#wire spring making machine

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[earthsparked]

So you want to join the coterie, huh? And you want to know what you're getting yourself into.

You know I can’t take sides in command arguments, captain, you gently remind Rodimus for the fifth time this week. I have to honor my obligation to the entire crew.

Rodimus shoots you his best look that says “I’m very sad and betrayed despite having been the one to sign your contract in which this is stated,” and goes back to arguing with Megatron and Ultra Magnus.

Privately you think Megatron is in the right on this issue. Tragic realization: the mech who tried to murder your entire species on several occasions, actually has good leadership skills and knows what he’s doing. But when Rodimus manages to wheedle Magnus into seeing things his way, you can only sigh and double check that your little bag of tricks stored in your utility scraplet, Scrappy, is fully stocked.

It’s going to be one of those days.

It’s not all roaming the galaxy having fun. Sure, there’s plenty of that. You're going to see wonders that human eyes have never seen before. But it’s a lot more, too.

You wriggle backwards out of Brainstorm and Perceptor's mystery machine. You're covered in thick, black grease that’s making your skin itch; they didn't think to check for skin-safety before asking you to crawl into it and fix some finicky little part. You scramble to your feet, a stained shop towel in one hand and a half-used can of solvent in the other. The fumes in the enclosed space are making you a little high.

You kick the access hatch shut and stand back. Go on, Percy, try it now.

Perceptor frowns as the machine whirrs to life, but the screen still throws off an error message. You sigh and shake your head. Your sensitive ears that always made you hate the hum of ceiling lights and refrigerators, are telling you something still isn’t right.

Kill it, I can hear the pitch is still off. Fine, I’ll just take the whole damn gear assembly apart!

Don't touch any of the exposed wires! You'll undo all my work! Brainstorm demands. And adds, belatedly, Also it'll kill you. Why don't you humans have any decent insulation? Terrible design. I could do better if I created a species in my recharge.

You don't think you want to hear where this is going. Grabbing your tools, you crawl back in the mystery machine.

Don't worry about learning mechanical stuff, earth's systems are completely different to their engineering anyway. Besides, it doesn’t matter if you’ve never held a blowtorch in your life, you’ll pick the skills up along the way. A flexible mind and willingness to learn are the only real criteria for any potential coterie member.

You spring out in front of the big blue mech, making him very nearly step on you with one of his birdlike feet. You know he won’t - for all his jokes, there’s not a mech on this ship that would knowingly hurt you. (Knowingly being the operative word.)

I know what I smelled, Whirl. There’s no disguising it. You have a coolant leak. You got some of that guy’s windshield stuck under your plating when you threw him across the bar, didn’t you? And it’s punctured a line.

His single optic narrows in an expressive glare. So what, Crunchy? Why do you care? Move or I’m gonna have more than glass stuck in my mesh.

He slowly and pointedly brings his foot down toward you, humming the Jeopardy! theme music. You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow higher and higher the closer his foot gets, not moving. When it’s just within reach, you make a wild leap, grab for a safe handhold, and hang on for dear life. Whirl shrills an arpeggio of startled mech curses and tries to shake you off, but you cling like a burr.

If you don’t treat it, it’s going to get worse! It’s either me or Ratchet, Whirlybird, and I don’t throw things! I don't care that you got in a fight, I don't - whoa, watch the wall! - I just want you to not be in pain!

He decides after a few attempts that this is a fun game. You’re dizzy as hell by the time he announces Eight seconds! Fine, cowboy, if you want to be inside me THAT badly.

You roll your eyes and somehow manage not to lose your lunch as he sets his foot down and lets you climb off. Scrappy opens his mouth, letting you pull out your gloves and pliers from one of his compartments. You dig out the shards of glass and patch up his coolant line, feeling relieved as you wrap the punctures and clean away the dried coolant. Having one of your mechs hurt always bothers you.

Yeah, you’re gonna make the best friends you’ve ever had. The kind you’d do anything for. And I do mean, anything. They really overplay the whole "humans will pack bond with anything" stuff a little too much, because they don't quite get how our relationships work. But eventually you will find yourself pulling on wells of strength you didn't even know you had, doing things you never thought yourself capable of. Not for yourself, but for them.

You spit a mouthful of blood onto alien ground and try not to let the glowering mech see you shake. Adrenaline or fear, does it matter which? What matters is Tailgate’s down, hurt and in stasis. You got banged up, too, and stayed behind to guard him while the rest of the landing team pushed through the fighting. They wouldn't have left you or him if they'd thought any of the enemy mechs were still in this quadrant. But this one stomped out of the swirling fog, a hulking shape bristling with combat readiness.

He’s big, but so fucking what? You’ve been passed in the halls by mechs much scarier than this guy.

You flip the safety off your weapon - almost too big for you, but barely a pea shooter to a full-sized mech. At your side, Scrappy hisses and snarls, clacking his sharp metal teeth in threat. Just because he's been altered not to eat metal at random, doesn't mean he can't when given permission.

You're supposed to be a non-combatant, untouchable and marked as such by the coterie patch on your shoulder. At worst, you can be held hostage until your ship pays a ransom. But playing by those rules means standing aside and letting this guy do whatever the hell he wants to one of your mechs.

You glance at Tailgate and your heart hurts. When did this ten-foot-tall alien robot start to look so small and vulnerable to you?

Your eyes blur with furious, worried tears, before fixing on the approaching enemy. You step forward, as if your tiny body can shield the wounded mech lying behind you.

Whatever you came here for, you spit as more blood drips down your chin, you’re leaving without it. Go conjunx a belt sander, you torqueless wonder.

But it gets real when you get to the point where you understand, they’d do anything for you, too.

You’ve been cold forever. Can’t remember ever being warm. The endless white snows of the polar icecap of this godforsaken planet you’d come to investigate, was going to be the last thing you saw. One wrong step and the snowbank had collapsed, dumping you into a subterranean cavern. You’re trapped, alone, hypothermic. Your emergency transponder broken. You'd left your pet scraplet behind out of fear his thin armor wouldn't protect him against the cold. You're never going to see the little guy again.

Without him or the transponder, your mechs are never going to find you here. You’re never going to see earth again. They'll just add your name to the coterie's wall of remembrance, and some other human will be on your ship, caring for your mechs. You hope they'll understand how special they all are. That they'll learn Rung needs a listening ear sometimes, and Roddy's boasting often hides his insecurities, and Ratchet's got a soft spark under all that grumbling...

You think you’re hallucinating when you hear the voice. Wait. Is that a heat signature - it is! Hey, captains! We found them! Over here!

A few minutes or hours or ages later and Brainstorm, upside-down, lowers through the hole in the crust above. You blink muzzily. ‘m on the ceiling…?

Powerful hands pick you up, and you’re ascending. You don’t remember much after that, except the feel of being surrounded by titans that cared enough to come back. You came back for me.

Rodimus, warmest of them all, carries you to the ship himself. Tucked inside his armor, out of the wind and ice. Nestled right by his spark chamber. You dream of being pure energy, or of being wrapped in pure energy, or that you're one of two waves of energy dancing together with the joy of being alive. In a place where size doesn't matter, and metal and flesh don't matter, because deep down you're more alike than dissimilar.

You're as much theirs, as they are yours.

I wish I could tell you what to expect, but no one has the exact same experience. Not even within the same cohort. It’s going to be unlike anything you imagine it could be. Every day's going to bring new discoveries, new dreams. Sometimes, new nightmares. It's a big universe, and humans haven't even scratched the surface of what's out there. For better, or for worse.

The crate rattles again. Your breathing is loud inside your exo-suit. This bay is kept pressurized, but barely climate-controlled, and close to the ship's heat sinks so it's scorching hot in here.

Scrappy's cameras are transmitting every move you make to the mechs crowded around the monitors on the bridge. You've turned off audio, because between the scientists' incessant arguing and Swerve's fretting over you going into Cargo Hold 3 alone, you weren't able to pay proper attention to your surroundings.

Rattle-rattle. Shake. That container weighs several tons. It's bouncing around like it's a bouncy castle full of elementary schoolers.

No oxygen. Movement. It could be a scraplet infestation. Easily dealt with, for you. Which is why you're here and the mechs are on the bridge, or in lockdown in their quarters.

It could be scraplets. Intuition tells you it's not.

You touch the side of your helmet to activate your mic. Where did you say we picked this up from, again?

The arguing in the background dims as Ultra Magnus answers, disapprovingly, The records for the cargo manifest have been...misfiled. Ergo, we don't know.

You can see him in your mind's eye, glaring at Rodimus. Misfiled? More like Roddy lost them in the skyscraper stack of datapads in his office. If he didn't just set it down somewhere and forget where he put it. Can mechs have ADHD? Would some strategies that work for humans, be helpful for him? A thought to pursue at another time, when you're not maybe about to be eaten by a monster.

You click the mic back off before you can get drawn into the new argument that's starting over the co-captain's lack of organizational skills. And step closer to the shaking crate. No markings that you can read. No packing list on the outside. Does it look a little banged up? Rusted? Or is it the shaky light from Scrappy's headlamp as he hides behind your legs, making it look like that?

Every horror movie you've ever watched at Swerve's on movie night, comes back to haunt you. The aliens out in the dark have their own legends and myths. Some of them, you've learned the hard way, aren't only legends or myths.

Sweat drips into your eyes. Fuck it.

Are you going to play nice, or am I going to kick your ass off my ship?

You slam the augmented crowbar home and pry the lid off –

That's all I can say, really. The rest is up to you. Good luck. Maybe I'll see you out here in the stars. Lost Light ship's human, signing off.

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

On female rage and mechanical augmentation:

I imagined a cruel emperor who collected girls who caught his eye, girls from his country and every other, to put into his harem of consorts and keep as he pleased, as toys, as ornaments made of cinnabar and sandalwood, silk and peach-flesh. Perhaps one day he picks the wrong girl.

She is beautiful, this woman, like all the others, and young, also like the others; but unlike many of the others, who were weavers and spinners, fishwives and performers, this one helps her aging mother in the art of making carefully crafted machines, little marvels of copper wire and forged arms, from dolls to steam engines to pistolets and more.

The emperor in his preening believes he has saved her from a sorry life of toiling away at the workbench with chipped nails and dirty palms, a commoner’s lot in which no woman could ever be happy. On her first night at the palace she cries and cries, and he says, Don’t snivel; it doesn’t become you; you have everything you want here, do you not? What could possibly be missing? And he yanks her pretty silken hair and laughs when she cries harder.

What he doesn’t know is that she cries not out of fear or sorrow, but rage, white-hot, plain and simple.

Clever girl, she doesn’t tell him so. She schools herself into the picture of the concubine he wants - obedient and demure, sweet and soft, the way she had teased metal in the forge into well-tempered alloy and shaped it into gears and springs and blades and beams. She says to him, Husband dear, I would ask for jewelry, the better to shine for you; I would ask for precious gold thread, for diamond earrings and bronze filigree; I would ask for a heated copper bath in which to soften my skin; I would ask for charcoal with which to darken my eyes for you, cinnabar with which to paint my lips. The emperor laughed at her folly but gave her all these gifts obligingly.

Then she begins her work.

The other women she has befriended, and they teach her well. From Haewon she learns to act, to powder her face and keep up the facade to their husband the emperor; from Jiaqi she learns to roast sulfur out of the cinnabar powder and combine it with the charcoal, and from Ori-hime she learns to spin out the gold thread and weave it into a control matrix that, when laid over her spine like a collar, makes metal move with only a thought, the same way her own arms and legs do. And with her own expertise she turns the copper into hammered panels, the bronze into reinforcing cradles, the diamond into grit for blades that can cut through anything.

By day she thanks them all by shielding them from their husband. When he asks for delicate Haewon, she volunteers; she saves Ori-hime’s clever, careful hands from him by giving him her own instead; Jiaqi she claims to have fallen sick, and offers herself up humbly when he, in his disappointment at the news, needs something to strike.

