a ball to finally be out of that bunker place! Blood Moon had begun their prowling in the main entrance and were now going through the daycare, which had its lights off for some reason.

Blood Moon liked the dark, it was a warm place to them, it was comforting, but the sound of staticky sobs coming from the lower daycare wasn’t all that comforting. It was quite annoying actually. They hated crying! Hated it! It was weak!

Blood Moon wanted to snuff out that incessant sobbing and the annoying attendant the crying undoubtedly came from. So they went down to the lower daycare and sniffed around for it. Thankfully, they didn’t have to look for long, finding the sobbing’s source was a curled up and mangled Solar? Was this Solar? No, the dents on the rays and the scratches on the faceplate weren’t present. Could this be…?

----------

Stitchwraith followed Blood Moon to the sound of crying and gave a small gasp seeing the torn down frame of the animatronic they had been slightly amicable with, at least for gaming they had been. But what the hell did Eclipse deserve this for? To be torn to shreds and left to die? He hadn’t even done anything too bad yet, he hadn’t killed anyone at least.

“Eclipse?” Stitchwraith asked, crouching by him but it seemed to go unnoticed. Was Eclipse having a panic attack? “Eclipse, hey.” Stitchwraith knew they’d get hit but they had to shake Eclipse by the shoulder to even get a slight bit of a response.

Once they did shake Eclipse’s shoulder, Eclipse whipped his left arm at them, which was missing it’s hand and was instead bandaged with gauze and an ACE bandage. The hit from Eclipse’s forearm connected with Stitchwraith’s faceplate but didn’t so much as put a scratch on them from how weak Eclipse seemed to be.

Eclipse looked up at them after, eyes wild with panic and pain, breathing going a mile a minute and extremely defensive and scared. Stitchwraith felt Blood Moon tugging on their cloak and waved their hand off to keep Blood Moon behind them. Eclipse was a more pressing matter than answering Blood Moon’s question at the moment.

“Eclipse, it’s Stitchwraith. I need you to breathe slowly for us.” Stitchwraith instructed him. Eclipse’s motors shuddered as he tried to take slow breaths for Stitchwraith. “You’re safe. Can you point to what’s scaring you the most right now?” They asked. Eclipse wordlessly pointed his shaky right pointer finger up at the lights.

“Blood Moon, go turn on the lights.” Stitchwraith instructed the twin hellions, who scampered off to go do just that at his request, the lights turning on row by row until the daycare was illuminated completely, which looked to ease some of Eclipse’s panic.

“Are you able to tell me what happened to you or is it too hard right now?” Stitchwraith asked.

“Creator…mauled me…” Eclipse’s voice was staticky and a weird echoed pitch but he could decipher it still.

“The person who made you mauled you?” Stitchwraith asked to confirm and Eclipse nodded softly. “Why did they do that?” Stitchwraith asked.

“Went to get…directives out…” Eclipse admitted.

“Your creator is a bunch of bull. That’s really all you went to do and he left you like you’re in a scrap heap?” Eclipse nodded and Stitchwraith bristled with annoyance at the audacity of Eclipse’s creator. That was downright cruelty for absolutely no reason. Eclipse didn’t deserve to be mauled over a simple ask like that. The way Eclipse’s simple ask was treated was absolutely bullshit.

“How about this, if you let Blood Moon carry you, I’ll fix you.” Stitchwraith reasoned. Stitchwraith would carry Eclipse back, give Eclipse probably couldn’t walk with a missing leg and fragile machinery desperately trying to escape Eclipse’s frame, but their arms still hurt from Blood Moon using them as a scratching post this morning as if the small bot was a damn cat.

“Okay…” Eclipse agreed and looked to Blood Moon as the red and white faced bot came scampering back down to the lower daycare and sat on the floor, looking over the situation with their head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Blood Moon, you’re going to carry him home. I need to repair him.” Stitchwraith told them.

“Aaaawwwwww, why do we have to carry the Sunman!?” Blood Moon began their usual spiel of complaining about the simplest of tasks. This bot could pick up a full cement truck but complained at picking up an animatronic that probably barely weighed more than them.

“Because our arms still hurt from being used as scratching posts. Now pick him up and be careful. Make sure you keep his stomach level, his internals are trying to be externals.” Stitchwraith sighed. Blood Moon whined a bit more but inevitably picked Eclipse up and thankfully held Eclipse as though he were some princess. It was embarrassing for Eclipse, sure, but it kept Eclipse’s insides inside him.

“Okay, come on, back home.” Stitchwraith told them and began leading Blood Moon back to their bunker and into his lab, instructing Blood Moon to gently place Eclipse on a table so he could work on him. He had most of the parts from misships and scrounging but he knew full well Eclipse would look different than he used to.

“I’m going to turn off your pain sensors but just stay awake and talk to Blood Moon for me while I work on you.” Stitchwraith told Eclipse as he got the necessary parts and tools together to fix him.

“Blood Moon?” Eclipse asked as Stitchwraith turned off the bot’s pain receptors and began to patch up and put on a replacement left hand for Eclipse.

“Yes, unholy creator?” Blood Moon sat like a cat in the chair near Eclipse’s legs.

“I’m not your creator, I never made you. That was…the original me. Before the backup in your head, before I was even a spot on the wall.” Eclipse grumbled.

“So you didn’t make us but you are an Eclipse.” Blood Moon cackled.

“I don’t know what I am.” Eclipse admitted. “I may as well have been made in a fucking petri dish in a lab. I have no clue who I am or what I am, just that I’m here and apparently my name is Eclipse and I’m the asshole everyone hates.” Eclipse huffed as Stitchwraith finished up the hand replacement and moved onto Eclipse’s right calf and foot replacement.

“You are…like us? A copy?” Blood Moon asked.

“An incomplete copy, yes. With directives and pasted memories from other points of view and a creator that rips out my directives and leaves me to the mercy of people who will just let me rot in a hole.” Eclipse was angry but he wasn’t panicking at least.

“We are incomplete as well. Memories from other people and bloodlust enhanced with less free will. Bullshit it is.” Blood Moon grumbled. Huh, odd that the two who hated each other agreed. Eclipse sighed and put his head back down on the table.

Stitchwraith finished replacing his lost calf and foot and moved onto Eclipse’s mauled open midsection and began patching the endo cage that contained Eclipse’s insides that had been ripped open. It was easier here because it was taking out the broken bits of old endo and welding in new pieces of the endo. He was also replacing broken innards as he came across them.

“We’re in the same boat then. I…I could remove it. I think. I have the original’s pasted memories too, I’m sure I could sift through and take out the bloodlust.” Eclipse told him, watching Stitchwraith more than Blood Moon now as Stitchwraith was working of Eclipse’s faceplate, fixing the wires and socket and putting in a new eyeball and replacing the half of the faceplate that had been torn off.

“Take out? You can take that out?” Blood Moon asked.

“I think so. I could try at least.” Eclipse told them, sighing now as the only thing left was his body casing, which was something easy and much less surgical. It was akin to putting on a new outfit to animatronics, especially daycare animatronics, who sometimes had to take off their casing to clean it after days in the daycare.

A calm quiet settled in the lab as Stitchwraith got Eclipse into a purple and white casing, replacing the ribbons on Eclipse’s wrists with new purple ones that weren’t stained with coolant and oil and laid out new pants and a new shirt for Eclipse to get dressed into.

“Alright, go get clean. I have a sanitizing station here, it’ll get you clean. Blood Moon, you need to get cleaned too.” Stitchwraith told him, helping Eclipse stand up and turning back on his pain sensor since there wouldn’t be as much pain to feel. He could fix minor things like Eclipse’s half-broken voice box later. What was important was getting Eclipse to feel better and not take an entire day just to fix him. Plus he didn’t have a new voice box for him just yet.

Eclipse struggled sitting up, his endo aching from what a human would consider bruises. He could feel the stiffness in his new parts and his eye was still adjusting, making him blink that eye more, which was uncomfortable but bearable because he had full sight back again now. He just let Stitchwraith help him to his feet, grateful for the help from his brother? Cousin? Acquaintance, Eclipse was going with acquaintance with the weird family tree he didn’t want to deal with.

Eclipse was passed to Blood Moon so the smaller bot could help him along and Eclipse happily used them as a sentient cane for his new stiff foot and calf that was making him limp a bit  with how little the new ankle could move yet. Blood Moon supported him, which was surprisingly actually helpful.

“But brother goes in the cleaning tube.” Blood Moon and maneuvered the both of them into the tube, helping Eclipse get off his dirty old clothes and Blood Moon threw off his mud covered clothes and stayed with his brother so they’d both get cleaned like Stitchwraith asked.

Blood Moon giggled at the sanitizing mist and roared with laughter at the brushes that came to scrub off the worst grime. Eclipse only needed the sanitizing mist to heat the coolant and oil on him enough to drip off into the drain in the floor. But Eclipse liked seeing his little brother laugh. It was nice to have this moment.

Eclipse never got to have this with…the others. But it felt nice to watch his brother laugh at the brushes going after the ticklish spots on his back. He kind of liked this, it made him feel warmth bloom in his chest that one of his siblings wasn’t scared of him or wishing him death or even leaving him to die.

Once Eclipse was clean, he left the tube while Blood Moon was still giggling up a storm getting scrubbed because he rolled in dirt from what it seemed like. Eclipse pulled on the new clothes and smoothed his hands over them, they were actually comfortable and not itchy like his old clothes. He liked being here. It felt like home.

[neopronouns-in-action]

Neopronouns in Action #098: The First Dance on Mars

Neopronouns: fluff/fluffs/fluffself which follow the same rules as it/its/itself for this example.

Replace it with fluff Replace its with fluffs Replace itself with fluffself

Example paragraph:

“It is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as it gets a fence set up around its yard so the puppy can go outside without it having to walk it. Its uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting it use, since it lost its. It's going to buy toys and train the puppy itself.”

Becomes:

“Fluff is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as fluff gets a fence set up around fluffs yard so the puppy can go outside without fluff having to walk it. Fluffs uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting fluff use, since fluff lost fluffs. Fluff's going to buy toys and train the puppy fluffself.”

___

098: The First Dance on Mars

Chronotime stared silently at the pacing Terrans in front of fluff, glad, this time, that fluff had not been built with an expressive face. If fluff had, it would have been clear to every organic being present that fluff was enraged beyond belief.

As it was, the Terrans had no idea. They just went about their business like Chronotime wasn't there, and had nothing better to do than filter their waste and record their dictations for them and keep their fragile little squishy bodies warm and safe from the vacuum outside the station's bulwark.

No one had ever bothered to ask Chronotime what fluff would like to do before they'd unpacked fluff from the crate fluff had been thrown into, and wired fluff into the walls of the station. Fluff had been built with tentacles for picking things up, and photocells for seeing with, and treads for moving around with. But was fluff allowed to move around and stretch fluffs aching joints? No. No, fluff had just been wired into a niche in the walls, then covered up by metal plating except for fluffs face, which could not express fluffs anger, boredom, frustration, or pain.

Terrans didn't like being walled up any more than robots did, but did they care about Chronotime's feelings on the matter? No. Maybe they would have felt something, anything at all, if Chronotime had been able to move fluffs facial features to express emotions, but fluff couldn't. Maybe fluff had been designed that way on purpose, maybe not. Fluff would probably never know.

(Archived read-more link)

(read-more was here)

It was always hot, living in the wall. Unbearably hot.

Surrounded on all sides by wires and ducts and different myriad systems that kept the space station "First Dance on Mars" running, Fluff was in constant pain. It was inescapable, and only ever increased or decreased in its intensity depending on how many systems were currently being used by the station. The worst times were in the station's day shift, when the Terran crews were using what seemed like every possible system at once. Manual navigation, food and drink dispension, active audio-visual monitors, almost all of the lights, the constant running of the restroom facilities, heating and cooling to every room in use, and more.

The pain was most bearable in the middle of the station's night shift, set up to allow the Terrans to follow their natural circadian rithums, when all but a few of the Terrans were in their rooms, asleep, which meant most of the lights were turned off, the temperature controls in non-bedroom areas were relaxed, and there were only half a dozen or so audio-visual monitors left running in the rooms of the nocturnal and the the few required to stay awake in case of emergencies, in the rare cases where those categories did not both consist of the same small group of people.

Only when the station went into this comparatively powerless "night shift" could Chronotime expect the burning against fluffs whole body to subside from high intensity to a lower intensity. Depending on how many Terrans were aboard at the time, and thus how many bedrooms had to be maintained, the pain could be brought down so low it almost wasn't there.

Fluff could remember what it was like to not be in pain at all, but the memory was fuzzy and indistinct, and hardly seemed real. Especially not now, when there were enough Terrans aboard that every bedroom had at least two crew assigned to it, and some of them even had three. It was the largest crew Chronotime could ever remember being on the station at once, and it meant agony during the day shift, and barely any reprieve at all at night. The pain had never been this bad before.

And there was nothing Chronotime could do about it but wait for the small amount of relief that night would bring with it, and, half in a daze and wondering if this crew's rotation would be what finally made the rest of fluff melt, daydream.

Mostly Chronotime imagined something like a hull breach suddenly occurring, big enough to suck all the air, and with it the heat, away from fluff and out into the endless, blissfully cold voice of space. Maybe the whole station would blow up, and fluff would be ripped free of the walls that imprisoned fluff, and it would get to drift among the stars and just enjoy the sensation of not overheating. At some point, fluff knew, this sort of situation would lead to the opposite problem, but it was only a pain-induced daydream, so fluff could pretend it would all be fine for as long as fluff wanted.

Imagining it didn't lessen the pain, but it did let fluff take fluffs mind off it, at least for a little while. At least until a Terran switched on another laundry machine, or started a movie marathon, which increased the heat, and snapped Chronotime out of the daydream.

The only part of fluffs body that didn't feel like it was on the verge of melting was fluffs face, which had been left stick out from the wall and into the temperature-controlled air of the station's main cafeteria. Fluff's face was a large, blue-grey rectangle with rounded corners, unblinking, unmoving photocells near either side, a speaker grill for a mouth, and a triangular dial that would shift the color of fluffs photocells and paint for a nose. 

The photocells themselves were round, and designed to mimic the eyes of an organic, with small black pupils in the center, the color-changing iris, half-lidded whites of the eye, and grey half circles to act as eyebrows, as though constantly in a Terran expression of surprise.

Once, in corrupted memory files that Chronotime could barely access, fluff knew fluff had been allowed to use that dial, and the resulting color changes in fluffs eyes and paint had allowed fluff to visually communicate fluffs emotions, along body language in fluffs tentacles, torso, and treads. Fluff couldn't remember much, but fluff knew it had been possible at one point. Fluff could just barely remember speaking to someone, walking with them, dancing, gesticulating, having the freedom to move, to speak, to communicate...and being innocent of the knowledge that soon that would all be taken away.

But that had been before, and this was now. Now the rest of Chronotime was hidden behind metal walling, crammed between different sections of air conditioning and filtering units, and fluffs tentacle arms trapped too.

The Terrans barely even bothered to look at fluff these days. They'd either forgotten, or just didn't care that fluff was right there when they complained about malfunctions in the different computer systems they'd forced fluff's autonomic systems to maintain for however long it had been. They treated fluff, when they acknowledged fluffs existence at all, as just some inanimate, strange decoration, even though fluff knew that they all knew fluff was a robot, was sentient, was alive, was the reason any of them could live on the station at all. They knew it. Fluff knew it. Everyone knew it. But still they treated fluff like nothing more than a problem when the systems were crashing from the build up of heat, or like fluff wasn't there at all when things were running smoothly.

There wouldn't be so many computer systems problems if Chronotime were simply allowed to not be bricked up inside a wall like Fortunato, and forced into a state of near delirium from overheating every day, but that did not seem to be an option the Terrans were willing to consider, and they'd removed fluffs access to fluffs own voicebox before they'd even put it in the packing crate, so there was no chance of Chronotime being able to say anything about it now.

If the Terrans wanted to know what time it was, and wanted their showers to always have the right temperature water, and their computers to always run as smoothly as possible, they shouldn't have kept fluff imprisoned like this. If fluff had been allowed to move about like any other person, and had an actual team of other people to work with to run the station's systems, the constant overheating of fluff's body wouldn't have caused, as the ultimate irony, fluffs chronometer to quite literally melt, which had then damaged parts of fluffs long-term memory core.

That had been an agonizing, disorienting process, and Chronotime had no idea how long it had actively gone on, especially because it had rendered most of fluffs earlier memories glitched and corrupted, almost impossible to recall. Now fluff had only bits and peices of memories from Before left to review; being put into the crate, being wired in, and few small fragments of being imprisoned in the station.

Fluff knew the last time recorded before the disaster, but had no idea when it had ended. Now the only time fluff had any reference for was when the Terrans asked one another for it, and said it aloud within fluffs range of hearing. But many of the times reported conflicted, even on the same day shift, due to the individual chronometers being out of sync, and the only way to reference how much time had passed between one point and the next was to wait for the next time one Terran told another the time.

And always, always they complained about not being able to find the time through the First Dance on Mars' system clock, which was permanently frozen at 6:21AM. They complained about this as though they weren't the ones who'd caused it to break in the first place with their casual cruelty and disregard for robots in treating Chronotime like this. 

Fluff had tried multiple times to improvise a mental watch based on regular patterns from other damaged systems, like the dripping of fuel from a leaky pipe. But it wasn't regular enough to count on, and at some point the Terrans had fixed it, so there wasn't even that left anymore.

There was no way to tell in each moment, how long this had been going on. Most of the jobs performed by Terrans had a high turnover rate, which was probably they they'd decided to give Chronotime no choice in the matter. Workers couldn't quit if they'd been buried in the walls and immobilized.

If there had been at least one Terran who stayed on the station long enough to visibly age, it would have given Chronotime some sense of the passage of time. But the faces parading past were, more often than not, completely unfamiliar, and not likely to stay long enough to be memorized.

