#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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[relia-robot-writes]

I'll fuckin do it pal don't tempt me

---

"Number three reactor's going critical! Repeat, cascade event imminent! Clear the bay!"

"Eject, 43!"

"Negative, command." 43 wiped blood from her eyes as she watched the countdown on the monitor tick. "There's still time to get it under control, but I have to be here to do that." There was an awful crunching noise from her left leg, the mechanisms finally failing after the beating they'd taken. 43 howled in agony as the force-feedback sensors let her know just how bad it was. She stopped for a moment, hunched and panting at the controls, sweat and blood dripping off her chin. She spat, and adjusted her reactor dials to give herself another precious handful of moments. She dragged herself forward, through a haze of pain and half-heard shouting over the comms. The lip of the bay turned out to be too much, and she collapsed, a long, drawn-out process she felt every inch of. Darkness pulled at her vision, and she tried to blink it away, to will herself to get back up, keep the reactor stable. She heard the sounds of laser cutters, and then suddenly there were hands all over her, disconnecting the force feedback systems, smearing the blood and oil she was covered in, tearing her hands off the controls. She fought back, kicking and screaming, desperate to get back to the monitor, to keep the countdown from finishing just a moment longer-

It stopped. "REACTOR STABILIZED," read the screen. "TIME REMAINING BEFORE MELTDOWN" was paused at 0:03.

43 collapsed, allowed herself to be pulled away, made small again. After some amount of time which might have been seconds or could have been years, a hand reached down to pull her chin up.

"You look like hell, 43."

43 tried to stumble to her feet, to salute, but only managed to fall off the chair onto her knees. Behind her handler, the ground crew was spraying coolant foam at the reactor casing they'd pulled out of her. A crane had been enlisted to move her shattered leg so the bay door could close properly, and the ground crew was already cutting and pulling at the twisted mass of metal that had been her left arm. 43 blinked, hard, and rubbed her biological left arm, trying to restore feeling to it.

Her handler ran her fingers through 43's hair. "You've had a rough day," she cooed at her. "Let's get you patched up, and then you can get your reward."

43 shivered.

---

The med room was bright - far too bright, after the warm soft red lighting of the cockpit - but the checkup didn't take long. Some dermis sealant for the lacerations taken when the cockpit caved in on her, and every other wound was psychological. Her leg still dragged behind her, and she had to remind herself not to hobble.

Her handler met her at the exit, holding a package. "Hit the showers, 43. You've earned it. I got you something to wear," (43 looked down at her flight suit, stained with every kind of fluid and sliced half to ribbons) "so meet me in the larboard lounge when you're done."

43's heart skipped a beat as she accepted the package. Larboard lounge? That was only a two-person space, nicknamed "lover's lounge" by the crew. What did her hander want from her there?

The shower, at least, was a godsend. The waters ran black, then burnt red, and finally, eventually, white with suds. 43's hair was short by necessity, but it felt like it had been caked with thick mud. Warm water ran over her, relaxing tense muscles and reminding her that she was in this body, here, at least for now. The package turned out to contain a luxuriously soft towel and, of all things, a set of soft green cotton pajamas, with slippers. 43 slipped them on and threw her old flight suit straight into the waste recycler.

She made her way to Larboard lounge, unsure of what to do. Should she... unbutton her top? A little? Was her handler expecting her to... or would she... 43 was red in the face thinking about the possibilities. It had never happened to her, but, she'd heard stories of... fraternization. Did she want that? Did she have a choice? And why these pajamas?

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she went right past the lounge. A hand on her shoulder caught her. "Hey, 43, you missed!"

Visions of leather and lace boiled up in 43's head as she slowly turned to see her handler... in the standard base uniform. Her handler was pretty, she thought, looking at her face, barely blinking, barely breathing. What now?

"43? You okay?" Her handler gave her a concerned look. "I got something for you, but if you're not up to it..."

43 shook her head, trying to clear cobwebs, embarrassment, fatigue, and the echoes of flashing reactor alarms all at once. "No, Ma'am! I- I'm fine!"

Her handler gave her a look 43 couldn't decipher, her head still half-full of fog, but dropped it. "Here," she said, steering 43 into the lounge. "This will be good for you."

Inside, 43 expected to find - well, she wasn't certain. Whips and chains? A school desk? A simple cot? All wrong, it seemed. Instead, there was a small table, set for two, and a lavish spread - real strawberries, fried protein rations arranged delicately, an artfully twisted nest of long noodles in a sauce that smelled of garlic and herbs, and a few other things set aside under metal domes for later. 43's stomach growled, and she blinked. "Wha?"

Her handler pulled out a chair for her and placed her hand on her shoulder to help her sit down. "Tada! I've been saving this stuff for a special occasion."

43 was at a loss for words as her handler sat down across the table from her. She managed to recover her tongue, but could only think to say one thing: "Why?"

"Why not?"

"I- I failed the mission, is why not! I didn't secure the objective, I got shot up so bad it'll take weeks to refit me - it - whatever! I lost everything! I should be punished, not-" 43 stopped, a hot feeling buzzing behind her eyes.

Her handler got up, walked to her side, kneeled down, and took her hand. "You came back," she said, softly. "That's worth celebrating."

43 resisted for a moment, then broke down sobbing onto her handler's shoulder. Her handler held her for a long time.

Eventually, she pulled back, and her handler offered her a handkerchief. 43 blew her nose, and then looked at her handler again. "Oh, your uniform..."