Her husband calls for her one day; he’s in a terrible mood, and when he’s finished with her the next morning the other ladies carry her sore body back and lay her on the bed and soothe her with tea and wetted cloths. They fuss over the mangled remains of her right hand. But she dashes it all away. Bring me my things, she tells them. Tonight is the night.

So they get Weilin with her expertise in taking apart a body and putting it back together with only a needle and wine and some thread; then they clothe her in a dress most wondrous: shining copper and gold filigree, with jade leaves and carnelian flowers inlaid, and for her lovely face a half-mask of precious gems and steel boning to cover the ugly marks he’s left. Cinnabar for her cheeks and charcoal for her eyes. How could any man resist this vision in a thousand shining colors?

Not the emperor. When she goes to him again in the evening he all but drools.

So enraptured is he that he doesn’t notice when the other consorts shut the door behind her and lock it from the outside, or when the panels of her dress click into place, or when, in the dim light of dusk, the tiny miraculous engine in her back roars to life and sends sparks through the fine mesh of the gold collar, sets her eyes aglow.

But when the sulfur and charcoal in the little compartment hidden in the undone lobes of her right palm is set afire with the click of a steel hammer, when she brings her face close and the mandibles of her jade mask open wide - oh, then he knows.

It is a bloodbath. She emerges covered in charred gobbets of his flesh, and the whole pavilion smells of gunpowder and burning meat. But she herself is pristine, untouched.

Her ladies throw themselves over her and find that her body does not yield. The copper has fused itself into her body, the collar has inlaid itself into her spine; in the heat of the fire she seems to have been reborn in metal wholly, from head to toe. She regards them blankly over the diamond-edged mandibles they have made for her, and they look back, and for all that she is known to them, they cannot help but be a little afraid.

She says, You can go now. It is done.

In the light of the burning palace, the women look at each other; they shake their heads. No, says Jiaqi, we are yours, as surely as we were ever his, and more than that. Where else would we go, now that we’ve overthrown an empire for you, now that you have overthrown an empire for us?

So the girl in metal looks at them and then, after a long, long moment, she says, Then you will be my queens, and we’ll rule together. But why aren’t you afraid of me? Why don’t you run? I am not what I was anymore. I am a blade forged in fire.

Haewon trembles - but then she lifts her chin. She says fiercely, You were always that. We just gave you the means to become it on the outside, too.

Sen-hime agrees, and then so does Weilin. And Jiaqi smiles and steps forward and takes the consort’s hand, gunpowder barrel and all.

She looks tenderly into the bloodstained face and she says, We made you what you wanted to be, and with that you saved us. How could we ever be afraid of that?

And: You are ours, and always will be. And we will always be yours, if you’ll have us.

So she does.

They call her the Mantis Consort, She Who Rules Alone; but that isn’t quite true. She has four loyal wives, after all, and each one of them as much has the throne as she herself does. They say that each man who tries her hand in marriage - or to bring down her walls with arrows and fire - goes the same way: head ground between jade mandibles, body strewn in pieces. And her reign lasts for as long as she lives. For who can vanquish a woman armed with fury and steel alike, and the love of four clever women besides?

[wonderjanga]

I love your headcanons!!! Do you think that with Fawcett being a time bubble and magical influence and when new technology is introduced to the city that it changes? Like the engineers study magic as well due to the proximity to the Rock of Eternity? I'd imagine like perpetual motion machines do exist and parts of the plumbing system are fantastical magic animals. Like the old telephone wires are autonomous snake-like entities that Marvel has to untangle sometimes. (They do get tangled up). It's all very surreal and dream logic stuff.

I would love to see what's under the hoods of their cars. Do they run on pixie dust or dragon tears? Are there small sprites keeping it all together?

I’ve actually never really thought about this but here are some ideas! I think they would study magic when getting engineering degrees cause I’m pretty sure they’d just think of it as apart of engineering maybe. Like for example, when building houses they’d make fairy doors in certain places. I also think that instead of Lightbulbs for street lamps they hire fairies every night to make themselves light up. They get payed in pretty stones. Detectives can hire ghosts to help solve crimes. I think their cars run on either, but they’d be higher quality gas so most people would use normal gas. I also think there would be lawyers who work specifically with cases about fae. There’s gonna be lawyers to get that first born back. People might use magical herbs in everyday cooking too. Like someone might get a dried leaf called mystic petals because when ground up, they taste similar to sugar. (The plant makes hair, skin, and eye color more vibrant) One of the teachers at an elementary school is a Lich that has nothing better to do but teach. Or a Centaur works as a PE teacher. I also think that Fawcett could be so affected by magic that the buildings and sidewalks could be sentient. Like a little kid’s about to trip on a crack and the pavement moves the crack out of the way. Or someone who’s vandalizing a building gets hit in the face when the building pushes a brick out. Certain roads seal up their potholes, and maybe Billy is running down an alley being chased or something and the alley walls close up behind him cutting his pursuers off. The flowers grow all year around in a certain part of a city, it could be hot all the time in another, it could snow frequently in another, and trees could start turning orange and letting leaves fall in another because of the presence of spring, summer, fall, and winter fairies who split Fawcett up into small kingdoms. Billy oversees their diplomatic affairs. You find Santa at the grocery store buying cookie mix because “it’s cheaper here than at the North Pole”. The Spirit of Halloween would start pestering people in beginning of September to put up their Halloween decorations. The Easter Bunny would be a local attraction to go see, as it would be in a meadow every Easter making eggs and giving them to other bunnies to go hide. There’d be tones of restaurants in Fawcett with from from multiple creatures. You can go to a small place on 45th, where you can order from fairies who make sandwiches and soups using traditional fairy recipes and herbs. Or a small stand ran by orcs who sell Owlbear on a stick and roasted Blood Hawk legs. There could be a pair of yetis who sell snow cones using snow from the Himalayas. They have human flavors like grape, and yeti flavors using fruits grown from their tribes. When zombies crawl out of their grave, there’s insurance for both the damage to the coffins and the ruined grave and for people who get bitten. Doctors tweaked the polio vaccine for zombification. Wind elementals help people they favor when they fall. Water elementals help move snow from roads. Earth elementals help with construction. Fire elementals help melt down metals for jewelry stores and factories. Harpies sing for crowds. Gelatinous Cubes can be used as lubricants for machinery and extremely strong glues. I also think the rock messed with time. There are dinosaurs displayed at the zoo. Certain buildings look like they’re from different eras. Gothic architecture, favored by vampires. Victorian architecture. Neoclassical architecture. Also there are wyvern. Though they’re all the size of vultures. They’d have multiple different scale colors which have been made into jewelry or bags. Animal rights activists heavily protested that, and did the same thing they would do to mink coats in the 90’s to the dragon scale items. They threw paint on them. Mimics have exterminators to sniff them out. Shapeshifters wear certain tags while in magical form so they won’t get flagged for animal patrol. There’s also a bunch of other races such as lamia, gorgons, lizard people, homuncules, and goblins.

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐘𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐲’𝐬 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐈

Summary || The factory makes you learn the cold unforgiving truth soon enough.

WC: 1k

A/N: part 2 was requested! Augh, Yarnaby my boy :(

The cold, sterile walls of the examination room seem to close in as you sit in a metal chair, hands trembling. Across from you, Dr. Harley Sawyer, now mostly a walking machine with twisted wires and circuits visible beneath his skin, leans forward, his eyes gleaming with a cold curiosity. His voice is low, almost amused, as he studies you.

“Tell me, child, why are you here?” The one singular eye stays indomitable, searching your gait. As if he was waiting for something more, something that easily made your heart tick.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze. You try to remember how you got here, but everything blurs into a nightmarish haze. Memories are a fickle thing, he supposed.

"I... I was on a field trip. We went to Playtime Co. for a tour... to see the factory." You said, almost numbly wriggling in your seat, trying to not let the chill of the room get to you. The attempt oscillates.

He notices.

The Doctor tilts his head, the metal plates on his face emitting noise as he scans the child’s expression. One clink or two, just a small look into his thoughts. Just barely, perhaps. The silence doesn’t last longer than intended.

"And then?"

Your head tilts at his prodding, mental, or otherwise. It was as if he was trying to curl into the weight of your brain, the neural mapping of your thoughts. Maybe it was fear, or something else that heavily weighs into the metal shoulders of his. Though you paid no mind, you were a young child, and you preferably wouldn’t want to find out whatever it was. The energy he radiated was… mysterious.

"We went into Playcare... I don't know. I remember... screams. Screams from above. And then the crash... the train crash."

Your voice falters, mind flashing back to the horror. The weight of the memories raze your emotions, "My teacher... she was... killed. By that... thing. A Jack-in-the-box monster, Boxy Boo. It..."

The words catch in your throat as you try to push away the memory. You can’t forget the sight of their teacher being torn apart, the sound of the springs and the horrific laughter that filled the air. Such a gruesome sight was difficult to forget, who could ever forget every little detail, significant — or insignificant.

"I... I passed out from the smoke. Red smoke. And when I woke up, I saw him. Yarnaby. He was coming toward me, with those... eyes." Eyes easy enough to invade your once wonderful dreams, turning it into a nightmare like no other. Especially for someone as small as your stature.

You shudder, recalling the strange, multicolored lion and his unsettling grin.

Dr. Sawyer doesn’t react immediately. His face is unreadable, his metallic fingers tapping rhythmically on the metal table.

Finally, he speaks, breaking the disconcert silence with an oddly quiet tone; "Fascinating. And yet, you are not an orphan. Why is that, I wonder?"

You look down at your hands, suddenly aware of how different your situation seems from what the Doctor expects. You’ve always had a family—always had a place to go home to. And yet here you are, caught in this terrifying web. Only the vague warmth of your mother’s hug, and your father’s kind eyes remind you of what you had so suddenly been stripped away from. You barely have grown just yet.

"I don't... I don’t know why. I was just a kid... we were just on a field trip." The truth in your words ring an unbearing kind of hurt, so easily trodden upon, easy to mold and shape. Children trust, they laugh, they share kindness. A different kind of honesty.

And it hurts.

The Doctor’s expression softens, but only for a moment, before a sharp, knowing look creeps into his eyes. He mutters to himself, almost absentmindedly. "Reminds me of Riley... the child who left those pathetic little diary entries. So much potential. So much to learn. And yet... they were not meant to stay."

The Doctor leaned closer, the energy he radiated grew more intense. Whether it was intentional, his gait made it palpable.

"So, tell me, child. What do you think is going on here?"

You don’t know how to respond. Your heart pounds in your chest. There’s a dark curiosity in the Doctor’s voice, a madness hiding beneath the surface. It was something at play, and it was not something that you wished to dive into. Yet, you sense that you were not allowed the momentary transition of peace to be allowed to leave.

Hesitantly, you spoke, "Why... why are you doing this?"

The Doctor tilts his head again, his mechanical face emitting a soft whir. You both knew the answer.

"Why not?"

His smile, if it can be called that, stretches across his face as he leans back, watching little you with unsettling interest. The sound of metal creaks as he stands, his chair scraping across the floor.

Suddenly, a heavy thud echoes in the room, and Yarnaby enters, his multicolored yarn mane swaying as he lumbers closer. His amber eyes are fixed on you, and for a brief moment, you felt a strange tugging sensation—a cold, possessive feeling, as though something inside Yarnaby is claiming you

The Doctor observes the interaction with an almost detached amusement. "Yarnaby... You know what to do."

Before you can even react, Yarnaby leans in, his grotesque, monstrous form slowly morphing from his playful appearance into something far more terrifying. His face splits open, revealing that horrifying hollowed-out mouth, filled with jagged teeth and dripping with blood.

You froze in terror, unable to move, as Yarnaby presses his fangs into your arm. The pain is immediate and sharp, searing through your skin as the lion marks them—his property now.