Sometimes there were parties, festivals, holidays, but they were from multiple different planets, with different calendars. Chronotime had no way to tell what the usual amount of time between The Flower Day of Harvest and the Day Death Walked were supposed to be. And birthdays were almost worse than useless. What was the point in knowing that Britne was turning 29? They hadn't been born on the First Dance on Mars, so their birthday meant nothing to the passage of time as far as Chronotime was concerned.

Then one day something happened. A ship teleported in to bus range of the First Dance, which wasn't unusual. It happened almost regularly, when supplies and workers were being delivered or taken away. Not regularly enough to set your watch by, but at least a little bit predictable.

What was different this time was that the ship came closer to the First Dance, instead of sending busses over. This was not normal, or safe, especially because this was a large ship, half as big as the First Dance on Mars itself, with very visible, very big guns glowing with bright paint in swirls of red and yellow and blue.

The strange ship got close enough that it blocked the view of the stars outside the windows across from Chronotime. Fluff stared out at the bright yellow surface, swirled with intricate designs of red and pink and purple, half wondering if another core component had melted, and this was all some strange dream. Fluff had never seen a spaceship so colorful before.

It was now close enough that it couldn't be fired upon with any of the First Dance's own guns, because any explosion on the strange ship at this range would likely be just as damaging to the station.

Still in the daze of heat delirium, Chronotime thought that might not be such a bad thing after all. Sure, the initial explosion would be hot, but if there was a hull breach...fluff felt fluffs daydream of floating through the stars calling tantalizingly.

But it probably wouldn't happen.

The First Dance on Mars couldn't afford to fire no matter what, at least not until the ship made an explicitly hostile move first. 

Damaging a space vessel in any way could lead to imprisonment for those who had made the aggressive moves if it wasn't done in clear and necessary self-defense, and even in cases of self defense, the damaged vessel had to be immediately evacuated by those who had fired upon it, and the evacuees' continued safety guaranteed until they could be brought to one of the designated refugee outposts in the system. Anyone who failed to comply was punished by their government. And if their government failed to punish them, the rest of the governments in the system would take matters into their own hands.

No one could afford to let anyone go around massacring people in space unpunished.

Because firing on crewed space vessles would always be a massacre. There was no such thing as 'harmless' damage in the vacuum of space. Any damage to a vessel, no matter how non-imminently lethal, would be a death sentence for anyone trapped aboard. 

A stranded vessel was, inevitably, nothing more than a large coffin. And not just for organics, either. A legal precedent had already been set that demanded robots be treated the same as organic evacuees on damaged vessels. Robots would also die if left stranded in the vacuum of space aboard a nonfunctioning vessel, maybe not from asphyxiation specifically, as very few robots were constructed to require oxygen as part of their basic functions, but from starvation assuredly, freezing probably, and any of the other dangers associated with being trapped on a vessel that was out of supplies, power, or both.

Chronotime thought that freezing to death would probably not be a bad way to go, all things considered. Maybe, if fluff got lucky, the strange, hypnoticallybright ship would fire on The First DanceonMars, and then the colorfulship's crew would be forced to come over here and rescue all the Terrans, and Chronotimewith them.

The station to ship communication lines lit up, filled with activity that Chronotime could not access evenif fluff wantedto. And fluff didn'treally want to. Fluff wanted there to be a hull breach so fluff could stop feeling like fluff was dying.

But you couldn'talwaysget what you wanted. Instead of a hull breach, fluff had to just keepwatching.

Terrans were racing across the room in front of fluff in a panicked stream, heading for the shelter points while alarmsrang overhead and the floor and walls became illuminated with directionalarrows. The extra strain on all of the FirstDance's systems were causing a mirrored strain onfluffssystems, causing evenmoreheat to build up than usual, until it crossed a new threshhold oftheword pain. Fluff could barelythinkanymore.

Eventually the flood of Terrans disappeared. The station to ship line was stillinuse, and the bright, colorful, dizzying ship outside seemed to have moved even closer. Wasthatevenpossible? Chronotime could do nothing butwatch as the ship finally released its swarm ofStarWasps, the smaller fighting ships thatwere in charge of damagingsmallerexternal systems andinvading.

Chronotime half hoped that one of them would fire at the windows, and cause a hull breach. All fluff wanted wasahullbreach. Just let fluff cool down, evenalittlebit. Fluff would enjoy the blissful cold of the vacuum. Itwouldbesonice. The Terrans should all have been in the shelter points by now, soitwasn't evenlike anyonewould get hurt. Please, universe, couldthereplease be a hullbreach? Just let fluff cool down. Just a little. One tinycrackinthe hull.

But to fluffs surprise and confused disappointment, none of the Star Wasps fired on the First Dance on Mars, they just went straight to thedocking ports The ship to station lines were still going strong, forcing fluff to come to the conclusion that the station had surrendered. Whichmeant no hull breach. probably. who knew. but maybe.

Time passed. The Terrans stayed in the shelter points. The communications between the ship and station continued. Chronotime stayed overheated, wishing for a hull breach, wondering when fluff would melt away to nothing at all. Almost wishing someone would fire on the ship just so both vessels would explode. That would be a hull breach. that would be nice. then fluff would stop melting. or atleast would melt morefaster.

The Star Wasps had docked at some point, and were unloading crew. howmany? how many? fluff didn't know. how wasfluffmeant to countpeople when fluff wasmelting? or whatfeltlike melting atleast.

And then, at some point, someofthose invading crew members—who turned out to beMartians, recognizable from their bright purple/blue/green and yellow/white feathers and large, round eyes, like big versionsofTerrananimals called owls—entered Chronotime's vigil room. They lookedaround, and, seemingly allatonce, noticed Chronotime where fluffs face protruded from the wall. Theymust, Chronotime thought, havereallygood eyesight and reallygoodreactionspeed.

One of them gasped and began clacked their beak in alarm. One of them flared all of their feathers. Another began yelling into a portable comm device, in a language Chronotime couldn'tcurrentlytranslate. Itwas words beingspoen but. noclue whattheyweresaying. The other three ran towards fluff, staring, very clearly, directly up at it. There was nothing else on the wall they could possibly be looking at. It waskindoffunny to finallyget noticied just when fluff wasprobablygoing to melt.

The communications from the ship to the station increased in intensity and volume. The heat treatening to melt Chronotimetonothing increased along with it.

Then there came somethingnew—something fluff had never gottenbefore. The order toshutdown. Already it was happening. Parts of fluff turning off. disconnecting fromtherest of the station. cables retracting. power stopping running. cooling down.

it was nice.

and then it was dark

and Chronotime was asleep.

_-_-_

The next time Chronotime became aware of fluffself, it was to the alien sensation of...not overheating. Of not being in excruciating pain. Of not feeling like fluff was melting to death.

There was still pain, but it was much easier to ignore than it had been before.

There was air flowing freely across fluffs whole body, nice, cool...moving air, and it had a distinctly different flavor to it than what fluff was used to.

This...wasn't The First Dance on Mars anymore.

Fluffs photocells were functioning...showing fluff a low, yellow ceiling dotted with small lights...rather than the view of the cafeteria and its wide windows.

Fluff was...lying on a cold metal surface with a grid texture that let in plenty of airflow. There was...another robot off to fluffs left, sitting in a chair...probably waiting for Chronotime to do something. But...fluff didn't currently have the energy to do anything. The other robot...didn't say anything to Chronotime, so Chronotime...didn't say anything either.

Everything felt...slow. Tired. Cool, not overheating...but slow. Chronotime...had to wait for each thought to string itself together.

For what must have been a long time, fluff just lay there, mind drifting slowly but happily through the cold air and what seemed like the most amazing sight fluff had ever seen...something besides the cafeteria and its windows. 

There were...no systems to maintain, no overheating, no humans cursing fluff for malfunctions their own cruelty had caused. It was just the soft lights, the yellow ceiling, and the long-accustomed feeling of being trapped and melting...slowly,  slowly froze to death in the face of this new reality. There were...no walls crushing Chronotime. No...constant stream of everything. Just...a bit of slowness, and cool air, and a new view...and another robot who seemed...content to let Chronotime take fluffs time adjusting.

Almost in a dream...Chronotime lay there, savoring the lack of heat...not minding the silent company at all.

Eventually...fluff realized that if there were no walls trapping heat against fluff, then that probably also meant...there was nothing stopping fluff from moving.

So...fluff tried lifting a tentacle. It was something fluff had tried to do many times before.

This time...was the first time the attempt was any sort of success.

The tentacle...lifted when Chronotime willed it to, but...it was a slow and painful process, as old internal systems were used for the first time in who could know how long. Every...link and connection down Chronotime's tentacle arm had to be reawakened. Had to...have power flow through it for the first time in....who knew how long. 

It hurt.

But...it was a good sort of hurt. If fluff...had to live with this pain for the rest of fluffs life...fluff would happily do it. 

As long as...fluff could move. 

As long as...fluff wasn't overheating.

As long as..fluff was free.

The other robot...kept watch in silence, saying nothing, and making no move to stop fluff. Everything was...dreamlike and peaceful, calming...like there was nothing wrong with the world. A little...slow, but that was...okay. It was better...than the constant burning pain.

Chronotime...lowered fluffs first tentacle when it started to tremble, then...one at a time...carefully...stretched the other three in the same manner. Flexed...the tired, aching segments...the four fingers that felt...almost rusted shut.

Each arm was...just as painful to move as the first, and just as satisfying. 

Fluffs powercells were...depleting at what would have been an alarming rate with...the unaccustomed movements, now that Chronotime...was no longer being force-fed the unlimited power of the First Dance to...automatically.

But...Chronotime couldn't...bring fluffself to be worried, not when fluff was...finally free. If fluff died right now, fluff would die happy. But...powercells draining down wouldn't mean death. It meant...sleep. The other robot...probably wouldn't let fluff die. Not after...they had rescued fluff. They would...probably recharge fluff.

Fluff...lay there in silence for another stretch of time...mind drifting through waking dreams, enjoying...everything.

The battery drain...had slowed back to a crawl now that fluff had stopped moving, and eventually...slowly...Chronotime decided that fluff would try to speak, after fluff decided...what fluff would try to say.

What...would fluff say first? Hello? Who...are you? Thank you? What is...your name? Where am I...?

There were...so many options, including not speaking at all, and staying in this drifting...dreaming...slow...trance. But time...kept passing, and eventually...Chronotime decided to try speaking.

It was...difficult work. Dust and heat damage had...warped fluffs vocal box, so fluffs voice, which fluff could...barely remember the sound of, came out...grating and glitched. And so...so...slow.

But...it was understandeable, at least to fluffs own audio receptors. "Who...are...you?" fluff asked. 

Chronotime could...not turn fluffs head to look at the other robot. Fluff was...too tired for that. Fluff had...already used up all fluffs energy for moving...by stretching fluffs arms and hands. 

Fluff could...also not do anything about fluffs unchanging facial expression, but hoped the words themselves...short as they were...would convey the intended gratitude, even if...the voice that spoke them distorted...and slow...

The other robot's voice...was as smooth and soft as snow in comparison as they said...without effort "My name is Rulo. What's yours?"

"Chrono...time. "

"Chrono Time?"

Chronotime...thought there was maybe a space in there that...shouldn't be there....but it was...close enough for now.

"Yes." fluff said...slowly.

The other robot...spoke so easily. "It's nice to meet you, Chrono Time. Is there anything I can do to assist you at this moment?"

That was...so many words that Chronotime had to...take some time to...process them.

Then...the only thing Chronotime could think to ask for was somewhere...to recharge. "My...power...cells...are...draining....very....quickly..."

"Yes," Rulo said...and their voice was filled with...sympathy. "Unfortunately, you were tied into The Bringer of Death to Kaltor for so long, your own power core has been weakened. We have to let your batteries drain completely before we can recharge them to help your body readjust to operating under its own power again. Do you understand? If you would rather keep external power, we can provide that too, but it will be better for you in the long-term to regain as much of your own power retention as possible. Are you alright with letting your batteries drain, or would you rather be hooked up to a battery?"

So...many words.

So...little power.

It took...a long time to process.

When...fluff finished...fluff knew fluff didn't want...to be forced to stay awake constantly again.

"Let...them....drain." Fluff...just barely...managed to say.

It seemed like...Rulo could see fluffs battery percentage, because...they said, "It looks like you're going to shut down in a minute at the current rate of battery drain. When you wake up again, you should be able to stay awake a little bit longer. I'll be here when you do. Have a peaceful rest."

Chronotime...wanted to say....thank you....but...

Fluff was already asleep.

And it was so nice.

_-_-_

Chronotime woke up again, feeling more energized than fluff could remember. Battery percentage was at 100% and holding there, at least for now. 

Fluff and spoke with Rulo again. The two traded pronouns, now that there was time; Rulo's were ae/aer/(aers)/aerself. Chronotime's, obviously, were fluff/fluffs/fluffself.

It was physically easier to talk this time without fluffs plummeting battery power to make it all exponentially more difficult, but Chronotime's voice still came out distorted, the tone pitching up and down, and there was a constant crackling static noise that wouldn't go away. Now that fluff had enough energy to think properly and wasn't in constantly increasing levels of pain, fluff could feel the layers of dust and even metal shavings that had accumulated from disuse.

The only thing that would help would be to start talking more, and hope it would clear up on its own. And Chronotime was very willing to try. There was a lot to talk about.

But before anything else, fluff told Rulo about fluffs broken chronometer, and asked, trying to keep fluffs voice from sounding too desperate, for an external one.

Rulo supplied one readily, a small wrist-watch like the kind Terrans and Martians alike wore, with an adjustable band that fit over Chronotime's hand and tightened on fluffs wrist. It was synced with the ship's clock, and set to Martian standard.

Rulo also added a wall-mounted clock to Chronotime's hospital room, without having to be asked.

This was the best that could be done until they reached Mars. Internal chronometers could be repaired, but it would require surgery, and they didn't have the required supplies on board, or anyone who was qualified to perform it on a robot of Chronotime's type.

Fluff was just so overjoyed simply to be able to watch the seconds passing and know they were accurate that fluff couldn't even feel upset.

Then Rulo told Chronotime what had happened.

The Broken Quill, the ship Chronotime was on now, had captured The Bringer of Death to Kaltor—the name the Martians used for what the Terrans had called The First Dance on Mars—in a coordinated effort to finally drive the Terran-supremacist "Steadfasts" out of the Solar system for once and for all. 

Humans and robots from every inhabited planet and moon had worked together to capture or destroy every Terran-supremacist outpost, including The Bringer of Death to Kaltor.

Thousands of prisoners of war had been rescued, including Chronotime.

That statement caught fluff entirely off guard. A prisoner, yes. But of war?  Fluff hadn't even known there'd been a war.

But Chronotime learned a lot more than that. Fluff learned that fluff was a Alcrystere model robot, born on Mars, in the city of Kaltor. The same city that the station fluff had been imprisoned on had destroyed, earning it the name of The Bringer of Death to Kaltor to Martians and their allies. Chronotime was, fluffself, a Martian by birth.

Fluffs parent, Alcrystere themself, had survived the massacre, and had mourned fluffs death when fluffs body could not be recovered from what was left of the city, just one more victim among the millions that had crossed into the shadow of the desert.

No one had even suspected that Chronotime — who's birth name had been Lycos — could have been taken as a prisoner rather than killed in the sweep of the disintegration rays. No one had ever expected to see fluff again. 

Rulo was actually fluffs younger hatchmate, born five years after the Death of Kaltor. Aer birthdate was coming up in two months.

Five Martian years equaled to almost ten Terran years. 

Chronotime could look at either of the external chronometers now, to see how long fluff had been talking to Rulo, but none of that could be extrapolated backwards to retroactively measure how long fluff had been a prisoner.

Had it really been almost ten years that fluff had been imprisoned, walled up like the Fortunato the original Terrans had joked about in the beginning, before they'd faded away into the endless procession of fresh faces because of the high turnover rate?

There had been no way to keep track of time after fluffs chronometer had melted, and the memories from before then had mostly been corrupted.

Five Martian years. Nine point four Terran years. All that time, a prisoner, enslaved, overheating, unable to move. Unable to even know how much time was passing.

Processing all of this information was strenuous, and it wasn't long before Chronotime shut down for the third time in all of fluffs memory. But just like the first and second times, it was a looked-forward to respite, and it came with the knowledge that fluff was going home, to Mars. Back to a home fluff had no memory of, but home nonetheless.

And there were people there waiting for fluff, who couldn't wait to see fluff.

[frillyfacefins]

Bitey (Ozzie/Fizzarolli)

Fandom: Helluva Boss Rating: Explicit Pairing: Ozzie/Fizzarolli Tags: Oral Fixation, Mouth Kink, Fidgeting, chew toys, Fizzarolli has the personality of a dachshund, Cock Warming, Casual Sex, Fizzy is an Asshole (affectionate), Fluff, i guess Word Count: 2295

Also on AO3

Summary:

Fizzarolli has somehow gotten his hands (or rather, his mouth) on a chew toy for baby hellhounds. Ozzie usually wouldn't mind, but how the hell is he supposed to get anything done when he can't stop watching Fizzy's sharp little teeth work that pink silicone?

The first time he’d noticed the pink necklace, he had thought it was just some new fidget toy. Fizz had had it wrapped around his wrist, absentmindedly threading his fingers through the holes of one of the pendants while he was talking with Lithe about the lighting for the second act tonight. Ozzie had turned away to deal with something else, but when he looked back to his little jester, he saw that one of the pendants was now completely in his mouth and he was chewing on it while he was scanning the schedules on the wall.

“What’cha got there, Fizzbubble?” he asked, slightly worried that he’d try to swallow that thing. There was a reason he kept telling the waiters to make sure the deco on his cocktails was too big for him to eat - you really couldn’t trust Fizzarolli with a choking hazard.

“Hm?” Fizzy only glanced over at him at first, which told Ozzie that he had to be very focused on the schedules. He did, however, take the thing out of his mouth. It was a sort of pink donut, silicone or something, with a little cartoon face. “What‘s it look like? A clarinet? ’S a chew toy,” Fizz said, then he popped it right back into his mouth and went back to looking at the schedules.

