#Green Coolant

[coldpenguintaco]

Global Electric Vehicle Fluids Market Forecast to 2030: Engine Oil and Coolants Lead Product Demand

The Electric Vehicle Fluids market is projected to reach USD 8,644 million by 2030, at a CAGR of 31.2% from USD 749 million in 2021. The major factor driving the demand for electric vehicle fluids is an increase in electric vehicle production. With the growing concern over tailpipe emissions and their harmful effects on the environment, stringent standards for carbon dioxide and pollutants such…

[prosourcediesel]

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[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 4 (Prostitution)

Kink: Prostitution

Pairing: Male!Android x GN!Reader

Other Kinks: Deepthroating, Cum Swallowing

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1047 words

Kinktober Masterlist

"Wow, it's so soft." Axel half-whispers, warm digits massaging your ass cheeks. His modulated voice is full of awe, so enraptured by the feel of flesh and muscle. Since coming to this planet where 90% of the populace are androids, cybers or other kinds of techno-life, this was a reaction you were getting used to.

Especially when it comes to your clients.

"You like?" You purr, wiggling your hops in his face. The audible whirr of his cooling fans kicking on makes you giggle.

"Y-yeah, I do." Axel mumbles, still in awe of the jiggling flesh. He gives your ass a timid slap, cooing at the recoil.

Axel was shaping up to be one of your favorite clients. He'd walked into his appointment, face flushed blue with coolant and stuttering out an introduction. He had muttered out that it was his first time with an organic, which you had already assumed but pretended to be shocked anyway. Most of your customers requested you because of the novelty of your fleshy body; you'd grown used to several minutes of petting and observation before they eventually asked you to spread open.

But Axel had been different. He had asked your name, asked if the way he touched you was okay. Even the way he fondled you felt different. It wasn't detached fascination, it was a desperate awe. He'd whispered sweet things about your body, admired your specific stretch marks, your dimples, and your skin's imperfections.

You think you'll give him your card after this session. It’s reserved for your most well-behaved, respectful clients.

But for now you have a job to do, and you want to show Axel all the things your fleshy body can do.

You flip around, pulling Axel into a hug. He squeaks, not unlike an old computer mouse, but quickly sinks into your embrace. He rubs his face into your warm skin, moaning at the sensation. Just a kiss to the cheek has him shuddering with a moan.

"Let me make you feel good, baby." You whisper in his audial port, Axel responding with an eager nod. His body readily complies as you push him back on the bed, slotting in between his legs. The sleek wiring pulses green and blue in between his segmented joins, flaring as you trace your fingers down them. It's adorable.

His modesty player is buzzing, whirring machinery underneath betraying how eager he is, if you couldn't already tell from his shaky whines and stuttered words.

"W-what are you-" Axel whispers, caught in a moan when you press another kiss to the plate, his hips jerking upwards. "Ooh, do that again, please."

"I can do you one better, handsome." Your hand caresses the seam of his plate and Axel is quick to let it pop open, sliding to reveal a pulsing phallus. It drips with a neon green lubricant, more like a vibrator in shape than a human penis. It also has several bumpy nodes, which only excites you for later.

Wasting no time, you lick up his shaft, paying special attention to those nodes, wondering how sensitive they are. Axel throws his head back with a breathless whine.

"O-oh, stars. That feels good." His voice catches with another moan as your hand wraps around the base of his shaft and squeezes. More neon lubricant gushes out of the slit at the top, which you lap up eagerly.

Yum, lemon-lime flavored.

You suck at the eager slit some more, Axels flailing hands grasping at your shoulder and neck, gently pulling your mouth closer, chasing tbe high.

"Your mouth...it's incredible!" Axel yelps. His whimpering voice sends a shiver down your spine.

You're definitely giving him your card after this.

"Your tongue, your lips, I've never felt anything like it. It's amazing."

"Hmm, and how about this?"

Before Axel can even mutter a "Huh?" you have him half-down your throat, cheeks sucked in. His voice processor glitches as he groans, those eager digits digging into your skin. "Oh stars!" He shouts as your tongue lathers around the shaft, slowly moving your head up and down.

He's a little too thick at the base for you to properly deep throat him, but you don't need to. You can see his wires pulsing in your peripheral, hear his pants and moans, and can taste the excess lubricant bubbling to the top. Axel grows bold enough to hold onto your cheek and fuck into your louth, although quite gently.

"I think-" Axel stutters, hips still humping into your throat, "I think I'm close."

You humm, the buzz around his shaft making his thrusts falter. Your lips pop off the top of his member for a second, quickly replaced by your hand. Licking excess fluid off your lips, you look Axel right in the eye.

"Oh yeah? Where do you want to come? Down my throat?" Axel nods, voice chip struggling to form words amidst his groans. It makes you smirk, giving one long lick up his phallus before deep throating him again. You set a more moderate pace, urging him to climax.

"Oh stars, ohh-" Axel's voice, even glitchy, is melodic. He sound so sweet, coming undone below you. "S-shit!" His chip distorts the audio, wires pulsing a bright flash as hot streams of lubricant shoot down your throat. It's a little sour, but also quite sweet.

You slowly let Axel out of your mouth, savoring the flavor of his phallus as you do. The running of his cooling fans reminds you of a kitchen vent, his phallus slowly sinking back into his modesty place for a quick recharge.

You climb up Axel's body, giving him gentle kisses as you do. He readily nuzzles into your skin, despite his systems already warning that he might overheat.

"That was....fantastic" Axel whispers.

The sheer reverence in his voice makes you giggle, pecking again at his jaw.

"Well, I'm not sure how long it will take to recharge but..." You run a finger up his wiring, batting your eyelashes. "We still have another hour left in our session. If you'd like to see some of the other things I can do."

Despite the warnings in his processor, despite the way his modesty plate slowly beeps as he lets it open again, Axel is eager.

"Yes please."

[cipheramnesia]

I keep thinking about a robot girl with an overtaxed power source and overclocked processor, so she's constantly got coolant pumped in throughout her body. She's wrapped up in rubber tubes that carry bright green fluid in and out of her, which have her bound up under the constant stimulation outside and inside. Held in place by the lengths of twisted rubber, with the feel of it around her body, and fluid sluicing over all her ports. She can even feel it inside herself, the ebb and flow of her components heating up then cooled by each pump.

[abalidoth]

Replanting (Chapter 1)

[read on ao3]

When you feel the missile clip the corner of your mech's leg joint, you know it's over.

It feels like a line of white fire directly to your brain; your pain and the mech's mingling. But pain is nothing, pain is your every day. It's the immobility that terrifies you. Your mech knows before you do that the leg won't work, can't carry you back to base.

They won't send a field repair team out this far, not into enemy territory. Not even for the material outlay of the mech. You have no illusions of what would happen to you if they had to extract, but at least it would be fine, given a new pilot and allowed to keep doing its duty.

Don't think like that, it sends to you. I don't want another pilot.

You struggle a few dozen meters until the residual coolant in the leg motivators gives out and the intractable hand of physics pulls your mech to its knees. A cloud of dust billows up around you and you give up the rest of the way, mech lying on its side amid the baked earth and the scrubby bushes.

Creosote bush, the mech says. Didn't know it grew this far north.

You know it's just trying to keep you from panicking. It's not working -- you can feel your heart racing, the connection gel around you contracting in an autonomic effort to keep you from thrashing in the cockpit. Worst of all, your handler's ever present voice in your ear has gone silent.

A pilot's job is to keep its mech moving. No more and no less. You know there's no real affection from your handler, that her ministrations are part of the system, but you can't think about that sudden abandonment without a pang of grief. She should be there, she should always be there, but now there's nothing. Silence and static.

That feeling gives you a rush of adrenaline, coarser and hotter than the artificial flush the mech gives when you complete an objective, purely a product of your own withered adrenal glands. You have to get back you have to get back. You struggle to your knees, planting the mech's hands in the caliche like anchors and shoving so hard you feel something pop. (In you? In the mech? Is there a difference?)