"NO!" You scream, but it’s too late. Yarnaby pulls away, blood dripping from his mouth, as the Doctor moves quickly to bandage the wound.

"Good. You are his now."

His voice is almost detached, as if this is a routine procedure for him. Your mind was spinning, everything unraveling faster than you can process.

"Take them back to the cell. Let’s see if we can’t make a toy out of this one too."

Yarnaby growls softly in agreement, his eerie eyes never leaving you as he gently but firmly takes you by the arm, leading you out of the examination room. You stumble, barely able to keep your balance, as the Doctor’s voice echoes behind you.

"After all, what is a toy if not something to be molded? Something to be... played with."

The door shuts behind you, and you are left to wonder if you’ll ever see the outside world again. As Yarnaby leads you down the cold, dark corridors of the facility, your only hope is that somehow, against all odds, you can escape this nightmare. But for now, you are Yarnaby’s, and there is no escaping the twisted grip of Playtime Co.

[seat-safety-switch]

Let's be honest, folks: you've gone through like half a dozen socks in the last couple of months, haven't you? Yeah. Socks nowadays suck, and we've all got our reasons why. Blah blah globalization wah wah market won't reward quality woo woo creeping degradation of the moral universe. That's whining, and when I whined as a kid my mom locked me in the basement until I built an intricate machine to fix whatever I was whining about. Sometimes, if my uncle was already locked down there, she'd make me do it in the shed instead. Let's go to that shed right now and make a machine to make socks.

Winter is the hardest season for sock survival. For one thing, it's real dry. You get that rough skin, that static electricity, bristly boot soles all the time, and they fall apart on your feet. Big holes. I'm sure Big Sock gets a huge rise in their stocking price – get it? – around this time every year, as everyone needs new socks for Christmas or other seasonal/denominational shopping holidays. Fuck 'em, is what I say. We're going to fix their little red wagon.

Now, you might be unsurprised to hear that humanity already has a machine to make socks. We just don't put good materials in it. Unfortunately, I was never trained to make a machine that makes "good sock materials," whatever those are, so we're going to cut a corner here and slap a Chevy small-block V8 on an AliExpress "Full Automatic High Capacity Socks Machine Sock Knitting Machine for Sport," which I paid $39.95 for and got a 15% off coupon in exchange for giving it a five star review, no matter how many children it maims. Critically: it has free returns, so I can get that forty bucks back when we've made a year's supply of foot coverings.

The most important part of this job is building a good coupling. The massive amount of torque from the vee aight needs to be transferred into the sock-making machine, ideally without breaking it. Otherwise you're going to just spend more money on clutches, dowels, wrist pins and spring baskets than you would have on more socks. It helps if you've gone through an entire undergraduate materials-engineering degree, but for those of us who have gotten a restraining order from their local university, well, we have to do what works. Which is a truck clutch, tactically welded onto this sucker, using the display unit welder that they have at Princess Auto while the employees weren't looking.

Now, let's rev this piece of shit up and make us some socks.

Okay, things have not gone well. I admit that "roaring fire" is a big downside. Turns out that these things really need some yarn loaded into them first. If you just fire it dry, what it actually does is try to turn its own asshole inside out. The good news is that I can probably wear this prolapsed chunk of smouldering wiring harness as a sock. Seems pretty warm, I'm going to count this as a win.

[ninguitar]

LOVE ON A WIRE.　 11. our song btw wc. 9OO+

❛ megan has never, ever wanted anything as bad in her life, until you—an underground singer and songwriter, is unemployed, and the textbook definition of a loser—stroll into her heart and her life. matter of fact, what happens when she accidentally replies to your thirst-traps that were a rebounding joke after a rough break-up, on twitter, and on the katseye account? ❜

tucked away in the heart of the city, the cafe you found yourself in was as warm as it seemed from the outside; it was dimly-lit from the windows engulfed by the thick curtains. an elderly woman stood behind the register, busy at one of the coffee machines. a gentle spring of rain taps against the windows, giving a light pitter-patter, as you watched the clock's hands tick.

"am i late?" a soft voice echoes through your head, while somebody's breath fanning over your neck. your heart drops for a second, before your head jolts up, noticing ginger hair in your line of view.

you mutter under your breath, "jesus, don't creep up on me like that," you lightly joke, a small smile tugging the corners of your lips. you pat the seat beside you, beckoning for her to sit.

her eyes crease into crescents, as she sits down, scanning the menu. your gaze fixates on her before you realize, your hands curling around a bouquet of flowers, "i, uh, got this for you." you stumble over your words, apprehension washing over your face, as you try to decipher her facial expression. you shift in your seat.

"really—for me?" her eyes soften at your actions, her hand brushing against yours, as she takes the flowers from you. "these are just... wow. thank you, really." heat curls at megan's cheeks as she speaks, hoisting the flowers up as though she won a prize.

a relieved sigh drifts from your lips, as you nod, "good, good. i was hoping they weren't too much." you chuckle, as you look over the menu, deciding what to order.

"nothing could be too much," she reassures you, her lips quirking up into a gentle smile, "how are you anyway?" and it was as though she could tell you were radiating nerves, a smile adorning your own lips. you nod through with a laugh, "i'm good—slightly overwhelmed with the new record but still alright and a little nervous."

"nervous, really?" megan murmurs, dramatically gasping as if it was such a shocker, "busy with school though, aren't you?" she asks, as she eyes the menu, nodding her head as a gesture for you to continue talking.

your cheeks flush, "a little, i guess," grabbing your own menu; you were grateful that you were able to have something to occupy your hands to keep them from sweating. she met your gaze over the menu, scrunching her nose, "you don't have to be so nervous, you know." megan tries to reassure you, patting your back.

and the moment she said that, you obliged—words falling freely out of your lips without a second thought, especially because megan was too easy to talk with.

the chinese girl shuffles through the vast menu, asking, "you think their latte's any good?" in response, you shrug half-heartedly, your gaze slightly studying megan's features, "you never know—you could always try it," you suggest, and she nods.

before megan could stand up to order, your hand rests on her shoulder, and getting up from your seat, you shake your head, "i'll order, it's fine." a grin curbs your lips, as you order, slipping a bill to the cashier, and turning around to make sure the chinese girl wouldn't notice you were paying instead of her—her eyes fixated on the bundle of flowers.

receiving your guys' orders almost immediately, you sit back down, sliding the latte to megan. you blow air on yours, trying to cool the scalding cup down. on the other-hand, her latte steams gracefully on the table, waiting to cool down on its own.

"you working on anything else?" the ginger-headed girl catches herself awed at every single movement you make, and leaning forward, she clears her throat.

you shrug, "here and there, nothing important though," and an amused smirk adorns her face. the chinese girl shakes her head, remarking, "c'mon, i'm sure you have a lot of good songs comin' up. you could always—i don't know—show me some of them."

you chuckle, shooting her a look, "maybe, but they're not like, professionally produced or anythin'." megan pats your shoulder, coaxing, "you could always come to the studio with me."

biting your cheek, your eyebrows furrow, "i guess i could, maybe." you sigh as if you had no other choice, while the chinese girl beside you had excitement exuding from her skin, her eyes twinkling with mischief at your words. she locks eyes with you, heat flaring at her cheeks, as she nudges your shoulder playfully.

with her voice taking on a teasing edge, she snickers, mimicking your tone, "i guess i'll take you there, if you really want to," she exaggerates, pursing her lips, while you shoot a glance at her, a giggle falling shortly from your lips. you feign annoyance at her actions, rolling your eyes, before getting up, intertwining her hand with yours to help her up.

shortly though, before you guys could reach the door, she interjects, "wait— what about the bill!" and you couldn't help but suppress a smile on your face because if you didn't, inevitably your behavior would betray the way your heart pounds for her. you shrug, "i paid for it."

an incredulous look washes over megan's features, as she sucks in her teeth dramatically, shaking her head playfully, "this was meant to be my treat! you paying defeats the whole purpose, yn!" the chinese girl rolls her eyes.

PREV.　MASTERLIST.　NEXT.

A/N. loser & girl failure yn MY goat.

𝓽aglist (closed 46/46) :

@sed7ction @1luvkarina @ssamlovr @goofymickeyr @yeetaberry127 @urmom2314 @meganskiendielsbtc @fruityg0rl @fearnotfearmore @justtluvrr @meiyaes @sixflame438 @arihiu @vrtualstar @grahstumhurts @jaythegirlkisser @namojoon @saysirhc @gtfoiydlyj @catdonut657 @inybits @vivilvr @c-yerim @meizinisnumberone @blue-kye @linnnsworld @k31k0w @hazel-tanthamore22 @raviolisupremacy @cassiespoiler @weirdossclub @sunshinez4 @xochitlisbest @ratzeye @meiphobic @soobnotfound @kristalag @snoopyiz @itzkatflixs @spongebobtentacles @mirophobic @apersonwhowrites @bowforgodjihyo @mandydxndy @chuugetmesohigh @karli6

[mxstly-melancholy]

a TON of random SFW William hcs! ✮⋆˙

William is actually really good at playing guitar. I mean, Spring Bonnie plays a banjo so- it only makes sense he’s super good at both!!

Speaking of Spring Bonnie- he has an attachment to the suit because he feels better being hidden from everyone. He never has to worry about people looking at him when he’s Spring Bonnie.

On his days off I imagine he just likes to sit down and have a few beers, maybe a couple cigars… watch a movie, read a book, play guitar..

He doesn’t really like looking in the mirror :( not because he doesn’t like himself, but because he’ll get too fixated on “I’m getting older and time isn’t slowing down.”

He has adhd, and really bad fixation problems. He will not eat, drink or even think of himself for a whole day until he is done working on an animatronic, and suddenly - “oh fuck I’m starving, I’m really thirsty and I need to pee.”

Him & Henry have a lot of inside jokes- and employees look at them like they’re crazy when they say them- and laugh super hard together.

William loves dressing really nice. He loves suits, button ups, bows and ties. He loves super sleek black shoes as well. It makes him feel good about himself.

Other than purple, his favorite colors are yellow, pink, and baby blue.

His parents always kind of left him to do whatever he wanted. They were kind of weirded out by him- his behavior was “crazy,” but only because he was an undiagnosed neurodivergent child.

Because of that he has a hard time letting anyone in, he’s very shielded off from anyone but his partner and Henry.

He doesn’t think he’s husband material. At all. From his perspective, he’s awkward, weird & not the nicest person- so why would anyone want to be with him?

When he got his first animatronic up and running- he has never been happy like that day ever since. He was so proud of himself.

He got into making animatronics on accident when he was younger. I’d say about 23-25.

he was drawing one day, then suddenly it turned into a blueprint of Spring Bonnie. The ideas kept popping up-

He read so many books about machines, computers, everything and anything he could find about electronics, and the ideas kept coming.

He finally decided one day to go for it and he started tinkering with wires & plastic, molding and shaping clay and making casts of everything, and before he knew it- he had a whole animatronic.

He tore it down after some time and kept the information stored in his back pocket for later.

Growing up he didn’t have many friends. He spent most of his time just people watching.

When he was in elementary school- kids used to pick on him for his height. He was always so tall- standing out from everyone else. He hated it.

He got suspended from college once after some guy called him a loser, William didn’t like that. The guys head ended up being smashed into a table a few times.

As he gets older, his anger isn’t so strong anymore. Slightly thankful of that fact, he takes advantage of it to go do more things that usually would just piss him off.

He’s farsighted. It’s hard to see things up close. He really only uses his glasses when working on projects/reading.

He really loves music from the 70s/80s- and really only listens to that.

He faces towards the water in the shower.

He loves collecting vinyls & cassettes.

William only sleeps in his boxers. He can’t have anything else on or else he won’t be able to fall asleep.

It doesn’t matter how cold he is- he has to only be wearing his boxers.