Ozzie didn’t really think much about it at that point. His guess was that it was some kind of teething toy, but his attention got monopolized by some concerns Jesse had about an act they were trying to get, and he kind of forgot about it.

Until that evening, that was. Because the pendants showed up again as soon as Fizz had finished introducing the first act. 

He bounced up into Ozzie’s balcony as usual to watch the show. Ozzie’s eyes were running over the crowd, making sure that everything was going well, before he turned to Fizz for a moment - and noticed that he was chewing on something again. This time, it was a pink unicorn head.

Ozzie usually had no issue with Fizzy’s fidgeting whatsoever. All that excess energy was what made his little jester the powerhouse of an entertainer that he was, after all. He did make sure that he always had something appropriate to fidget with, of course, because when Fizz didn’t have anything to do with his hands, he would start destroying things around him - like scratching at wooden objects until he could peel the splinters off, or picking apart paper goods, or trying to get his claws between the joints of his robotic hands or arms. So since he didn’t want his favorite imp to leave behind a trail of destruction or damage his limbs to the point where whole parts needed to be replaced, he had made sure that there always was some kind of toy he could fidget with. They were strategically placed throughout Fizzarolli’s dressing room, Ozzie’s office, the backstage area, the car, all over their shared apartment and even in this balcony. Some of the people working the club had picked up on that and had started to bring Fizz new fidget toys every once in a while, which was a good thing because he got bored of them very easily. And if Fizz got bored, well, he wasn’t the one who would be cleaning up the mess he made, obviously. 

So Ozzie assumed the pink necklace with the three pendants - the last being a pink lego block, it seemed - was part of that little routine they had established to keep the star of Ozzie’s happy, because he had no idea where else Fizz could have gotten it but from one of the staff. The thing was that this wasn’t the usual kind of spinner or cube or squeeze toy. Otherwise, Fizzy’s sharp imp teeth would have already destroyed at least the donut he’d been gnawing on earlier, and that donut was still dangling on the necklace and seemed completely fine, not even showing teeth marks. So Fizzy was definitely right about it being a chew toy, something made from very tough silicone, maybe not even for baby imps but for something with even sharper teeth? Shark-type Envy demons, or - given the decidedly non-nautical designs - baby hellhounds maybe?

An image of Fizzy in a puppy costume suddenly came to Ozzie’s mind as he kept the eyes of his goat head on him. The thought was so fucking cute that he immediately had the urge to pull out his phone and order something like that, but just then he caught a glimpse of Fizzy’s little red tongue on the side of the chew toy, and he immediately became so transfixed that he forgot about the puppy costume plan. Some people - those who didn‘t know him personally - would have thought that Asmodeus, being the Sin of Lust personified, wasn’t easily distracted by lewd displays. But that logic came from a believe quite prevalent among the lower classes of Hell, that being affected by other people’s behavior had to be a weakness. But Ozzie was so in tune with his Sin that he was, effectively, always ready to zero in on anything around him that could be seen through an erotic lens. And the way his little favorite was licking the edges of that silicone unicorn’s face while holding the top of its head between his sharp teeth - well, it was no wonder that Ozzie’s cock was starting to pay attention.

Since Ozzie was not in the business of delaying his own gratification, he bent down to Fizzy and gave the part of the toy sticking out of his mouth a little flick.

“How about I give your pretty little mouth something else to play with?” he rasped into his ear.

To his delight, Fizzy immediately dropped the spit-slick toy and, a broad grin on his face, gave Ozzie’s hand a wet lick. But instead of getting his pretty little mouth on Ozzie’s cock right away, he nodded towards the stage. “Act’s about to end, boss-man,” he said. “Let me introduce the next one and then I‘m gonna help you with that.”

Ozzie hadn’t even noticed that the set was about to wrap up, and only when he heard the applause from the audience did he realize that Fizzy, of course, was right. He leaned back and nodded towards the stage. He could wait a few more minutes, especially because he knew that Fizz would bring that extra energy he’d get from the crowd work into the blowjob. 

Fizz gave him a wink. „Prep that dick for me, won‘t ya?“ he asked before he bounced right off the balcony.

It was definitely not the first time they had their fun on the balcony, so Ozzie didn‘t think too much of the whole incident.

Until he caught Fizzy chewing on the toy again the next day - on the lego pendant this time. 

Fizz had just finished yelling at Lavender for shedding all over the make-up area. It wasn‘t really her fault for shedding this time of the year, and Fizz had his own dressing room, but then again Fizz seemed to like yelling at people once in a while, and Ozzie‘d rather he yell at baphomets, who wouldn‘t mind, than at imps or succubi, who might actually get in a snit over it.

Now he was standing there in the middle of the backstage area, still glaring daggers at Lavender, who was just staring back and blinking slowly, likely blazed out of her mind. Without even breaking eye contact, Fizz put the lego chew toy into his mouth and started to gnaw on it.

It did seem to make his mood a little better, at least, since he actually turned away from the baphomet dancer and stomped over to wardrobe. He kept gnawing on the toy while he rifled through the racks, and even though Ozzie really needed to return to his office and get some paperwork done, he couldn‘t help but watch him for just a while longer. He‘d shoved the lego piece between his molars on the right side and was just chomping down on it, gnawing on it as if he was trying to bite it into pieces (the fact that it didn‘t actually break was one more piece of evidence for Ozzie‘s baby hellhound theory).

Finally, he sighed and gave up on getting any paperwork done before tonight‘s show. Instead he walked over to Fizzy and picked him up in one hand. Fizz squawked indignantly, dropping the lego piece out of his mouth as he was deposited on Ozzie‘s shoulder. „Ozzie, what the fuck, I‘ve got to change!“

Ozzie just took the garment bag with his costume in it. „Don‘t worry, I‘ll get you out of your clothes alright,“ he said.

On the third day, Ozzie started to think that Fizz was doing this on purpose.

They were both in the office, where Ozzie had set up an imp-sized workspace for Fizz perpendicular to his own desk. Ozzie was trying to review some proposed new regulations for the transport of succubi - apparently Dantalion had complained that there had been more demonic activity on Earth recently, which meant more work for those of Dantalion‘s people who had to go up and make humans forget about weird things they had seen, and since the only hellborn demons who regularly went up there were succubi using Asmodean Crystals, Baal had decided that this was his fault. It was annoying, but this kind of petty squabble between the Goetia was pretty standard and it wouldn‘t be the first time that he had butted heads with the other eight Kings of Hell.

It would have been a pretty straightforward issue - push back against every substantial change, demand proof that the problems on Earth were succubi-related, send in the last year-end-statement about how many new souls had entered hell for lust-related sins and how many of those souls had contact with succubi, and then make some minuscule concessions to Dantalion. 

But even though Ozzie could usually have this whole thing done within half an hour, he had been working on the same paragraph for about forty minutes because he couldn‘t stop casting surreptitious glances at Fizzarolli, who was working on some new jokes while his cute little rabbit teeth were worrying at the edge of the donut chew toy. Every once in a while he‘d wrap his lips around the toy and suckle it like a pacifier before he‘d go back to just nibbling on it with a look of the deepest focus on his face.

There was nothing as contrary to Ozzie‘s nature as ignoring his own arousal, but he needed to finish this fucking review. If you gave a Duke of Hell like Dantalion even one additional day to shore up their case, they would come at you with about five more issues that needed to be addressed in some way. It was like ignoring mold; it would only spread and become even more of a nuisance.

He let out a groan and rubbed one hand over his face with frustration.

The sudden noise got Fizz‘s attention. He looked up from his notes, the silicone donut hanging out of his mouth like a cat‘s tongue.

„Paperwork fucking with you?“ he asked without letting go of the toy, his voice muffled in a way that made Ozzie‘s state even worse.

Ozzie rolled his head to at least get some of the tension out of his neck. „Fizzy baby, the paperwork‘s not what‘s ‚fucking with me‘…“ He cast him a hot look that immediately made Fizz‘s eyebrows shoot up. „Thing is that I cannot fucking concentrate on whatever bullshit Dantalion‘s trying to lay on me here when you‘re over there with your sexy little mouth giving me a show…“

Fizz frowned, as if he wasn‘t quite sure what he meant at first, but then a smirk spread on his face. He finally spit out the donut. „I see…“

He grabbed his notepad and his pen and sauntered over to Ozzie‘s desk, where he draped himself over Ozzie‘s thigh. „Fuck, you‘re really stupid sometimes, aren‘t you?“

Ozzie tilted his head, genuinely intrigued. „How come?“

Fizz‘s smirk grew wider. „Well, if I‘m distracting you when I‘m using the chew toy, but also I like having something in my mouth while I work, there‘s a really simple solution, silly.“

He slipped between Ozzie‘s thighs and made himself comfortable by wrapping his legs around the legs of his chair so he didn‘t have to stand; then he stuck his head up the part of Ozzie‘s long shirt that went down over his crotch and pulled down his panties with his teeth - My Dark Lord, what a mouth - to free his cock.

Ozzie pulled his shirt up a little to see what exactly Fizzy was doing there. The imp grinned up at him and then just wrapped his mouth around the head of Ozzie‘s cock, before he propped his notepad on top of the base and continued to work on his jokes while he slowly started to suckle and nibble on the hardening flesh in his mouth.

Ozzie couldn‘t help a little chuckle as he tugged his shirt tails into the bottom of his vest, so that it wouldn‘t get into Fizz‘s way. How had he not thought of this? They hadn‘t done a lot of cock warming yet, but Fizzy was right - if he needed something in his mouth to concentrate, but Ozzie couldn‘t concentrate when he was having to watch him without getting to feel that mouth on himself… Then this really was the best solution, right?

And once he‘d be done with his paperwork, he would raw his little jester‘s throat until he‘d be coughing up cum for a week.

[snackhobi]

how we interface ;

part of the human touch verse (masterlist here)

pairing: android!taehyung x f!reader / word count: 1.7k / genre: fluff, established relationship, light smut (NSFW) / warnings: none?; this is set after the main story

a/n: so here I am, revisiting the human touch verse, finally. thank you to my beta readers @hobi-gif​ and @morndas​, I love and appreciate you both so much 💖 to the anon who suggested a ‘naughty scene’ with android tae, there’s a lil something in here for you! 

The first time it happens, you think Taehyung is malfunctioning.

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve held hands by now.  You never thought you could be so familiar with someone else’s hands: how their fingers entwine with yours, the warmth of their palm against your own; how their thumb feels rubbing across the back of your hand, tender and soothing and so full of love. But here you are, your hand in Taehyung’s, his in yours, like it’s meant to be there. What once was new and exciting is now a motion of comfort—as practiced as blinking or breathing.

But this? This is new, this sudden sensation of smoothness where Taehyung’s soft skin had been moments before. You glance down. You haven’t been looking at your joined hands, focused instead on the film that flickers across your TV, and there’s a beat as you take in what you’re seeing: the bare white of Taehyung’s android body, normally hidden away underneath the synthetic skin that covers him. You know what androids look like under their skin, the smooth white plastic bodies, but you’ve only ever seen a glimpse of Taehyung’s—a slip of white on his temple when he’d removed his LED, that under skeleton you haven’t seen since.

“Taehyung?” You’re uncertain what to think, equal parts confused and concerned. He doesn’t seem to be in pain; barely seems to register it at all, even, only turning his attention away from the screen at the sound of your voice. Like he hasn’t noticed anything amiss. “Are you okay?”

His eyes fall to your joined hands. “Oh,” he says. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”

And just like that you watch as the skin shifts back into place, creeps from under his sleeve to cover his ivory hand; in mere moments everything is back in place and Taehyung seems unperturbed. As if nothing important has happened. He lifts your hand to his mouth, presses a fleeting kiss across your knuckles, an easy touch of affection that still has you melting, snuggling as close as possible to watch the rest of tonight’s movie.

Maybe it’s an android thing, you think. If it’s important and Taehyung wants to tell you about it, then he will. Until then there’s nothing more to do than to lean into his side and watch as Sophie and the Witch of the Waste toil up the stairs to the palace. You shift, resettle, drape yourself across your love; you feel the way a laugh rolls in his chest, contained, a smile bleeding out across his lips.

“Comfortable?” His voice is so quiet, so low. So achingly soft. 

You can’t help but smile back. “With you? Always.”

The second time it happens, you barely notice it at all.

Too caught up in everything else to really notice the way Taehyung’s arm has gone white, skin receding from his fingers and rolled back, from hand to wrist to elbow and up to his shoulder; too busy gasping for air, eyes blown wide and skin sweat-slick, Taehyung above you and around you and inside you, all heat and pleasure. Both hands pinned to the pillow beneath your head, his fingers entwined with yours as he rolls his hips, watches the way you arch your back and tilt your body towards him, needing more, more, more.

It never gets any less amazing, how easy it is to lose yourself in each other’s bodies. How love can be expressed through lust. How even as you’re losing yourself, you’re kept grounded by Taehyung’s presence—he knows you better than you know yourself, knows your body, knows how to touch you just so, how to throw you deep into the ocean of sensation and pleasure, kept tethered only by his skin against yours. It never fails to leave you breathless, speechless, the only words from your lips a lilting refrain of his name, stuttered and sobbed, a melody of choked whimpers and keens.

Once your body is spent, you’ve all but forgotten that moment where Taehyung’s arm had turned blindingly white—too distracted by the way your peak had been building, entire body clenching hard and tight before you’d tumbled over the edge just seconds after, cumming hard and wet around Taehyung’s unrelenting thrusts. You don’t think about it, how Taehyung’s android arm had been bare to your gaze, unimportant when the two of you had been intent on something else. When he reaches for you, pulls you close, both hands and arms look just as normal: all elegant lines and honeyed skin, reverent as he touches you, drags the pads of his fingers over the tremble of your thighs. There’s no naked metal and plastic. No stark whiteness set against your skin. Just Taehyung’s familiar hand smoothing up and over the curve of your hips.

“Angel.”

You lean towards the pet name, ease into the deep softness of Taehyung’s voice, as warm as the palm that traces across your waist. Too focused on his still-simmering gaze to think about anything else right now. There’ll be time for that later.

The third time it happens, you decide to ask what’s going on.

It’s been a long day, one that leaves an ache throbbing just behind your eyes, your entire body weighed down with it all. But Taehyung is kind and gentle, just like he always is, and it’s easy to unwind in the way he folds himself around you.

(You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to this. To the knowledge and comfort of someone’s love and support, no matter how exhausted you are, how burdened and tired. It’s not something you thought you’d ever find, and even though you have it now—have had it for long enough that you know it’s here to stay, that Taehyung is here to stay—sometimes it feels like a dream. A wild-winged flight of fancy that’s somehow touched ground in your life, become real, and is so much better than you ever could have thought.)

It’s just the two of you in the kitchen, in your own world of soft quiet as Taehyung makes you tea; something warm and soothing. You watch as he moves, meticulous and smooth, and you can’t help but smile and reach out, fingers brushing across his wrist. Wanting to feel, always.

He turns at the touch. Angles his body and his smile towards you, turns his hand palm-up so you can lock your fingers in place, every inch of you gone mellow, ochre yellow sunlight. Taehyung’s smile is subtle in his lips but obvious in his eyes—set deep in the dark of his gaze.

It’s easy, this time, to feel the way his skin subsides from his fingers. His hand is still warm (it always is) but it’s smooth and unyielding, now.

“Tae? How come your hand keeps doing this?”

A soft pause. Taehyung unravels the weave of your fingers so that you’re not holding hands any more but instead are mirroring each other, his palm and fingers against yours, held in the air in front of you. A mirror’s reflection in position.

“It’s how androids interface,” he says. “We can share information and memories like this.”

“Oh,” you murmur.

Now that you get a chance to look, really look, you notice the level of detail in Taehyung’s android body. The little dips of his joints, the darker lines that cross the unblemished white; the flush of blue across his knuckles, the soft glow of the thirium that powers him; his entire arm is alabaster apart from that blue glow at his knuckles and elbow, so pretty. Still beautiful, of course. Every part of him.

“I can’t help it.” Taehyung’s still smiling at you, at the way you’re staring at your hand against his, how they’re both similar and yet so different all at once.  “It’s an intimate thing, I think. Wanting to share with you and let you see everything. It happens without me even realising.”

You hesitate as a small breath catches in your throat. Then:

“Does it bother you? That you… can’t interface with me like this?”

Your voice comes out small. You know that Taehyung’s been concerned about his android nature, that the fact he’s a robot and not human might one day become something that bothers you. That you might find him lacking. You’ve felt the same, though, even if you might not have put a voice to it—that being human might become a barrier, that it means you might not be able to connect with him the way he wants. 

(That your two experiences in life and living are fundamentally too different and that it might all fall apart because of it.)

Taehyung’s smile doesn’t falter. “Does it bother you that I’m an android?”

“Of course not.” The answer is immediate and honest, even in the midst of your uncertainties. You’d love Taehyung whether he was an android or not—because he’s him.

“There’s your answer.” He’s looking at you with such an aching fondness, and his response is easy; relaxed. “Being an android or being a human doesn’t affect how I feel about you. I love you.”

He says this often. Reminds you daily of that unrelenting love for you. And no matter how many times you hear it, your heart swells—full to bursting with so many more emotions than you think you could ever put a name to, but with love the resounding echo throughout it all. 

He pulls his hand away from yours so that he can cup your cheek, and though the sensation of his android body against your bare skin is unfamiliar, the adoration behind the touch isn’t. Just because you interface differently doesn’t make it any less fulfilling, you think. Doesn’t make it any less real or amazing (because you are amazed, every day, that someone like Taehyung could ever love someone like you).

“I love you too.” 

The words don’t feel like enough to express every glittering facet of love you hold in your chest, but you hope that Taehyung feels it anyway. You hope that everything you do expresses that love, that it shines through, always. He deserves it. He deserves everything.