You make it another hundred meters before you fall again, and the Caskie mech finds you, hitting you with an EMP before you can take them down with you. It lands with a jumpjet hiss in your sightline, so you're treated to the view of the alien-looking mech opening its canopy wide, two pilots getting out of the crude-looking mechanical cockpit.

---

They salvage the mech with you in it.

The pilots didn't seem to know what to do with you; you could hear from your outboard sensors that they were discussing in that strange, fluid accent how to get you out without killing you.

(You don't understand why that matters.)

Eventually, they just called for reinforcements; three heavy carriers showed up some indeterminate amount of time later. They haul your mech, pilot included, through the air on a frankly ridiculous web of heavy cables. You see the desert fade to green, canals threading through the land like veins, as you pass from the disputed zone into Union territory.

Your mech keeps a constant stream of commentary, talking about the plants that it sees, pointing out where old semi-arid forests have been restored. Its voice across the neural tunnel holds false cheer, picking up whenever you start panicking, but the enthusiasm is genuine.

Finally the carriers land at a base. It looks much like Conclave military architecture, concrete in utilitarian blocks, but you can see shining glass and chrome off in the distance, a city. They must want to keep you a ways away from civilians. You suppose that's fair.

They land you in an empty mech bay. It’s been cleared out hastily – you can see the Union mech that used to reside there off to the side, plugged into an aux power array. Your mech is not the right size, not the right shape, but a gaggle of mechanics come out anyway. They locked a restraining clamp on you at some point so you can't move, can't fight. Still, the mechanics move around you warily, like you'll snap and take them all out at any moment.

You would, in a heartbeat. Not just to get the euphoric response, but to quiet the anxiety, the feeling that you're entering a world where you don't have the tools to survive. But you can't, and a quiet part of you (or the mech) is relieved at that.

They strip your mech of all its weaponry, a harsh and hasty disassembly. You feel each removal sharply. Not physically -- mercifully, the mech has dialed down the haptic connection so it's left to suffer alone -- but in loss of potential, the closing of options. 

Finally, when everything is done and your mech is defenseless (other than being a fifteen ton vehicle) a tall woman in a labcoat comes out, flanked by guards with red cross emblems on their sleeves.

"Hello," she says. Her voice is formal, neutral. Lower than you expected, with just a hint of that singsong Cascadian accent. "Can you hear me? Or see me? We have sensitive solid-conductance microphones on the outside of your mech so we can hear you if you speak."

You know the trainings. A pilot is part of the system, part of the Conclave war engine, and cogs don't speak. Your tongue flicks idly against the suicide capsule in your back left molar. You go to press in on it.

You feel something, like a hand, guiding you away. A great wave of fear washes over you, and you know it's not yours.

Please. No.

You stop. Think a moment. 

"Hhhhh."

It's been a while since you've spoken. Just whispers in the dark with your handler, words carrying neither voice nor meaning. Your throat is dry, and you feel for a moment like it's not there. (Why would a mech have a throat?) You clear it, and try again.

"Yes. I can hear you."

She nods. "Good. I'm Dr. Mia Crane. I'm required by Cascadian Union treaty to inform you that as a prisoner of war, you have rights including food, shelter, protection from torture, and the right to ask about your other rights." She adjusts her round framed glasses. "I'm required by basic hospitality to ask you your name."

You pause. You know what names are, of course. Your handler's name is Rebecca. But that's not something pilots have. "I, uh. No?"

She blinks, a little taken aback. "Okay, well, we can work on that. Do you at least acknowledge your rights as a prisoner of war?"

This isn't going to end until you acknowledge, you feel, so you just say "Yes."

"Okay. Is there anything we need to know before we get you out of there?"

"I don't want out," you say. Your throat tightens.

You can't stay in me forever. It's okay. You'll find a way back to me.

You hear a hissing sound, and the low, sick gurgle of the connection gel draining out of your suit. Before you understand what's happening, the canopy drops open and you stagger out of the mech onto the diamond-patterned steel catwalk.

The sharp edge of disconnection, the sudden hole where there should be something inside you, keeps you off your feet. You stagger to one knee, felled as surely by shock as you had been by the missile.

The guards rush over to you and help you up. You want to fight them off but your muscles are jelly. Your head hurts.

Dr. Crane looks you over. You know she's not your handler, but you reach for the familiarity anyway, half expecting the usual routine, the ministrations that get lost in the foggy haze of post-battle euphoria. If your arms weren't being held for your own stability, you'd start opening your suit.

Instead she shines a light in your eyes and asks you to stick out your tongue, making notes on a clipboard as she goes. She puts a strip of fabric around your arm and it gets tight for a moment. "Elevated heart rate and systolic pressure, pupil dilation is beyond what I consider normal."

Your heart hammers in your ears. The smells around you -- the saccharine sweet of connection gel, your own body, something undefinable coming off the doctor, heighten to a nauseating strength. Your head hurts. "Are you going to..." You swallow. "Do you have the syringe?"

Dr. Crane tilts her head. "The syringe?"

"When the..." How do you explain this? You haven't had to explain any of this, people just know what to do. "When I'm done. Rebecca, she has the syringe, it's blue, and."

"Do you know what's in it?" she asks, gently. Too gently. The words are too soft, they smother you, it's too hard to breathe.

Your head hurts. The lights beat down.

"No, but it... she... always..."

Your head hurts.

Your head hu--

---

There are voices.

At first you don't care. You just want to go back to sleep. But there's something wrong with your bed, it's too soft. And the voices don't sound right -- that soft lilt, one you've only recently heard.

"Patient has been stable for six hours. Their heartrate is still a little funny, and I'm not sure this godawful cocktail of tramadol, modafinil, and tricyclics we pulled out of their tox panel is good for anything other than keeping them from dying of withdrawal, but we should be seeing them awake soon."

"Thanks, Dr. Chen." You recognize this voice, soft and husky -- it's Dr. Crane. "Have you figured out the... um. Mortality problem?"

"Part of it is that stimulant cocktail, I'm sure -- we haven't had the chance to pull in a full Conclave mech with pilot intact, and our field teams don't have the tools to stabilize someone as quickly as we were able to do here. But the most likely reason... false molar full of tetrodotoxin. We made sure to extract it. Carefully."

You probe the back of your mouth with a sluggish tongue. There's still a tooth there, but it feels strange. The one that had been there was artificial already, of course, but this one is much smoother, more like the rest of your teeth. Something lightens within you -- you've lost an option, sure, but maybe you were never good with options.

"Fuck," Dr. Crane says quietly. 

"That's not all," Dr. Chen says. "There's extensive neural grafts consistent with the autopsies we've performed, but... there's something weird going on with the brain activity scan. I'm not sure what the Conclave is doing to their people, but it's scary."

"Nnn. 'M not," you say.

There's a rustling around your bed. You open your eyes and blink against the sharp light a few times, and eventually the face of Dr. Crane comes into focus.

"Hey," she says. "Glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"

You have no idea how to deal with this. Never expected to be in a hospital room of all things, being treated like valuable materiel instead of ammunition. So instead of answering her question, you just repeat your previous statement. "I'm not. Person."

She gives you a look you don't really know how to read. You never had to get all that good at reading faces, but you suspect this one might be hard even if you did.

"...well. Anyway." Dr. Crane clears her throat. "You had a medical emergency when you left your mech. You mentioned something about a syringe? I assume that's part of your post-operation routine? We've got you stable now. We're going to give you about another day to rest up before we bring you in for questioning."

"Questioning?"

"You're the only Conclave pilot we've brought in alive," she says, with a twist of her mouth. "It's damn near impossible to piece together any information about Conclave technology and hierarchy. I should know -- I'm the Union's top academic expert in Conclave culture and I always feel like I'm flying blind."

That was... a lot. You just nod.

"So you said something about... not having a name? Do you have something you'd like to be called? I know you're technically a prisoner, but you're safe here. People will respect what you say you are."