Speaking of sleeping-

He can only fall asleep lying on his side.

He sleep talks here and there.

He tosses and turns a lot.

Unfortunately, he has a lot of nightmares too,

Often waking up in the middle of the night sweaty from them.

He has to have complete dark and silence in order to sleep, too.

His mind is constantly running and going- it’s the only way he’ll be able to shut it down.

He has a horrible, horrible sweet tooth.

I mean, constantly he just wants to eat sweets

He has had so many cavities.

He fucking hates the dentist but he goes anyways.

William exudes a LOT of confidence- but deep deep down he doesn’t feel confident.

He doesn’t - and has never really felt true empathy.

He KNOWS he should feel bad for certain people or things-

But there’s just a disconnect, and he doesn’t feel it.

Please let this man just info-dump on you about his little robot characters.

That’s all I got in me right now. :’) ik there’s more - I’ll probably make a pt2 at some point!

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

You don’t have to do this request whatsoever, you can even ignore it 😅 I was just wondering if you could possibly make a part two to the Fire and Water don’t mix? Again, please don’t feel pressured into doing this. I hope you have an amazing day and week! Love your work💗

Thank you so much, requests mean the world to me 😭🥰

Fire and Water dont mix pt 2

As the nurses and doctors discussed their plans at the doorway, Katsuki held your hand tightly. He looked stern and confident, his usual fiery eyes glared at them through his furrowed brows, but you could see the concern, the anxiety flicker in them. He squeezed your hand three times quickly, the unspoken gesture that meant I love you, it was something hed done since you first started dating, long before he was confident enough to say the words. Now, it was reserved for quiet moments, for moments to ground you both when life threw curve balls at you.

The doctor that had discussed the plans with you walked over, holding a clip board and set of gloves in his hands, looking up at Katsuki he tried to calm his own nerves at the intimidating glares,

“So, as we’ve discussed, we’re happy to continue with the treatment if this is still something you wanted to continue with.” He handed you and Katsuki paperwork to fill out, it was long drawn out medical jargon which only translated to you as ‘do you want a baby by any means? Then get ready for hell on earth.’ You both signed the papers, dotted the i’s and triple checked youd crossed the t’s before handing it back to the doctor and holding your breaths, nothing could prepare you for what they were going to do next.

All three nurses walked to your side, pretty young women with bright eyes and eager dreams, smiled sweetly at you as the concern on their faces tried to hide away, two of them held their hands out for you to hold, as another walked Katsuki to the chair opposite you.

“Not a chance. Im staying by her fucking side, if she has to go through pain then so do I. I don’t care if she breaks my hand, im staying right here next to her.”

The women smiled at him endearingly, the love he had for you was not lost on anyone in the room. They all stood at the head of your bed, ready to spring into action at a moments notice, as both doctors walked over, one helped lower the bed so you were laying flat as the other pressed buttons on one of the machines next to you. They hooked you up to wires and ivs, the wince as they inserted needles and tubes into you made Katsukis stomach drop, it was only the start of the hell youd endure and he already looked like it was too much for him. He had to physically stop himself from pushing them away from you, knowing that they were doing their jobs much like he did his, and focused his attention on holding your hand, rubbing your head and trying his best to distract you.

“Remember when it was me on the bed, and you holding my hand? God that needle fucking killed…”

“Kats, it was a blood test, you were being a baby.” You laughed, remembering how he nearly passed out in your arms, acting like they were pouring pure venom into his bloodstream.

After a few moments, the female doctor then spoke, discussing their plans with you, laying out the plan of action.

“So, now that weve stabilised your vitals, this is where it gets…uncomfortable. We need to active your quirk, but…” She looked visibly uncomfortable talking you through the plan, “ we need to overwork it. We need to push you to your breaking point in hopes that your quirk because too exhausted that we can then try to fertilise the egg. If this fails, we may need to temporarily drop your oxygen levels and put your body into a state of which it thinks it’s dying, so that your body will latch onto the egg and fertilise it. Our bodies want to instinctively procreate, so we’re hoping that your body realises it might die so that your quirk can push through and try to evolve itself, try to push its longevity through conception. It’s a long shot, it might not work, but because of the knowledge we have of quirks, we understand that their primal urge to procreate should hopefully be enough. If you’re ready, we’re happy to continue. Mr Bakugo, we need you to help too.”

She handed him two pots, they needed him to give them samples to help fertilise the eggs as they forced your body through excruciating pain. He looked down at the pots and back up at the doctor like she’d just told him the most disgusting, gut wrenching joke of all time.

“You think im gonna be able to cum after you’ve just told us all that?! I couldn’t even if I wanted to…” You placed your hand on his arm, smiling sweetly up at him.

“It’s okay kats, it’ll be worth it. Plus, if you ask nicely they might let me put one of those uniforms on and help you out.” Tears started to well in his eyes as he looked down at the tubes and wires hanging out of you, you looked so trapped and worn down already, he wanted to save you, to whisk you away from the clinical walls and cradle you in your bed together. He looked down at your chest and sighed, hoping that he could at least give them one sample.

“Fine. Everyone fuck off. If im gonna do it, im doing it here with her.” The other doctor put his hand on katsukis shoulder, promptly being pushed off as soon as he touched him.

“Im sorry sir but, you can’t do it here. It’s not sterile to deposit your sample right here, we need it to be as clean and safe as possible for what were about to do. “ Katsuki glared at him, burning his anger into the doctors soul.

“Shes about to flood the fucking building, I think it’ll be alright.” Smoke started to flicker from his fingers, how dare they tell him to go wank in the corner. You laughed nervously at him, trying to defuse the situation.

“Can he at least do it slightly behind me, Yano at the head of the bed? I won’t move too much, not that I even can…” The nurses let out nervous laughs as you held your hands slightly up showing off the wires.

“You can go into the bathroom together if you think it would help to collect the samples. But you cannot under any circumstances touch her body Mr Bakugo. Ideally we would like to start the quirk exhaustion as you’re collecting the sample, but understand that it may not be possible. Y/n, as soon as the samples have been collected you will need to return to the bed and call for us immediately so we can hook you back up and begin the treatment.”

You looked at each other nervously, knowing vaguely what lay ahead, and nodded for them to leave so you could both go into the bathroom together. As the doctors took the ivs out and helped you stand, they left the room, leaving nothing but you, Katsuki and the impending doom of your potential death lingering in the heavy air.

“Right well, let’s get to work then shall we baby?” You smirked at him, undoing your shirt to expose your chest. He hated how quickly his trousers became tight. The anxiety of what was coming was fighting against his urge to rip your clothes off and shove his face into your chest, smoothing you in tender protective kisses and marks. “Remember though, no touching okay?”

The fact he couldn’t touch you maybe his urges take over, he needed you, needed to touch you and tease you, needed to feel your body shake under his. Katsuki was a very physical man, and one of the many things you loved about him was how aggressively he touched your body, he couldn’t keep his hands off you at the best of times, let alone when he was horny. It was torture for him to have to sit there and watch you rub your tits inbetween your fingers, watch you reach up and suck on one of them, staring into his eyes. You knew exactly how to drive him wild, touching or not.

He took his cock from his trousers as he leant against the wash basin in the bathroom, stroking himself already at the sight of you. He’d never been watched before, but seeing how naturally you took on the role of pleasing his eyes was more than enough to get him close already. You reached down and started tracing the outline of your entrance over your trousers, softly moaning his name.

“Oh kats, yeah…right there…fuck, you’re making me so wet. You feel so good touching me like that. Fuck, faster please baby. Im all yours, use me, touch me, fuck me. Make me scream. Baby please. “

His eyes scanned every inch of you, he had to fight every instinct he had not to shove you up again the door and wrap your legs around his hips. He needed to touch you, to taste you, to have you. As he became close he grabbed one of the pots and then with another moan of his name he filled it. His body shaking, leaking cum almost completely overflowing the small pot, as he came down from his high embarrassment and anxiety filled his body again. He knew that as soon as he’d finished, it would all begin. The torture, the extreme pain, the unforgiving breaking of your quirk. He wanted to stall for as long as possible, begging you that he wasnt done, he had more to give, but ultimately saw the look in your eyes, it was time.

[azzysmate]

Back From the Dead - Prologue

Azriel x RhysSister Fanfic

Summary: Rhaen, sister of Rhysand, was supposedly dead for centuries, but what if she wasn’t? What if she was only trapped by something no one ever dreamed of being so dangerous? And what will happen when she appears at the border of the Spring Court and human lands barely alive?

1st Person POV - Rhaen

I hear a whisper of a voice inside my head, begging me to stay awake, to stay alive. I’m stuck, unable to lift my head or open my eyes. My surroundings are shrouded in darkness, and I can’t force my body to function at all. The only thing that registers is pain. The pulsing of my weakened heartbeat throughout my body. The pounding ache in my head. The burning scrapes in my back. The stabbing sensation in my feet.

My head is spinning, and the voice calls out to me again, “Rhae, stay with me, you have to stay awake…”

I know that voice. Its familiarity seeps into my bones and soothes my fear, but my eyelids are swollen shut. I can’t see them. When I try to pry them open, only the smallest bit of scenery comes in. Everything is blurred, and my memory fails to recognize the one who seems to be trying to save me.

Something squeezes around my waist, like someone wrapping their arms around me to lift me. All I can make out is obscured shapes and shadows.

“Please,” they crack out a plea, “Please, please, please.”

An overwhelming urge to comfort them hits me. I want to reach out and caress their cheek, tell them it’s going to be okay. Even if I die, they’ll be alright.

My body fails me again though, and when the unknown tells me to hold onto them, we jolt, and the sharp movement causes a cry of agony to rip from the back of my throat. I barely recognize it through the ringing in my ears, but it is coming from my own lips.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” they whisper against my hair, tucking me into the crook of their neck, “You’re going to be alright, I’m going to get you taken care of. I’m so sorry, Princess.”

The feeling of the wind making my hair whip around my shoulders finally penetrates through the torturous tenderness in my muscles. Then the name they called me sinks into my subconscious, sparking my past back to life.

It warms my insides, comforting me. A deep, soothing timbre that takes me back to my childhood. Learning to fly with my Mother and Rhysand. Being chased around by Cassian when I would practice my sneakiness by stealing his favorite dagger off him. Having Morrigan over for sleepovers and makeovers and crawling out of my bedroom window to go to Rita’s. Attempting not to stare at Azriel while we sat silently in the library, pretending to read until he’d smirk at me and tauntingly whisper, “Careful, Princess. You’re not subtle enough to go undetected by the Spymaster.”

An uneasy gasp of epiphany fills my lungs much too quick for my injured chest to tolerate. But it’s him, it’s his voice.

The Shadowsinger found me…

“A-Az…” I can only manage to choke out the one syllable of his name, but I know he hears it. His body tenses, and I wince.

“Rhaen,” he says, his tone still filled with anxiety, but there’s a hint of relief, too, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay, Rhaen, I’m taking you home.”

“Ho-me,” I drawl out raspily, and then I go limp against him as everything fades back into darkness.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

3rd Person POV

Azriel sits in a chair right beside her bed at Madja’s, one hand under his chin, and the other gripping Rhaen’s hand. The one connected to an IV and a couple other types of wires or tubes that he doesn’t really know the function of, but when Madja hooked her up to all of these different machines, he didn’t protest. He trusted the healer, who’d stitched him up more times than he could count, and stood by in an unexpressed panic.

He wasn’t sure how he remained so neutral, he’d never felt this type of dread before. It was damn near impossible to keep his emotions in check when it came to the Princess, it had always been that way since the day he first met her. And now, seeing her again, especially in the state he’d found her in, it took every ounce of willpower to stay on the sidelines and let Madja work. Although he felt helpless the entire time, he somehow managed to keep it together until she let him know she would pull through.