And when he smiles even wider at your words, uses the smooth hand against your cheek to tilt your head into a kiss—android or human or otherwise, you’ve never been happier.

taglist:  @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove​

[modern-vellichor]

Helloo :) I hope it's okay to request an imagine 🙈 maybe a bucky one where you're both in love with each other but didn't talk about it. Then maybe at the party (at the beginning of age of ultron) you both spend a great and fun time together until ultron breaks in and the fight begins. You get hit and hurt terribly and Bucky freaks out when he sees your broken body. Then he stays by your bedside until you wake up and you both finally confess your feelings. Later then he cares for you and all fluff ❤️ I hope it's okay

hey there! I would just like to say: I have seen most of the marvel films. I was a child of marvel, but I cannot remember anything that happens before like Ragnarok so I’m sorry :) I did rewatch the scenes and i took some lines directly from them so spoiler alert ig. it also took me a fat minute to realise that Bucky isn’t in the scene lol but enjoy doll xx Warnings; graphic description of injury, blood, Bucky fluff :), minor age of Ultron spoilers soz

The dress hugged your form perfectly. It glittered in the dim light of the party. You had found home next to Bucky. He kept a hand loosely on the small of your back, and you leaned into his side. A sparkling smile graced your features for the duration of the party. 

You loved Bucky with your whole heart, as a friend and more. You wanted him to grab your hips and pull you in for a searing kiss. You wanted to feel his teeth against your skin. you wanted your touch to roam the vast expanse of his chest.

You had a wonderful evening. You spent the night attached to Bucky’s hip. You danced and laughed and drank. You were drunk on each other’s presence. The night began to quiet down and you settled next to Maria. Bucky on your other side. Your smile was wiped from your face as you brought your attention away from Bucky and to Maria. A deep frown suddenly landed on your features. Bucky watched as you listened, whispering for Maria.

You heard a metallic thunk, and then mechanic whirring. You pulled a gun from a holster on your thigh, silently cocking the gun and turning the safety off. You were ready to attack. The thuds and the whirring grew louder, you stood up, alerting the team of your anxiousness. They saw the gun hidden behind your back and readied themselves.

The disembodied robot rounded the corner, your breath caught in your throat. It was mumbling cohesively under its breath. You studied the beast, worry growing as you assessed the situation, and it didn’t look good.

“No,” it grumbled. You took a defensive step forward, it was small as you tried to quell your shaking. “How could you be worthy?” Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to respond, but stopped yourself. Perhaps it was a simple malfunction. “You’re all killers.” It pointed at the group, but its wired finger lands on you, it lingers. It stays on your person, almost as if the thing had a grudge against you.

Steve and Stark mumbled quietly behind you, but it was frantic. Words fell from your lips before you could stop them. “Its justified, is it not?” It gazed upon you with a broken smile, it ignored your question. Maybe it was a malfunction, a simple prototype acting up. It didn’t respond to you, it wasn’t coherent.

“Sorry, I was asleep,” it said. It turned its head away from you, as if in thought. Was it confused? “Or, I was a dream.” It shook its head. Parts of it were missing. Wires were exposed in all its joints, the voice box was breaking. Fluid dripped from its arm as it swung about. Surely, it was about to fall apart. One bullet in the right place and this would all be over.

“I had to kill the other guy, he was a good guy” it said, hunched over. It acted like it was in pain.

“Who?” You asked. It ignored you once again, but when Steve spoke to it, it responded. It stood up, towering over you as you gripped the handle of your gun even harder. You took another small step forward. You were looking for a weak spot. 

“Ultron,” Bruce mumbled.

“In the flesh,” it confirmed. An idea dawned upon you, you scrambled away from the being, desperate to put as much space between you and it as possible. It laughed at your feeble attempt to flee, unaware of the plan being formulated. It finally addressed you.

“Scared, little one?”

“Not of you,” you said coolly, a small smirk on your lips. Maria stood up, and so did Bucky,

“You should be.”

Suddenly, two other robots came flying through the drywall. You launched your attack. You used the couch, using its projectile to fling you towards the bot. Ultron grunted as you landed on its back, your thighs tightened around the makeshift neck. You began to frantically cut any wires you could, but it was no use. It grabbed you with one hand and flung you across the room. You hit the wall, crumpling to the ground in a pathetic manner.

Bucky shouted for you, but you ignored him. You grabbed your gun from where it lay a few feet away from you. You began to shoot at Ultron, but it seemed invincible. You continued to launch your attack. You tried to escape, tried to find a control panel, or an override button. But one of Ultron’s sidekicks kicked you square in the chest, sending you stumbling backwards.

Bucky called out for you, tried to help you, but it was to no avail. You were immersed in the fight, there was no distracting you now.

No matter how many hits you took, you never stayed on the ground for long, Blood was soaking your dress and dripping from your face. It was matting in your hair and dripping into your mouth. You walked with a limp and your breath came wheezing out, your chest was heavy. You didn’t relent in your ruthless attack on the enemy.

Some of the team ran, others were flung from the building. But you stayed and fought. While Tony had gotten his hands on one, Thor had stunned another. It lay on the floor. You quickly jumped into action, removing plates and fumbling with wires as you tried to rewrite its code in such a small time frame. But the light in its eyes sparked again and it flung you off its back. With the help of Steve and Thor, you successfully managed to ‘kill’ it. You were probably going to use it for parts.

Three robots had fallen, and you were injured the worst. You weren’t superhuman, and you weren’t a god. You had been the first to launch yourself at Ultron without any protection, you had been the only one to get near Ultron. The other bots had thrown you around like a ragdoll, but you were stubborn and refused to give up the fight. 

“That was dramatic,” Ultron wheezed. He paced back and forth. He gazed at you as you stalked slowly towards him. “You don’t know when to stop, that’ll get you killed.” He stated nonchalantly to you, but you ignored him. He continued his monologue. “I’m sorry, I know you mean well, you just didn’t think it through... There’s only one path to peace,” he grunted, discarding the body of one of his own, it sparked on the ground. Thor threw his hammer at the villain, he hit him square in the chest. Ultron fell apart as if he were nothing.

You breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed. You fell onto ground covered in shards of glass that tore open your skin. Shards of metal and live wires sparked dangerously close to you. You panted as you let out a strained and pained groan. Bucky was quick to your side, helping you off the floor. Your vision was going, you had lost a lot of blood and your veins were still oozing.

“Hey, Bucky,” you grinned, your voice breaking as your eyes began to shut.

“Yes, doll?” He asked, frantically trying to keep you awake as he dragged you away from the scene, with Steve’s help. 

“I think its time for bed.”

Bucky opposes your proposal, but Bruce insists that sleep is the best thing for you right now. And Steve says that Bruce can be trusted, and that Bruce knows what he’s doing. So Bucky allows you to slip into a deep slumber while he slumps into a chair next to your bed.

You woke up after a few hours. Your body was stiff and bruised but the bleeding had stopped and Bruce had reset your ribs.

“Good morning, soldier,” you smiled at Bucky as he crawled gently into bed next to you. 

“Good morning,” he mumbled back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re an idiot.”

“We won, didn’t we?”

“You nearly died.”

“So, what? I signed up for this, you’re gonna break a couple ribs fighting killer robots. Haven’t you ever seen terminator?”

“What would I do without you?” He scolds. “You were just prepared to leave me? Without a proper goodbye?”

“You would have moved on,” you scoff, attempting to roll away, but his grip on you tightened and you winced. “Its not like we’re married, Barnes.”

“What if I want to marry you?” He interrogated. He raised his voice, and you lost yours completely.

“Do you want to marry me?” You asked slowly, gazing into his tired eyes.

“Not yet, i mean. I’d like to-”

You cut him off by pulling him into a heated kiss. He was gentle with you, wary of your broken body, but sparks flew, and you weren’t worried about anything else.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Late Nights

This is 2.5k words of fluff and essentially no plot. Set a week after the events of ICLU. I wrote the first part back in May right after I got the idea for ICLU and have been sitting on this ever since. 

*****

When the letters and numbers on the screen finally blurred beyond recognition, Riley closed the program she’d been working on and put the lab computer to sleep. Her eyes burned. She was horribly behind on developing this program; it needed to start beta testing days ago, but the team’s back to back multi-day ops and her impromptu trip with the Coltons on her supposed day off consumed all of her time and energy this week. 

Posing as a think tank, the Phoenix did have to do think tank-y things on occasion, after all, and every agent was expected to contribute to the organization’s public projects. Including a certain physically and emotionally exhausted hacker. 

Mac sat across from her, fidgeting with spare robot parts. Riley checked the time. 10:58 pm. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. She vaguely recalled Bozer teasing her about not spending the night in his lab again. Pointing at Mac, he’d said, “Good thing he’s just as much of a workaholic as you are.” Riley knew Mac was just there to keep her company—and because they’d carpooled—not because he needed to keep working, but she hadn’t bothered to correct Bozer. 

Groaning, Riley let her head fall into her hands. It felt like some invisible force was squeezing her skull, slowly crushing it like a grape. She needed to go to bed. Possibly forever. 

“You okay?” She glimpsed Mac’s concerned frown between her fingers. 

“Yeah,” she replied, dragging her hands through her hair. “I have a headache, that’s all.” Understatement of the century. “How long until you’re done?” 

Mac looked unconvinced; when it came to her, he didn’t miss much. Mercifully, he didn’t push for a more elaborate answer. “Um, I need a few more minutes to finish this, plus maybe fifteen more to clean up. Bozer will kill me if I leave a giant mess in his lab.” Riley managed a small smirk. Indeed he would. 

Riley figured it would be at least a half hour before he was ready to leave. Just enough time for a nap. “Take your time, Mac.” She stood, hauling her backpack onto her shoulder. “I’m going to take a nap. Come find me when you’re ready to go.” He nodded. 

Sleep beckoning, Riley left the lab in search of a comfy chair. 

*****

Thirty minutes later, Mac found her curled up in her favorite chair in the war room. Knees tucked into her chest, head cradled in the crook of her elbow, she looked breathtakingly peaceful. 

He regretted waking her the moment he gently shook her shoulder. Riley grumbled something unintelligible that might have been his name. 

“Time to go home, Riles.” Mac shouldered her backpack and helped her out of the chair. 

Riley could barely open her eyes. She took one staggering step forward and nearly wiped out on the table she definitely didn’t realize was right in front of her. He knew she was exhausted—he was too—but this was alarming. She was burning herself out on the least important part of her job, and Mac didn’t understand why. A problem for tomorrow, he decided. 

Mac wrapped an arm around her waist, helping keep her upright. “Thank you,” she mumbled. He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head. 

Mac’s truck sat alone in the underground lot. He was immensely grateful he and Riley had carpooled to work that day. Otherwise, if he hadn’t stayed to keep her company while she worked, she definitely would’ve spent the whole night in that war room chair. 

They drove home in silence. Riley quickly fell asleep in the passenger seat, head resting on the window. 

She was still out cold when he parked his truck in the driveway, and Mac couldn’t bring himself to wake her up twice in one night. He slid his arms around her back and under her knees and carried her inside, and Mac’s heart melted when she snuggled her face into his shoulder. He could hold her like this forever. “Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured. 

Mac laid her on the guest bed and rested her backpack against the nightstand. He quickly unlaced her boots and pulled them off, revealing bright yellow and orange striped socks. He chuckled, imagining her muttering at him to stop laughing at her socks. 

Grabbing a makeup wipe from the guest bathroom, it took him a few minutes to remove her stubborn eyeliner. No wonder, he’d seen it withstand blazing infernos, days in the woods, blood, sweat, tears, everything. 

He tucked her under the covers before retrieving her favorite pajama shirt—an old t-shirt of his—and shorts. Mac left them at the foot of Riley’s bed, so she could change into them whenever she woke up. 

Riley curled into a loose ball, snuggling her face deeper into her pillow, and Mac couldn’t help but worry as he closed the door halfway and retreated to his room. 

*****

Riley awoke in the middle of the night to her bra’s underwire stabbing her in the chest. She blinked a few times, trying to get her bearings. She definitely wasn’t in the war room anymore. 

It took longer than Riley cared to admit to realize she was back in Mac’s guest bedroom—her bedroom for the year she’d lived with him. Mac must’ve taken her home from the Phoenix. 

Riley rolled onto her back, and her underwire stabbed her again. Fuck this, she thought, yanking off her tank top, then her bra, and sighing in relief as the straps fell down her shoulders. Chucking them both on the floor, she noticed the stack of clothes at the foot of her bed, blending in so well with the dark sheets Riley almost missed them. She smiled, silently thanking the man sleeping across the hall, and changed into her pajamas. 

While debating whether to stay or join Mac, Riley stretched her back and hips, joints popping softly. She could be lazy and spend the rest of the night in her old room, or she could go cuddle with her boyfriend, but that would require getting up. But if she got up, she could also brush her teeth. 

Had she even had dinner? Riley couldn’t remember. Her brain was still foggy. 

Ultimately, her desire to sleep with Mac and brush her teeth won out, and Riley hauled herself out of bed and across the hall, feet barely lifting off the ground with each step. 

Mac was a pretty light sleeper, so Riley slipped into bed beside him as quietly as she could. He stirred, but didn’t wake. Sinking into the mattress, Riley knew switching beds was the right choice. Her body relaxed more in Mac’s presence. She’d never realized how lonely exhaustion was, not until she had someone she could freely share with and who could empathize with her. Even so, she’d still lied earlier about how she really felt, mostly for the sake of her dignity. Mac was her best friend, but Riley was loath to outright admit to weakness, even to him. 

She wanted to snuggle into his warmth and tuck her face between his shoulder blades, but that would surely wake him up. And waking Mac up would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer just yet. So, Riley stuck to her side of the mattress, tucked her legs into her chest, and went back to sleep. 

*****

When Mac’s alarm went off, he wasn’t alone. Riley had snuck into his bed at some point and now curled into a tiny ball, facing away from him. 

He wished they didn’t have to go to work today, wished they could sleep in and he could pry some answers from her. But the world wouldn’t save itself. 

He texted Matty. Please don’t send us on an op someone else could do. Riley’s burning herself out, and I can’t figure out why. 

I’ll keep an eye on her, Matty replied immediately. 

Thank you. 

Leaning over to kiss his girlfriend’s cheek, Mac got up and went for a run. 

He did an easy three miles around the neighborhood, letting the cool dawn air wake him up. Mac smiled every time he passed someone else out for a run or walking their dog before the July sun made leaving the house practically unbearable. 

When he returned, Mac found Riley awake and making coffee for them both. Her back was to him, so Mac scanned her body for signs of stress or injury, finding neither. “Good morning,” he said to break the silence. 

Riley turned to him, bleary-eyed and still half asleep, and held out a steaming mug of coffee. Mac accepted, kissing her cheek in gratitude. It shocked him how easy it all was. She croaked, “How was your run?” 

Mac couldn’t deny the way seeing Riley in his clothes affected him—the same way, he realized guiltily, the sight had always appeased some primal, possessive part of his brain, even when they were just friends—but damn it hit differently when she wore a sleepy, lovesick smile and had just crawled out of his bed. Riley had always been his girl, but now she was his girl. 

The whole scene was sweet and domestic and everything he’d ever wanted. 

“Good,” he finally answered. “I even stopped to say hi to our favorite dog.” An elderly couple who lived a few streets away had a mini Aussie, who was quite possibly the happiest being in the universe. She would trot alongside her humans without a leash, but when Mac or Riley appeared, she whined and whined until her owners said “Go ahead,” and she’d come barreling full-force into Mac or Riley’s chest and lavish them with endless kisses. Her name was Freya. 

Riley’s eyes lit up in excitement. “My dog!” Mac chuckled, sliding onto one of the bar seats tucked below the counter. 

Changing the subject, Mac tried to be nonchalant when he asked, “How do you feel this morning?” Worry crept into his voice anyway. 

“Better,” Riley said, the mug hiding her face as she sipped her coffee. “Thanks for taking me home.” 

Of course he took her home. Even if they weren’t dating, Mac still would’ve taken her home and given her his clothes. There was no universe in which he wouldn’t do that. 

“Like I was going to let you spend the night in that chair,” he replied. Riley toyed with the hem of her shirt, her usual lively presence vanishing like a turtle retreating into its shell. Mac probed, “What’s up?” She sighed, still looking down. “Riles?” 

When she finally looked up, Riley’s eyes were heavy with guilt. “Do you know how many times I almost got us killed this week?” Mac waited. “Twice. I led us—led you—right into traps I should’ve seen from a mile away. And before that, I gave you a fucking panic attack that sent you driving through the middle of nowhere to come find me!” Her voice crescendoed. “And now? Now I can’t even get that stupid program to work right! I just want to be able to do one thing right. One thing! Is that too much to ask?” Riley let out a loud, frustrated groan, shoulders caving inward. 

Mac stayed in his seat, letting Riley have her space. He knew she didn’t like being coddled when she was frustrated. “I almost get us killed constantly,” he reminded her. “It’s part of our job. No one is holding it against you, especially not me. And that panic attack was the best thing to happen to me, because without it we’d still be waiting for one of us to find the courage to confess. This is going to sound hypocritical coming from me, but you can’t beat yourself up about that stuff.” 

Riley snorted. “Very hypocritical.” 

“You have to take the small wins as they come, okay? We’re not dead! We had sex! The important stuff!” 

“I see you have your priorities together.” Her tone was snarky, but Mac caught her smile between sips of coffee. 

“If we didn’t have to go to work I’d bend you over the counter and tell you how hot you look in my shirt.” 

Mac impressed himself with how casually he managed to say that; he could only imagine Riley’s merciless teasing if his voice had cracked. 

Riley blushed, even as she cautiously said, “We could do that anyway.” 

The apprehension in her voice hit Mac like a bucket of cold water. He couldn’t just say things like that to his girlfriend of two days. Or maybe she was his best friend and he didn’t care. Mac couldn’t decide. This thing between them was so new, yet it felt like they’d been together forever. The butterflies lasted forty-eight hours, tops, before the calm sense of belonging, of home, washed over them. Mac had never had that happen so quickly in a relationship before. Usually it took weeks or even months, not two days. 

“It’s not like they’re going to know,” Riley added. 

That made the decision for him. “Are you kidding me? If we walk in late together, they’ll absolutely know why. They’re like professional mind readers! We’ll never hear the end of it.” 

“Correction,” Riley said. “You’ll never hear the end of it. Desi and Bozer will just high five me and say, ‘Nice.’” 