She says that last part with a lot of emphasis, a particular gravity to the words, but you're not sure why. "No."

"Okay. Designation number?"

"They re-assign our numbers every week so we don't get attached to them," you say.

She says a word under her breath that you don't know, other than that your handler says it when she gets mad.

"Alright." Dr. Crane takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. "How about I just call you "Pilot" for now?"

That's what you are, and you don't see why that's so difficult, but at least this line of questioning seems to be over when you answer yes. She promises to check on you in a while, and leaves.

---

You dream about vines.

They're all over you. You haven't seen many vines up close -- there was sparse ivy on the back of one hangar for a little while before Maintenance took care of it. But you feel you know these.

They aren't strangling you. It almost feels like a caress, like the flight suit, like Rebecca's post combat care, but not quite any of those. It's pleasant. Cool rather than warm, and calming.

There is intense pain in your arms and legs, but it doesn't bother you. It's like someone is telling you that your limbs are being shredded, but the pain isn't getting through to the part of you that cares. It's just another sensation, less pleasant than the vines but certainly not bad.

You feel things you can't explain. A name, a pull in a direction that's not physical, feelings and sounds beyond your ability to parse. They build to a crescendo, and you wake with a shout. But at the edges of your awareness, the green is still there.

---

The next morning, you're herded into a shower stall with a clean jumpsuit, a washcloth, and a bar of soap. You clean yourself off as well as you can, given the circumstances. The soap has a soft smell to it, and no grit. It almost doesn't feel like it's cleaning you at all, without the scratches.

You knock on the stall door once you're finished dressing, and the door slides back. In addition to the two guards, Dr. Crane is there. She's wearing the same white coat, but her hair is pulled back, and she looks even more tired.

Still, she manages a slight smile. "Pilot. Did you sleep well?"

"No," you say.

"Ah. Well, hopefully we can help with that tonight. In the meantime I have some questions for you."

You follow her through a maze of white corridors, lit with skylights. Your sense of direction was never the best (your mech always took care of that, you think with a twist in your gut.) You wouldn't be able to find your way back if you needed to.

She leads you to a room with two chairs, both of them plush and soft. You feel like you're sinking into it; she looks like she's perched on hers. She balances her clipboard on her knees and starts in eagerly on the questions.

There's a part of you that feels you should shut up, refuse to answer, let them finish the work they didn't let your false tooth start. But one handler's as good as another. You're a weapon, and weapons know no loyalty. So you answer -- even when the questions don't make sense, or aren't about obvious things, or are about things you've never been allowed to see.

The reactions don't really make sense to you either. You talk about some of your worst missions, and she seems sad but like she knew what was coming; you talk about your handler, and she's gripping her clipboard so hard her fingers go pale. You stop trying to understand what's going on, and try to hit the same state of unconscious action that you do on a sortie. Question, response. Question, response.

There are a few about your accommodations. They're fine, of course. You have little standard for comparison, and if she asks if you need anything else, you feel she won't leave you alone with a "no," so you ask for books. Rebecca was always reading when you were doing synch tests.

After what feels like the whole day, Dr. Crane lets you go. She doesn't ask you any questions about the haze of green starting to fade in around the corners of your vision when your mind drifts, so you don't volunteer any information.

---

The next day's meal comes with a couple of books, and Dr. Crane seems determined to find you the right reading material because every meal tray thereafter has more. There's a shelf in your room for the purpose. It was a ruse at first, but it is genuinely a better way of spending your time then staring at the wall.

There's more questions, along with a handful of medical tests, supervised by Dr. Chen. Dr. Chen's questions are even stranger than Dr. Crane's, but at least they seem satisfied with the answers given by the scans and blood draws.

A few days pass until you get a good enough feeling of the layout of the facility to know which direction the hangar is in. You occasionally see Caskie pilots in groups of twos and threes, talking and joking with each other. No handlers, no augments that you can see -- if you hadn't seen people in those same outfits walk out of their primitive looking mechs in the desert, you wouldn't believe that they were pilots at all.

All of them are coming and going in the same direction, and it's a direction that Doctor Crane and your guards never take you. So naturally, the first chance you get when both of your escorts are distracted and you have the chance, you peel off that direction and start running.

Your augments sing as you stretch your legs. They’re not like infantry augments (or so you’ve heard) and they don’t have auxiliary power – you can feel them burning away your body’s energy, energy that would normally be supplied by your mech. But your desperation fuels them just as much as your calories do, and the initial burst of speed and agility is all you need.

The facility is confusing as always, but you spot a sign that says HANGAR and get reoriented. Startled cries fly in your wake, doctors and workers and pilots confused at your frenzied speed. Something that might be an alarm and might just be lighting flashes at the corner of your vision, nearly obscured by the green.

You get lucky, and a mechanic is coming through the secured door at the checkpoint at the same time you arrive. You take advantage of her confusion and duck underneath her outstretched arm, through the door and out into the hangar bay.

It's not hard to find your mech. You remember the layout from your brief spell of consciousness after arrival, the way your mech looked so different from the rest and didn't quite fit into its space.

You pull up to a stop, wheezing from exertion, and look at it with dismay.

Your mech has been dismembered, all four limbs strewn about the bay hooked up to various pieces of testing equipment. The body itself is on a riser jack, slightly askew like there wasn't the right connector to fit it, hooked up by thick cables and patched-together connectors to the exposed limb contacts. The canopy stands open, the inside unlit but visibly cleaned of leftover connection gel.

The sight makes you sick. You hold it down, but barely; but the nausea makes it hard for you to resist when a burly mechanic comes up behind you and wrestles you to the floor.

You're not sure you would have, anyway.

By the time Dr. Crane has shown up, your face is wet with tears and snot, and your breath comes only with sobs. You're still being pinned to the ground by a mechanic, but she's not putting her full weight into it. She more or less let go when you started crying.

Dr. Crane pushes through the crowd of onlooking mechanics and kneels down in front of you. "Are you all right?" she asks.

At first, you think she's addressing the mechanic; it would be such an incongruous question to a pilot about to be terminated for insubordination. After a silence disproves that theory, you shake your head and gesture with one semi-restrained arm to the mech. "No."

"I'm sorry, pilot," she says, "but you are still a prisoner. I'm going to request the board not to restrict your access for this, given that you didn't really hurt anything -- and I'm sure they'll listen to me -- but you surely didn't think you could just get back in your mech and run away?"

"No," you say again, frustration at your own inadequate words prompting a fresh fall of tears. "It's... you're hurting it, you're..."

Things click together, things that you've always known. Feelings shared through the neural tunnel, deeply held beliefs that couldn't be kept from a pilot. You understand, now, what your mech was trying to tell you all along.

"You're hurting her."

Dr. Crane looks from you, to your mech, back to you. She goes pale.

"Are you telling me," she says quietly, "that there's an AI in your mech? A sentient AI?"

You nod. It's too late to lie, now. To protect her. The green in your vision threatens to overwhelm you. You're sorry, so, so sorry...

"A sentient AI that... we have been effectively torturing for four days. Fuck." She takes her glasses off, buries her face in her hands for a moment. "I can't believe that didn't come up during questioning."

It could have. You had avoided the topic, because you were afraid of this happening -- your greater part, torn away and experimented on because you couldn't keep her safe. You had always heard that the Union had strange beliefs about machine minds.

Dr. Crane looks around to some of the mechanics. "Anyone who was working on this mech -- did you have any idea there was a sentient AI? Any anomalous readings?"

"Some anomalies came up in the report that indicated synaptic activity in the post-0.4 Turing level," says one mechanic, nervously playing with their hair. "But everything about Conclave tech is anomalous. Kinda got buried in all the other weirdness."

"Okay." Dr. Crane sighs. "Can we get some input/output hooked up to her, please? And give her her limbs back."

One of the guards flanking her frowns. "I don't think that's a good--"

"She's a prisoner of war, Ortega. Pretty sure removing a sapient being's body parts is against something in the codes. Not to mention the First Principle."

