#Practical Wire Fuse

[technikonakademie]

Discover the practical application of wire fuses in our two-day course at the Technikon Academie.

From material selection to technology applications, you learn everything to ensure connections and solve cross-industry problems.

With practice-oriented exercises and expert instructions, you will acquire quickly applicable skills for your professional success.

[hoshifighting]

Hey Lyla... Umm I have a fic request.

I have recently read your response fic to an anon request of Jeonghan asking the reader to marry him during a rough intercourse...

I'm a Jeonghan and Woozi bias...after reading it, I couldn't help but imagine how the situation would play out of Jihoon did this..

Can you please do a fic where Jihoon asks the reader to marry him during a rough sex round?

Also thank you for your amazing writings🩵

woozi asking you to marry him during rough sex

WARNINGS: smut, dirty talk, rough sex, hair pulling, mentions of carrying his babies, breeding kink

his hand is tangled so deep in your hair, pulling you back with this raw intensity, guiding you to sink into him, and every thrust makes you see stars. he’s got you so close, you’re practically fused to him, his arm tight around your throat, holding you just right, and you can feel every hot, rough breath he takes against your shoulder, hear every moan he makes.

he feels it—feels the way you go soft, the way you just trust him to hold you. that soft, open surrender of yours always drives him crazy, with a big want to protect you as his woman.

you are trusting every single rough, desperate pull of his hands. you let your head fall back on his shoulder, feeling his grip tighten, his chest heaving against your back, his jaw clenched in concentration. he’s possessed by the way you’re letting him have you, all open, soft, and trusting in his arms.

and then, out of nowhere, against your ear, a tone you’ve never heard before. “marry me… fuck, marry me.”

it shocks you to your core, and you freeze, barely even sure you heard him right. you try to look back at him, but his grip tightens, keeping you there, his body so tense, almost like he can’t believe he let those words slip.

you open your mouth to speak, but he just thrusts into you harder, like he’s chasing something, his brows furrowed. “don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, almost shy, like he’s thrown off by his own words. “just… just say... yes. just say you’re mine.”

you can feel his heart racing against your back, he holds you there, waiting, his eyes dark and desperate. you nod, not even breathing properly, but you whine; “yes.”

and that’s all it takes—he practically whimpers, burying himself deep inside you, pulling you even closer.

he’s got both hands on you, squeezing your breasts hard, his thumbs rolling over your nipples, making you whimper and shudder in his arms. every inch of you is wired, your body trembling and convulsing around him as he grits his teeth. “you’re gonna be my wife,” he mutters, his fingers digging in as he presses his hips up into you, so deep it’s like he’s trying to brand himself there. “gonna put a ring on your finger and fill you up every single day.” his lips find your neck, teeth grazing, like he’s staking a claim, and he groans, feeling you clench and pulse around him, your entire body wrapped in his.

your body is giving out, but he holds you tighter, hands roaming over every inch, savoring every little sound you make. “you’re not going anywhere, i’ll make sure of it. you’re gonna give me everything, yeah? whole house full of us. you’ll look so perfect, carrying my kids, just—” he thrusts deeper, his hands squeezing, pushing you right to the edge. “fuck, you’ll be mine, all mine,” he breathes, his voice shakingt. “just you and me, for the rest of our lives.” his words are all you can hear, that promise echoing, settling in you just as deep as he is.

[bonebrokebuddy]

@kodedgeekthings eyo you mentioned wanting a dpxdc prompt for Howard, Batman’s mechanic!

Harold misses fixing toys for kids and in his off hours has taken up the habit of answering questions on forums about machining, electrical, engineering, mechanics, and mechanical design that are often frequented by students.

One day, he comes across a request by a college student who is trying to assemble his own car out of scrap he bought from a local wrecking yard.

Ghostly_Boy states that he has previous experience in machining and can make replacements for broken or too-damaged parts if need be, but he doesn’t know where to start and what specific requirements he needs to reach to ensure it’s street legal.

Harold willing to help, he answers a few of Ghostly Boy’s clarifying questions:

- Great questions!