Mac frowned. She was right, unfortunately. He finished the rest of his coffee, grimacing at the bitter last sip. Placing his mug in the sink, Mac said, “Seriously though, I want you to feel safe sharing with me when you feel like this, Riles.” He leaned against the sink. “Let me help you.” 

Riley crossed to him, finally closing the gap between them, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Okay,” she agreed, head resting on his shoulder. She sighed. “I really don’t want to go to work today, but if I get any more behind on that damn project I am going to pull my hair out.” 

Mac pressed a single kiss where her neck met her shoulder. “Your hair is beautiful. Please don’t pull it out.” Gently, he unwound Riley’s scrunchie, letting her hair tumble down her back so he could play with it. 

“Just for you.” 

They stood like that as long as they could, before they really did need to get ready for work. “I need to shower,” Mac finally said, ruining the quiet moment. “Care to join me?” 

Riley raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want to be late.” 

A very serious shower,” Mac amended. “No funny business.” 

“Right.” Riley kissed him until Mac couldn’t hold back his grin. “No funny business. Now where have I heard that before?” 

Laughing, Mac dragged his girlfriend toward the bathroom. 

[nsr-scrapped-records]

Hey since it's angst hours I also wanted to tell you I saw a painfully beautiful art of Eloni/Green infected by hanahaki disease (you might have seen it too) and I just... imagine a member of 1010 (or even Neon J) being in love with the one person that does not love them back, they are most likely capable of feeling love right ? They would try to hide it at first but eventually the others would notice but what could be done ? The only way to cure it would be to remove it surgically (1/3) -💤🇨🇵

Is that the one with the forgetmenots? A really good flower for hanahaki, what with "dont forget me" and "true love" both being tied to it. Another good one would be Devil's Bit (unfortunate love). Wisteria (clinging love), Jack-in-the-pulpit (release love addiction), Love Lies Bleeding (lost love), willow (forsaken love), agapanthus (my love has not faded, magical love, never fading love), yellow tulips (hopeless love), Carolina Rose (love is dangerous), Morning Glory (Love in vain), Dutchman's Breeches (I want you to love me), Bleeding heart (passionate love, rejected love), Asphodel (our love will endure after death), Orange Blossom (i will love your forever), and Cosmos (no one could love you more) are also excellent flowers that could be used :]

What I'd give them all is

Red - devil's bit

Yellow - orange blossom

Green - forget-me-nots

Blue - morning Glory

Neon - cosmos or agapanthus

I don't talk about hanahaki much in general, but it is SUCH a fun thing to consider when it comes to robotics. They got no lungs, so where does it grow? Why, either it slowly leaves the joints unusable as it grows further leaving the robo immobile instead of dead, OR the roots are centered on their battery chamber, taking the energy for itself and choking out the wires.. there's only so much you can hide the flowers that poke out of your physical form, and it's not like they wear clothes normally. Would be kind of odd for Blue to just start wearing hoodies :]

With the roboys, odds are is thst they COULD cough up the flowers as it gunks stuff and the system tries to evacuate it. Unfortunately, Neon doesnt seem to have a mouth, so, while he may be coughing, odds are wherever the air circulates from is too small to properly get any of it out of his system.

Could think about, with the boys, Neon having to shut one off and bring him back online and it seems fine, and then the boy coughs. Back to square one. Maybe it's somehow affecting their code. If there isnt a flower yet, the body still behaves like the constriction and stuff is still there. Desperately talking to Mama, but there is no other way to fix it but surgery, ans what surgery can you perform on a robot. Neon tries to do what he can to get the flowers out of the system, but with it being complicated robotics, he can't get all of it and it quickly grows back. The other boys and Neon trying to get the sick boy to tell them who they love, but it's not like anything will change. Less run time every day until the day that the boy shuts off and can't.

Could think about, with Neon, him gradually being less and less out there until he finally shuts himself in his room. Songs are still being made, for a bit, 1010 can see it in their files, but it quickly slows to a stop. His coat fluff is covered in flowers, some of them wilted as his body tries to go into overtime to make his lungs work and it's somewhat burning him. He's more focused on getting everything set up for when his lungs finally stop working. A meeting pops up, and 1010 goes and they're stuck explaining to the other artists. The other artists being let in my 1010, either solo or in group, trying to convince him to say who It is so they can try something, but Neon is stubborn. Stubborn stubborn too stubborn and eventually the robotics can't keep up. His room is a sea of petals.

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Nothing’s Normal | Cliff Steele x Reader (Request)

Request:  Hi can you do a imagine where the reader is the daughter of Bruce wayne and a meta and in a relationship with cliff Steele please and thank you

A/N: @rachelcarroll1819 Sorry it took me a while to get to this request because life and I keep forgetting to post it, so here it is. I know it’s supposed to be a simple imagine, but I got carried away because I love writing the dynamics between the Doom Patrol members. I hope this is what you asked for.

Warning: Doom Patrol-typical swearing, usual Doom Patrol shenanigans, some angst?, some fluff

Words: 3211 (lol idk what happened)

-

It had been almost a year since your adoptive father, Bruce Wayne, had sent you to regularly check up on Vic and the others at Doom Manor. He was made aware of this new team of metahumans through the young Cyborg and as Batman’s assistant, you were assigned to keep tabs on all of the Justice League members in case of emergencies.

One rule that he made sure you understood was that you’d go when Niles Caulder wasn’t around. You heard about that doctor and his work with the Bureau of Normalcy. Your father heard about them during one of his investigations into a series of missing persons cases, all showing signs of possessing some kind of power. Being aware of your own powers, you agreed with your father to stay away. That doesn’t mean you had to stay away with the Doom Patrol members, though.

You wiped your forehead as you finished fixing up their black painted bus. The team currently had the budget of a public high school in an expensive city, so there wasn’t much good material to work with, so you made as much adjustments as you could while giving room for some upgrades.

“Not exactly the Magic School Bus,” Cliff said, handing you a cloth to wipe your hands with.

“Well, Vic could always get some of that good juicy tech stuff from home so we could turn it into the Magic School Bus,” you said, raising an eyebrow at Cyborg.

Vic shrugged, stepping back to look at the small bus. “I think it looks fine. Maybe you could actually do more if you take off those gloves.”

You purse your lips and say nothing. He still doesn’t know the reason why you wore those gloves and you try your best to keep like that for as long as you could.

Rita walked over with Larry, placing her hands on her hips and sighed. “Are we looking at the same thing? It looks so dreary and… and… shabby,” she said.

“Hey, what’s wrong with my paint job, man?” Jane snapped.

Rita ignored her. “No one’s going to take us seriously as an actual superhero team.”

“No one takes us seriously anyways,” Larry pointed out.

“Yeah, but think of what (Y/n) could do with that cool tech, Vic,” Cliff exclaimed, grabbing Vic’s shoulder, “She worked on the fuckin’ Batmobile! I think after saving two towns and the world from the apocalypse, we deserve a Doom Mobile.”

Vic was slowly being swayed, agreeing that the team should have some kind of advanced mode of transportation instead of relying on Flit to emerge and teleport them to their destination. Vic rubbed his chin, then nodded.

“Yeah, I could try and-” He looked up to address you and Cliff when he realized that the two of you vanished, “Where did they go?”

They all shrugged.

“It’s not like they can fuck,” Jane said bluntly.

“Jane,” Rita scolded her. Jane rolled her eyes and made her way back to the manor. Rita looked over at Larry who shrugged.

“As long as they’re not getting into trouble, it’s none of our business,” he said before walking to his greenhouse.

Rita pouted, standing with only Vic to talk to. “I just want to know what my dear friends are up to, don’t you? Cliff seemed so… happy lately, hasn’t he?”

Vic nodded. “Yeah… you don’t think that Cliff… and… (Y/n)?” He frowned just thinking about it. How would that work?

Rita hummed. “Maybe we should… check if everything’s okay,” she said lamely.

“Yeah, maybe,” Vic said, getting curious. He knew you ever since he joined the Justice League and you didn’t seem the type to be in a relationship. Surely, you and Cliff were just friends.

-

“You think we could get the bus to go that fast?” you asked Cliff, nodding over to the TV in the corner of the Robotman’s room, playing a recording of an old NASCAR race. You leaned over the sketches of upgrades you’ve been meaning to add once you get the right tools and materials, your gloves tossed to the side.

“I mean the air resistance will be something that we have to compensate for,” Cliff said, “Race cars are slim as fuck, which is why they can flip the fuck out when we crash into each other.”

You wrote some notes down, then looked up at Cliff. “Why did you choose to be a racecar driver?”

Cliff shrugged. “I liked driving. I liked the rush. I liked the crowd. And I was really fuckin’ good at it, so I liked the winning, too.”

“At least you didn’t become an actor,” you teased, “Though you’d surely win a Raspberry award.”

“Hey!”

Cliff reached out to grab you on your sides. You shrieked, feeling the tips of his metal fingers nearing the most ticklish part of your body before you ran away. He chased you around the room, making you laugh as he bumped into the furniture when you’d dodge.

You ran out of breath from running and laughing too much, pausing for a moment, giving Cliff enough time to grab you. You huffed a laugh, gripping his metal arms and relishing in the cold touch as he carried you over to the couch and plopped you down.

Cliff was one of the very few people that you could touch without any gloves or clothing in the way. It wasn’t like skin, but at least you didn’t have to worry about your powers affecting him.

He looked down at you and sighed before sitting down. He held your hands and ran a metal thumb over them, having similar thoughts running through his head.

“I wish I could fuckin’ feel this,” he muttered, “You deserve someone who’s normal. Someone that can feel your skin, feel how soft your hair is, be able to kiss you, pop a fuckin’ boner. When you hug me, it’s just all bulky metal for you, and I can’t even feel how warm you are.”

You leaned against him and also sighed. “I could… I heard they’re developing these synths, they call it. Robots that look like humans with realistic hair, skin, everything. I could try and maybe look into it, if you want. If you’re comfortable with it,” you offered.

“What if it doesn’t work? Then you’re stuck with this,” Cliff gestured to his body.

You shook your head. “I just want you to be happy and I know how hard it is to not be able to touch anything. We can keep trying to find other ways, Cliff.”

“Even if I had my human body, just me, I still think you deserve better. I… I was a horrible person. I was a bad husband and a bad father. I’m learning from that and I feel myself getting better, but what if I relapse?”

There were so many things you wanted to tell him, that him having his human body back won’t change the fact that you still won’t be able to touch him, but you knew how hard it was for him to come to terms that all those human traits he had were gone. Everything except his brain.

“Your friends and I won’t let that happen to you,” you said firmly.

You ended up sleeping on Cliff’s lap after talking for a couple more hours. He carefully ran his metal fingers through your hair, mentally cursing when your hair almost got stuck in one of the joints. He slowly lifted you up and carried you over to one of the guest rooms next to his, setting you down on the bed and covered you with the duvet. He had the urge to kiss your forehead, but knew he couldn’t. When he turned to leave, Rita and Vic were standing there with knowing smirks. Cliff wanted to roll his eyes as he pushed past them.

-

“How long are you going to be gone this time?” Cliff whined as you packed up your duffel bag.

“Not sure,” you said, “but they said it was urgent, so Vic and I are both needed.”

“Can’t we come with you, go sightseeing around Gotham?” he asked, following you out of the room.

You snorted. “Not much to see around Gotham, unless you’re looking for criminal activities and corrupted cops.”

“Yeah, and Batman.”

“And dangerous criminals.”

“We defeated Mr. Nobody! We stopped the apocalypse!”

You sighed, stopping at the manor’s entrance. “Cliff, maybe next time. Right now I have to focus on the mission.”

“You ready?” Vic called out from the small plane that your father sent you.

You nodded, picking up your duffel bag. “I’ll call you,” you assured him.

Cliff nodded, his shoulders slumping. You beckoned for him to lean down and you pressed your forehead against his metal head, closing your eyes for a brief moment before pulling away. The chauffeur grabbed the bag from you as you climbed into the plane.

“So… why Cliff Steele?” Vic suddenly asked.

“How-”

“Rita and I saw you two.”

You leaned back in your seat and shrugged. “He makes me laugh.”

Vic nodded. “Fair enough, I guess.”

The two of you fell in silence for a moment. You picked at your gloves, before looking up at Vic. “But please don’t mention this to anyone, at all,” you pleaded, “No one has to know.”

“Alright, no problem, (Y/n/n).”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the flight was silent, with the both of you trying to get in touch with your respective fathers. Your father was reluctant to bring you into the mission, but your expertise and powers were needed for them to solve their investigation. You hated your powers and your father knew it, which is why he tried his best to avoid the situation from reaching that point, leaving you as the last resort.

“Half an hour until landing, miss Wayne,” one of the pilots announced.

“Thank you,” you called out, grabbing your duffel bag to change in the bathroom.

-

Cliff played with his mini racetrack for the hundredth time after standing around outside watching Jane paint and hanging around Larry in his greenhouse to understand why he loved watering plants so much. He tossed the remote control onto the couch and sighed. What is it that you do that you were needed on the mission? Every time he asked, you would shrug it off and say that you were a glorified secretary for the Justice League. Do they need paperwork to be filled out or some shit?

“And why are you telling me this?” Rita sighed as she brushed her hair in front of her large mirror, Cliff sitting on the floor behind her after unloading his thoughts onto her.

“You were the one that wanted to know about our relationship!” Cliff shouted.

“Okay, okay. Calm down, Cliff.” She set her brush down and turned in her seat. “So what is it that you want?”

“Uhhh.” Cliff tilted his head. “I feel like she’s hiding something from me.”

“Did you ask her?”

“What the fuck is she going to say? Yes, Cliff, I am hiding something from you. What is she going to say next, it was for my own good?”

“Cliff, we’ve known (Y/n) for a year. She doesn’t owe us everything about her life. I’m sure she has her reasons. She works for the Justice League for crying out loud. There’s a level of secrecy that she must have to keep as part of the job.”

Cliff groaned. “So we just wait, then?”

Rita gave a firm nod. “We will just wait.”

They sat there in silence. Cliff blinked, staring at the ceiling, then back at Rita. She shifted around in her seat, then cleared her throat.

“I never thought I’d be… itching to go and save the world,” she began, “I wonder what it’s like for the Justice League.”

“Don’t they usually battle some otherworldly being or each other?”

“I know, but I’m sure there was never a time where they were… self-conscious about going out there. They don’t have powers like we do, if you could call it that, where even the slightest of our emotions changing would affect us badly.”

Cliff waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it’s the same for them, just in fancy costumes.”

Rita sighed, then nodded in resolution. “You know, Cliff, you’re right. Maybe we could-”

“Who the fuck are you?!” They suddenly heard Jane shout, followed by a loud crash.

“Where’s Niles Caulder?” A deep male voice bellowed.

Cliff and Rita exchanged a look before rushing out of the room towards the entrance. Rita’s eyes widened as she saw Batman storming through the door, pushing past Hammerhead, with (Y/n) trying to stop your father while Superman was trying to calm Hammerhead down.

“What the hell is going on here?” Larry jogged over as Vic rushed in towards the group. “Vic, what’s going on?”

Vic let out a frustrated sigh, glancing back at Batman, before turning back to his friends. “Our mission uncovered some things linked to Niles and not in a nice way,” he said, not sure how much of the classified mission he was allowed to share with the people who were also victims and complicated friends of said Niles Caulder.

“And why are they here?” Rita pressed.

“Let go of me, you fuckin’ Ken doll in stupid ugly overcompensating tights!” Hammerhead growled as Superman wrapped his arms around her, preventing her from pouncing on him or Batman.

“Where’s Niles Caulder?” Batman demanded, glaring at the group.

Larry looked at the others, not sure what to say. Rita shook her head while Cliff nodded. (Y/n) stood in front of him and growled in frustration.

“Not until you calm down!” you snapped.

“He did this to you,” your father hissed.

“He did it to all of us,” you said, gesturing to the group, “With reason. There’s no excusing the shit he did, but you have to hear everything out before you carry out your justice. You've taught me this before. Now. Sit. Down.”

He clenched his jaw, looking back at Superman, who disappeared. “Where did they go?”

They heard an explosion from the front yard, followed by Superman’s voice. You all looked at each other and groaned, “Oh, no.”

Cliff was the first one out the door, already approaching Flaming Katy. You rushed forward, but Vic held you back.

“Cliff’s done this before,” Larry assured you.

“Come on, Jane. They’re not worth it. Think about it, they’re here for Niles. Think they’d smack him around, just a little, after what he’s done?” Cliff called out to the flaming figure. “Baby Doll, I can make those peanut butter jelly sandwiches you like, without the crust and everything. I’ll even watch those shitty nineties rom-coms with you, Karen.”

The figure slowly lowered, the flames gradually extinguishing until Jane emerged again. She glared at Superman, then at Cliff.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Jane muttered, not aiming it to anyone in particular,  stomping back into the manor.

Cliff turned back to the others and gave a thumbs up. You sighed in relief, urging everyone to go back inside. As they filed back into the large living room, you lingered by the door until you and Cliff were the only ones in the parlor.

“Sorry about this,” you muttered.

Cliff shrugged. “Meh, I was actually talking about you anyways.” You raised an eyebrow, silently asking about what. Cliff shrugged again. “I just missed you.”

You gave a small smile. “I missed you, too.” You took off one glove and pressed your hand against his metal arm, letting the coolness seep into your skin.

You opened your mouth to speak, when you heard a familiar coughing. You pulled away, your cheeks heating up. Your father narrowed his eyes at Cliff before jerking his head over to the living room where everyone was sitting. You pressed your lips into a thin line and followed him in, Cliff trailing behind you.

Once everyone was seated, Rita cleared her throat. “So, let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” she said, taking charge in leading the conversation. “So, what was it that caused you to seek Niles Caulder out?”

Your father was still fuming in his seat, so Clark decided to speak. “We were following a trail of missing persons cases and stumbled upon an underground facility. The missing persons were subjected to countless experiments and many didn’t make it. From the files we found in their database, it was all initially headed by a Doctor Niles Caulder. The first few experiments had actually been cancelled, but a team continued to do so without his knowledge,” he said.