She waved off the comment. "I've got others. Let's eat, before it gets cold."

43 took a bite, and it was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.

[court-jobi]

Hi there, I had silly idea of Bakugou × reader in established relationship where she one day compares him to arcanine from pokemon, I mean look at it, it looks like Bakugou 1:1 lol

Omg anon, I confess... I had to go back in the databanks to remember this Pokemon from my younger years- but boy am I glad I did! This was a joy to write, and made me giggle seeing this ask!

Be prepared for fluff and hilarity ahead, y'all. It's 11PM and I wrote this instead of washing dishes...

Uncanny Resemblance

Words: 1.5k

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Placing the ice cube tray back in the freezer, you grimace over the lack of coolant coming from the top exhaust fan in your fridge. 

“Ugh, this is gonna be a pain when that heatwave comes,” you sigh with preemptive regret, “Really don’t wanna lose all this chicken in here…”

“Who cares about dumb chicken,” Kaminari pipes up from behind you, “What about the ice pops??”

You scoff good naturedly- Bakugou’s brand of sarcasm occasionally comes out of your mouth instead of his, despite your goal to be the more palatable half of your partnership.

“Those are for when my blood sugar crashes, darling– it’s not your personal stash when you come over.” 

Trying not to let too much air out of the tepid freezer, you shut it in favor of adjusting the main fridge’s controls to not suck up too much power. When Bakugou comes back with the new filter and coolant, you’re sure things will chill back up to temp in no time. 

Doing so leaves you plenty of time to putz around the kitchen while Kirishima keeps his particularly talkative company from eating you out of house and home. He’s already two sodas in, and despite your endless hospitality, even poor Eij wants to try and bash some manners into his friend from taking advantage. 

“C'mon man, just pick your racer already,” Kiri chides Kaminari to place his attention more on his controller than his appetite.

It’s then that your phone vibrates on the coffee table, drawing Kirishima’s eye.  There lies a small, yellowish icon beside the chat name ‘Backpack’, which he snidely recognizes as your nickname for Bakugou. 

“Hey, uh, doll? Your man’s textin’ ya!”

Head back in your fridge drawer, you call out, “Oh, check it for me? He might be asking about the brand we need!”

Drawing the notification down, Kirishima nearly chokes on his own spit at what he finds.

Yes, Bakugou’s asking which of the two labels he’s holding is what you’re in the market for… but in the margins of your texting exchange is a hilarious sight:

Bakugou’s contact photo is none other than a Pokemon. 

It’s here that Kirishima remembers his training; much like in a game of cards, it’s best not to reveal all your tells too quickly when you come across a secret. Don’t get cocky, and move with stealth. 

In a move sneakier than he’d claim to be, he screenshots the full contact detail, and texts it to himself. 

“What’d he say, Kiri?”

Hearing your voice clearer, Kirishima turns back casually and repeats Bakugou’s question, 

“He’s asking if it’s the green or blue label one!” 

“Uhhh, I think it’s green. Let’s go with that.”

“.... He’s askin’ how sure you are.”

Testily, you balk at Kirishima’s relay, “Does he not trust me?! YES, tell him it’s green.”

“... He’s askin’ what percentage sure y~”

“OH MY GOD!!”

Snickering to himself, he finally hands you your phone to ultimately set him straight, blowing up Bakugou’s contact photo on his own cell for further inspection. A second too long looking at this furry, blonde fire type you’ve chosen to represent your sweetheart has Kiri screwing his eyes shut and huffing a little laugh through his nose. 

Kaminari knows a damn good joke when he sees one, and bugs Kirishima to let him in.

“What’s got you crackin’ up?”

Kirishima tilts the phone his friend’s way- who bends over in completely silent laughter just as Kiri had, only more chaotic. It makes Kirishima react all the more, wheezing mutely into his palm to keep himself from letting you know he’d been looking in places he likely shouldn’t.

Kaminari mouths a bad idea. ‘SHOW HIM!!’

‘NO’

‘YES’

‘She’s gonna know!!’

‘Bro. BRO CODE-’ Kaminari mimics thumbs flying across a keyboard, ‘you GOTTA tell him~ He’ll be pissed!’

‘Yeah! THAT’S BAD!’

‘BUT IT’S FUNNY!’

On one hand, the photo contact is too rich of a laugh not to share with Bakugou; but on the other hand, it will all but confirm he went snooping on your phone more than intended. He’d truly hate to violate your trust… but you had asked him to look at it. You gave express permission.

Kiri’s fateful, recurring mistake; he listens to Kaminari regardless of the consequences.

“Ok, y’all are too quiet,” you finally round the kitchen island, “Picking a circuit can’t be that hard– whaaat are you two doing.”

Wearing matching doe-eyed looks, shoulder to shoulder, you take stock of how these two fully-fledged Pro Heroes look like grown-up children on your couch. 

“Oh, Kiri’s just enlightening me to the grand secrets of the universe!” Kaminari chimes back.

Not buying a minute of it but also preserving blissful ignorance, you simply retrieve your phone and squish yourself in between the two boys on the couch for an ounce for control. 

Instead of prying, you merely check into your self-care app and select your daily rewards, a song of ‘don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask’ under your breath as you make yourself comfortable.

Under Kaminari’s goofy thumbs up, Kirishima sucks on the edge of his lip and sends a quick little message to Bakugou before settling in for a game. 

–Not five minutes later, you hear the keys all but clash against the door before it opens and shuts with a bang.