Then, and only then, did he let Rhys know what was going on. He didn’t want his brother to lose her a second time. He was more than willing to carry that burden alone.

As he sat there, waiting for his High Lord and High Lady to arrive, he considered all the possibilities that could have played out in the years Rhaen had been presumed dead. If she’s been alive this whole time, where had she been? What had happened to her? What had she gone through? Who was she with? And who the hell left her for dead near the border of the human realms and Spring Court?

His first thought was Tamlin. Surely nothing would happen so close to his territory without his knowledge. Then again, there wasn’t much left of it since Feyre completely burned it to the ground under the pretense of no longer being mated to Rhys. After the war with Hybern, Tamlin withdrew into his beast form, and he hasn’t been heard from or seen much since. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him. Even so, he was partially responsible for whatever had happened to her and her Mother. There had to be something he wasn’t telling Rhys.

The Shadowsinger had half a mind to send his shadows out there to track him down and send him a message. Preferably a bloody one. He was smarter than that though, knowing it would start some mindless civil dispute, and things were only just starting to settle down among Prythian.

There were more important matters at hand, like making sure Rhae didn’t wake up alone. Making sure she would wake up period.

He inhales a slow breath, letting her scent consume his senses and pacify the doubt of her being real. The scent he was certain he’d never smell again. But she was here, right in front of his eyes, still the most breathtaking sight he would ever see. The relief he felt from her being alive was tinged with guilt. Guilt for what had happened to her. Guilt for not being able to stop it. Guilt for never telling her how he’d felt about her. Guilt for never truly revealing himself to her when that was all she had ever done with him.

The door swings open abruptly, pulling Azriel out of his thoughts and causing him to stand up so quickly, he knocked over the chair behind him. His hands went to Truthteller on his hip, immediately going into protection mode. Rhysand and Feyre were revealed once his shadows receded, and their terror struck expressions disarmed him.

“Rhaen,” Rhys whispers hoarsely, simultaneously hurt and relieved, then he addresses his Spymaster without taking his eyes off her sleeping face, “How? When? Where?”

Feyre moves in closer to him and laces their fingers together, the rims of her eyelids silver with tears, as Azriel answers all of his questions, “I found her at the borderline of Spring and the human lands about five hours ago. I came straight here. As for the how, I’m not sure. She was barely conscious when I found her, and as soon as she realized who I was, she passed out. Madja worked on her nonstop for three hours, and she only confirmed she would pull through about twenty minutes ago. She wants her to rest until tomorrow, so she gave her a sleeping tonic along with the fluids in the IV for rehydration.”

The muscles of Rhys’ neck ripple as he swallows, and he squeezes his mate’s hand tighter.

“So… she’ll be alright?” he asks hesitantly.

Azriel nods once. “I wouldn’t have told you if Madja wasn’t sure she’d come back from this.”

This doesn’t settle well with Feyre, whose eyes snap to Azriel in outrage, “You wouldn’t have told him?”

As stoic as ever, even though there was no part of him that felt that way inside, he replies, “No. I wouldn’t have.”

“What?” she responds icily, but Rhys cuts her off before she can give him a thorough tongue lashing.

“It’s alright, Feyre Darling. He was only trying to protect me.” Her confused gaze finds the side of his face, and he finally looks away from his sister to give her a reassuring glance. “Imagine someone telling you your Father was alive, unsure of whether or not he’d survive. You would drop everything to come and see him, only to have him die before you arrived. I’m not saying it would be the right choice, but it would be better than causing your heart to break a second time.”

The High Lady’s posture softens, along with her eyes when they make their way back to Az. “I understand your reasoning, and I appreciate you wanting to protect him, Azriel. I don’t condone keeping things like this from us, but it doesn’t matter now anyway. She’s going to be okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He only nods once more in acknowledgment. “So now we just wait?”

Rhys keeps their hands joined as he leads them to the opposite side of the bed from where Azriel stands and asks, “Did Madja say when she’ll wake up?”

“Should be out of her system in about twelve hours,” he answers, “The swelling has gone down a lot already, but she’ll come in to check on her periodically throughout the night. She says the cuts and scrapes will be gone by the time she’s awake, but she’ll be bruised and sore for a while yet.”

“Good,” Rhys sighs.

Az tightens the leathers that his siphons are attached to around his wrist and begins to walk towards the door.

“You’re leaving?” Feyre calls out to him.

Instead of making contact with her stare, his gaze locks onto Rhys’. “I’ll be back before the tonic’s cycle ends.”

Everything the Shadowsinger needs to know is conveyed through the expression on Rhysand’s face. He has the High Lord’s permission to make heads roll until he unravels the mystery of what happened to the Night Court’s Princess. He knows the limits. He knows the lengths he’s allowed. And that, along with his shadows and Truthteller, are all that he needs.

Within a second after he gets that confirmation, he’s gone, fading into the darkness he commands and on his way to find an explanation.

*First fic on Tumblr! I really hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think. If you guys like it, I will be posting more. Let me know if you want to be tagged 😘

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Fucking Machine

Loceit (Logan x Janus) Kinktober 2023 Day Ten: Fucking Machine Warnings: robot porn, wire play, electrocution, overstimulation, premature ejaculation, grinding

"Forgive me if I don't exactly trust you to check my hardware," Logan states, as Janus leads him through the house and up a flight of stairs. "Typically, I run an analysis on myself, and - if I need human assistance - I ask Virgil. You, on the other hand, have never been that... mindful of technology." 

Janus shrugs off Logan's concerns. "I'm more trustworthy when it comes to technology than Patton." 

"That's not hard to accomplish," Logan refutes, as Janus guides them into Logan's own bedroom. It's decorated to look human, but the metal table donned with a singular pillow clashes with the dresser, closet, and framed photos quite a bit. 

Still, it was what Logan had requested. He had no need for a bed; he didn't much like laying on his front, and his charging port was on his lower back. If he needed to sit at all, he'd rather do it on a table akin to the one he was created atop of. It also meant he could sit straighter while charging. 

Janus guides him to the table and encourages him to sit, before sitting criss-cross behind him. Janus finds the cold metal to be rather harsh and uncomfortable, but he keeps quiet about that for now. 

"I don't understand why you're doing this anyway. According to my recent self-scans, I've been running perfectly fine." 

"Isn't it nice to double check, though?" Janus asks, as his fingers slide beneath Logan's polo. 

Logan's skin is synthetic - it's made to feel human, but lacks warmth. Janus can even press his fingers into Logan's sides or arms and they'll sink a bit into the fake flesh, but it's just an outer layer designed to protect his wires and circuitry, the same way the skin is just an outer layer made to protect muscle and bone. 

Logan frowns. "It won't be nice when your unskilled prodding causes a server shutdown," he argues, as Janus slowly pulls his shirt up and over his body. 

He's able to process each touch to his body due to an array of microfibers built into the synthetic skin. He's been told it should feel identical to the way a human would feel when being touched the same way, but Logan had no way to compare the two. So Janus's fingertips brushing against his soft back makes his internal nerves spark, with Logan stiffening and straightening his posture. 

"If you're going to pull out the panel, I'd suggest you get on with it. I'm not here to entertain you." 

Janus chuckles softly. "Aren't you made to be patient?" 

"I can tell you that I'm definitely not made to be tampered with." Logan turns his head to the side, and gives Janus a cold glare. "Especially by someone already acting so unprofessional." 

"Such a snarky tongue. Is that programmed, or just preferred?" 

"Preferred." 

Janus grins. "Hm. I like it." 

"I'd like for you not to damage my hardware." 

"Relax," Janus soothes, as his hands push into Logan's back in two specific spots parallel to each other on his left and right side. The pressure causes Logan's skin in a rectangular shape to sink a bit, before it springs out with a soft hiss. Janus dips his hand underneath the left-hand opening, just barely able to wedge two of his fingers under it, and undoes a latch. This allows him to fully swing the panel open like a door, and reveals Logan's innerworkings beneath. 

There's a metal spine down the center of his back that allows Logan to turn and bend like a typical person, but Janus is able to reach his arms into Logan around it, which immediately has Logan clicking in disapproval. 

"Anything you'd need to look at would be on the screen on the inside of my back panel," Logan states,  though Janus is fully aware of this. "There's no reason for you to be sticking your hands into my body." 

"Physical checkup," Janus reasons, before sitting up on his knees. He places his chin on Logan's shoulder, with his hands sliding up Logan's spine. "You can't exactly see inside your back; how sure are you that everything's still in order? It seems to me that every time Virgil's worked on your system, he's only paid attention to your digital data or reports. When was the last time he made sure there were no exposed wires, twisted circuits, or dented metal?" 

Logan hesitates, before claiming "I think I'd be able to feel if things were damaged." 

Janus's fingers reach back into his innards, and his fingertips lightly caress the thick, black wires braded around thin metal rods, which all formed together into a makeshift ribcage. The action makes Logan bite his lip, an artificial - but incredibly noticeable - flush spreading over his cheeks in an almost cartoonish manner. 

"Careful," Janus murmurs. "We don't want you to overheat, now do we?" 

Logan's fingers tap against his thigh. "No. No, I suppose not." 

"Good. May I check?" 

Logan glances at Janus, knowing full well what Janus means by "check." And yet, he nods. "Only if you're careful." 

"I'll make sure you're still functional afterwards," Janus assures him, before adding "but I can't promise much more than that." 

He kisses Logan's bare shoulder, before leaning back down to poke at Logan's autonomy. Logan's mostly still as Janus's hands explore his insides yet again, but he knows it's only a matter of time before Janus is determining what looks the most fun to play with and decides to pull and push at it. 

And seemingly, the first thing that seems to interest him are the coloured wires, which he runs his fingers over. 

He decides to tease the yellow one first, and pinches the cord lightly, before sliding upwards, and then dragging his fingers downwards, tugging briefly on the wire and making Logan jolt suddenly. 

"Careful!" Logan insists, but his voice glitches as he rubs his hands over his thighs. 

"Trust me," Janus responds, pressing a kiss to the back of Logan's neck. He hears a click, followed by a soft whirring sound as Logan's fans begin, with his outer layer heating up ever so slightly. Janus smiles against Logan's skin.

"Do you secretly like it when I pull on that wire?" Janus asks, as he tugs on that very cord again. This time, Logan hisses, but it's not the reaction Janus wants. So he hums, and runs his fingers over a few others, before stroking the red cord. That has Logan moaning and jolting, his hands gripping the edge of the table they're seated on. 

"Ahh," Janus muses, "I see. You were just waiting for me to find the right wire. This one is fun, but I wonder what the blue one does..." 

Janus again switches wires, and tugs a lot more harshly on the blue one, with something becoming unplugged and Logan's innards sparking. Logan lets out a glitchy cry as Janus rushes to pull his hand out of Logan's back, not wanting to injure himself. 

"Fuck," Janus curses quietly, before setting a hand gently on Logan's upper shoulder. "Are you alright?" 

Logan pants. "You just... unplugged my ethernet port." 

Janus chews his inner cheek. "Do you... do you need that?" 

Logan huffs, turning to glare at Janus over his shoulder, who smiles prettily at Logan's narrow eyes. "You're going to dismantle me someday." 

"I'm going to take that as a 'no.'" Janus grabs the loose cable and ducks a bit to try and figure out the plug the small, cylindrical plug into. He sees the silver ring clear on a small black box up inside Logan's body. Janus reaches up to rub over the port with his finger, making Logan moan softly. "However, I'll be nice. I'll plug it back in for you, so you can... connect to the ethernet." 

"It allows me to tap into the local network in order to access speedy data transmissions," Logan murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut as Janus circles the hole with his plug, teasing the very tip of it at the plugs entrance. Janus pushes it in just enough for it to be noticeable, and then pulls it out again, making Logan shudder and stutter as he attempts to continue. "It doesn't... it doesn't do much for me at home, but it's useful for when we're out." 