It’s good to note that if you’re not careful, fixing or making your own car from parts can be a moneysink and can cost you more than a brand new vehicle. - That being said, your first major step to ensuring you can drive the car is to get the title of the body/frame of the car you plan to build. It’ll have the VIN on a plate welded to the frame usually near the lower edge of the windshield wipers on the drivers side. It’s how the DMV identifies vehicles for licensing.

- Generally, you’ll at first get a “wreck out” title that shows the vehicle is listed as a total loss, but if you can assemble the parts for the car with that frame, the DMV can check if it’s properly running and road worthy & license for you to use it on public roads if you’ve done the proper paperwork.

- Once that is done, it’s largely a case of getting the right parts and assembling them. Depending on how much you have to repair, you could be taking on a task that could give a challenge to even a seasoned mechanic. There may be additional paperwork depending on what exactly you need to repair, like the breaks, lights, steering, etc.

- If you want to build the car entirely from scratch, chassis and all, that’s an entirely different story with a much more complicated list of requirements to make it street legal, so getting a frame from a junkyard is a great first step!

- Make sure to keep all bills of sale, junkyard receipts, invoices and manufacturers’ certificates on any major parts you used in building the vehicle to prove its road worthy to the DMV when it’s complete!

Harold doesn’t always answer first but over time he’s found the adventures of this kid amusing and keeps up with it.

Ghostly_Boy keeps the forum updated with his progress:

The kid spontaneously deciding to scrap the wiring system and make his own in a span of 3 days, leaving experienced mechanics on the forum practically screaming at the kid for his updates showing him using random wires he salvaged and pigtailing them together to get the length of wire he needed.

Mixing not only multiple types of wires but ones that didn’t have the protection needed for auto use. DIY-ing his own relay and fuses he didn’t have and connecting the wrong grounds and switches. And planning on leaving the wires unwrapped and loose.

Leaving Ghost to promptly redo the wiring, correctly this time, within 78 hours.

Making a repair of a massive rusted hole on the passenger side by the bumper and the front tire via cutting 1/2in past the rust, grinding it pretty and clean, tac & seam welding the vintage aluminum housing material of a toaster to cover the hole to the response of Harold and many others in the forum just going “… I guess that would work?”

Harold and many others telling the kid that this “ectoplasm” material wasn’t cleared through the EPA’s Clear Air Act and could be illegal to drive with it as it’s fuel source unless he got the emissions tested & the center of gravity of the car adjusted to have the center of gravity a gas car has, it wouldn’t pass Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standards. Nor would the previously untested on material make it easy or quick to get an Emissions testing certificate. Best to just stick with gas.

Removing what he thought was a “skid plate” that turned out to be another rusted out section on the frame on the bottom of his car and repairing it with steel he salvaged from an old medical table he had laying around. (To the multiple slightly confused commenters asking how Ghost had a spare medical table, he replied, “eh, my folks visit every so often and they’ve been giving me things they’re clearing out of the house so they can move closer to my older sister. I just so happened to get the ye olde medical table. They’re an odd couple of folks but that’s why I love them.”)

People just crying at the kid to go to rockauto.com and just buy the damn parts he needs for his car. (A good resource btw)

The kid kept cutting corners to save cash but through the badgering of Harold and many others that he actually would have to spend money to make this car be safe to drive in, he finally got it completed.

Ghost’s post of him leaving DMV waving the updated title to the car in its envelope in the air, titled, “THE DMV FINALLY SAID IT WASN’T A FIRE HAZARD! ONLY TOOK 2 YEARS! THANKS EVERYONE!” Got the most amount of responses he’d ever had with congratulations from lurkers and previous commenters.

Over the course of those two years, Danny learned how to draw his own wiring diagrams, properly solder and weld, and learning to actually plan out his projects so he got it right at least the fifth time instead of the 20th. Not bad for a kid that went straight from graduating high school with a 1.5GPA to construction jobs.

But after finally getting the car approved, Ghostly_Boy returns to the forum with a new problem. Lamenting that his parents keep coming over and “modifying” his car to no longer make it street legal.

At this point, about half of the answers to the submission think it’s either a joke project taken very, very seriously with a good chunk of money behind it, or a kid with parents that have narrowly avoided falling completely down the mad scientist rogue rabbit hole.