“OKAY, WHICH ONE OF YOU BASTARDS DID IT?!”

You three whirl around in a turn befitting a sitcom. Sandwiched between both boys’ shit eating grins, you look alarmed at Bakugou: wondering what you did to be lumped into his ire.

“-not you-” Bakugou pegs you with a placating look to settle your panic, “I mean the MORONS who TOOK YOUR PHONE and made me a FUCKIN’ ARCANINE??”

With the expected vitriol blasting from Bakugou’s equally spiky hair as the Pokemon held up in his phone, Kirishima and Kaminari doubled over laughing. 

Meanwhile, you held a frozen look somewhere between hysterical and nervous.

“H- eh- I’m sorry, what?” you feigned confusion– just for a little bit longer.

Bakugou tabled the plastic bag containing your freezer parts, then sulked over to you, shoving Kaminari’s skull aside roughly so he could lean over the back of the couch in his place and show you himself.

“They set me as a freaking POKEMON as my icon– why don’t you keep this thing locked, huh??”

Swallowing your own chuckle, you peeked back up at him with guilty brows.

“Did they do it?”

“WELL YEAH!” Bakugou charged back brusquely, staring down a howling Kirishima, “WHO ELSE woulda pulled a shitty character like that to be what comes up when I call you?!”

All too sweetly, you tried again,

“And you’re sure they’re the ones who did it?...”

For an exhausted moment, Bakugou isn’t following you– until he does. Your little smirk all but screams it. 

You bat your lashes for good measure while he puts it together: “I mean, the resemblance is uncann-”

“HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN A FREAKING CARTOON IN YOUR PHONE, WOMAN??!”

Playfully defensive, you giggle through your defense, 

“It’s cute! You look like one!”

“I DO NOT!”

“Well it’s not like I have an album of pictures with you actually smiling to put there!”

“FINE THEN-”

Bakugou swipes your phone straight out of your hand, reverts the camera to selfie mode, nearly puts you in a headlock, and waits for you to quit squirming already before giving you a deceptively gentle kiss on the cheek-

At the very moment you look back at the camera with adorable realization, he snaps the photo, then releases you entirely. His grumpy scowl is back in full force, as if he hadn’t just posed for the sweetest photo of your entire relationship.

Tip-tapping for just a few more menus, he places your phone firmly back into your hands. 

“There. And don’t you dare change it. NONE of you.”

You squawk in delight, finding his face has not only been set as your lock screen, but also your home screen and of course- his profile photo. The redhead on your left and blonde on your right both coo their ‘awws’ on either side of you seeing their Bakubro showing an ounce of emotion immortalized for all eternity.

Before you can even rally to soothe your likely embarrassed boyfriend, you follow the sight of said grumbling man as he’s taken the bag’s contents to the freezer. He’s handling it all a bit roughly, but is setting to work himself so you don’t have to fight with it again for the third time today.

It’s a sweet gesture, and makes you only adore your prickly Arcanine who had clearly chosen a protective stance once he came home– never once considering you’d have been the one who did the ill deed against him. The similarities are painfully obvious to everyone in the room… and perhaps that realization was hitting him a bit close to home, even in jest.

You’ll owe Bakugou a playful apology, which you’re sure an indulgent scratch along his back and through his hair will fix.

Never before have you been happier for Kirishima to have chosen you as the little sister to mess with~

[lesbianrobin]

upcoming fic preview: "Buck Home For Christmas"

a hallmark-style christmas story about love, family, and firemen.

A dark red tow truck with a wreath attached to the grille approaches.

When it comes to a stop by the Jeep, Buck reads Diaz Automotive on the door before it opens. He sees a shiny black work boot and swears he can taste peppermint in the air.

Diaz jumps down from his truck with an easy grin.

“Howdy, neighbor,” he says.

He’s about Buck’s age, with big brown eyes and tanned skin. His dark hair is windswept and his cheeks are flushed, like he drove all the way here with his windows down. His deep green sweater is—is stupidly tight, actually, the guy must work out, like, a lot. His teeth are weirdly beautiful. His canines are especially prominent when he smiles.

“Hi,” Buck says.

Diaz arches an eyebrow. “You Evan?”

“Buck,” he corrects. “People who know me call me Buck.”

“Buck, then. I’m Eddie.” He holds a hand out. When Buck grasps it, he realizes that Eddie’s hands are bigger than his.

His jaw aches. He should probably stop clenching it.

“Thanks for coming out, Eddie,” he forces himself to say as they shake hands.

“Pop the hood for me?”

“Huh?”

Eddie’s still holding his hand as he glances at the Jeep over Buck’s shoulder.

“Oh!” Buck lets go and scrambles to the hood. He lifts it as Eddie approaches. Eddie leans casually over the open engine, whips his sweater off to reveal a white t-shirt, and—okay, yeah, that’s a whiff of cinnamon and pine. That’s fine.

“I think it’s a coolant leak,” Buck says, taking a step back.

“Well, no,” Eddie immediately replies, tying his sweater around his waist, biceps bulging.

“No?”

Eddie points to… something. Look, Buck wants to know about cars, they're just so boring, and everything under the hood just kinda looks the same to him. It drives Tommy nuts.

Eddie pulls out what Buck knows is the dipstick, and asks, “When was the last time you changed your oil?”

“Uh.”

Eddie does not seem impressed with him.

“In my defense,” Buck starts, and Eddie says, “The oil is the lifeblood of the car,” and Buck finishes, “My boyfriend was supposed to change it last.”