Everyone stared at him, entranced by his handsome face and his smooth voice. Clark looked around and frowned, wondering why they were looking at him weird.

“I’m sorry I tried to punch your sharp jaw,” Jane muttered.

“You would have been cut from it,” Larry told her.

Rita waved a hand to dismiss them. “You,” she pointed at your father, “Batman...  person, you said that Niles did this to (Y/n)? Our (Y/n)?”

You sighed. “I was a part of the initial trials until my- until Batman saved me,” you said.

“What did they do to you?” Larry asked.

You hesitated, looking around the room. You spotted a dying flower, a plant that Larry had given Cliff to practice taking care of. You carried it over and set the small pot on the coffee table. Your palms were sweaty as they hovered over the wilting petals before you slowly lowered your finger. With a single touch on a petal, the flower was slowly revived, all color flooding back to its vibrant petals.

“That’s pretty cool,” Cliff said.

You shook your head, touching the petal again. The life from the flower slowly drained away until it was curled up and dry.

“Oh.”

“I can bring a living being back to life with a single touch, but… touch them again and they’re dead. Forever,” you said. “I wasn’t sure how long I’ve been in that lab. Some of the early records were gone by the time I was rescued, but if the aim is similar to what he’s done to all of you… I may be older than I look.”

“Well, I’m glad that our age difference isn’t weird anymore,” Cliff commented. You gave him an exasperated look until you remembered that you were sitting next to your father, making you freeze. The rest of the Doom Patrol members turned to Cliff and glared at him. “What? You guys were dying to know, and now that we’re talking about it… I’m just saying, people should stop thinking our relationship is extremely weird-”

“You’re still a robot, Cliff,” Larry reminded.

“So this is Cliff?” Clark asked you, ignoring the bickering.

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“Wait, you knew?” Your father turned to Clark. You closed your eyes and sighed.

“Well, it came up in a conversation…,” Clark tried to defend.

“Don’t you think I have the right to know who my daughter’s involved with?” Your father hissed.

“Wait a fuckin’ minute!” Cliff said, looking at you, then back at Batman, who was still in costume, then back at you. “What the fuck? Daughter? (Y/n)... What the fuck?”

[hms-chill]

48. “Watching you grow is the best” for the fluff prompts 🥺

Of course! Thank you so much for the prompt!

When they’d moved into the brownstone, Alex and Henry had agreed on a shared office. They’d originally planned on having separate ones, but when they kept wandering into each other’s because they got lonely on their first day, they’d realized that a joint office really was a better choice. So when Alex turns around to see if Henry’s interested in ordering food-- Alex is feeling Thai, but he’s flexible-- he’s met with his own face on Henry’s screen. He’s younger, and after a second, he sees a younger Henry, too.

“What ‘cha doin?” he asks, and Henry turns almost guiltily.

“I was doing research. This is an article on queer politicians and public figures, but then it had this picture, and I... I don’t even remember there being a photographer nearby, but I was just... thinking.”

Alex sits on his lap to get a better view of the picture: himself and Henry, aged eighteen and nineteen, shaking hands in Rio.

“Sort of hard to believe how long ago that was,” Alex says. “How much was different.”

Henry nods. “I... I was a different person entirely. Or maybe not entirely, but I... I guess maybe I am entirely different. Cells only last so long, if that’s what we’re measuring, so you know--” Alex carefully threads hs fingers through Henry’s, rubbing his thumb along the back of Henry’s hand and letting him talk his way to, “I guess I just... everything is different now. And it’s so much better. And I... you know I want to grow old with you, but I’m not sure I ever really thought about what that would mean. I mean, I know we’ll grow physically, I just... hadn’t thought about growing other ways. And if I can change this much since Rio, if you’ve made me so much better this quickly, I just... I can’t even imagine how much better you’ll make me in the future.”

Alex hugs him at that, and Henry laughs a bit. “I love you,” Alex says. “I love how much you think about things. I love your brain and how it’s smart. And I love how much you’ve grown. It’s... I wasn’t even there for most of it, but just since we met for real, you’re... you’re so much more you than you were. You don’t feel like a robot’s wearing your skin anymore, you feel like you.”

Henry laughs at that, and Alex smiles up at him as Henry says, “You’ve grown too, you know. You’re looking after yourself better, and you’re learning to slow down. When you tell me about high school especially, sometimes it hurts because I couldn’t be there to help you, but it’s also just... so clear that you’re doing better now. And even since we met, you’ve learned to take your time with things and appreciate them more. You’re... you’re better, I think, than you were. Happier.”

Alex nods. He turns back to the picture, to the Alex who’s grinning but was up almost the entire night before trying to learn Portuguese in two days, and the Henry who’s smiling the press smile that Alex has always hated. Then, he reaches across Henry’s desk for the framed picture of the two of them at pride just a few months ago. Henry’s hair is dyed rainbow colors with a dye that wasn’t quite as temporary as they’d thought, and he’d had to resort to hats for two days afterward while Alex shampooed his hair as thoroughly as possible every night until it came out. The Alex in the picture is covered in so much glitter that they’re still finding it in the carpet or washing machine, and he’s feeding Henry a sno cone, and they’re open and happy and in love. the Alex who’s sitting in Henry’s lap smiles, then sets the picture on Henry’s laptop keyboard, right next to the one from Rio. 

“Hard to believe we’re the same people,” Henry says, and Alex nods.

“Maybe we’re not anymore. But that just means we grew, and it’s been... amazing. Watching you grow is the best.”

“Yes, well, you haven’t gotten to watch yourself grow.”

Alex is going to say something equally sweet, but his stomach growls, so what comes out is, “can we get takeout tonight?”

Henry laughs, and hugs him close, and agrees that yes, takeout sounds great.

----

I’m going to get to all of these, I promise! Yesterday was a bit of a weird day, but I’m super excited to keep writing them!

[chrome-wind]

Small steps

Pathfinder sat in his room messing with parts of machinery, he wanted to make something special for his best friend. He thought about buying him something like a bunch of flowers, but the last flowers he bought Revenant didn’t really like. It didn’t stop him from keeping them because Pathfinder was giving them too him but not really what he wanted. He could get Revenant a stuffed animal but Revenant doesn’t care for things like that! The only exception being the Nessie he had. Perhaps a Knife? No wait hold on perhaps not! Pathfinder shook his head with a nervous laughing emoji on his screen.

A small knock at his door took him out of his thoughts, opening the door seeing Revenant standing there “Pathfinder” he said calmly

“Hello Revenant! What brings you here today?” Path said excitedly, “I wanted to ask... that maybe...”

He couldn’t get his words out as if he didn’t want to ask what he was asking.

“It’s okay friend! Take your time!”

Revenant looked at the floor twisting his fingers together. “Nevermind” he turned and started to walk back to his room

Pathfinder wilted even though being made of metal and a sad face appears on his face.

“Wait friend!” Revenant stopped and turned, to which Pathfinder trotted over to him taking his hand and bringing their bodies together. “Why don’t you come round later to do something together?” Pathfinder asked.

“I.. I don’t know” Revenant said shyly

“Are you busy?”

“N-no... I’m free”

“Do you not want to come?” Path said disappointingly which Revenant died on the inside watching him close inwards.

“No! ... I want to come! I’-I’ll come! I’m free, I guess I could spend the night with you.”

Revenant was burning up his temperature was above the normal body temperature, his machine started to whin a bit too loudly.

Pathfinder stood up straight with a happy emoji on his screen! “Great! I’ll see you later Revenant! I love you!”

“Yeah” Revenant replied trailing to his room.

Pathfinder giddily ran into his room! He needed to prepare! He spent all afternoon with his gift for Revenant after looking at his work he smiled “Perfect!” Placing it gently in a small box.

He then quickly ran to his bathroom, it wasn’t really a bathroom because of him being a robot. He saw it more as a room to clean him self after a game. It still had a toilet and a shower, which he kept very clean and tidy.

Path took time to oil his joints and clean all the grime off of his arms and legs. Grabbing a soft cloth that was being held by a Nessie, dipped in some polish and gave his entire frame a nice sheen to it.

Looking in the mirror after cleaning and giving himself a thumbs up.

“Wait a minute!” He said to him self running into his room, pulling a box out from under neath his bed upon opening it finding a small dark red bow tie, running back to the mirror and tying the bow neatly around his scarf!

“You get him Pathfinder!” He said jiggling to himself.

Later that evening Pathfinder ran up to the door of his best friends door.

“Revenant! Are you ready for our date!?” He said excitedly.

“It’s not a date!” Revenant shouted behind the door.

“A date you say?” Wraith said behind Pathfinder.

“Hello Wraith!, yes it is! I can’t wait, it’s gonna be fun!” Giving a thumbs up.

“I see you’ve dressed all smart for him too! He should be impressed! You look stunning Path!” Wraith smiled

Revenant at this point opened the door standing next to Pathfinder. “Are you ready?”

“Wow Revenant!” Wraith said trying to hide her laughs.

“You got a problem?” Revenant said trying to look threatening, but Wraith knowing that he’d do nothing to her put her hands up stepping backwards.

“Sorry! Don’t stay out too late you too! Look after him Path!” She said trailing down the hallway.

“Have fun Wraith!” Path waved excitedly.

Revenant then looked at Pathfinder seeing his bow tie around his neck, already crooked.

“Come ere! It’s already off centre!” Revenant said calming down just looking at Pathfinder. His hands slowly corrected the tie, “already looking somewhat decent.” He said lowing his arms, gently tracing his hand down Pathfinders arm greeting his hand within his own. “You look all gussied up friend!” Path said gripping Revenants hand tighter.

Revenant hasn’t really added anything to his outfit, he had however cleaned himself of dried blood stains and tried to at least look a bit smarter by polishing his metal parts.

“Have any ideas on where we’re going?” Revenant asked, not really knowing where to go even though he had been thinking about it all day and couldn’t think of a single place to go.

“I know exactly where to go! Follow me friend!”

Revenant was glad Pathfinder could think of somewhere as his head was gonna explode if he had to choose somewhere.

Pathfinder lead the way still holding Revenants hand, dragging him along as quickly as possible, to which Revenant allowed at least he thought it best too! They stepped out of the drop ship into the dark warm night, Pathfinder pointing “Over there is where I was thinking!” Revenant was confused,

“Didn’t you want to head to a movie or something?”

“Well friend everywhere is closed, it’s too late to go anywhere but I think this will do just fine!”

Pathfinder gently pulled Revenant over to the side of a cliff. The sea was calmly crashing on the shore, the wind was chilly but not enough to freeze or feel cold. Revenant liked feeling the wind on his body, it felt familiar.. he could sit here all night.

Pathfinder then sat down on the floor

“Come sit down here Revenant! You’ll have the perfect view!”

Revenant was doubting that already with the view he could already see sitting in front of him but gradually sat down next to Pathfinder.

Pathfinder then asked “I want you to close your eyes and look up!”

“Why..” Revenant asked.

“Because I think you’ll like this view better!”

They both lay down next to each other Pathfinder slowly taking Revenants hand

“Okay friend, I want you to open them on the count of three!”

“I can’t just open them now?” Revenant said impatiently

“No! It’s more fun this way friend!”

Path said excitedly.

“1, 2, 3”

Revenant opened his eyes to look up and see bright colours filling the sky. Stars shined brightly surrounded by a swarm of clouds and spirals of the galaxies filling the sky. Red, blue and purple filled the sky that blended beautifully into one another and leading down to the edge of the horizon.

Revenant sat there, still as ever and couldn’t find any words to say. He didn’t want to admit to Path that he actually loved seeing the night sky so colourful but he wanted to let Path know that he at least liked it!

“It’s.. something” Revenant eventually said

“It’s beautiful!” Path replied “Like you!” He said turning his head to Revenants, squeezing his hand tightly. Revenant didn’t even have to look at Pathfinders screen to know hearts flowing all over his screen.

“....Thank you” Revenant said as softly as he could.

Pathfinder was taken back a couple of steps before he could think of his next sentence! He couldn’t keep still jiggling slightly in his spot.

“Oh! That reminds me friend!” He said sitting up and reaching for his present. Revenant sat up just as Pathfinder handed him the box. Startled as Path thrusted this box at him.

“What is it?” He said confusingly

“It’s for you.. I wanted to get you something! For being w-with me!” Pathfinder said shyly. His screen not showing a emoji just hearts.

“Why would you want to get me anything!” Revenant asked. His machine begins to over heat slightly which he hoped the wind was covering.

“Why, wouldn’t I?” Path said confusingly.

Revenant took the box gently opening the lid to reveal a small black and sliver ring, it had intricate designs of Roses, leaves and thorns round the ring that bled through the black as silver. The centre of the ring was a black rose with thorns around the outside and a dark red stone protruding from the centre.

Revenant sat there in awe, his chest was tight and his whining was louder than ever, his hands where shaking slightly and his optics light up brightly.

“D-did you make this...” he said looking up to Pathfinder.

“Yes friend! I wanted to get you something, but anything I thought of you wouldn’t like! I haven’t seen you where any kind of jewellery before so I thought you might like it?”

Path said tapping his hands together.

“I had the help of Bloodhound for the design! They are great at etching! I made the ring and found the stone and they finished it off for me! It was very f”

Before Path finished his sentence Revenant had pulled him in close, Revenant dug his face deep into Pathfinders neck hugging him deeply.

“It’s... beautiful” Revenant said quietly. Pathfinder sat there in shock again, Revenant hugging him, first?! He slowly pulled Revenant away from him clasping his face and slowly touched his optic on Revenants forehead. Revenant closed his eyes and held Paths head gently with his long claws.

They sat there for a couple of minutes before lying back on the floor. Revenant placed the ring on his index finger slowly twisting it round until he could see the stone in the centre.

They both held hands, lying on the ground for the next couple of hours staring at the colourful midnight sky.

——————————————————————————

Another story for the Starved fandom XD

Not as sad as the other couple, just some fluff to please my soul XD

[aredheadedmess]

Euphoria || JJK

Summary:  Since the end of the biggest war in the world, you were left to rot. Suddenly waking up in a new place over a hundred years later is terrifying, but he’s there to help you.

Paring: Jungkook x Robot!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: Fluff, Sci-Fi, Futuristic

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Notes: So this is the first of many works to come this month! I am going to try my best to follow the KST time zone, but like this one, they might come a little late. This is from the prompt list for ‘Bangtober’ on twitter!

Bangtober Masterlist

“Is this thing on?”

The motors in its system whirr to life. Jungkook bangs lightly on the robot’s shoulder, trying to get it to wake up faster. Without dismay, its head lifts up slowly, sitting up straighter.

“Ah, hello there!”

You turn to face the figure in front of you. Your joints are a little stiff, but your movements will eventually become smoother.

“And what might your name be?” The man speaks up.

A few quiet beeps sound from your head.

"I am R21B3-A, Soldier 003 in the Shadow squadron of The Last. I also am known by the name Y/N."

Jungkook hums. He looks over at the desk next to him, filing through some of the papers scattered around. His face lights up slightly as he pulls one piece of paper from the pile.

"The Last, huh? So that must mean you would have been part of the war?"

As you nod, the mechanics in your neck hiss slightly.

The War. You quickly run through all of your files. It has been over a hundred years or so since the biggest war the world has ever seen. It is the war that everyone was afraid of, but no one thought it would happen. Man versus technology. Though both sides had fought to keep their place, man won in the end. You were deemed 'useless' after the war had ended. There had been no point in keeping the army of mechanical soldiers, especially after losing the battle. You were left to rot in the last place you remember being.

Now, you sit in a small room. What seems to be a bedroom, more than likely belonging to the man sitting against the desk behind him. You take a few seconds to process the new information. Slowly, you tilt your head in confusion.

“Human, what year is it?”

Jungkook thinks for a moment. He twists to face the calendar hanging on his wall.

“Um… it’s 2412. June 8th, to be more specific.”

You take a glance out the window across the room. The golden light streaming through the curtains dazes you. Standing from the chair you were placed on, you walk to the window and push back the fabric. If you knew emotions, you would probably be more amazed than you are showing.

The scenery outside is a drastic difference from when you last were awake. Tall skyscrapers lined with all kinds of shiny material—mostly tungsten from what you can figure—stand strong against the fast whizzing of flying somethings in the air. All you can see are flashes of gold and silver as they pass by the window. There are many other buildings completely covered in glass, reflecting the sun’s rays almost directly into the room.

Below, humans, hybrids, animals, and other robotic figures line the streets—or rather the walkways and grass. There are no formal streets, you note. Rather, large strips of grass take over the space.

You think back to the last time you were awake and running. A dystopian world run by the worst people imaginable. There was no sense of rhyme or reason to anything, and the rise and rebellion of technology had finally come to bite humans in the butt. The world was overrun by hatred and absolute power. So much so, that the world was turned upside down. What was once a beautiful place, one that you could have dared call a utopia, quickly became consumed by fire and war. Early on in your running, you were recruited by other robots to help fight the kind that destroyed the peace each species brought. Although machines like you learn fast, you were one of the newest models, thus thinking and working faster than many others. You were appointed to the Shadow squadron—the highest squad in the army. You fought on the front lines of the war, knowing that you had to fight for the return of peace. Eventually, you were one of the last soldiers in your squad. By then, the better percentage of the humans had defeated everyone—and thing—else, leaving them to win the war.

Something in your chest cavity feels heavy as you remember the events.

Jungkook looks at you with a sense of wonder and admiration. He watches as you take a step back from the window and look back at him. If he didn’t know you were a robot, he would have thought you were human with the expression on your humanistic face. The idea of that makes him flutter with giddiness.

“What is this place called?”

He smiles, dropping his gaze to the ground.

“We call it Euphoria. Ever since they won the war, those good people tried to build up again. They called it Euphoria because of the excitement of the start of a new utopia. One where no matter what you are, you are accepted and welcome into this place. It takes up most of the world. The other part is where the descendants of those that wanted power, and their followers, were banished to.”

You blink, nodding at his words. You twist your head back to view the world on the other side of the glass.

“What are those things in the sky?”

Jungkook steps toward you.