After all, what sort of parent would think that the DMV would approve to “anti-ghost missiles” being attached to the outer body of the car? Either way, the submissions always had video attached showing a demonstration, proving that Ghost wasn’t just completely yanking their chain. And a good amount of money would have to be sunken in to not only pay for the fines Ghostly continued to get from the additions to his car, but to actually manufacture and make a unique working product for each plea for help request.

Harold is not only taking notes on some of these defense measures but also decides to bring up the boy to Alfred. Intrigued, they together keep an eye on Ghostly_Boy. Bruce may be their employer, but they can handle a case or two on their own.

- I wanted Danny to try to make smth for himself now that he doesn’t have access to his parent’s lab anymore but he also doesn’t have access to ectoplasm so he’s fairly unfamiliar how to wire things Not for ectoplasmic standards.

Also I wanted to make a prompt where Danny had a good relationship with his parents & went into a fairly realistic job after high school with his fairly bad GPA so he’s saving up for a technical school via construction jobs as he doesn’t like the idea of working fast food for understandable reasons.

[tervaneula]

u said leoichi drabble prompt request. consider. one injured and the other protecting them and then the injured one has to calm them down bc 'they're okay, really, promise, rest now'

OKAY SO this fused with a ghost of an idea I've had for a while and it ended up being a bit more serious than the prompt called for and a lot longer than just a drabble. (It's ~1120 words.) CW: blood and injury

Also I made a silly header thing I don't know what to do with, so I'm putting it here since this fic doesn't come with art of its own :'3

“Yui, I’m okay–” 

The rabbit turns his head to look at him, furious. 

“I heard your shell crack, Leonardo, and I'm not an idiot! Now stay down and let me handle this!” 

He falls quiet for a moment before redirecting his glare towards their adversary and then adds a muted, “Please.” 

There's no compromising with Yuichi in this state, apparently, and Leonardo stays right where he got crushed between metal claws and the concrete, splayed on the ground next to those very same claws which had gotten swiftly cut from the wrist for their transgressions.

He does roll onto his side to get his body weight off his shell, and yeah, alright, one or more of the old cracks that never healed properly must have split open again. It's tough to breathe and his back feels… His kimono is sticking to his shell and his back feels wet now that he's paying attention, and that. That is not good. 

Just his luck to run into a massive mecha wreaking havoc on an otherwise lovely day, huh. He wasn't even supposed to be on patrol and thus is embarrassingly swordless. 

Good thing that his date and their resident samurai always carries his. 

The slider watches as Yuichi does quick work of the metal hunk's wiring behind its knees, his frighteningly sharp katana slicing through the cables like butter. The mech falls with a ground-shaking rumble, unable to rise again, arm flailing as it tries to catch the rabbit. It's no use, Yuichi is much smaller and faster – and as soon as he reaches the mech's head, it's already rolling. The construct immediately loses power and Yuichi wrenches the windowed hatch in its chest open. Turns out there's no pilot, just a program-operated dashboard, and he makes sure that none of the controls are functional after he's done with them. 

Leonardo thinks he could watch Yuichi trash villains all day long, he's practically mesmerised by the strength hidden in that soft frame despite his shell throbbing unpleasantly in tandem with his heartbeat. He sighs, lovestruck. 

As his final move, Yuichi thrusts his katana into the heart of the mecha and Leonardo sees a spray of ink-black oil splash all over Yuichi's face and the front of his kimono. It makes him laugh and he realises his mistake too late, his lungs struggling to draw breath again as he finally gets hit with the pain, his body trying to stop him from moving; from causing any more damage. Shit, shit, shit. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need to bother any of his brothers today since he was supposed to spend the whole day with Yuichi but he knows to pick his battles, now. He opens the comm link embedded in his prosthetic, contacting someone who he knows will pick up. 

“Che~ello!” comes the cheerful answer in just a few seconds, and Leonardo can't help but smile. 

“Mikeyyy, hermano, I'm in a bit of a pickle,” he wheezes, feeling the shift in his little brother's energy as soon as he hears the strain in his voice. 

“Leo? Are you okay?” 