"Oh yeah? So should I just..." Janus slips the cord in just enough for it to be noticeable, but not fully, edging Logan out of that satisfying click, "not plug this back in, then? It doesn't do anything anyway, right?" 

Logan whines, taking in a shuddering breath that lets Janus watch as small pistons nestled in his faux ribcage pump the air back out. "Please. Plug it in, please." 

Janus smirks, and does just that, and while normally plugging something in wouldn't feel this intense, something about the way Janus speaks or the way he teases his outlet makes it such, and so when Janus fully plugs the ethernet cord in, Logan jolts and sparks, eyes briefly flashing fully white, and moaning outright. Again, Janus has to rush to pull his hand out, before huffing. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to electrocute me." 

Logan pants, arching his back and reaching behind him, as if trying to dig his fingers into his open panel and play with his cords himself. "I'd just be electrocuting us both, in that scenario. I spark because this is unnatural; it's not my fault I wasn't built to be played with."

Humming, Janus's hands circle around Logan's body and run his hands down between Logan's thighs, feeling the straining bulge in his jeans. "What's this for, then?" he asks, while grinding his palm over the area, making Logan squeeze his legs together, unintentionally pushing Janus's hand further against his crotch. 

"Anatomical accuracy," Logan weakly explains, but he knows Janus doesn't care. 

Janus blindly undoes Logan's jeans, struggling briefly with the zipper before he can get it down, and pulls out Logan's cock. 

He was built to be average in terms of size, but sensitive in terms of touch. The purpose of that feature was so that he could touch distinct surfaces and identify what they're made of, but it meant he was also incredibly sensitive to touch from others, especially in areas which weren't normally stimulated. 

Janus strokes his fingers over Logan's cock with little hesitation, before pulling his hands away and peering into Logan's back. 

"Your... fluid compartment... does that connect to your shaft?" 

"Of course it does." 

As Janus's eyes find the small, round-shaped, bag-like compartment, he's delighted to see it's full of a milky white liquid. "Is that for anatomical accuracy as well?"

Logan swallows the nonexistent spit in his mouth. "It is." 

Janus reaches out to touch the compartment, and cringes with fascination and disgust at how it feels. It's like a ball made of nano-tape; just thick enough to hold firm, but malleable when squished. And so, out of morbid curiosity, Janus squishes it.

Perhaps he wasn't thinking about where that fluid would go when squeezed out of its compartment, or maybe he wasn't aware that such an easily overlooked piece of hardware was essentially created to be similar to a human prostate, but either way Janus is incredibly startled when Logan's body jolts as pleasure rushes through him, and he lets out a warped cry as an orgasm is quickly forced out of him before he's ready. 

The sudden excitement has Logan sparking with delight and surprise of his own, and despite having previously been careful to avoid the loose electricity, Janus couldn't possibly have seen this coming. 

A loose wire comes into contact with the back of Janus's hand, and before he can even gasp electricity is coursing through his body, and sending an overload of electricity through Logan's as well as he conducts it through his flesh and back into Logan's hardware. 

The shocking, the pain, and the pleasure last for mere seconds before Janus is pulling away, but it's just long enough for them to both fall of the table in opposite directions. 

Janus falls onto his backside near Logan's wall. Logan falls forward onto his chest across from him. 

Struggling to catch his breath, Janus holds his hand and turns to look at Logan, who's laying limp. Immediately, he freaks out. Sure, he's human, and that much electricity could be dangerous, but Logan was a fucking machine. He's not supposed to be electrocuted; Janus could have seriously damaged him!

As Janus moves to stand up, he realizes he's hard in his pants, and curses at the poor timing as he circles the table and drops to his knees beside Logan. His pants land in a sticky mess of Logan's artificial come, and he cringes, but attempts to ignore his disgust in favor of flipping Logan over, closing his back panel in the process. 

Logan's eyes are shut, but when Janus slides his eyelids up, he sees that his eyes are completely black. 

Filled with a rush of anxiety, Janus reaches his hand around to the back of Logan's neck, and feels a button at the base of his hairline, which he presses and holds down, praying that it starts to glow. 

And thankfully, it does.

There's a small power-up tune that plays as the button on the back of Logan's neck flashes, before Logan's eyes are slowly blinking open. They shift from solid black to bright wide, and then with a few more blinks blue irises are forming, swirling around like a loading screen before solidifying with a black pupil. 

Logan stares blankly for a minute, before his face heats up into an embarrassed flush. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, as Janus helps him sit up. 

"Sorry?" Janus repeats, in disbelief. "I'm the one who should be apologizing! Are you... hurt in any way?" 

"No."

"Are you sure?" 

Janus's hands reach for Logan's face, but Logan grabs his wrists and causes him to stop short. Logan's eyes flicker away from Janus, before settling back on him as he admits "I shut myself down." 

"What?!" Janus frowns and smacks Logan's shoulder. "You're not funny. The others would have never let me hear the end of it if I'd damaged you!" 

Logan clears his throat. "I could feel a server overload coming due to the electricity and so shut myself down in order to reprogram myself and install better hardware. It's still processing, but it should finish in a couple minutes." 

"Better hardware?" 

Logan stretches his arm out, wiggles his fingers, and then circles his arm around, testing his mobility. "Yes. Better hardware. Obviously a surplus amount of electricity can cause physical damage, but I'm fairly resilient. My main concern would be my hard drives or servers becoming overwhelmed and either corrupting or frying them altogether. So... I installed a few failsafes." 

"Such as...?" 

"I lowered my electricity output temporarily," Logan begins, listing items off the top of his head, "both for my benefit, and yours-" 

Janus looks away at the implication he'd be reaching back into Logan's insides. 

"I downloaded some protection agencies that increase my server's abilities to withstand extreme stress, I copied and uploaded some of my most important assets to the cloud, I ran a diagnostic and made sure no permanent damage was done, and reprogrammed myself to shut down in the event of extreme electric damage so that neither of us would be killed if that intense of a shock were to happen again." 

Staring blankly at Logan, Janus clasps his hands together. "So... we're good to resume?" 

Logan sighs, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Yes; if you so desire." 

And Janus does so desire, and so flips Logan back over without warning, where Logan obediently stays on his hands and knees. He lets Janus push his chest against the ground and flip his back panel open once more, and tries to keep his body from overheating when he feels Janus's bulge push against his clothed ass. 

"Your fans flicked on again," Janus comments, as his hands plunge back into Logan's innards. He feels wind blow over his scales and shivers, but is more than amused at how quickly they were activated. 

"It's a precaution," Logan murmurs, visibly embarrassed. 

Janus leans over Logan, grinding his hard cocks over Logan's backside and groaning into his ear, before Janus searches for a new item inside of Logan to play with. He pokes the small compartment, though now it's lacking fluid. While that means no more mess, Janus suspects that Logan won't mind having a dry orgasm or two. 

Logan lets out a shaky breath as Janus's fingers rub over his ribcage, his spine, and then back down to his wires, some hanging looser than others. Briefly, Janus's fingers rub over an unused outlet - fit for a hard drive, if Logan ever needed to transfer outside information to his servers - and it makes Logan moan outright. 

"I've heard of plugs being used during sex, but you take it to a whole new level," Janus teases, as his other hand tugs firmly on an intertwined group of wires, which makes Logan suddenly cry out, arching his chest against the floor. Janus grinds his thumb more purposefully over the empty socket. "Maybe I'll download some of Remus's porn onto a hard drive and plug it into you without warning. Would you like that? If I overwhelmed your intellectual technology with graphic, defiling content?" 

Despite Logan's typical stoic behavior, he actually pushes his forehead against the floor as he moans out "yes." His voice is glitchy and quiet, and it causes Janus to let out a shuddering breath of his own as he ruts his hips against Logan's ass. 

As Janus's hand continues to slide against the open plug in the lower right hand side of Logan's back, his other caresses the wires up to where they disappear into a black box. And so, he slides it back down to a circuit board, which he is gentle when touching despite Logan beeping in surprise as Janus's fingers tap against it.

"Careful!" Logan again exclaims, though he sounds more excited than anything. "That's fragile!" 

Janus grinds harder against Logan's ass at just how cute he sounds. "I am careful," he assures Logan, while pushing his longer thumb nails into both the plug and the circuit board. 

Little flickers of electricity bounce off the circuit board, shocking Janus once or twice, but it's significantly tamer compared to what he's already experienced. And with Logan's little jolts and whimpers, Janus can assume he's feeling the shocks too.

But what Logan's really amazed by is how foreign and obviously wrong the protrusion of Janus's nail is into his outlet, and the scratching of his circuit board, and yet... he's getting off on this technological malpractice. 

Everything that Janus is doing to him is unique. New. And so Logan desperately tries to record and memorize the strange way it feels. However, the light touches also allows Logan to breathe - both metaphorically, and artificially. In this brief respite, Logan's reminded that he's pathetically hard due to the weight of his cock hanging between his legs. He knows his fluid compartment is empty, but that doesn't negate his ability to have an orgasm, and he knows Janus will going to push him to his limit again and again and again if he so desires. 

Embarrassed, Logan hides his face in the floor, picturing how lewd and unprofessional he's being. He must look like some sort of sexbot! But before he can complain, Janus is dipping his face into Logan's panel, and lightly blowing air over his circuit board, causing Logan to gasp as his head shoots up in surprise. 

He tries to crane his head back to look at Janus, who just grins at him in response and grinds a little harder, reminding Logan that Janus is also getting off on toying with him like he's some sort of do-it-yourself robot kit. 

Logan opens his mouth to complain, but nothing comes out. Still though, Janus playfully explains "I thought I saw a speck of dust," lying right through his teeth. His words however have Logan whining anyway, and Janus draws a particularly loud noise from him when he begins to snake his fingers around a couple wires. 

Even the faintest of touches make him moan and shut his eyes, submissively pushing his face back into the ground as Janus messes with him. 

"What-" Logan starts, but his voice abruptly glitches and cuts out, making him flush and focus for a moment on steadying himself. After clearing his throat, he tries again, and asks "what are you doing?" 

Janus just smiles. "I think I see a few tangled wires..." he says, as both of his hands move to a cluster of them. Feeling Janus's fingers caress the cords makes Logan gasp, only for him to moan when Janus begins to carefully pluck and untwist a set that were indeed wrapped around each other. They're guided out of sockets in order to be looped through the meshed cables, and then re-plugged in such smooth tandem that Logan's never given a break to catch his breath. 

He's touching multiple wires for a prolonged amount of time, gently maneuvered back to where Janus believes they should be, even if it doesn't affect their ability to function at all. 

And Logan repeatedly moans and groans as Janus continues to slide the wires past each other, rubbing them against other cords and in-between his own warm, fleshy fingers. Logan's noises increase in pitch the longer Janus touches, and raise in volume the firmer his caresses get. 

And while Janus takes his time initially in playing with Logan, he can't help but become impatient at the lack of pleasure he's feeling himself, and so grabs Logan's wires more tightly - almost as leverage - while he grinds harder against him, moaning into Logan's back panel and breathing over his sensitive hardware. 

A click is heard followed by Logan's internal fans whirring slightly louder, as though they've increased in intensity and kicked into high-gear, and Janus can't help but laugh softly as he rests his forehead against the side of Logan's back - teetering on the edge of his synthetic flesh and Logan's exposed innards.

"Feeling hot?" Janus teases, before his forked tongue licks across the rim of the panel's opening. That has Logan crying out; the power button on the back of his neck flashing excitedly. Janus raises his eyebrow as he looks at it. 

"Is this draining your battery?" he asks, and watches Logan slump in humiliation, as pleasure rushes through his body as Janus continues to twirl his wires around like they're fidget toys for his amusement. "My, we might just have to leave you plugged in all night to recuperate after this!" Janus's fingers pull out of Logan's panel, sliding over his inner walls before leaving entirely, and instead move to circle around his charging port on his lower back. 