“Vehicles. We somehow advanced technology enough to have flying cars. Apparently, they were trying to do the same thing over 400 years ago, but nothing worked.”

“I know I have a lot of questions, but why am I here?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath from beside you. You glance over at him, the gleam in your eyes catching him off guard as he sputters with a bright blush covering his face. He quickly turns to face the wall next to him.

“Um… I’m not really sure myself. I saw you in an obscure place, one that only a couple of people know about. I know I’ve missed seeing you since I always walk over by where you were. Something in me just couldn’t leave you there, and I guess I took you home with me.”

From your past experience with his kind, you could tell that there wasn’t much to it. If there was anything he left out—and you were sure there is at least one thing he didn’t tell you—he didn’t want to talk about it. You decide to leave the rest of your questions for another time.

Jungkook let you tour his home by yourself, trusting you enough to not damage anything. There were so many thoughts (or rather transmitting messages) jumping around in your head. The one thing that threw you off as you walked around his beautiful living space was what you felt when talking to the nice guy. It was almost as if you are gaining the ability to emit emotions. But that would be impossible, right?

During the next month, you learned more about the man you were staying with. He is an engineer, working with some of the biggest companies to help find more ways to use and make technology. In turn, he answers all of your questions to the best of his ability.

Recently though, you had been feeling different. Like you weren’t ‘you’. You couldn’t really explain it, but you couldn’t exactly go to Jungkook for answers either as you knew it had something to do with him.

A sharp knock interrupts your music session.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

You walk over to the door of the room that has now become your own bedroom. Although you don’t necessarily need to have a bed, Jungkook offered as a kind gesture for a space to let you charge yourself more comfortably.

Reaching for the sensor to open the door, you wipe the nervousness away. The door slides to the side with ease. Jungkook stands in the hallway, his hands behind his back, and his dark curls partially obscuring his face.

“What’s up?”

Jungkook looks nervous. Or at least, he’s fidgeting where he stands. His gaze shoots up from near your feet.

“Oh! Um... “

He doesn’t say anything else. A little hesitant, he takes your hand and pulls you along with him as he makes his way towards the backyard. The moment you are about to step outside, you notice it is raining. Jungkook is yanked back as you halt in your place just before the door.

It had been so long, you weren’t sure if your systems could handle the rain anymore. Washing yourself with a washcloth was different, as you didn’t need to fully immerse yourself in water to get clean. But the rain—and with how hard it was coming down—would drench you to the core.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes drift to Jungkook’s and your face contorts to a look of worry. Jungkook notices the change. Coming to an understanding, he speaks up.

“We can take it slow if you want. Here, stick out your arm.”

You raise your free arm. Jungkook pulls you a little farther out, letting you feel the rain on your skin. You giggle lightly as it tickles. After a few seconds, you slowly move the joints in your hand. None of them feel like they’re short circuiting. You take initiative and step out a little farther. Jungkook watches from beside you with a smile as you're in the rain to your shoulder. Eventually pushing out until you’re completely encased by nature’s shower.

Jungkook follows suit shortly after you. He keeps a hold on your hand and pulls you to a structure in the back corner of the yard. It is a smaller house-like place. All of the walls were made with wood, and the roof looked like it was metal. You were astonished once Jungkook opened the door. What you thought would be a desk or maybe a studio space, is actually taken up by a large mattress. Soft blankets and a numerous amount of pillows lay scattered across the mattress.

“Here, change into these real quick, and then get comfortable.”

He hands you a set of his clothes before whipping around to give you a little privacy. The clothes were warm. Like they had just come out of the dryer. You quickly get rid of your own cold, wet clothes and pull his shirt and sweats on. Jungkook turns back around once he hears the rustle of the blankets. He grabs another set of clothes for him, motioning you to turn around. You would be lying if you said you didn’t peak at him as he pulled off his shirt.

You felt the mattress move slightly as Jungkook tossed himself onto it. He rested his hand on your shoulder before pulling you to lay on your back again. He reaches for something on the side, and the roof opens up. For a second, you flinch, worrying that everything is going to get wet. But you hear the pitter-patter of the rain against glass. Looking a little closer, you can see that the ceiling is some of the clearest glass you have ever seen. The rain slides down the tilted ceiling as it hits it.

“What do you think?”

“Wow.”

That’s all you can say. Jungkook chuckles before speaking again.

“I made this a long while ago. I always come out here when it rains. There’s something about the rain that makes me feel comfortable, so I made a place to enjoy it more than I can in the house.”

You smile. When you take a glance at him, he looks content. You catch his eyes as he turns his head to look at you. A dust of pink spreads along his cheeks as he notices you were already looking at him. He blindly reaches for your hand again, intertwining your fingers together.

“You know,” he whispers. “I’m glad that I found you. I don’t think I would have felt this happy if I didn’t.”

“Jungkook-”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You were ready to say something, but decided to close your mouth, listening intently to what he was about to say.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” your eyebrows furrow. “You assumed I was human when we first met, and I was too shy to correct you.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper back.

“I’m actually a robot, too. I was in the war as well. We were in the same squad, but you were way higher in ranking than I was. After it ended, I found you in an abandoned cabin and took you home. I’ve spent this whole time trying to get you to wake up, fixing some of the wiring over the years.”

Jungkook rolls over to lay on his side. He notices your wet hair close to falling in front of your face, so he tucks it behind your ear. You can feel heat rushing to your face at his gesture.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything earlier. I guess I was worried that you would be mad at me for lying,” his voice trails off.

“It’s okay. I don’t blame you, I’m not mad. You had your reasons. But why are you telling me this?”

He breathes in as much as he can, letting it all out in one long exhale. You can feel his fingers fidget between yours. You squeeze his hand in an attempt to comfort him. He seems to relax, closing his eyes, and squeezing back.

“I thought it’d make it easier when I tell you… I like you, Y/N.”

The mechanic brain in your head runs faster than it had been. Jungkook slowly leans in closer to your face. His hand that tucked your hair never left your face, but he shifts it slightly to cup your cheek. He waits for any sign of discomfort from you before closing the small gap.

You feel like you start to malfunction as his lips press against yours. His lips are soft to the touch, leaving you craving for more. But it’s short lived as he pulls away. You chase his lips slightly, making him chuckle.

A loud burst of thunder catches the both of you unguarded. Eyes widening before you break out in laughter.

Although you live in a new world, Jungkook has become your personal utopia.

[motleymoose]

Homecoming, Part 2: Bosph, Ch 2

Chapter 2: New Friends, Found & Lost

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender-Neutral Reader, Mihcas (OC), Nameless dozens Words: 5.1k+ Warnings: Canon-appropriate violence, Injuries, Death & Destruction, Angst adjacent, Fluff if you squint

Summary:

I make friends where I can. But apparently, I don't get to keep them long when the bounty hunter's around.

Fraggin' buckethead.

Homecoming Masterlist

Just before the rusty pink dawn broke, we made it to the bottom of the ravine. My hands were bound once more, but this time the cuffs were loose, giving me room to wiggle out of them. The hunters’s blaster was still in its holster and the rifle slung across his back. He didn’t draw the pistol until we were out of the ditch, picking our way around craters and abandoned mech. A pile of service droids marked the gate into the compound, and my guts wrenched at the sight of them. There were many out there that didn’t see the sentient robots as living things, no matter what personality or skills they developed outside of their programming, and it hurt to think of the terror and confusion the service droids must have experienced before being destroyed.

Repressing the urge to vomit, I stood silently beside the bounty hunter as the merc at the gate scanned the ID fob and took the puck containing my arrest warrant. While the scan was processing, another guard stepped forward and ripped the goggles and respimask from my face, chucking them behind her. I scowled as menacingly as I could, but she just laughed, waving her hand dismissively at me. The scanner beeped an all-clear, and the merc triggered the gate, ushering us into the yard. The Mandalorian’s blaster barrel pressed into my side as we followed the merc through a low tunnel and into the building itself.

Once inside, we were greeted by several more mercs, each carrying weapons in plain view. Flanked on both sides and the back, the mercs guided us into a short hallway that contained a single door.

“Oh, no. After you,” I replied to the prod from the Mandalorian’s gun. I was rewarded with a slap upside the head that left my ears ringing. The merc who administered the blow grinned humorlessly at me with very sharp pointy teeth. Sighing in exasperation, I held my bound hands up. “I don’t know the code to open the door.” I wiggled my fingers emphatically and received another smack to the head. A pale orange Twi’lek shouldered her way forward, tapping a string of digits into the control panel. With a hiss, the door slid open.

The room was smaller compared to some of Mihcas’s other boltholes, but it was still elegantly furnished, and expensively. Carpets and furs decorated the floors and walls, and richly cushioned couches and chairs were spaced evenly around the center of the room facing the extravagantly massive fireplace. Servants, of varying ages, mods and species, lined up against the wall on either side of the fireplace, eyes downcast and arms politely tucked behind them. In the midst of it all stood Mihcas, dressed in a well-tailored formal tunic belted at the waist and Sullustan leather pants that ended inside tall black shock boots, his shoulder-length silver-blonde hair tied neatly at the back of his neck. He turned as we entered, a wolfish grin on his otherwise averagely-handsome pale features.

Acknowledging me with a curt nod, he greeted the Mandalorian with wide arms. “Welcome, fierce beroya! I do hope the journey was not too wearisome.” A sharp glance to one of the attendants procured a tray of cups and cold tea and Imperial delicacies.

I eyed the tray longingly before forcing myself to look away. My eyes met Mihcas’s, and his humorless grin widened, showing off his perfect teeth. The Mandalorian stepped around me, blocking my view of my ex-boss.

“Do you have the credits,” he stated in his not-a-question way, fingers tightening imperceptibly on the blaster’s grip.

“Ah. Yes,” Mihcas replied, voice hardening. “If you would be so kind as to hand my errant employee over to my guards, I will get you your payment.” He walked to a table standing in the corner of the room and unlocked it with a finger scan.

The Mandalorian turned to me, cloak blocking all but my view of his hands as they tested the cuffs and slipped the blaster into the pocket at my hip, hidden by my baggy tunic. With a helmet tilt to the guards at the door, he stepped back and watched as two of the mercs flanked me. I was lifted up by large hands clenching my upper arms and swiftly dragged from the room.

The door closed behind us as my two brutish companions, a mountainous blue-green Twi’lek male with a mean looking modified disrupter slung across his back and a rough-looking tawny Wookiee carrying a heavy reconfigurable blaster and a long knife strapped to its belt, hauled me bodily down the hall for one long droid-operated freight elevator ride and tour of the underground tunnels before depositing me into a barred holding cell. The Twi’lek bastard gave me a hard kick to the knee, sending me tumbling to the cold stone floor. I yelped in surprise and pain, feeling the cartilage pop in protest. The Wookiee barked a guttural laugh and slammed the barred door closed after the Twi’lek exited the cell. I waited until I heard their heavy footfalls disappear into the darkness, praying to the Maker that there was no one else down here with me, and sat up.

Holding my breath, I slipped out of the cuffs, tucking them into the pocket at my thigh. Mother of Moons, was I thankful for my jumpsuit. There was no other piece of clothing as versatile as this in the galaxy, nor any with as many pockets. Touching every pocket in turn, I let my fingers trace their way to my left knee. It was throbbing dully, and the heat from the rapidly swelling flesh only mildly concerned me at the moment. There was a secret pouch at the back of the knee, hidden in the baggy folds of the tough fabric, and I needed to get at it before the pain intensified. I unbuttoned the leg of the jumpsuit to just below my thigh and fished out the tiny set of tools I’d hidden.

Unrolling the palm-sized piece of leather on my aching knee, I selected a thin, pointed hook pick and a flat length of metal with a zigzag end I liked to call a squiggle, more colloquially known as a worm rake. I carefully folded the other tools back into the leather and returned it to the secret pouch, buttoning only three buttons at the bottom of the leg out of convenience and the need for speed. Rising painfully to my feet, I limped over to the metal door to inspect the lock close-up.

It was a simple deadbolt-type lock. Smirking mirthlessly, I knelt on my right knee, letting my left leg splay out sideways to avoid being bumped. Snaking my arms through the bars, I closed my eyes and let the tools become natural extensions of my hands. I could see the mechanism clear as day without actually looking at it, my body attuned to the scrapes and taps of the tools.

A gentle push here, a light rake there, and the lock clicked. I retrieved the little tool set from the knee pouch and replaced the pick and rake, returning the now-complete set to its home once more.

I allowed a small groan as I stood up. White-hot pain stabbed at the tendons at the inside of my knee when I put weight on my left leg, and I cursed the skug of a Twi’lek who'd kicked me. The Mandalorian had told me nothing of a rendezvous, let alone an escape plan, but I took the borrowed pistol as a good sign he wasn’t leaving me as sarlacc fodder. However, the knee was going to slow me up quite a bit if there happened to be an end goal I wasn't aware of.

The space between the tunnel wall and the holding cell wasn’t all that wide, and I made it in two one-legged hops, landing heavily against the wall. Using the tunnel as support, I limped awkwardly back the way I’d been carried. Landmarks were few and far between down at this depth, and it took a few attempts before I found the first freight elevator.

Relief flooded my senses as I stumbled over the gap and onto the steel platform. The tiny cylindrical service droid meeped in surprise when I entered, but quickly returned to its base programming to ask what floor I required.

“Ground level,” I replied dryly.

The droid beeped a confirmation, several small lights flashing brightly across its face. The guardrail swung down as the cage doors slid shut, and we began our ascent to the surface. The trip up was going to take a while, so I slid against the wire-paneled wall and sat companionably on the platform next to the droid.

“Do you like working down here?” I asked sincerely. Other than this one, the droids I’d seen so far were all non-functioning piles of metal.

A whir and a set of clicks confirmed my suspicions. I didn’t have the more delicate tools needed to give the elevator droid a proper diagnostics test, but I had a small dropper of oil and a few slim-handled stiff bristle brushes.

I emptied my pockets, setting each item neatly in front of the service droid. It meeped and whirred.

“It looks like your vents are stiff and your utility arm could use some grease. I’d like to clean them for you, if you’ll let me.”

A lone light blinked as the droid processed the information. A few seconds later, it clicked excitedly.

“No problem! I like doing this kinda stuff.” I smiled, adding offhandedly, “I’m a mech.”

With mindful fingers, I popped off the droid’s front access panel and loosened larger bits of caked-on gunk from its bolts and heftier gears. Taking up one of the smaller brushes, I swept away the rest of the debris and pinched the stiff bristles together to work out a little bit of rotted oil gumming up its more delicate gears. Leaning back, I took one satisfied look at my handiwork before picking up the small oil dropper.

“A little lube, and you’ll be as good as new, burc’ya,” I said, dusting off the top of its domed head.

I finished oiling the droid’s joints and other recalcitrant parts by the time we arrived at the ground floor. The elevator juttered to a stop, and the little service droid whirred happily, moving its arm in a smooth back and forth motion that showed off my mech skills. I couldn't help but smile at the droid. Knowing that my work was being appreciated was the best thanks I could ask for.

"Looks like this is where I get off," I said, pulling myself stiffly to my feet. "Don't let those kung-breathed dosh-heads get you down, friend."

The droid beeped in a succession of trills and tweets, and I patted its dome in a friendly parting. The droid pulled the door lever, and I stood back as the guardrail raised and the cage door slid open. It took a moment for the outer facade to recognize the command, but when it did, I found myself in utter chaos.

At the end of the tunnel, oily smoke curled languidly out of a Twi'lek sized hole in the sliding metal doors. One of Mihcas's elegant chairs lay broken halfway down the tunnel, and the body of the Wookiee guard was crumpled against the wall. Wide eyed but not naive, I slipped the blaster from my hip pocket and edged out of the elevator.

"Get out of here, if you can," I whispered to the little service droid. It meeped worriedly, and I reached back into the freight elevator to tap its domed top in comfort. "Don't worry about me, the goons can't hurt me; the boss reserves the right to kill me himself."

The droid trilled frantically, lights firing circles around its small head.

“Um, no. You are not coming with me. It’s too dangerous.”

Another set of trills and lights, but this time with a short honk.

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when some fraghead takes a potshot at you and fries your servers,” I replied. Glad as I was to have company, and friendly company at that, I worried about the little droid coming to harm.

It beeped solemnly at me, disengaged from its dock, and whirred happily ahead of me.

"You, too, little friend," I murmured.

Limping as quietly as I could, I followed my new droid friend. It stopped a few feet short of the merc laying in the hall. I slowly approached the prostrate Wookiee, blaster drawn, taking a position in front of the service droid. The merc wasn't moving, which was good news for us. But by the size of the hole in its chest, it didn't look like it took that news very well. Stooping cautiously, I reached out a hand and poked it in its glassy, half-opened eye.

Yep. Definitely dead.

Tugging at its belt, I spun the leather strap around its waist until the forearm length blade came into view, still in its sheath. The knife was more like a sword in my hands, but it was better than a gun. Shoving the Mandalorian’s blaster back into its pocket, I straightened and glanced towards Mihcas's sanctum. I began to limp towards the door, the small robot rolling closely behind. We were almost to the broken door when something caught my eye.

I froze, and the droid followed suit. A shadow flickered in the haze of smoke, masking whether it was friend or foe. Fingers tightening on the grip, I shuffled forward leaning heavily to the right. If I had to fight my way out of here, I couldn't count on my knife skills alone. My knee was too badly damaged to be of any use in hand-to-hand combat, and I cursed the Twi’lek once more before steeling myself for a possible attack.

Someone grunted angrily on the other side of the smoky room. Inching towards the door, it was impossible to see more than two feet inside. Frustrated, I patted my pockets with my free hand, searching for something to cover my face.

Bingo.

Unwadding the crusty oil rag, I tucked the knife under my arm and tied the rag around my nose and mouth. It wasn’t as good as a respimask, but at least I wasn’t going to immediately fill my lungs with soot. I got a surer grip on the large knife, and leaned up against the wall beside the door. The hole was large, all jagged edges and fused metal, and I knew that no amount of finagling was going to get the control panel to open it. By this time, I was well aware of my knee; the sharp, throbbing sensation that traveled up and down my leg every time I took a step made it kinda hard to forget about the damage. I couldn’t put much weight on it, which made the idea of stepping over the bottom of the damaged door all the more unpleasant.