“Not really, no,” Leonardo grunts. “Got into a scuffle with some big haywire robot– don’t worry, that’s taken care of. I suspect Donnie will want to scrap it for parts. Um. My shell’s– my shell’s cracked though.” 

Leonardo can vividly imagine the colour draining from Michelangelo's face and it would be funny if he wasn't acutely aware of a broken shell coming with the very real possibility of his innards turning into outnards. 

“I'm calling Draxy. Stay put, I'll get Lee to pick you up.” 

“Right,” Leonardo sighs, the line going out just when Yuichi is finally done with the mech and rushing to his side, face haphazardly wiped from oil. His gaze is sharp as he kneels next to him, sweaty and out of breath, and Leonardo thinks he looks like a knight. Or maybe like a samurai of the old, in this case. 

“There’s my hero,” he coos before Yuichi can get a word out and the rabbit’s brow furrows. 

“Don’t start,” he snaps but his tone softens almost immediately, “I saw you calling someone. It’s bad, isn’t it? It… it looks really bad.” 

“Yeeeah, this kimono is definitely ruined,” Leonardo laments, “unless you know how to, gh, get blood out of corduroy? No? Or the obi?” 

Yuichi stares. 

“A– a shame, really, I did like this one a lot–” 

“Leonardo!” Yuichi interrupts him and grabs his bicep, looking two seconds away from crying. Leonardo frowns. He knows he’s getting a little delirious but he was sincerely trying his best to lift his mate’s mood. 

“Leon, please, you’re rambling. Is someone coming? Can I do anything?” 

“‘m not rambling,” Leonardo grumbles, hissing when he fills his lungs again. “Leo’s coming to get us, Draxy– Draxum will treat the shell. And no, better keep the obi in place until we get to the medbay.” 

Yuichi’s shoulders slump and he sighs, most likely relieved that he’s not going to have to figure out how to deal with a cracked shell. Leonardo does not like the lingering worry in Yuichi’s gaze one bit, though, and he offers him a grin. It’s a little shaky but whatever. 

“Heeey, bunbun. Listen. This is nothing I haven’t been through before. I’ll be fine.” 

Yuichi gives him an honest-to-God kicked-puppy look and Leonardo thinks it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen in his life. He almost tells him so but Yuichi cups his cheek and his forced grin melts away into surprised silence. 

“I hate seeing you hurt,” Yuichi murmurs, leaning down to press his forehead against Leonardo’s. The slider’s eyes flutter shut and he lifts his hand to hold onto Yuichi’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I mean it. I should’ve been more careful.” 

Yuichi huffs and leans away to gently bump their foreheads together. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Maybe, but ’m still sorry. Didn’t want to worry you.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Yuichi says, exasperated. “You should know that at this point, I’ll always worry.” 

Leonardo grins and this time it’s genuine. Breathing in his partner’s scent is like a balm to him, even if it’s tinged with the bitterness of motor oil, even if his body currently thinks that breathing is overrated. Even if he just got called an idiot by none other than said partner. 

“Raincheck on the date?” he mumbles, and finally he gets a chuckle out of the rabbit. Yuichi straightens his back and flicks him on the nose. 

“Like you even needed to ask. Idiot.” 

Before Leonardo can express his displeasure of being called an idiot for a second time there’s the familiar electric hum of a portal opening behind him, and someone whistles. 

“Sheesh, old man. That kimono is definitely ruined.” 

[anti-porn-unicorn]

In The Brain That Changes Itself, psychiatrist Norman Doidge summarizes research on the neurobiological aspects of sexual development. He writes: “The human libido is not a hardwired, invariable biological urge but can be curiously fickle, easily altered by our psychology and the history of our sexual encounters,” and he goes on to conclude: “Sexual taste is obviously influenced by culture and experience and is often acquired and then wired into the brain.”

Neurons that fire together wire together. Once this happens, aggression automatically triggers sexual arousal. Or fear and anxiety automatically trigger sexual interest. When this fusion of neural networks becomes pronounced, people often will present to the psychiatrist with clinical problems. Patients complain, for example, that they cannot get aroused unless they get aggressive or violent. Or they complain that they become involuntarily aroused whenever they experience fear. Once these distinct neural networks are fused, the person is—at the level of the brain—literally tied down.