Lightly, Janus rubs his pointer finger over it, and that's all it takes. 

Logan's gasping, crying and glitching - his moans a stuttering cacophony of different sound bites and start-up noises, all mixed in with his artificial breathing and the differing noises spilling from his back. His charging port sparks and the electricity catches Janus again, shocking him more intensely this time, but he moans against Logan and just presses his finger harder against it, rubbing it feverishly against the outlet as Logan's worked through a dry orgasm before he lays limply on the ground, wonderfully overstimulated and burnt out (literally). 

Janus smiles as he moves his hand away from Logan's port, and spends the next minute or so humping against Logan's ass before he comes in his own pants with a soft moan, and then closes Logan's back panel before falling against him. However, the constant light from Logan's flashing power button bothers him, and so he pulls away. 

"You really should plug yourself in," Janus comments, as he helps Logan to his feet. 

Logan struggles to stand for a moment, mumbling "hold on... recalibrating balance settings..." while trying to get his loose cock back into his jeans, before he falls over onto his metal table chest-first.

He lays against it limply, and thanks Janus after the latter struggles to lift Logan's heavy form fully onto the surface. 

Janus circles around Logan to his wall outlet, where he takes Logan's charger into his hand and promptly plugs it in. Logan whines, as though he's still sensitive, but his power light glows happily at being plugged in. Janus leans against the table and sighs. 

"How are you feeling?" 

Logan turns his head to the side, so he can speak without sounding muffled. "Fine. I don't think anything's permanently damaged." 

Janus huffs out a laugh. "That's a relief." 

"Knowing you? I agree." 

Janus smacks Logan's lower thigh playfully, before focusing on his breathing for a moment. Logan's rhythmic, synthetic breathes contrast greatly to Janus's more irregular exhales, but there's both visibly pleased, albeit a tad messy. He'll get himself cleaned up after catching his breath, and he supposes that when he's done with a bath he'll come wipe Logan down. He'll even be extra careful! He's sure Logan will appreciate it. 

[scrapironflotilla]

"The Boche is managing his attack another way; he is practicing it very much like he did at Cambrai. First they have a creeping barrage, probably like ours. Next to that he is going to have a smoke barrage made by hand grenades. After that he is putting his eggs in the Storm Trooper basket. These fellows are specially trained and they are really very fine men. These Storm Troops and machine gunners are the only good people on foot in the German Army. All infantry Battalions are skinned of their best men to put into the Storm Troops. It is therefore important that you should defeat these Storm Troops; one Storm Troop knocked out is worth a lot."

"In the German scheme they and the light machine guns are to go straight ahead and not stop for anything; they will not stop in your line. They are followed immediately behind (about 200 yards behind)  by masses of Infantry, so that if you massacre the Storm Troops and get the SOS going you will have a fine time. The Hun idea is that the Storm Troops will make holes and continue their advance past our strong points. They having been training them to go 12 kilometres about 7 miles, the first day. That might do for the Italians and the Russians, but it will not do for you. Not if you are in depth. "

"Then the Infantry following behind is to mop up, moving right and left from the breaches thus made.  There will be a very careful reconnaissance and these will now move up the hollows to avoid being seen by our artillery. That is what they did at Cambrai. One lot goes one way and another lot the other way and the Storm Troops go right on. They expect to paralyse you by the sudden onslaught of these Storm Troops, but you have only got to watch properly and have your men to shoot and then you will be alright."

"With the wire you have in front of you and the arrangements we are making, provided you will patrol No Mans Land and will teach Musketry to your Sections I don’t think the Boche has a dog’s chance." Lieutenant-General Ivor Maxse on the lessons learnt from the Battle of Cambrai, 12/2/1918.

Maxse's 18th Corps was part of the British Fifth Army that bore the brunt of the German Spring Offensive in March 1918. Maxse's training had paid off, and despite suffering heavily they withdrew in good order and never broke the same way much of the rest of the Fifth Army did.

[zelphin124]

SeasonTale - Chapter 7

TW: Slavery, sickness, abuse I'm not sure how much of this I'll continue. I don't think it'll be as good as my other writing, but I do hope to get all the lore out to you guys sometime. This is not me rejoining the UnderTale fandom. Masterpost

~o0o~

Papyrus was barely alive. 

Undye took it upon herself to protect his dying soul from dusting. The time that passed that week was all a blur to Spring, and his anger that he once felt quickly sunk into a deep despair as he could do nothing about the situation. 

The managers beat them ruthlessly, using their whips and fists to double their workload. The fire from the unhealthy habits of the factory only worsened the air quality. Each day, someone got sick, and they were beat for it. 

It didn’t make any sense to Spring!Sans. Why would they hurt someone for being sick? As far as he could tell, he couldn’t control when he felt unwell. 

Which was all the time, now. 

Spring held a small piece of bread in his hands as he stared at Spring!Papyrus, laying on a bed as his skull was half-dusted. Spring!Alphys held his soul together for hours. Spring thought he heard her and Undye conversing about the workload, with Undye doing twice as much so Alphys could keep Papyrus alive. 

His brother wasn’t breathing. He sat there, his bone slowly reforming and dusting as his chest barely moved. His soul didn’t beat, either. The white heart was clasped in another monster’s hands. Had Alphys let go, he would be nothing but a pile of dust. 

Spring glanced at the bread in his hands before he rested it in one of Papyrus’ hands. “You need it more than me,” he sighed, tears streaming down his face. “Please be okay, brother…” 

There was no reply. Spring!Alphys glanced at him with worry. “Kid, you need to eat that.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Sp!Alphys insisted. “Eat it.” 

There was another whip crack outside the room. Spring shook his head and gently crawled out of the space, trying not to be spotted by the whippers as he returned to his post, fiddling with the wires. 

Cries of pain and hopelessness echoed through the air, but they were often broken by the crack of whips. They were more prominent than usual, as if their work hours were not enough, they increased them, allowing little time for rest and food. More and more of the workers got sick. Spring had attended to most of them; Papyrus had taught him a thing or two about keeping people healthy, and no one was in these conditions. 

Slavery never allowed for such luxuries as health. 

Spring couldn’t help the tears that fell down his face as he thought of his brother. They fell onto the wires, quenching their sparks. It’s my fault... I’m the reason he’s almost dead... 

He listened closely to Spring!Temmie and Spring!Mettaton’s conversation. They talked about how the ‘big boss’ was coming today. They became hushed about the topic when Spring drew closer to listen in more. The only thing he caught was the big boss being a Gaster of sorts. 

Could it be the same one who sold him for a piece of bread? 

Perhaps the pressure of said inspection is what caused the whippers to be more hostile and picky with the work that was being done by their slaves. It was almost unreasonable and insane to expect better work in worse conditions, but there was no consideration of such a fact. 

Spring gently taped the wires together on the outside of another machine as he coughed the smoke out of his lungs. His hands and feet were hurting again. He was covered in black tar and ash. It burned his skin worse than the flames themselves. There was no time to clean up, however. He had spent his free time checking up on his brother, and he had to face said consequences.

This can’t be all there is... Spring wiped his face, feeling his stomach getting nauseous. He knew he was about to hurl. He stepped away from the wires and walked over to the edge of the platforms, resting his head over the edge as he vomited into the fire. For a solid minute, his stomach desperately tried to search for any nutrients, and when it found none, it shot the acid out of his mouth. 

Spring’s cries of pain were disturbing. He could hear some of his fellow slaves approaching him, but they were pushed aside as the familiar, horrifying steps of a whipper came along. “Get back to work, kid!” The monster grabbed Spring by the scruff and lifted him up, turning him to face him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Spring covered his mouth, trying to withhold another puke. No, please, not now—he couldn’t. His body gagged, and his vomit covered the whipper’s face as Spring coughed, tears streaming down his eyes. He looked at the whipper in horror as the goo ran down his face. What have I done? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I—” 

“You imbecile!” The whipper threw Spring onto the hard pavement, scraping his face. He hurriedly tried to wipe the acid off his face in disgust, cracking his whip. “How dare you defile me?!” 

The whip cracked against Spring’s skull. He cried out in pain as he curled up on the floor, trying to block the whips. Instead of his face, the whips struck his hand, ripping the bones apart as the whipper continued. Blood poured out from them, and Spring whimpered, unable to put his pain into words or a cry for help. 

The whippings suddenly stopped as a loud thud could be heard. Spring hesitantly looked up through the water building up in his skull. 

Spring!Muffet had just punched the whipper in the face. 

She looked at her hands as if she couldn’t believe what she had just done, but that didn’t stop her words from snapping at the abuser. “Pick on someone your own size!” She dared to say. “You’re pathetic for picking on a helpless child! Be a man and choose someone stronger than he!” 

Spring’s eyes widened in fear as he reached out to her. “Muffet, no—” 

The whipper clearly did not find her challenge amusing. He stood up, grunting as rage fumed in his eyes. He cracked his whip to the side. “Own size, eh? Someone like you, then? You know what happens to challengers like you, right?” 

Spring!Muffet’s eyes widened as she raised her hands into fists, all six of them. “To fight for a kid’s life, yes.” 

The whipper raised his whip. It was as if time had gone in slow motion as he slowly brought it down on the monster that saved Spring—

BOOM!

A bright flash of light filled the air. There was a strong gust of wind, sending the whipper flying into the lava below, screaming all the way down. Muffet was also blasted back, barely catching onto one of the railings. Spring was pushed into the wire system, grunting as he tried to stand up, but his hands hurt too much. 

Before him, in the direction that caused a blast, was a bright, white fire. It burned the wood nearby as if it were the sun itself. Who walked out of the fire was someone Spring had never seen. It was too difficult to see, but she looked like Toriel, a similar, shorter type of goat. Her gaze was flat, and she walked with grace. Everything about her glowed like starlight, something Spring had only heard about until now. 

The shouts of the whippers were blurred. They yelled about the hole in the factory before charging at the intruder. ���It’s her!” one of the muffled shouts rang through Spring’s ears. “Kill her!” 

One by one, the goat slayed every person that dared to come her way. Despite being hit with some of the whips, they disintegrated on touch. Her hands were surrounded by a white fire, and when she fired at the whippers, they turned into ash immediately. Dozens of them swarmed her, but they were no match for her skills. 

Behind her came a large dragon. It was white, with long eyes, and its head shaped like a gaster blaster. It munched on any whipper or opposer that approached the goat. It was as if it was made from starlight itself. Its gaze turned toward everyone else, turning around to reveal someone on his back. 

Spring’s eyes widened as he observed the little skeleton on the back of the dragon. He… He looks like me. 

The battle waged on, but it was something Spring was in too much pain to notice. He glanced up one more time to find the slaves cheering at some proclamation the white goat gave. She gently approached Spring as everyone rushed out of the factory. 

“Little one,” her voice was more soothing than a thousand ice packs. “Come with me; let me nourish you back to health.” 

Spring weakly looked up at her, his body trembling in pain. He couldn’t form words as the white fire that burned the factory blinded his sight. He reached out his hand, trembling. “B-Brother…” 

“Spring!Papyrus, will be alright. Come with me; you are being rescued and set free.” 

Spring felt her hands wrap around him as she hoisted him up over her shoulder. He didn’t resist as he watched more whippers being reduced to ash. Something about the sight eased his mind, as if they were getting what they deserved. 

The goat climbed up onto the large dragon, saddling it as if she rode it. She held Spring in front next to the other little guy. “Hold on,” she commanded before taking the reigns and flying off. 

Spring watched as the factory went out of sight, getting smaller and smaller as the dragon ascended into the sky he had never seen. His eyes widened in wonder, resting on the beauty of the world before him. The sun greeted him willingly, and suddenly, his soul felt lighter and more at ease. 

Spring had felt hope. 