Ortega sighs, and waves some mechanics over.

---

They don't know what connection gel is, but it doesn't matter. The sensation of her against your skin is important, but not as important as just reestablishing the connection.

Dr. Crane apparently spots your longing glances towards your mech, and takes you by the arm. When you flinch back, she holds her hands up in a defensive posture. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just going to guide you over there again."

There's a lot of activity going on in the hangar, between the mechanics re-arming your mech and the other pilots getting suited up to react in case she tries to start killing people. (You don't think she's going to, but you suppose you can't blame them too much.) It would be a shame if your reunion with your mech got postponed because you got beaned in the head by an inattentive mechanic carrying a crysteel strut, so you offer your arm to Dr. Crane again and she guides you through.

You don't want to take too long, but you're only going to get to do this once. You run your hand over the lip where the canopy seats into the body, feel the soft seal and the framework beneath, then lift yourself up over and inside the cockpit.

There's no gel, so you can't hear her voice right away, but you know what to do. Years of drilling guide your hand to the hidden compartment with the emergency connection pads. It falls open with a clunk, the ribbon cables and connection pads jutting out in a fall like vines. One on either temple, one on either side of the chest, one on the back of each trembling hand. You're probably being watched, stared at as you have been since you broke into this hangar, but you don't care. She's here.

Hello, love.

You shudder, come apart, not in a procedural way like with your handler but in a form that shoots through to the very core of you. Untouched, but undone. You have no words for her, but you know she can feel your relief and your joy. You crumple, weeping, and run your hands over the familiar inside of the cockpit.

The green in your vision doesn’t go away, but it recontextualizes. It’s her. It’s the part of her that lives in you, a fragment within a fragment.

It's a little while, just basking in the connection, before you realize you've fallen in an uncomfortable position. Your skin, your joints, protesting their treatment. You reorganize yourself, pull yourself from the connection just long enough to get there. 

They've hooked a set of speakers up to her ports. They come to life with a spiky flare of static as she finds her voice.

"Hello," she says. You can feel her voice from inside and outside, through the tunnel and through the skin of the mech. "I am a Conclave of God Armored Forces Samson-B Light Interdiction Unit, but I would prefer if you called me Acacia."

[fazedlight]

Dread (rewriting of Lena’s phantom ordeal in Fear Knot)

Coolant leak error?, Lena thought, reading the screen. “Let me see if the hardware needs repairing,” she said, unfastening her seatbelt and passing Nia to hop onto the elevator.

Her first hint that something was wrong was on the floor of the machine room. As she stepped over a puddle, her mind caught on something. The floor was wet - not with neon green coolant, but water, in a part of the ship where no water piping ran. 

She stepped towards one of the wheels on the wall, checking that the flow was open, that the gauge showed appropriate pressure. There’s no leak, Lena thought, confused. Then what’s causing the-

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

Lena spun around, eyes darting to the familiar voice, lost over decades. A pale dead figure, covered in water and kelp, stared back at her - with cold, soulless eyes that sunk back into her skull. “Mother?” Lena said, trembling.

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

“I-” Lena was struggling to breathe, as her mother stepped closer, a heavy sloshing of her dress running across the ground. “I- I don’t know why-”

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

“I’m sorry,” Lena said, a small part of her mind screaming this isn’t real, but dread flooded the thought out. “I didn’t want- I just couldn’t move-”

But to Lena’s horror, her mother shifted - a translucent creature emerging from a dead woman's body, made of water and shimmers of light. A creature, Lena thought, her eyes wide. An alien creature of some sort.

She ran.

She darted around the being as its rumbling snarl reverberated through the walls. Lena yanked the door open, bolting down the hall, trying to shake off the unexpected grief of seeing her mother again. A kelpie? A shapeshifter of some sort, her mind thought, racing towards the mainroom. “I need help,” Lena yelled into the comms, yanking a second door open, “I need-”

No, Lena’s mind screamed, coming across the surreal scene before her. Please, no…

Brainy. Alex. J’onn. Kelly. All lay dead before her.

Lena halted as horror flooded through her, turning to Nia’s body, which glimmered in silver. “Nia?” Lena whispered, watching as a million sparks seemed to dance along her skin, from her spot slumped over on the control panel. Lena’s eyes widened. Those aren’t-

A cloud of silver withdrew from Nia’s body, flowing to the center of the control room, buzzing and humming in a familiar pattern, as a voice emerged. “Why did you kill me, Lena?”

“Jack?” Lena gasped.

The bots began to take shape in front of her, a man’s familiar face forming, cast in metal rather than human flesh. “Why did you kill me?”

“Jack, I- I didn’t-” Lena said, overwhelming nausea climbing up her throat. “I didn’t want- there was no other choice-”

“Why did you kill me, Lena?”

The kelpie, Lena’s mind screamed. The shapeshifter. It’s not him. He’s not real-

“Come with me, Lena,” Jack said, as his body began to decompose again, the swarm beginning to float in her direction.

No! Lena’s mind screamed, as she turned again on her heel, fleeing towards the backrooms of the ship. Everyone’s dead, everyone’s dead-

Is this how it ends?, she thought as she ran, knowing she could never outrun the nanobots, or the kelpie, or whatever the fuck this creature was. We all die. Kara is lost forever. This can’t be happening-

She found herself ducking into the medbay, scouring the room for anything she could use as a weapon, anything she could use to kill the creature. Kelpies are a myth, she thought to herself, but that brought her little comfort. Shapeshifters were quite real, and this one was going through each member of the ship.

Lena closed her eyes, trying - and failing - to get composure. It’s my fault, she thought, her mind flashing memories of her mother in the lake, of Jack’s begging voice. Did they blame me? Were they angry? Were their last thoughts-

“Why did you let me get sent to the Phantom Zone, Lena?”

Chills ran down Lena’s spine, as the familiar blonde’s voice washed over her. Kara, she thought, feeling her heart hammering through her chest. I can’t save you, I can’t save you… “I’m so sorry,” Lena sobbed.

“You want me in the Phantom Zone.”

“I don’t!” Lena shouted, turning to the blonde before her. Pallid and soulless eyes stared back at her - somehow indifferent, yet menacing. Lena shook, holding back tears. But I’ll never be able to rescue you, not with everyone…

“You hate me,” said the super as she approached, black veins growing on her face. “You despise me.”

“I love you, Kara,” Lena whispered. The creature was going to kill her. She would never be able to say the words to the real Kara. But there was nothing left.

Kara stepped closer to her, again, and again. Lena held back her sobs as Kara’s eyes turned red. This is how it ends, she thought. I’m never going to see you again. Her worst nightmare had become her reality.

Nightmare…

Lena’s brow furrowed as Kara stepped closer. I didn’t kill my mother, she thought to herself, looking up at the kryptonian again. There wasn’t a way for me to save Jack, she thought to herself.

Kara finally reached Lena, standing toe to toe as her eyes continued to burn. You’re a phantom, Lena realized. Praying on my fears… What had J’onn said? One’s deepest dread.

Like fearing that your loved ones were lost.

And that it was your fault.

Kelly said to focus on what’s real, Lena thought to herself. Things I can see, touch, hear… Lena’s mind scraped at the motor oil scent around her, wandering to the Tower itself, to the cool air and martian steel that surrounded her as Kara sneered back.

But Lena shrugged it off as she continued to stare at the angry super, looking into the still-burning eyes. Lena knew what was most real. 

“I love you,” Lena said, raising her hand to doppelganger, caressing along her jawline. “I love you, and I’m going to get you back.”

Kara’s eyes dimmed, and the world flashed white.

-----------

Lena gasped as her eyes opened, finding herself back in the control room. Shifting in her seat, her eyes darted around the room, feeling a flood of relief as she saw the others do the same. “This is real,” J’onn shouted to the room. “You are free of the phantom's powers!” Lena wanted to cry in relief.