Eddie blinks. He cocks his head, a vaguely amused look on his face. “Boyfriend?”

“Y—yeah. Yeah, he’s a big guy—uh, car, big car guy.”

“Well,” Eddie says, replacing the dipstick and leaning further over the engine, forcing Buck to notice his irritatingly impressive ass, “Not big enough.”

“What?”

“He’s killed your engine, bud,” Eddie says, “I’m gonna need to check back at the shop, but I think he used the wrong oil. That’s why it overheated.”

[marsbutterfly]

MECHANIC BADDIE HANJI WHO FIXES UP READERS CAR. SHES ALL LIKE I CAN TAKE CARE OF IT DARLING. YOU JUST SIT THERE AND LOOK PRETTY. (IDK SHIT ABOUT CARS) JUST NEED AN ACTS OF SERVICE HANJI

I'll Fix It All

a/n: omg happy new year!! this turned out way longer than I originally intended for it to be. i was hoping to post it before the year turned but i'll also accept the first day of the year lol. enjoy.

warnings: fem!reader (she/her), nb! hanji zoe (they/them), modern au, anxiety, panic attacks, kissing, fluff, comfort. also like, i don't know much about cars or car repair so pls bear with me. tagging: @wizzy21 wc: 2.5k | wattpad! | ao3!

"No, no, no, no, NO!" You cry out as your car slowly begins to lose speed. This isn't the first time this week, nor the second, nor the third. You couldn't even count on one hand the amount of times the engine had been making that weird noise and the light had been blinking at you like a malevolent eye.

But you thought you could put it off, that you could easily ignore it, and that it would fix itself like it had many times before. Maybe you just needed to check the coolant or add some more water to the radiator, except you continuously forgot to do so. And it finally came back to bite you in the ass.

As the smoke comes out of the hood, you grip the steering wheel tightly, a loud grunt escaping your lips as your forehead presses against the horn, the loud noise filling the air all around you. Still, you are lucky enough to be in a somewhat empty area so the least amount of people will be disturbed.

Your first instinct is to panic. You can feel the blood rushing through your body, your face getting warmer as a few tears begin to prickle in your eyes. You let out a shaky exhale, cursing yourself for allowing this situation to happen in the first place. Before you can even begin to cry, you feel your phone vibrating in the cup holder next to you, the caller's name showing up on the screen attached to the dashboard. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‎‎‎"Sunshine ☼"

With a sniffle, you wipe the tears before they even have the chance to roll down your cheeks and pick up your phone, pressing the green button on the screen as you try your best to sound like you are composed and not entirely freaking out at the moment.

"Hello, my most beloved," you say, trying your best to sound like your playful self. Though it has no sound, you can almost hear the smile dropping off Hanji's face. It was not out of the ordinary for them to quickly pick up on the slightest change in your tone of voice.

"What happened?" They ask without missing a beat, the tone of their voice filled with love and concern, almost as if they were already expecting you to be in some sort of distress. "I was doing the dishes and accidentally broke a glass because I got such a bad feeling that my hand started shaking."

You sniffle but a small giggle exits your chest, the idea that the two of you are so intertwined that they can even sense when you are in some sort of distress, "Yeah, I'm fine… My car just finally gave out on me and I'm in the middle of a random neighborhood because I decided today, out of all days, to take a random shortcut!"

"Send me your location, and I'll get my tools and meet you over there," they say and you can already hear them moving around on the other end of the line. You wish you could protest but, the more you look at your car, the more panic fills your body. So you simply let out a quiet "okay" before hanging up.

Though your hands nervously shake, you can open your text messages and send Hanji a pin of your exact location. It isn't too far from your house, maybe five minutes if you speed up, and that knowledge only adds more fuel to your frustration. "Why now? I could have easily pulled into my driveway before you gave out!" You can't help the angry grunt that leaves your throat as you slam your hand against the steering wheel.

The waiting time seems like an eternity, an eerie feeling in the back of your mind like you are being watched. Your eyes dart to your phone, half convinced that maybe you should just call a toll truck when you see the headlights of Hanji's motorcycle as they speed down the road.

The light from the post shines above them and you can barely distinguish if they are an angel or a real person. As soon as their bike is parked behind your car, you exit the vehicle, running towards their embrace.

Their hair is still messy from having a helmet on and they hold a small toolbox with their left hand, but that does not stop them from hugging you as tightly as they possibly can. Their lips press against your head as the two of you remain like that for a while.

"Shhh, it's ok, my love," you can feel the smile in their voice, a gentleness like nothing you have ever experienced before, "Hanji is here to fix your problems."

"I truly appreciate you coming this fast," you whisper against their chest, "I genuinely thought my car would be able to handle the journey today but… I guess I was wrong."

"Did you have any trouble starting it this morning?" They pull back, their arm still wrapped around your frame. You think for a second, having trouble focusing on anything other than this panicky feeling in your chest.

Slowly, you begin to remember your day: you left work and the car started. You left for lunch and the car started. Clearly, it had started when you left home that morning… Didn't it?

"Oh shit…" You whisper while an embarrassed expression takes over your features. Your eyes shift towards the ground as you pull slightly further away to create a bigger distance between your bodies, too self-conscious to even look at them. "I couldn't get the engine to turn this morning. I had to start it, put it in neutral, and then start it again."