His hands trembled as he held onto a lower part of the reigns. It took a moment for him to process what was happening, but the cool air felt so good against his skin, he never wanted to leave it. He turned his gaze to the other small skeleton in front of him. The little guy had bruises and thin, snowflake eyes. He was staring right back at Spring the entire time the dragon flew off into the air under the cover of the clouds. He nodded slowly. “Greetings.” 

Spring stared back at him in awe, as if he were looking at himself in a mirror, but a different version of him. Everything was so new, he didn’t know how to process anything that was going on. 

But that didn’t stop him from being polite. His hand trembled as he lifted it in greeting. 

“H-Hello…”

[handeaux]

What Happened To All The Awnings That Once Graced Cincinnati’s Buildings?

In those optimistic days following the Second World War, suburbs sprouted like mushrooms across the United States, and each little tract house was wired for all the latest electrical appliances. Folk singer Malvina Reynolds called them “ticky-tacky.” Realtors called them “smart houses.”

Fact was, those standardized and electrified suburbs discarded centuries of architectural wisdom. Far from being “smart,” post-war housing consisted of stupid houses forced to rely on energy-gobbling contraptions to make up for ignorant design.

Wander through some of Cincinnati’s pre-war neighborhoods and you will see many features that made older homes easier to heat and, especially, to cool. It is ironic that current occupants of these venerable houses now rely on heavy-duty air conditioners to do the job the house was designed to perform passively. You will see balconies, wide roof overhangs, vents, shutters, thick masonry walls, high ceilings, transom windows and – if they haven’t been removed – mounting brackets for awnings.

All of these features worked together to turn old houses into fairly efficient cooling machines. Awnings and shade trees effectively lowered the temperature of air entering the house by as much as 15 degrees Fahrenheit. Interior structures like transoms, high ceilings, vents and stairwells funneled hotter air up into the attic where it escaped through carefully aligned windows.

Residents back then knew how to adjust the interior for maximum airflow during the summer and for maximum heat retention during the winter. Today, with a bulky air-conditioner whining in the side yard, the passer-by sees that the attic window is sealed shut, transoms locked tight or even plastered over for privacy and nothing left of the awnings except, perhaps, some unused brackets alongside the windows.

Awnings used to be a big deal in Cincinnati. Like the daffodils, awnings billowed out in the spring and disappeared as autumn settled on the town. There were so many companies who installed your awnings in the spring and stored your awnings over the winter that newspapers regularly ran warnings about awnings scams. Here’s the Cincinnati Post [26 October 1944]:

“Home owners having contracts with established awning firms for removal and storage of awnings were warned Thursday by the Better Business Bureau to look out for the ‘awning man.’ Victor H. Nyborg, general manager, says the ‘awning man’ is calling at homes where awnings are still up and, claiming to represent the awning company, removes them from windows at exorbitant fees. He leaves after collecting, claiming that a truck will call for the awnings.”

A drawback to traditional awnings was the need to replace them on a regular basis. No matter how well-made or how carefully treated, canvas aged rapidly under the onslaught of summer sun and rain. It appears that seven or eight years was a really long life for canvas awnings, although some editorialists saw replacement as an opportunity to spruce up your house with the latest fashions. The Enquirer [7 May 1931] certainly thought so:

“Retire those drab and faded veterans of last year. Away with them. Up with gay and cheerful awnings that outdo the sun for brightness. That’s right. Go in for spirited stripes. Wide stripes and narrow stripes. Think nothing of combining five, ten or a whole rainbow of colors. Start with the porch. That’s where you want cool shade on sunshiny afternoons. And put an awning on guard at every window where the sun gets too bold and bright.”

As implied by the directions above, awnings not only cooled the house but helped preserve rugs and furniture from the deteriorating rays of the sun. Interior designers reminded homeowners that, although awnings weren’t cheap, their shade saved money in the long run by shielding your draperies and carpets from solar abuse. Even etiquette doyen Emily Post [Enquirer 9 May 1937] got into the act, counseling a young couple on a budget to invest in awnings:

“The popularity of Venetian blinds is not hard to understand. But they do not keep the sun from turning your window panes into heaters. If your windows are not equipped with either outside shutters or awnings, then, if I were you, I would spend my first amount on awnings.”

It is difficult to disagree with the household designers who promoted the idea that awnings just made your house look cooler – in both senses of that word. Quoting the Architects Small House Service Bureau, the Enquirer [8 July 1934] was exuberantly in favor of awnings:

“With their touch of gaiety awnings do perhaps more than anything else to dress up the house. They make the low white cottage more charming, give the Spanish house the dash of color it needs, change the ‘just plain house’ into something a little smarter and more homelike.”

Don’t get the impression that awnings only performed their cooling duty out in the suburbs. Multi-story downtown buildings blossomed with awnings in the spring, not only at street level, where great sidewalk-spanning shelters shielded wares on show in the display widows from sunlight, but in the upper floors as well, where offices and apartments sheltered under smaller canvas awnings. As merchants began dispensing with awnings in the late 1940s, the Enquirer [15 September 1948] reminded readers that awnings were not only sunshades and characteristically harrumphed:

“Unless a building has some form of overhanging cornice, the provision of awnings for the protection of pedestrians on rainy days is a nice, even if a wholly unnecessary, gesture. We dare say that these rain canopies are noted with some appreciation (even though it may not be expressed) by all who don’t care to get wet in a sudden shower – and that includes just about everyone.”

Eventually, canvas awnings gave way to aluminum versions which looked tacky and tainted the whole concept with a low-rent vibe. Awnings fell out of fashion and homeowners turned to their air-conditioners for relief in the summer.

During the mid-1970s energy crisis, awnings enjoyed a minor comeback, as discovered by the Post’s Si Cornell [24 February 1977] when he visited with the folks at Queen City Awning on Eighth Street. Bob Weingartner, assistant manager, told Cornell that awnings could reduce air-conditioning costs by as much as 77 percent. Cornell waxed nostalgic about the orange awnings with white trim that graced his home as a child, and Weingartner noted that his newest customers were asking for the same colors they remembered as children.

[of-tatooine]

where it truly lies. | chapter i - prologue

revelations came early to the youngling, if only he knew.

From the very moment the twin suns’ pink and orange hues illuminated your face, a young Anakin knew.

It was the kind of feeling that lit a gentle fire within the soul, the origins of which unbeknownst to the wandering yet growing minds of children. The kind of feeling so grand it engulfed his very being from within. A sentiment, sense of belonging and excitement he did not yet know how to describe, but oh, could he feel it.

It made his heart falter, skip a small beat. It made his baby blues sparkle internally, rays reflecting out into the world of chaos around him with a fresh breath of happiness. His hands were just a bit faster, just a tiny bit more nimble as he worked with spare droid parts at his master’s shop.

He knew.

Just like he knew he would see the suns rise again. That he would see his mother that night with open arms and heart, beckoning him in to share a meal.

Like he knew, from the bottom of his heart, that he would be free one day, his family slaves to no one.

If only you knew.

A merely nine year old boy, albeit an exceptionally wise one, but just a little boy, knew he loved you.

How could he? How could a small boy know about love, let alone feel it?

That must have been love, right? The kind he heard whispers and stories of on the streets of Tatooine. The feeling that made all the beautiful things in this world appear - hugs, kisses on the cheek. Blue skies shining back at him. The sparkles on his red and orange speeder. The gentle beeping sounds of a functioning droid.

A dreamland full of water and beautiful trees adorned in all shades of green, the ones that existed in the better half of his dreams.

Love was happiness to him. The kind that made him laugh and smile even after being exhausted all day. Ever since you beamed into the shop looking for some scrap sensors to fix your passion project, it had been nothing but happiness when you were around, so much so that he lately did not mind his master’s ordering around.

He wanted nothing more to understand that little gentle light within him, to make sure it never disappeared from his life.

He wanted to find a way to keep the twin suns from setting. That would make it daylight forever, allowing you to stay with him.

That would convince your parents to let you stay out with him just a bit longer. Anakin was very confident that he could make that work, even if it took him forever.

He would not let go.

The gentle hum of buzzing machinery and a certain girl whispering a shallow profanity after a series of mechanical thuds took him out of his thoughts and back to reality of the desert.

Back to the sand that kept hitting his skin no matter how much he covered.

“Do you have it yet?”

“Almost,” came your voice from a bit afar in the scrapyard, knee deep in all the spare parts, screws, scrapped metal of all sorts around Watto’s shop. His master being gone to the outpost to scour for his necessities meant a certain relief, finally being able to work on something a bit more fun. A few more broken rotors and springs thrown out from the pile followed by an “aha!”, you quipped in excitement to the newly discovered part.

The slightly rusty body of the partially disassembled protocol droid stared at him, waiting to be granted life. With a clear intention in mind, the little Anakin had worked on the droid whenever his master’s watchful eyes were not all over him, and sometimes overtime after he was dismissed. Working on the manmade creature also gave him an excuse to tinker with you.

He had worked hard to dig for spare parts in the vast scrapyard, his talented fingers tightening each bolt and screw that connected the limbs together, the network of wires originating from the motherboard to each corner of the machine to grant energy to the droid when all parts were tied together.

Up until then, he had been missing the servomotor, if not the most crucial part of it all. He had been searching for it for the better half of a week now, and had requested your assistance as a second pair of eyes and hands.

How else was the protocol droid supposed to move to help protect his mother, if not for the motor?

The smile stretching your lips was contagious as your running legs carried you  towards a waiting blond boy, clutching the motor tightly in your small hands as you skipped occasionally to avoid the leftover parts, sand flying around under your boots with each stride taken. An excitement ran through Anakin, as he readied the metal opening to, almost ceremoniously, tie the missing piece altogether.

“Let’s do this.”

Sounds of metal clinks, wires strapped to their place, a few huffs following the cutter as the motor clicked into it’s place. The moment he had been waiting for for a while now, as he made sure to securely attach all the mechanical limbs and double check the circuits. With his heart thumping and you crouching next to him, he hit the switch.

He shot a smile mixed in with a laugh, catching your eyes with the biggest joy when he heard the whirl, focusing back when the droid’s eyes lit up a calm yellow, head turning with a screeching sound - but moving nonetheless.

The two little troublemakers found themselves laughing with content, celebrating their creation. Now, his mother had someone to help protect her against the heat, even if it required a bit more maintenance, polish and oil.

Your eyes found Anakin’s light blue ones, partially shaded under the fabric of the tent, yet the sparkles in them were enough to light the galaxy.

“You will do great things, Ani.”

The words flowed out as if they were the most natural. You always had meant everything you said to him, it made him believe that yes, one day, he would indeed do great things.

To that, he responded with a wide smile, laced with a child’s innocence and pure hope.

While he believed your words, he found himself only hoping for them to become true if it meant seeing you smile.

[senku-ishigami-official]

Working on a motorcycle conversion.

Base frame’s from a pre-petrification dirt bike, 125cc, semi-intact engine. Had to machine new valve springs from scrap steel—got close to factory tension. Air filter’s homemade, obviously.

Using braided copper for most of the wiring, grounded through the frame.

Ignition's solid, throttle response is tight, but I’m getting unstable torque when shifting up from second to third.

Feels like either the chain tension's fluctuating or something’s off in the gear ratio—it shouldn’t be jumping that much unless I misaligned the rear sprocket.

I could jury-rig a tensioner, but figured i’d ask: What would you do?

(not because i’m stuck. just comparing notes.)

(( @chemicallydisinclinedd ))

If you don't already have four cylinders, that would be my first move. Made that mistake with the steam gorilla and I won't be making it again. See if the rear sprocket is loose, and if it is, just move the wheel. I'd tighten the hub, too. Add the tensioner if it seems like it might be necessary -- I'd only do that if the slack is more than an inch after checking the sprocket.

Once that's all done, I personally would take my lab partner for a joyride just to test it out. I'll be there soon with helmets 🫶