“Well that sucked,” Nia said, a shaky smile thrown in Lena’s direction. “What did you see?”

Lena turned back to her controls. It’s time to bring Kara home. “A kelpie,” she said quietly, her mind drifting to the final preparation needed for the sun bomb. “I’m afraid of drowning.”

[cal-1maf]

Put the finishing touches in my Regulans last night and had time for a little photoshoot before work this morning. I'm particularly proud of the battle damage/leaking coolant on the Wolverine, the torn up city park on the Awesome, and the graffiti on the wall at the Crusader's feet.

The coolant was done with a mix of snot green and water effects. The city park was just some flocking and stirland mud. The graffiti, my absolute favorite detail, was freehand.

All the sidewalks and curbs were modeled with greenstuff and the crumbling wall is part of an old cork coaster.

[the-clawtake]

“Stravag!” Jehan swore, slamming his fist against the console as an error message flashed up on the screen. Taking a deep breath, then exhaling slowly, he pulled the diagnostic unit towards him, and started to type on the keyboard again. His Trinary had got lucky, after the fight. Two of the Blakist pilots had not made it as far as their ‘mechs. While a wholy inadequate substitute for his own Kodiak under the best circumstances, the Toyama he was presently attempting to jailbreak at least had a functional cockpit. His Kodiak not so much.

“Uh... Star Colonel?” The portable comm at his belt crackled with static as the transmission came through. He reached down and hit transmit,

“Aff?” he responded, focused on trying to bypass the Blakist security. He had no desire to have his brains fried when he started up the ‘mech. He keyed in another string of code. Tapped enter. Error.

“You... you might want to hurry it up there. We have contacts, north. A lot of contacts.”

He growled softly, tapping out a different string, then toggled his comm.

“How many contacts, Warrior. And how far out.” Really, that should have been the first thing the warrior had passed along. He finished the string of code, tapped enter.

“Looks like a full Level III. Maybe more. They are still a couple of kilometers out, coming in slow.”

“Aff. Keep me posted.” He turned his attention back to the diagnostic unit, where a green “Access Granted” was flashing. Breathing a sigh of relief he unplugged the unit, slotted it behind the command chair, and reached for the coolant vest and neurohelmet connections. Thank Kerensky those connectors were pretty much universal. A quick scan of the console and he found the ignition.

“Reactor. Online. Sensors. Online. Weapons. Online. All Systems. Nominal.” the familiar start-up litany was reassuring, even in the unfamiliar cockpit. Now to find the comms, and the sensor map, and key into the Star network, and... He did not have time. Even the slowest battlemechs would cover that distance before he could get everything figured out. An entire Level III?

He hit his portable comm again.

“Star Commander Rauda. You have command. Defensive positions.”

“Aff.” was the immediate response, and he went back to trying to figure out the cockpit. He did not have time for this. There. There was the sensor screen. The first contacts were showing up on it, and showing up as friendlies. Which given that he had not touched the IFF settings was a bad sign. He was already, effectively, down two Stars. This was not looking good.

Ah! There was the comms settings. He adjusted the frequency to 117.69 – Hopefully, Star Captain Tseng was on their way. All he had to do was hold out until then. He listened as Rauda passed out positioning orders – They had decades fighting alongside each other, knew each other better than anyone and her troop dispositions were exactly what he’d have ordered – while he continued to work out the control scheme,

All he had to do was hold.

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

[mayashesfly]

Radio Killed the Video Star

"HAHA! Fucking finally"

Vox grinned as blood and coolant dripped from the crack on his face.

His suit in disarray after coming into his demon form, skin ripped by his own cords and wires that dug deep in his skin and erupted outside.

He felt his power drain from him as a spark of electricity left the crack on his face.

But he did it.

He defeated the Radio Demon!

Alastor fell on his knees, covering the burnt skin that irritated his angelic scar.

His cane laid broken beneath his feet.

And oh! The fucking irony of this scene! HAHAHA!!! THIS WAS SO MUCH BETTER IN PERSON!!!!

"Y-You're celebrating too early... old pal" Alastor got out through gritted teeth. And Vox merely smiled despite the blurry and fragmented scene before him.

"Oh please. You really think I would let you escape just as easily as last time, Alastor?" Vox asked rhetorically, mocking him as he knows just how difficult and painful it is for the demon to travel through shadows in blinding light.

Especially with how weakened he is now.

"Don't make me laugh"

"HA!" A cough wracked through the radio demon's throat from the laugh, blood dribbling underneath his chin, yet he still continues on with a smile. "Oh please, my old pal. You're the one laughing at your own high for your ego!"

"F-zzt-UcK YOU!" Vox hissed, electricity crackling over his form despite his diminishing powers as he slowly walked over Alastor's prone form, claws moving from the ache in his systems.

"You're just ge-GEtting unDER my sKiN... Beca-caUzzt you lost, you pathetic liTtLE HA-HAzzt-bin"

"How sharp of you to notice something so obvious, my d-dear....!"

Vox paused in his approach as he stared into the distance.

The Radio Demon's quips falling in deaf eyes as his eyes widened.

Ice flowing through his veins despite the warmth of his systems.

Alastor was still talking despite his waning strenght.

But when he noticed Vox stopped responding, he rose a brow and looked behind him.

"Now what's the matter Vox? For you to—"

"MOVE!!!"

The air around him burned as electricity crackled through the air.

Eyes widening upon seeing blue and red color angelic steel.

Ears pinning down as he stared at shocked eyes beneath the cracks and distortions.

Despite it all...

He smiled.

"I'm the only one that gets to kill you..."

That softened gaze disappeared into an abyss of darkness as his old friend powered down for the very last time.

The air crackled.

Not with electricity.

But with magic as he absorbed the ambient radio waves that fueled them both.

"How dare you come between us"

His neck creaked like a broken radio as dials burned in his eyes and green symbols tore through the air around him.

The lights around them flickering before promptly cutting off.

"How DARE you come between us you impudent low life"

Screams erupted from the holy being as shadows soar through the darkened sky, coiling around the angel before ripping them apart limb by limb.

Bright golden blood littered through the air like stars in the night sky.

But the gruesome sight in front of him did nothing to quell the aching hollowness that burned through his chest.

As if he was the one who's been hit.

As if he was the one who died.

His body creaked as if he was the one wailing.

The crackle and crunch of broken bones accompanying his breaking unbeating heart.

When did he start crying?

The shadows wasn't satisfied with the mangled corpse, dragging the body into the void as he curled around the cold form of his old companion.

The wound in his chest burned.

But he paid no mind as he hugged the still frame of his friend.

Stupid, stupid little picture box.

Always making harsh mistakes and emotional decisions that one.

And now he's.... and now he's.......

Alastor gulped down the pooling blood in his mouth as his body turned ice cold.

He had always been cold-blooded despite his deer-like appearance but Vox....

He shouldn't be cold.

He shouldn't be this cold.

Why is he cold?

"You stupid old picture box...."

"Why....? Why did you do it.....?"

"I'm the only one that gets to kill you..."

[ironglorfindel]

Well, I have been BUSY lately!

I painted the MRM-carrying Urbanmech! And what better place for an urbie, than an urban environ?

The 3d printer is bearing its fruits! But for now, let's check that sweet urbie.

I actually figured this out on the Blackjack first, but a way to get a nice orange hue for jump jets is yellow wash over red gemstone over bright silver. Though I'm sure there's a simpler way with more paints, I've been trying to cut back on buyin paints what with the recent printer purchase.

Though rectangular camo turned out to be a touch too difficult, I do like how it turned out. From 3 feet away, it looks very camo-y indeed.

I just love cool colors. Blues, violets, teals, magentas, and greens. Red is aight. But nothin better than a shiny blue-violet. Though I went with just blue for this one. Just felt right.