They nod, kissing your forehead once more as they stand in front of the hood of your car. You are still too embarrassed to look but you can hear the moment their toolbox touches the ground and as their hands pop it open. A few seconds go by as they begin tinkering with the metal inside, though your knowledge of cars isn't deep enough for you to fully understand what is going on.

You cross one arm against your chest while the other rests above your hand, your index finger tapping on your cheek while you can't help but take small nibbles on your thumb's nail. The anxiety inside of your chest never dissipates, nor the shame.

The morning had been nothing but a blur. You woke up late for work, forgot to eat or even bring anything to snack on until you had time to go to lunch, spilled water all over your car, and, to top it all off, it was raining in the morning. The engine not starting was just one of the many, many things that had gone wrong. You meant to text Hanji about it so they could meet you during your work hours and fix it but, of course, you forgot to charge your phone the night before.

You close your eyes and exhale, leaning against the car. Before you can get yourself into a frenzy, you hear Hanji's gentle voice pulling you out of the dark spiral you were about to send yourself into, "Okay, good news and bad news."

"Please explain it to me like I'm five," you say, shooting them an exhausted look and it causes them to chuckle quietly. "Bad news first."

"The alternator, or thing that charges your car battery, isn't properly working for some reason. Maybe because it's old, maybe it's faulty, but it for sure will not start working again, like, that thing is dead."

You nod, surprisingly following along with what they are telling you. You realize that all this knowledge comes from the previous times they have come to your aid or maybe from all the times they would check under the hood of your car before you left their house while the two of you still lived in separate households. Regardless, you turn your attention to them once more.

"I checked the fluid and the coolant and everything seems to be full and working ok. I ran some codes and nothing out of the ordinary popped up and lastly, I checked your oil." They say, wiping the grime out of their hands with a bleached towel, their face slightly sweaty, especially around the area where their glasses sit on their nose.

"Fuck… And the good news?" You ask, biting your nails even more, almost to the point of blood. With a gentle and concerned expression, Hanji takes a few steps forward, wrapping their dirty digits around your trembling palms, and only then do you notice just how short your nails have become.

"I can easily fix it. The last one we bought still has a warranty, so I can just change them." They whisper, placing a kiss against your fingers. A sense of despair fills your body again as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, your lip trembling as you speak in a quiet yet pathetic voice.

"Please, don't leave me alone."

They sigh, running their hand over their messy hair. They look over to the open hood of your car and around the neighborhood, trying to think about what the best choice would be in this situation.

"The store is fifteen minutes away, on my bike, I'll be back in - "

"Please, don't leave me alone!!" You beg desperately, whatever is left of your fingernails now digging into the skin of their biceps, your eyes are wide open as tears stream down. You weren't that upset about the car breaking down, but just the intensity of all the feelings you had been holding back finally caught up to you the moment you realized you would have to be without them for even a second.

Hanji is taken aback by how sudden your response is, and how desolate you sound. They can see the anxiety written all over your features and it causes their heart to ache in their chest. That's the moment in which they realize just how many feelings you have been bottling, just how bad your week has been, and just how you have refused to talk to them about it.

Almost like they gain consciousness, their arms wrap around your frame, pulling you closer to their body. In exchange, you bury your head on their chest, not carrying that their shirt is now covered in grime and sweat, even if it is chilly outside. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" They whisper, their lips pressed against the top of your head.

You want to shake your head, to put your walls up once more and brush it off as "just a bad day", but it was more than that. It had been a bad week, a bad month, and you had gone through it all by yourself, in silence. Crying in the shower but still putting on a smile when around them, your appetite barely exists but you still eat all of their cooking. But before you can deny anything, the tears begin pouring down your face once more, you cling to them like they are the last life vest on a sinking ship.

“I d-don’t know what is going on with me…” You gasp, hiding your face in a mixture of shame and search for comfort. “I just… I just want to be close to you at all times, I just never want to be alone and I just… Everything is too much and not enough, everything is going wrong. I…”

“My love,” they whisper, holding you slightly tighter with one arm. With their free hand, they prop up your chin, a gentle and warm smile taking over their lips once your eyes meet. “You don’t have to suffer alone, ok? I am here for you, no matter what, when, or where. I will always be by your side.”

“Good and bad?” You sniffle and they chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes as they lean down so their forehead is touching yours. They nod.

“Good and bad, my angel…” They whisper, their eyes closing as your noses brush together. You lean closer, your lips brushing against theirs so lightly that it nearly feels like a paint-filled brush against a canvas, working its way through a halfway-painted masterpiece.

Hanji gently presses your body against the car door, their grip on your waist is tight as they make sure to keep you safely in place. Your lips are half-open, temptingly wet in the dim light of the street pole, your face is stained with silent tears and the only thought going through their head? “I really need to kiss her.”

And so they do. They lean forward ever so slightly until there is no more room between the two of you. When your lips collide, you can’t help the quiet gasp that exists in your body, your hand gently resting on their cheek while your thumb brushes against the softness of their skin. 

You get lost in the warmth of their body, in how comforting it feels to have them pressed against you like this. Your nose brushes against theirs as your head tilts slightly to the side, the faint smell of coffee and menthol cigarettes still lingering on their breath as it mixes with the scent of the gum you had in your mouth earlier.

They nibble on your tongue gently, sometimes brushing the tip of their own against it and it’s enough to cause you to nearly melt in their arms. If it wasn’t for their strong arms holding you in place, you would have fallen to the ground into a puddle underneath their feet.