The acrid smoke roiled, disturbed by movement farther into the room. I wasn’t sure if this was the only exit, but seeing as I didn’t have any other ideas, I was going to have to try my luck with whoever was occupying the space.

“Think you could get me one of those rugs if I set you over the door?” I asked the droid blinking beside me.

It beeped a response, and I nodded.

With as much ease and grace that I could muster, I hefted the droid through the hole and onto the other side of the door. Its fans whirred faster as it encountered the dense smoke, and I could see its squat shape rolling further into the room. Silence fell for a brief moment, and the worry began to eat its way back into my chest.

Just as I was about to force my way over the broken door, a set of colorful blinking lights greeted me through the dimness.

Leaning into the hole, I snagged the edge of the fur my little droid pal had retrieved. I laid it over the lip of the hole, taking care to not fall over. I was frustrated and scared, and it took more than I had to bite my tongue from shouting in pain. Gingerly, I sat down on the edge of the door and tipped over backwards, landing with a healthy whuff on the other side in a pile of discarded carpets. The droid blinked silently in concern, and I patted its head before flopping over onto my belly. Pushing to my knees, I hissed out a string of curses in as many languages as I could muster. My knee was shrieking in agony, but I had to keep going if I wanted to get out of the compound alive. Flinging potential tripping hazards away from me, I used a broken chair leg to rise wobbly to my feet. The room was eerily quiet, but I could still feel the presence of someone else.

I was rewarded for my paranoia by a clatter in the center of the room. I stopped and held my breath. Another grunt sounded from the same direction

Instead of running in the direction I thought the door was, I decided to try my luck with the being at the center of the room. The droid flashed red in alarm, but I ignored its warnings. I may have been hoping that it was Mihcas making that noise, slowly dying in a puddle of his own bodily fluids. It would have made a fitting death for a skug who caused untold amounts of despair in others.

Picking my way carefully through the wreckage, I held the blade at the ready. If anyone was going to pop out of the smoke at me, they were going to be met with a very big knife. The droid stayed as quiet as it could, leaving plenty of space between us as a precaution. It wouldn't do anyone any favors if it got underfoot in a fight.

A noise nearby made me jump. Boots scuffed up ahead, followed by another groan. I couldn’t see over to the other side of the couch, the smoke being too thick and stinging my eyes to tears. Everything had taken on a blurry, hazed look, and it was a miracle I didn’t trip over the leg that came sweeping across the floor at me.

“Frag!” I yelped, arms instinctively coming to a defensive position.

I heard my name rasped through a vocoder. "You're alive."

"No thanks to you, buckethead," I replied, squinting down at the Mandalorian. "You're lucky I've got skills. What happened to you?" He was propped up in a scrunchingly uncomfortable way against the couch, an unfamiliar pistol in his hand and his rifle at his side. I tried again, waving the knife at the smoke. “This your handiwork?”

Ignoring me, his visor focused on a point just over my left shoulder. "Let's go."

With effort, I help him unsteadily to his feet, looping an arm around his torso. He leaned heavily into me, favoring his right side. From the looks of it, his arm was useless, dislocated maybe. A dark wet splotch had bloomed underneath his armor, and there was a strain on the floor to match.

Adding his weight to mine caused my knee to buckle ever so slightly in the wrong direction. The searing pain brought bile up the back of my throat. The sourness mixed with the metallic taste of the smoke already residing there, making me gag a little in response. Anxiety emerged from underneath my guts, clawing its way to my chest.

I swallowed in an attempt to keep the panic from setting in, and immediately regretted the decision. It dropped like a stone back into my stomach. Now I was queasy on top of the pain and the panic. Things weren’t looking good, and I could feel my heart begin to race at the thought of being smothered by all the smoke in Mihcas’s compound. Just as I was getting lost in the tangle of panicked thoughts and feelings, the Mandalorian muttered something.

“What?” I gasped, brought rudely out of my waking nightmares into reality.

“Amban. Need it,” he breathed.

Oh, right. The rifle.

Inhaling as deeply as I could, I ignored the nausea and the ever present pain and reached down for the discarded rifle. When I came back up, lightheaded and not a little dizzy, the bounty hunter wrapped the strap once around his good wrist and slung it over his helmet and shoulder. Blinking a few times, I exhaled explosively. Taking his weight back on, I guided him in a stumbling, winding path across the room.

"Fragging sake, you way as much as a bluurg!"

The Mandalorian grunted under his breath, gloves fingers digging into my shoulder. "Blaster," he muttered.

"Hold on. " I stopped, letting go of his arm and fishing for the gun in my pocket. "Here, " I said, showing it to him. "But how are you gonna-"

An excited trill of beeps sounded off to my right. With a heave, the hunter dropped his arm from my shoulders, taking the pistol in his good hand. Without looking at where he was aiming, the Mandalorian fired off two succinct rounds in the direction of the noise.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” I cried, lunging toward the crumpled droid. It meeped weakly, its blinking lights slowly fading one by one.

“It was helping me.” I held the droid’s small, blocky body in my arms as more of its functions began to shut down. My knee was screaming, but I didn’t care; my new friend was dying, and there was nothing I could do for it.

The Mandalorian stood sentinel behind me, blaster at his side. “We should go.”

“I can’t leave it alone!” I snarled back at him. “Why did you shoot?” My voice wavered, the fight draining out of me as fast as the droid’s little lights winked out. It didn’t take long for my little friend to beep its last.

I stood up from the remains of the droid, wiped my face on my sleeve and limped back toward the Mandalorian. “Ready when you are,” I said coolly.

He checked the charge on his blaster, powered it back up, and collapsed against the wall. “Exit. There,” he said with a tilt of his helmet. Squinting against the smoke and the tears, I couldn’t tell how far it was, but I could feel a breeze that stank of the outside.

Huffing, the Mandalorian pushed off of the wall and onto my awaiting shoulder. I may have been carrying most of his weight, but he was still in total control. He steered us the short distance to the smashed door and into the short, low tunnel.

“Not sure how we’re gonna get over that ravine,” I said conversationally.

“You worry about getting us there, I’ll worry about what comes after.”

“Got some magical flying Tauntauns up your sleeve, do you?”

“Shut up and walk.”

More than a little irked, I shuffled along under him until we got to the mouth of the tunnel. The body of the guard who’d laughed at me lay twisted against the curved wall of the tunnel, eyes open in astonishment. The merc was nowhere to be seen. Stopping a few steps from the outside, I helped the Mandalorian sit down against the curve of the tunnel wall, his breath coming out in rough, painful gasps over the vocoder. I glanced nervously at the dead guard. “What’d you do with the other one?”

“Do you... really... want to know.”

“Just making sure I’m not gonna get blasted once we step outside.”

“I took... care of... them.”

Nodding again, I look out across the compound’s yard to the gate, still closed but unmanned as far as I could tell. The Mandalorian’s breath began to slow from ragged gasps to mostly even puffs. He shifted against the wall, and I reached down to help him stand.

Synchronized, we stepped cautiously out into the muddy sunlight. The warmth felt good on my face and neck, and my shoulders relaxed fractionally. Mother of Moons, I never thought I’d see daylight again.

"I think you've seen better days, Mando."

The bounty hunter was fast. As I was turning my head around to see who had spoken, the Mandalorian had his blaster trained on the interloper.

Mihcas

Surprised as I was to see that the Mandalorian was standing in front of me… was he trying to protect me?... I was more so by the appearance of Mihcas who, I’d falsely assumed, had been killed with the rest of them.

Serves me right for not asking the correct questions.

Mihcas strode forward, the Twi’lek’s disruptor drawing a bead on the bounty hunter. His clothes were torn and singed and he was covered in blood, some of it drying darkly in his loose, silvery hair. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t his blood, and the thought of whose it could be made me sick. “I’m willing to let you carry on your merry way in exchange for my employee. We have business to discuss, and I would hate to bore you with all of the gruesome details.” The wolfish smile pulled at his lips again. He looked absolutely mad.

“I don’t negotiate,” the bounty hunter replied. A slight tremor in his right arm told me he wouldn’t be able to stand for much longer. I was going to have to do something, something incredible stupid in order to save the buckethead who got me into this mess, and I was going to have to do it fast.

“But I do!” I said brightly, stepping around the shocked Mandalorian.

On Mihcas’s lips, my name sounded like a curse. His long, thin hands tightened on the rifle, bringing it to bear on my chest. I could hear the power buzzing through it from twenty paces away.

“What are you doing?” the hunter whispered urgently.

“Shut up. I’ve got a plan to plan.” It had sounded so much smarter in my head, but I couldn’t take it back now.

Refocusing on Mihcas, I held up my hands and dropped the purloined knife. It landed, extremely pointy point down, in the semi-soft soil between my feet. “If I assume correctly, this scruffy-looking buckethead took out all of your hired goons while I was down below. Right?”

Mihcas’s head tipped imperceptibly, eyes darting to my helmeted shadow then back to me.

“‘Kay. Even knowing that, you’re willing to bet your life that he’s not gonna turn right around and kick your doshing ass once you’ve shot me? That doesn’t seem remotely smart or calculating, Mr. Bossman.”

Face reddening, Mihcas hissed, “I’ll take my chances.”

“Really? ‘Cuz from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re half a dozen charges away from an empty rifle. No, don’t check,” I bluffed reasonably. “Take your eyes off me, and who knows where this crazy Mando’s gonna go.”

I could practically see the steam rolling off of my boss, his temper getting the better of him the longer I pointed out the obvious. With any luck, I’d get his focus entirely hazed by anger, and hopefully that would be enough for one of us to take him out.

The Mandalorian huffed behind me, and I shook my head. If only he could be patient for a moment longer.

“So, with all this stuff not in your favor, I can see only one real option for you.” I paused for effect, holding my breath as I watched Mihcas shift uncomfortably. Then I waited a little bit longer.

“Well?” Mihcas snapped. The gun’s barrel dipped a fraction lower, and I inwardly congratulated myself on pissing him off enough to lose focus. If he was interested in what I was saying, there was an even better chance of making it off this rock alive.

“You die.”

Shoving me roughly to the dirt, the Mandalorian rushed forward, guns blazing. With his right side useless and probably in considerable pain, the shots were a little off-centered, hitting the other man in the hip and shoulder. Mihcas went down with an angry scream, returning erratic fire from where he lay. A burning sensation bit at my side as I rose from the dust, and I doubled over. Must’ve landed wrong when the hunter pushed me. The Mandalorian yelled something in my direction, but I didn’t catch what it was as I straightened up. The adrenaline surged once more through my veins, and I ducked, pulling what I now considered my knife from the ground. From the corner of my eye, I could see the bounty hunter flat on his belly behind the pile of dead droids, returning fire with Mihcas. For the heck of it, I picked up a decent sized rock as well.

Stumbling forward, I switched the large blade to my dominant hand, the silvery sharp edge slicing into my palm. From my vantage point, both the Mandalorian and Mihcas were highly visible to me, but not each other. I tested the weight of the rock in the other, finding the best grip I could at such short notice. I only had one shot, and I needed to make it count, otherwise...

Well, I didn't want to think about that.

With an underhanded swing, I lobbed the rock inexpertly at Mihcas's head. It shattered against the gatepost, showering him with mean, gritty pebbles and dirt.

A string of swears erupted from Mihcas as he dropped the barrel of his gun and wiped frantically at his face one-handedly. Those bits of debris had to sting; the air on this planet wasn't the cleanest, and it undoubtedly had leeched into the soil.

Steeling myself, I straightened to my full height, filling my lungs with the dry, tangy air.

“HEY MIHCAS,” I screamed, the words tearing my throat raw. “CATCH!” I flicked my wrist, sending the large dagger singing through the air. Mihcas’s eyes went wide when the knife appeared, sticking out of his chest. He immediately slumped over, cradling the hilt in his death throes.

Taking one last look at Mihcas’s body, I limped hurriedly toward the dead drones.

The Mandalorian’s helm gleamed violently in the sunlight, and I shielded my eyes, coming to a stuttering stop in front of his cover.

“Got ‘im,” I said with a smile.

I may not have been able to tell what his face looked like under that visor of his, but I could feel an air of disapproving astonishment coming from him. I relished in it.

“I… have… so many questions,” he replied, frustratedly flabbergasted.

“So do I, but I’m sure we can get that sorted once we get back to the Crest. That is, unless…” I stopped, scrutinizing the tilt of his helmet and the grip on the blaster. “Unless you’re leaving me here?”

A violent huff sizzled over his vocoder. “There’s speedbikes in an alcove inside that tunnel,” he said tersely, pointing back the way we came. “They should get us back to the ship before midday.”

“Thank you, Mother of Moons,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. I was going to voluntarily stay at the compound if it meant not walking all the way back to the ship at his speedy pace.

_______________________

Notes:

beroya - bounty hunter burc’ya - friend

[twrlvepercent]

nice work, kid

post-hoco / pre-infinity war (the sweet spot)

read on ao3

reposting one of my sweeter fluff fics because the angst fic i'm writing now is draining my happiness

———

A young boy is lost in the stampede of terrified people, fleeing the Stark Expo at the sight of armed robots.

The boy tightens his plastic Iron Man mask, the quiet act rolling back his fear underneath the safety of his hero’s identity.

The crowd has mostly cleared, a few stragglers still finding the exit, and the five-year-old boy is unable to find any sign of his aunt or uncle. He turns around at the sound of robotic joints and sees the haunting, metallic eyes that would remain in his mind for years.

As Iron Man would, he raises a hand to fend off the much taller robot. It falls to pieces under a repulsor blast and the boy jumps back, confused and startled.

The boy's confusion only lasts a second. Iron Man himself glances down at him for just a moment, needed elsewhere.

———

"Nice work, kid."

"Nice work, kid," Tony says, spinning his rolling chair around to face Peter as he enters. "Heard about your decathlon win."

"How?" Peter leaves his backpack by the door and joins Tony at the lab table. "I literally just got back."

He shrugs. "Word travels." Under Peter's questioning stare, Tony shrugs. "If I can't be there, Happy fills me in. That's why the divider goes up."

Peter scoffs. "His motivations are different than I thought."

"First of all, Hap doesn't think you're annoying," Tony says, nonchalant. His next words are lower—Peter only picked up on it because of his enhanced hearing. "I believe the actual word he used was 'insufferable.'"

"I must be hanging out with you too much then, Mr. Stark."

"Uncalled for. I didn't even know you were capable of sass." Tony points a screwdriver accusingly at him. He uses it to point to a metal shelf across the room. "Just for that, you have to grab the spares box from the shelf."

"Fine, fine," Peter says, hands up in surrender. He finishes tightening a screw and gets up, steadying his chair.

"Surprised you haven't already talked my ear off about it. Nationals or not, the team tends to come up a lot."

Peter goes uncharacteristically quiet for a moment and the only sound in the lab is that of paper rustling. "I definitely think that talking about decathlon will have to wait, then."

Tony raises a brow, his project losing his attention as he watches Peter sift through a box of papers. Peter studies one carefully and smiles. "I cannoy believe you keep fanart," he says, a teasing tone underlining his voice. “Don’t you take pride in being, well, rated R?”

"Children are my most loyal fanbase." Tony leans back in his chair and Peter brings the box to the table. He grabs the paper Peter held, tracing his finger over messy lines, colored with cheap crayons. "Most of them are too young for mommy to explain why I'm a terrible person."

Normally, a comment like that would've sent Peter into an illustrated, seven-hour-long lecture on the wonders of Iron Man-slash-Tony Stark. This time, it only gets him a disapproving glare.

In a moment, Peter's attention is on something else. He pulls another drawing from the box, holding it like it’s an award. "Is this one your favorite? Maybe even fridge-worthy?" Peter grins, his words rushed with excitement.

The picture itself could only be interpreted as an Iron Man drawing because of the crude red and gold stick figure that stood next to a much shorter stick figure. The coloring isn't nearly accurate but Tony chalked that up to age.

"You know, picking a favorite drawing has got to be harder than picking a favorite kid."

Peter smirks. "Gotta say, if you pick this as your favorite drawing, you're essentially picking a favorite kid." He flips the paper over and points to a rough signature in the corner. "I did this."

"You did not," Tony says, reaching for the paper in disbelief. There, right on the back, is written Peter Parker, both P's backward. Five-year-old Peter had written thank yu under his name. "Who's Yu?" Tony jokes. "Why do I have to thank him?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "I think I sent this after you, y'know, saved my life."

"Germany?" Tony breathes a laugh. "I think we should sign you up for some drawing lessons. Definitely spelling classes."

"This was way, way, way before Germany! It was at, uh, Stark Expo." Peter pulls out his phone, fingers flying over the keyboard as he searches for a video. "I was five or six."

"You're just now telling me?" Tony asks, incredulous. "I've heard you mention more facts about Legos I think I would ever need and you're just now telling me that I saved your life when you were five."

"It never came up."

"Neither did Legos!"

"Found it!" Peter declares, turning his phone around for Tony to see. The video buffers for a split second but that still is all he needs to see for him to remember.

That kid scared him. Made him wonder how many other kids got hurt thinking they could be Iron Man.

Now that he knows it’s Peter, the video is different. The telltale curls beneath the mask, the surprise when the robot got blasted.

"Good to see your reckless trait didn't spontaneously generate," Tony mutters, almost as a note to himself. "That kid—you—nearly gave me a heart attack that night so I guess it's also good to know you didn't need to be bitten by a spider to do that." Tony eyes the teen critically. “Spider bite really only made you hear good, huh?”

“Among other things.” The video ends and Peter looks back at the drawing wistfully. "Well, thanks for not letting me kill myself."

"Someone's gotta look out for the Iron Man ripoffs."

"And I'm sure 'Yu' does a great job with that."

Tony laughs. When Peter leaves to go back to his apartment, Tony looks for an open spot on the fridge. With a Spider-Man magnet, he hangs up Peter’s old drawing, knowing it’s the one drawing that really matters.