Anyway, here's the collection of buildings I've made thusfar. Admittedly, the double 7-hex coolant containers was an oopsie I decided to not cancel mid-print. Very tempted to buy the Hextech roads stl. But I wanna figure out how to prime this stuff first. I got some generic spray primer which so far is proving... difficult. Too close and it's just drenched in paint, too far and it doesn't cover & seal the layers. Hopefully, my next post will be me, having figured it allll out, with a nicely painted building or two. (Though I won't say no to any pointers)

[cchickki]

Poison - Chapter 1

summary: While normalcy remains within the Citadel, Furiosa and Jack focus on their escape to the Green Place while trying to figure out their feelings for each other. With so many obstacles tackled and their future on the horizon, things aren't always as simple and hopeful as they seem.

themes: hurt/comfort, intimacy, sexual tension

pairing: furiosa x praetorian jack

rating: T - some alcohol use & gets a bit steamy at the end

word count: 2.8k

author's note: So sorry this part of the series took longer to come out, I kept rewriting and wrestling with ideas on how to work on it. This one requires two chapters and might have another part to the series afterward (not completely sure yet). Also, this chapter is honestly 'Teen' rated with a bit of spicy-ness, but the next chapter is what makes it have the 'Mature' rating. This chapter explores a little bit more of Jack's past. The FuryJack brain rot is real, but I'm thriving in it! Thank you everyone for the support!

part one - wounds

part two - seed

furyjack playlist

also tagging @chickadee-djarin ❤️

chapter under the cut, can also be read on ao3

Gas Town tomorrow. Gas Town Tomorrow. Gas Town Tomorrow.

The words repeated in a tiresome loop in Jack’s head as he observed some of the shipment being loaded onto the rig. Three crates of cabbages, two crates of spinach, two crates of potatoes, ten gallons of Mother’s Milk, and the list went on. Today was supposed to be the day he delivered the convoy, but apparently some of the crops took a little longer to ripen and become harvested, and one of the Milkers ‘became dry,’ or so he heard. The little details about the shipment didn’t matter to him, all that mattered was that the convoy arrived at its destination, and the shipment of ammunition was delivered intact. 

Although Jack has felt his focus shift more as of late. His goal was always to preserve his own safety and the safety of his crew, but out in the Wasteland the sanctity of life was hardly honored. Losing people was about as common as breathing, so Jack usually kept himself at arm’s length with his crew beyond work despite the trust that was usually required to grow loyalty. 

But then Furiosa was added to the mix, and his priorities had been shifted.

Furiosa’s figure caught his eye, moving amongst the swirl of activity within the Workshop. Her posture was rigid as she stepped around the War Boys and her eyes heavy and swollen from crying last night. He noticed she had attempted to conceal the puffiness of her eyes by adding more grease around her eyes than usual. She approached the radiator, her and a War Boy checking for a suspected coolant leak. Jack didn’t allow his gaze to linger on her too long. The rumors about them had already been a topic of hushed gossip around the Workshop, but as long as it remained only rumors that stayed within this section of the Citadel, Jack saw no reason to shut it down. A few stories about them sneaking off together hardly the hot gossip that would rank among the borderline solicit activities that happen around the Citadel. But Furiosa was a Full-Life woman who was already teetering on a hazardous edge to being plucked from his mentorship as a praetorian, and placed somewhere else in the Citadel to be used. It was difficult enough to convince Immortan Joe for her to remain with him after it was revealed she wasn’t a young boy living with the Gear Heads.

He kept himself busy, checking on the differentials toward the front of the war rig. He had noticed a strange noise deriving from the wheels, and his control while steering had been a bit more difficult. 

Jack worked in silence for hours. His mind drifted to Furiosa as it often did lately, though his clear insight on his work was never completely clouded. In a fleeting moment of weakness he did think warily to himself if kissing Furiosa had been a mistake, and cursed himself for getting even slightly carried away. He had crossed a boundary with her and was now navigating uncharted territory. 

It wasn’t until dusk had fallen over the Wasteland that Jack finally approached Furiosa, who was cleaning off her hands stained by radiator fluid and grease with a ripped-up shirt. Any semblance of the night before was nonexistent between them in the garages; Jack knew better than to bring up last night up to her, not here. Here she was just as much in charge of this operation as he was, he wouldn’t dare do anything to shake her resolve by asking her something so personal when the topic could be within earshot of someone else.

“How’s the wound?” Jack asked her, drawing a line with his finger across his own collarbone to indicate what he meant.

Furiosa mumbled ‘fine,’ giving him a curt nod. She stared endlessly in the distance, growing tight-lipped as she finished cleaning her hands off to the best of her ability. Although she kept her expression blank, Jack would see the hint of regret laced behind her heavy-lidded eyes. Despite her mysterious nature, Jack knew her well enough to sense that opening up about her past had taken a toll on her, and exposed a part of herself that she wasn’t ready to reveal.

Jack placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, unsure how to gesture to her without it coming across as pity. Furiosa didn’t shrug his hand away, her stare remained looking out aimlessly as she displayed no reaction to this touch. He leaned in close, the sides of their faces brushing up against each other. His eyes scanned the room, ensuring that no one else was close enough to overhear.

“I’m nearly finished gathering enough supplies for us to leave, we just need to wait for the right opportunity now.” He whispered.

His words fully drew her attention. She stepped back, so she could fully look at his face. Her brows drew inward as she searched his face for further explanation, as if she was debating if she was dreaming or not. 

"I meant what I said last night, I'll do whatever it takes." He reaffirmed.

“I'll meet you in an hour.” Furiosa replied, her voice nearly a hiss but not unpleasant.

She then walked past him, heading somewhere deeper in the Workshop to appear inconspicuous. Jack knew what she meant on where to meet: their little hideaway, their personal oasis nestled underneath one of the Aqua Cola pumps and high above the grounds of the Citadel. The leaking water collected in a divot underneath the escarpment, growing plants and attracted some insects and lizards to the rare and hidden source of water. 

It had become their sanctuary these past few months.

****

Furiosa trekked to their hideaway as soon as the Workshop cleared out for the evening.

Jack was sitting beside the divot, inspecting the bottle of whiskey with vague interest. She sat beside him in silence, fixating on the bottle as she waited for him to speak. As he slightly lowered the bottle, Furiosa reached for it, fully taking it in her hands as he released it. The heaviness of her eyes and pounding headache that had started blooming across her forehead was tempting her to take a swig from the bottle. She knew she should ask Jack first since pure bottled alcohol from the Old World was extremely rare to come by. 

“How’d you get this, if you don’t mind me asking?” Furiosa finally questioned, her voice still slightly hoarse from the night before.

“I traded for it.” Jack answered, his attention staring out toward the horizon as the sun began to set.

Furiosa nodded in response, her fingers glossing over the faded label. The silence between them remained for a few moments as Furiosa wrestled with her words, but Jack seemed to be enjoying the tranquility so she was slow to speak and break it. She decided to take a sip; since only about a quarter of it was remaining, she had to tip the bottle upwards more than she originally intended. It rushed into her mouth faster than she anticipated, the sensation immediately burning her mouth and throat as it went down. She coughed a bit, clenching her eyes shut as it settled with a warm heaviness in the pit of her stomach. She started to cough, spluttering some of the whiskey out as she did so.

Jack clapped her on the back, a slightly wry smile spreading on his face. “Slow down there,” he chuckled lightly.

Furiosa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the sound of his laughter drawing her in and calming her soul. 

“I didn’t realize that you drank,” she started, gesturing to the bottle she was still holding, clearing her throat.

“I don’t, alcohol is good for dressing wounds. Can’t risk driving the war rig drunk.” Jack gently took the bottle from her hands, taking a swig for himself. “Although every once in a while, a couple drops don’t hurt.” 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before I took a drink…” Furiosa added, lamely. 

She didn’t understand why she felt so drained and awkward at this moment. She trusted Jack and had shared more of herself to him than anyone else, but right now she felt like she was a stranger stumbling at a first meeting. 

He frowned at her words, but not unkindly. “Nonsense, what’s mine is yours.” He replied, repositioning himself to move closer to her. “I should check that wound, might need to use more whiskey to clean it up.