Neither of you wants to pull away, but the need to breathe is becoming stronger by the second. When you separate, your forehead rests against theirs, and your eyes remain closed as you enjoy the smell of their skin. Even if it isn’t a pleasant smell, it brings you too much comfort in this moment for you to care.

“I’ll call Moblit and he can come to help, ok?” They whisper, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You nod, lacing your fingers with the ones on their left hand while they pull their phone out of their pocket with the other. "I'll send him to the store and I will stay with you. You won't be alone, I promise."

As they speak to the man on the other end of the line, you can’t help but allow a small smile to form on your lips as you think about how lucky you are to have someone like them in your life. Someone willing to stop everything at the drop of a hat to come to rescue you when you need them most. 

As they blow you a kiss, you find yourself thinking about that one specific sentence once more, realizing that no truer words had ever been spoken:

“Hanji is here to fix all your problems.”

[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."

[abalidoth]

Replanting (Chapter 1)

(Chapter 2)

[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."

[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.

[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.”

[sugarbombs-n-stuff]

Companions as Parents because of a Science Experiment

Sorry ive been gone for so long, life’s a bitch but may I offer this up? No ada or strong, I’m sorry! Also synth shaun is mentioned at a few points. ENJOY!

Cait: She was confused at first, of course she was! It was supposed to be a routine check up and sole being a lovely partner, joined. She didn’t expect for the doctor to comeback with a baby made from Sole and her’s DNA, LIKE WHAT THE FUCK DUDE. After double and triple checking the infant was in fact, both hers and sole’s, panic and paranoia seeped into her bones like old friends. She was terrified that she would turn out like her parents that she asked sole if they could put the baby up for adoption, surely anyone would do better than her? Sole had said to feel it out for a couple of weeks so she did, she kind of felt bad seeing as the baby girl didn’t even have a name. One night when Cait had sat in the living room feeding the wee bastard, the baby looked up to her with the same green eyes Cait had herself and it was like something clicked in her head. She put the bottle down and brought her closer to her face and she gave her a small kiss. When Sole came out of their shared room an hour or so later, they saw Cait with their baby girl in one arm and a book in another. Cait looked up at her and asked “Which do you like better, Helena or Aoife?”

•They chose Helena

•If they had,had a boy it would have been Tadhg

•She’s cautious and a bit mean at times but she does her best to explain to Helena as she’s growing up

•When her and Sole talked after agreeing to keep her they also made some joint rules for how they would want to raise her

•She’ll point out cute fabrics to make clothes with or cute toys

•Piggy backing on my own headcanon, Cait made her crib and toys through woodworking

•As Helena grew up, she had a biting problem whenever she got angry and while Cait found it a bit funny, after Sole would tell her to stop encouraging her she would do her best to correct Helena’s behavior

Codsworth: Codsworth was overjoyed! He’d always wanted a little boy of his own and sole had made him one! A mini Mr. Handy, a custom made model. Part of him always felt like he failed Sole with Shaun, like he had lost a boy too. He was comforted by the fact Sole would do this for him and he couldn’t wait to show his son the wonders of the commonwealth.

•He named his son Adam, seeing as Sole made him he thought it fitting

•He’d fuss over Adam always, freaking out if even a chip of his paint had come off

•He would start considering transferring himself into a synth body after awhile, same with Adam but for right now he was content

•Adam had a nasty habit of leaking oil and heating up his metal so hot that no one could touch him, poor baby couldn’t control it but Codsworth would give him some coolant and have him sit outside for a little. However if there was nothing he could do and it happened to be winter, he’d walk with his boy around which ever settlement they were at and offer heat

Curie: She did the experiment on herself. She wanted to see what it was like and she could only interview so many pregnant people that she did it herself with the help of Sole. She sliced up the DNA herself and injected herself with it. Sole had made sure that she was alright and had regular brought up that she couldn’t get rid of the baby once it was born and she was fine with that. She knew what childbirth had entailed and she was alright with it, she loved kids after all. She finally gave birth to a baby girl during the summer time, they chose the name Dominique.

•Dominique was born prematurely by a month

•Curie worked with Sole and Sturges to help her as well as regular check ups by her self or Doc Carrington from the railroad

•Dominique ended up being allergic to a dew commonwealth things like hubflower and tarberry but besides that she was a perfectly normal, healthy baby.

•Curie liked to dress her daughter in the cutest outfits. Sole has many pictures of their baby girl in a cute outfit that they had made with a matching hat and fashion glasses when curie was doing field research

•Curie monitors how she moves and what food she does and doesn’t like, if she obtains anymore allergies, what toys she likes playing with etc

•Curie is overjoyed when Dominique starts getting into science toys

•Loves being a mom but also makes sure to remember that she’s not just a mom

Danse: Listen, it’s not that Danse didn’t want a kid, it’s just what would he do with it?! He left the brotherhood and is a minuteman now but what if that puts their child in more danger?! His worries clear up when Sole and the doctor come back with their baby, a little boy who looks like the perfect mix of Danse and Sole. Sole hands him the baby and while the fear is still there, it’s overcome by joy. This is their little boy, and he’ll do anything to protect him.

•They name him James but they call him Jamie

•If they had a girl, her name would have been May

•Danse is overprotective, full on helicopter parent but Sole helps calm him down

•The first time Jamie got sick he started hyperventilating cause he was so nervous but eventually calmed down when he was informed that it was a cold and he’ll be okay.