Furiosa pulled the collar of her shirt down, slipping the oversized material past her shoulders to expose the stitched up gash. She kept her eyes locked on his, noticing his eyes flit downward briefly, lower than where her gash was. Her heart skipped a beat, feeling the heat radiating off of his body as he leaned in to inspect her wound closely. He ran his fingertips over his stitch work; Furiosa swore the sensation of his touch sent electricity through her body.

“Looks a bit red, but not too much swelling.” Jack noted. 

To her surprise Jack pressed his nose nearly up against her collar bone, inhaling. She stilled, holding her breath as his forehead brushed against her nose and lips. Her stomach somersaulted, her heart hammered in her chest, her hands trembled - she fought to contain herself.

“Doesn’t smell unpleasant, either. No infection.” Jack added, straightening up so he could face her. 

Her wide-eyed gaze caught his attention and the flushed color of her cheeks. Jack froze, debating what he should do next, recalling how exhausted and miserable she had appeared today from last night’s confessions. He drew back, thinking it better for her mentality not to indulge in whatever this was becoming. Jack wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her, but they both needed clear heads if they were going to make their escape in the future. He saw her wilt slightly at his retreat, but she recovered her disappointment swiftly, readjusting her shirt and standing up fully. The two wordlessly exchanged glances before she turned to leave, but Jack’s hand reached out and caught her wrist.

“Hang on,” he beckoned, keeping a gentle hold on her wrist. “You shared your past with me last night. I want to do the same.”

Furiosa turned back toward him, curiosity taking hold of her. She sat back down beside him, his focus returning to the sunset as he spoke.

“I was a toddler when the world fell apart. I don’t remember much, but there’s remnants of my memory that I can still recall. I remember what I think was my family's home, my toys I used to play with, and a television program I used to watch all the time. They were soldiers, even back then, and they were under Immortan Joe’s command.”

Shocked, Furiosa straightened her posture at the news. 

“He was Colonel Joe Moore back then, a good soldier and a decent man, at least I think he was. Perhaps a bit of madness was always within him, but over time when society fell and things started to get worse, Joe began to change.” Jack sighed. “It all seems so long ago, almost like a distant dream. When my parents passed, I was trapped with only Joe to care for me. I watched him change, morph into a monster-“

Furiosa’s hand clasped his; it was her turn to offer comfort. He glanced down at her hand, his expression remaining neutral as his other hand enclosed over hers. He didn't feel deserving of her sympathy, especially after she had shared how she had ended up here.

“I’m luckier than most. The thought of anything beyond the Citadel is… staggering to me. But Joe can’t be right, there has to be more than this. You’re proof of that.” Jack faced her again, his free hand cupping the side of her face.

Furiosa leaned into his touch, reveling at the feeling of his calloused hands against her smooth skin. She fought to keep her distance today, her exposed, bleeding heart still feeling raw from last night. Above all she had to keep the Green Place and herself safe, but something about Jack made her relinquish her guarded psyche. She inclined her head closer to him, her lips catching on his. He was still for a moment, not reciprocating right away as she repositioned herself. Like the previous night something ignited within her once again, she longed for his touch more than anything she could fathom. She climbed into his lap, causing him to tilt his head upwards as he gripped onto her back for balance. Her hands roamed, holding the back of his head, taking fistfuls of his hair within her palm, the other hand sliding down his back. She felt Jack's lips part, his tongue slipping past her own and into her mouth. This act puzzled her, not knowing what exactly to do as she allowed his tongue access into her mouth. She could hear Jack's breathing become more labored, the ferocity of his kissing intensifying as she clumsily did her best to keep up.

She ended up on her back, the two of them a tangle of limbs as their lips remained on each other. Furiosa let Jack take control, unsure what to do next due to her lack of experience but knowing she wanted this to continue. His lips trailed down to her neck as she gasped for air from holding her breath during their kissing, cradling his head. One of his hands was planted on the ground beside her, and the other held the opposite side of her face in a firm, but loving embrace. A hushed whimper escaped her lips as Jack continued whatever he was doing - the pressure on her neck increased as she felt his teeth and tongue against her skin. Heat radiated from where his mouth remained on her neck, the sensation foreign but not unpleasant to her.

Jack suddenly pulled away, sitting up fully as he peered down at Furiosa. He appeared shocked, his breathing heavy as it took a moment to collect himself. He sighed, wiping his mouth then pinching the bridge of his nose for a second before standing up fully. She went to prop herself on her elbows as he extended a hand to help her up. She took it slowly, confused as she studied his disheveled appearance. His eyes were averted from hers, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as she waited expectantly to break the silence between them. She felt anxiety begin to bubble in the pit of her stomach, wondering if she had done something wrong to cause him to abruptly stop.

"I'm sorry, I got too carried away," Jack finally panted, still trying to slow his breathing. "I told myself I wouldn't get carried away again, but I did."

Furiosa took a step forward, her hand cupping the side of his face. His eyes landed on her now, a small but almost sad smile spreading on his face. She went to kiss him again, but he turned away, taking her hand on his face and moving it away. 

"We can't, not here." He murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Her brows furrowed, puzzled. "Why?"

"It wouldn't be," Jack paused, searching for the right word for this moment. "-practical. I want to, trust me I really do, but it's not safe for the two of us while we're in the Citadel." 

"I don't understand," Furiosa shook her head, not following.

"Fury, other than the dangers of being distracted from our current duties as praetorians, there's the risk that you could become pregnant." Jack explained, delicately.

Heat rose in Furiosa's cheeks, the possibility hadn't even crossed her mind. She was too overcome with her yearning to have even comprehended. She knew what sex was, but didn't know how to navigate it herself. She bashfully kept her eyes toward the ground, staring at her boots as she wished she hadn't been short-sighted on where all of this could've led to. 

"Get some sleep, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow," Jack suggested, his tone still low and gentle.

Furiosa nodded, too embarrassed to speak. She left their hideaway, deciding to sleep with the Gear Heads and War Boys in the Workshop tonight so she could clear her head.

Jack watched her leave, feeling disappointment for how their physical intimacy had ended and how he had allowed himself to be that reckless. He wanted to curse himself for how he had potentially given her a hickey, a dangerous branding that could catch the wrong person's attention. The thought of foolishly putting her at risk made him nauseous, he knew until they left the Citadel he had to keep his emotions in check and his hands off of her.

He needed to prepare himself for tomorrow. Seeing Dementus for the first time since Furiosa had finally told him what he had done to her was going to be a challenge. He knew it was going to take every ounce of his strength and self-control not to kill him on sight.

[lubricationsolutions]

Which Coolant is the The Best For Your Vehicle? A Brief Overview of Coolant Colors

Coolant plays a crucial part in maintaining the ideal operating temperature of your vehicle's engine. Long life coolant green, sometimes known as classic or traditional cooling has ethylene glycol as its primary ingredient. Read this article for more info.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

The Eclipses Show

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,232 Words

Summary: Eclipse wakes up in a forest nine months after his death. Eclipse also wakes up in a daycare a day after his death. Turns out, Solar now has to deal with both of them.

Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Coma, Injury, Limb Loss, Eye Trauma, Head Trauma, Cursing, Death (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 1: Back From The Dead

Eclipse woke up in a forest, utterly broken and completely out of it. His animatronic body was practically destroyed, yet he survived, barely. Being booted from Sun’s head into this forest was not kind to him, it seemed.

He groaned as his systems that were functional or barely so whirred with a high pitch. He wouldn’t die here, he refused. He tried to sit up, finding his left arm missing and half his faceplate, half of his right leg gone too.

He groaned and looked around, he was in the middle of the forest. Just where the hell did Sun boot him out to? He should get moving, find a town or something. His head felt like something had kicked it in with a rusty hammer, and it did not help that his faceplate was damaged.

He tried to stand but…it was clear he couldn’t, so he tried to crawl along and find help, the pain was agonizing. He found a long, hefty branch to use as a cane for his missing lower right leg.

“Why is pain a thing?” He wondered. What was the date even? Eclipse checked his inner mechanics and it read ‘2:47am August 4th 2023’. He had lost almost a year. He’d lost from October 31st ‘22 to August 4th ‘23!?

Eclipse felt his face and found that his right eye was missing along with a chunk around his left faceplate that made his sight in his left eye extremely difficult to see from, probably from the loose socket due to the missing chunk.

Eclipse growled in anger at Sun but used what felt like a tree and the branch to get up, using his limited vision. He had to get somewhere that had parts to fix himself. He couldn’t tell what bunkers were nearby but he could see his glitching internals that could lead him to the PizzaPlex.

So he went that way, stumbling and using GPS to get there and using it again to get to get to the P&S area. Once there, Eclipse began rummaging and closely inspecting things to fix himself.

He ended up finding a mismatched pair of eyes, one baby pink and one dark grey, that would fit his model and put them into the tube’s part system, going back to find a grey and brown arm from shoulder to fingers, an old purple-tinged Moon faceplate, and a green leg model from the knee joint down.

Once he found those, he loaded them into the parts holder and set the tube to operate on himself and fix everything that he could at the moment. He could fix his internals once his outside was fixed. So he sat in the chair in the tube and let the machine do its job.

He growled feeling it take out his left eye and the remains of his faceplate. Then it placed the new mismatched eyes into the sockets, then the new faceplate. He blinked as it directed into a light scanner and thankfully could see. He could see better than a close distance at least.

The tube then fixed his wires loose from his left arm and right knee and attached his limbs and launched instantaneous calibration effects. He flexed his new limbs for the scanner and then sighed at the tube gave him a green light for all clear. Eclipse exited the tube and looked at the body scanner’s results.

He had so many internals broken. It was no wonder he felt freezing cold, his heaters were broken, so was his coolant and oil systems, his engines had cracks and fans had broken twigs in them.

“Well fuck.” He hugged. He would have to find these things himself and probably replace them himself too. So he groaned and went rummaging. He did find a fan system and engine so he went for those first. His old oil and coolant had to be drained and replaced completely, it felt like he had sludge in what was technically his blood system.

He poured coolant into the marked tank and oil into the other, placing the engine and fan system into the part holders for replacement. Eclipse couldn’t find a heater, so sadly he’d just be cold for a while.

“Better than nothing, I guess.” He huffed, laying in the chair again and let the tube release a smaller little hand to him and turn him off. Eclipse’s eyes bolted open in startle, he hadn’t realized he’d be powered down for a full coolant and oil replacement. He didn’t want to lose more time!

He booted up twenty minutes later feeling so much better. It was a goddamn miracle. He didn’t feel like he had slime in his ‘veins’, it felt like a relief to feel the liquid in him running as it should and fans and engine running properly.

He felt grateful, incredibly so. He was alive, he was fixed. But now for what to do. He had to stay close to here, his systems could break down any second if they did so please. He couldn’t replace his circuit board himself nor could the tube. He would need someone else for that.

Maybe…Maybe he could beg Lunar? He didn’t want to scare him. Eclipse had seen how October had went and, by the end of it, he was just tired. Maybe this new life post near-death, he could be different. He could be kinder to Lunar, try to apologize for what he’d done and be a better person.

So he set off to the daycare, hopefully Lunar was there. He didn’t know what would happen if it was Moon or Sun he faced, but he was sure it wouldn’t be good. Hopefully he could just talk to Lunar.

Eclipse ventured into the daycare, confused seeing three people he didn’t recognize along with Moon as Eclipse stood in the ball pit, having gone down the slide. One looked like a Sun but just…absolutely destroyed.

Another was a tall green and brown female daycare bot, and the third he didn’t recognize was a tiny pale blue and moon themed bot. He realized with a bit of fondness that the tiny bot was Lunar. It gave him a bit of joy knowing Lunar was safe and sound in a body of his own.

But a bit of horror crept in seeing who he could audibly hear was Sun be so destroyed. He was catching names and bits of a conversation but not really getting the whole story.

“Uh, guys?” Lunar asked the others. And Eclipse realized Lunar was looking directly at him with a bit of panic.

“Oh shit.” Moon realized as he turned to look at Eclipse.

“Quick, shoot him!” Lunar told Moon, handing him what looked like a laser gun. His body wouldn’t withstand that! He was in a fragile condition already! So he dove into the ball pit as Moon grabbed the gun about to fire.

Eclipse didn’t know the portal was on until he got sucked through it into a different dimension, which locked the second he was through by a different Moon.

“And now you have fucking two friends here! Worthless parasite, come get your little child!” The other Moon snapped. Eclipse looked over by the Moon and saw triple for a second. It was him. But…also not? But it was two other versions of him maybe? Why were there three different Eclipses?

[larkral]

Happy Wednesday!

Okay! mechanic!Simon (one of my CORB pieces) has been getting a good amount of my attention this week, as has a new fic I'm writing for In Other Lands. So, have some snippets of both of those.

mechanic!Simon:

It's a good job, too. Except that sometimes you see a car that makes you want to scream. Like today, some posh git brought in an MG, forest green, soft top. Lovely original paint that's clearly been sitting out in a carpark somewhere for years just being rained on. And that's not the worst of it. Because this car must have been running on wishes and good luck for at least six thousand miles. When I asked the bloke where they'd been having it looked after, he said: "Honestly I don't know if Fiona ever brought it into a shop." I held out hope. Perhaps Fiona was his senile gran. Perhaps Fiona couldn't remember where she'd taken it, or didn't keep the papers, or her friendly neighbor cleaned the spark plugs and injectors and topped up the coolant and the engine oil.  Then I opened the bonnet.

And a fic for In Other Lands which I cannot reveal the working title of because it will RUIN the SURPRISE.

Which is fair, if inconvenient. It's all made up, after all. There is no immutable line beyond which Golden's virtue has been destroyed and before which it's intact. The idea is demeaning and idiotic and… "Unicorns," Elliot says. Serene's eerie stillness was the only indication that she was taking a moment to catch up. "Surely unicorns have been used as a purity test before. Just have Golden stand near a unicorn sometime before your wedding and boom, virtue verified. This is genius, actually, why haven't elves been doing that for ages?" "It was primarily the gorings that sent the practice out of fashion," Golden remarked, entering their conversation from behind.  "Hmm," Serene agreed, taking the hand Golden rested on her shoulder in the tender cup of her palm. "Likely."

This is already very long, so low pressure tags below the cut. :)

Thanks for the tags to @artsyunderstudy @cutestkilla @wellbelesbian @angelsfalling16 @youarenevertooold @cosmicalart I am so delighted that so many folks are jumping back into the fray. I am too!! Y'all are writing such fascinating stuff, I cannot wait to read *all of it*.

Also tagging the whole contingent! :) @stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @takitalks @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersghost @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ionlydrinkhotwater @aroace-genderfluid-sheep​ @shrekgogurt @forabeatofadrum  @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl​ @blackberrysummerblog​ @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @orange-peony @j-nipper-95 @whogaveyoupermission @rimeswithpurple

[cowl-the-huskyuwu]

Small bit of info about the species I'm working on still working on some stuff till I finish the ref sheet for making one but if you have any ideas for them dm me (note I might not use some ideas)

Also will be putting what in says in the bottom for those who can't read it

Things in yellow will have variants come out

Things in green are nessecary

And things in red they do not have to have

Bions: bions while kangaroo based can look like any animal,

ears can hear for miles,

while unessesary it is common for lions in the dessert to have coolant tanks they connect to a spot on the upper part of the bions back,

tails are charged with electricity,

they generate electricity by stomping and running

The core is transparent and hold the fluid that keeps then running (lumielectro)

They're toe beans glow and are squishy

Addition 1: they're planet is mainly made of dessert with oasis here and there

They're a cyborg like species