•Was happy to teach Jamie how to hunt when he expressed that he wanted to learn

•Does classic dad stuff, like stereotypical

•Starts drinking concerning amounts of coffee after Jamie is born to the point that sole had to put a limit on him

Deacon:He didn’t deserve this. Babies were too pure and he felt like he was going to taint this kid. But eventually he thought about it and he had always wanted kids, he was good with them he’d say. He was still a little hesitant but then fully leaned into being a dad and was happy to do it with Sole. Especially when he saw their little science baby. And she was beautiful, she had his red hair but her eyes were like Sole’s except for the fact that they were far apart and he had only seen that distance and face shape on one person. He guessed maybe Barbara made her own claim on the baby in some way.

•They named their daughter Lily, he had wanted to name her Mazikeen after a book character but Sole swiftly vetoed that

•Like he is as a person, as a dad he puts on a care free attitude but is truthfully very paranoid

•He cuts her nails often so she doesn’t scratch herself because when she was starting to grow them , she scratched at her face so badly she bled

•He will take goofy pictures with her like her chewing on his glasses or her covered in food and her with the worse case of bed head

•With friends, he is absolutely the type of dad to show off these pictures to them

• “You can’t say you don’t like it if you haven’t tried it”

•When Lily was a baby, in winter he would put her bassinet outside after it snowed to take a nap in so it could build her immune system

•100% has eaten baby food and will again “It’s not that bad, wanderer , you’re just pre-war and picky”

•HATES the smell of the baby formula so they either feed her brahmin milk or donated breast milk from one of the minuteman charities

•Will often take her to Carrington for checkups

Hancock: Listen, Hancock got around. He’s surprised that he doesn’t have more “ooopsie babies” besides Fahrenheit. What he wasn’t expecting was to settle down and have a freaking magic baby!? Ok maybe not magic but with how near-dead his swimmers are, may as well be. But now he was sitting with his partner holding their blonde-headed baby boy.

•They named him Felix

•If they had a girl, her name would have been Lola

•Hancock was anxious that the baby would come out weird looking but the only ghoul trait Felix has is that he’s immune to radiation which is a pretty damn good trait

•He kind of fucked up with Fahrenheit so after Felix was born he wanted to make amends for the sake of both of his kids.

•He is genuinely care free but protective of Felix

•He tries his best to clean up Goodneighbor some, both literally and physically

• “Dad, there’s like whore’s here and stuff.” “How many times have i told you to not say ‘and stuff’, just say ‘Dad, there are whore’s here’”

•Felix is sarcastic to the max and Sole and Hancock find it so entertaining

•Gets antsy when Sole takes Felix to Diamond City for a number of reasons

•Felix is terrified of Mirelurks so they rarely take him near the beach, mostly Salem and Quincy

•Cleans up his act for the most part too, doesn’t want his son to turn out like him and get into drugs

MacCready: Oh boy, another one. He was excited the moment Sole brought it up and they were happy to tell Duncan. Like with deacon, the baby had Lucy’s eyes and their shape. Both Sole and Mac thought their baby girl was just darling.

•They named her Annette

•Like Mac and Duncan, she was allergic to dust

•MacCready and Sole take the kids on walks just to make sure they both get enough sunshine

•He panics bad when Annette gets sick. He reminds himself that what happened to Duncan won’t happen to Annette. Though it takes awhile for him to believe it

•Annette ends up being the polar opposite of Duncan, she likes reading and coloring and she likes to be on the swings but she doesn’t want to be out there two long

•The swear jar continues, he got swindled out of 10 caps once cause he went on a tirade in front of Duncan and Annette. Duncan stopped showing Annette his comic books and leveled Mac with a stare that he swear bore into his soul. His loving spouse Sole, couldn’t stop laughing for a hot minute afterwards.

Nick: When sole had brought it up he was hesitant. Making a synth like shaun, who could grow has they aged? Eventually he got around to the idea and thats how he ended up with their son Carlo.

•Loves singing to him

•Invites Ellie over to meet him “Nick, OMG HES ADORABLE”

•Wouldn’t really know what to do about changing them but would learn quickly, he’s not just dumping that on sole

•As Carlo grows up he does his best to instill a good moral code in him.

•He isn’t quick to anger but he’s not going to coddle him either

•He’ll make sure Carlo knows that he’s loved more than anything though

Piper: Hell yeah she wants a baby! She liked raising nat so she thinks she’ll like raising this baby girl.

•She names her Mina, she didn’t let Sole pick the name

•Sole made her attend parenting classes with them because they didn’t like how she left nat alone

•She slows down on journaling, doesn’t stop but she wants to spend more time with her family

•Mina needed glasses from a very early age which caused Piper to star calling her Bug cause her glasses made her eyes huge

•Mina runs into everything, just like Piper, both very accident prone

Preston: Since his mental health had gotten better he loved the idea of having kids and loved shaun more than anything else. Naturally when Sole brought up having one through science, he was cautious but excited. Somehow he ended up with twins, a little boy and girl and he loved them more than anything.

•His kids names are Loucilla and Ben

•He was surprised that there were two but they immediately became his pride and joy

•Yall know jack from This is Us, that’s Preston as a dad.

•Loucilla got the nick name “Silly-Lou” early on because she would try to chew on ben’s hands, Preston’s nose ,Sole’s hair, and Shaun’s Ear. The first time she did it she immediately rolled forward

•Ben’s nick name is Bean/Beanie cause thats what Shaun had thought you said at first

•Shaun was the one to give both babies their nicknames

•Preston always tells people that he has three kids “That one doesn’t look much like you” “Huh, Weird, you must be seeing things”

•Like many fathers before him, he had kids and immediately became the master of the grill

X6-88: It took awhile and a lot of therapy but X6 is a person and he can admit that now. As a person he really wants a kid, he brings it up to Sole first. Sole agrees and nine months later he’s having skin to skin with his daughter.

•They named her Corrine

•X6 acted quite mechanically towards her at first, even sing to her in a monotone voice

•Corrine was a coneheaded baby and it freaked X6 out though Sole did their best to convince him that she was alright and not an alien

•Sole commonly finds X6 standing in the door of her nursery just staring at her

•He’ll change her diapers and sole deals with the spit up

•Will NOT let anyone but him and sole kiss her, if his baby girl gets sick, all of Sanctuary will have hell to pay

•Definitely taught Corrine how to swim by chucking her in the lake behind Sanctuary, she didn’t talk to him for the rest of the week

Gage: Settled down for some fucken ankle biter? What the hell,sure.

•Surprisingly really good with kids, or his and sole’s son, Monty

•He sews Monty 1, count it 1, stuffed animal. Its a baby deathclaw

•Refuses to change a diaper, you can not force him to do it

•Despite looking like he hasn’t bathed in 10 years, he makes sure Monty gets his bath every other day.

•Would rather gut himself than show Monty to the gangs

•He won’t sing to him however humming isn’t singing

•He’s rough with teaching Monty as he gets older. Strike first and strike hard

•Sole calls him cruel at times and he just stares at them like “yeah, no fucking shit”

•Cares about his kid but there may be a few years where they only talk to each other once a day in passing

[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.

[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.

[lensman-arms-race]

Which Skibidi Toilet characters should you eat?

Delicious, a delicacy:

Regular Skibidi Toilets: steam them in their shells, and extract the roe from the cistern for an excellent tangy spread. The organs also make great sausages.

Regular Camera units: If you boil the head until the casing is soft, you can crack it open and eat the camera within. The lenses will acquire a jelly-like consistency and can be used like aspic. Don't forget to harvest the transmission fluids and coolants from the main body - you can boil this down to a sticky reduction that tastes not unlike barbecue sauce. The best-kept secret? Boil down their coats; they reduce to a membrane that you can use for sausage casings. If you bag a Camera unit carrying a Baba Booey button, look for the detonators nearby - the explosives make a lovely hot peppery sauce.

Decent snacks:

Regular and large Speaker units: Their bodies are full of nicely chewy wires. Inside the head you can find the speaker-cone. Pull that out and stuff it with wires, then you can fold them over into something like pierogi. Large speakers obviously give you more bang for your buck; their heads contain multiple cones.

Large Camera units: Their heads and bodies are mostly tough and gamey; an acquired taste. However, you can harvest the film inside the reels on their head and use it like tagliatelle pasta, or like seaweed. Grind up the microphone for a nutmeg-like spice.

Edible if you're desperate:

Regular TV units: You must remove or drain the teleport circuit before cooking, otherwise it will explode from the heat. Removing it is preferred; if you can harvest the black fog within, you can use it to make a sauce that tastes not unlike hoisin. Thoroughly boil the head to remove the hazardous sharpness from the glass; it should acquire a soft, slightly sticky crunch a bit like sugar candy. Makes an intriguing alternative to seaweed wrap for sushi rolls (try making them with Skibidi roe).

Partially edible:

Acid tank Skibidi Toilets: Remove the tanks entirely. Don't let any of the contents get onto the meat; it's like trying to make meringue with egg whites contaminated by yolk. Just doesn't work.

Astro Toilets: Same as Skibidi Toilets but it's so much more effort to break into their shells.

Technically edible:

Secret Agent: As with any human, the tastiest part is the 'web' of flesh between the thumb and forefinger. It's not worth it, though - eating the Secret Agent is not recommended. His meat is oddly grey-green and oily for a human, and he'll re-appear a week later while you are tormented with memories that shouldn't be in your head.

Skibidi Kitty: Cat meat is unpleasant tasting. Plus, how could you?

Probably toxic:

Skibidi parasites: the meat of the 'tongue' appendage causes hallucinations if ingested, with variable side effects. The parasite is safe to eat with the tongue removed, but is tough as old boots.

[quirkwizard]

Could you make a quirk based on Doctor Phosphorus from Creature Commandos/Blight from Batman Beyond?

What, no love for the Atomic Skull? He's a burning skeleton with green flames. He's even got the coolest name out of the three of them.

I see it working as a Transformation type Quirk that allows the user to charge their skin with green energy, making them look like a glowing skeleton. The energy emits high amounts of heat at all points of the body, able to melt through steel when pressure is applied. The user can cause this energy to flare off of them over short ranges, though it will rapidly degrade in potency when it leaves the user's body. This gives the user a good tool for combat, searing away at whatever is around them with their intense energy. They can burn through the terrain, keep people from getting close to them, melt attacks before they actually hit their body, deal massive damage to their enemies, or just horrify people as a burning skeleton. Though the user's intense heat can be extremely dangerous for people to be around and can damage the terrain with the user interacting with it, even when walking. The user will need to show extreme caution and reservation with their power. Forms of coolant and highly temperature-resistant materials can counteract and deter the user's heat. The usage of the Quirk can be rather obvious with the user becoming a glowing skeleton. A possible name for the Quirk could be "Meltdown".