With sexual behaviors, the problem of tolerance means that one needs to push the envelope more and more just to get aroused or climax. The aggressive, domineering, or painful behaviors need to become increasingly intense and increasingly dangerous in order to “work.” Frequently, a person who engages in BDSM becomes habituated to these intense experiences and needs to up the ante to stay in the game.

Some individuals are clearly drawn to these practices because they tap into deep emotional scripts, often based on childhood trauma or insecure early attachments. One psychiatrist studying BDSM practitioners in Los Angeles found that a disproportionate number had a history of severe childhood medical illness, and often underwent painful treatments.

[anitalianfrie]

some cyborg au i randomly wrote (tw: body horror) // 1,3k

After the crash, they have to cut the suit off his arm to access the fracture. Expert hands slice with scissors, quickly and careless, through the leathers while he's laying on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance. He refused to lay on it, in the beginning, but the paramedics insisted. Under his schorched suit, his arm is bloody and mangled, the humerus poking the skin, creating an ugly bulge, red and purple from blood. Exposed wires, broken and fused from the heat, come out from his busted forearm. His fingers are red, crushed, metal poking through the tendons of his wrist and his palm. Sparks are igniting at the level of his shoulder. The woman in front of him is barely quick enough to extinguish them.

In the hospital they tell him that, beside the immediate impact that completely busted the majority of his enhancements on his right side - the hand traction, the strengthner, even the support - the bone shattered through the wires and the metal sheets of his upper arm, causing an internal short circuit. The wires cought fire. His nervous system is for the majority, if not completely, damaged, and it will take time for it to recover, if to recover at all.

They present him with various options. He chooses the one that will allow him to race as soon as possible. It's a new technology, they tell him. Minimal hardware, almost all neurological. The creme de la creme of innovation. They are going to screw his bone back together with a metal plate and fuse some wires at it, made of a new metal, then inserting them in his nervous system. Impulses and wires are going to run through his arm, to activate the movements, and some reinforced plates are going to be placed on his upper arm and his forearm to assure stability. They are going to rewire his entire bike-control system, since it got destroyed in the crash, and substitute the older parts with new ones, more efficients.

It's still an experimental surgery, they say, but every other option includes too much hardware. Hardware that his body will need to get used to, before he will be able to control it perfectly, with the surgical precision he needs to ride. Before he'll able to be one with his bike again.

He accepts.

In Jerez, after free practice, he realizes he can't race. Something is wrong. The arm doesn't respond to his commands, keeps getting stuck. But that's not the problem. It wouldn't be the first time he raced with a malfuncioning arm.

The problem it's all the rest. Something must have broken somewhere else, because his whole body is twitchy. The fingers of his left hand keep glitching, like if there was a bug. The lights on his ribs keep flicking, advising him that something is wrong in his balance system. At one point, blood comes out of his right eye, the one he had to modify back in 2011.

It's too much. He retires from the race.

And then, one day, while he opens a window, his arms catches fire.

It's an interesting feeling, to have one's arm buring. To feel the flesh melting on your own bones. To smell your own fat burning.

He's rushed to the hospital by Alex while he screams in agony. His right hand is still twichy, his ribs keep flashing, blood keep coming out of his right eye. His arm is on fire.

The have to open him up, rewiring him completely once again. Apparently, something went wrong the first time: they don't know what, or why. The main hypothesis is that they got some detail of the wiring wrong, and since almost all his enhancement are neural-linked, it influenced them all. It would have probably had minimal effect on somebody with more mechanicals on. Somebody more old gen. Somebody like Valentino.

Then, while he opened the window, the bone shattered again, broke trough the wires and metal sheets again, and caused another short circuit. Only, this time it wasn't just a few sparks.

it doesn't get better. All the bugs his system was experiencing keep being there, and only get worse with time. They tell him it might be an imbalance of tecnology, his too new right arm interfering with the older softwares. They tell him it might be the materials used for the new wires. The truth is: they don't know.

In 2022, he realizes he can't race anymore like this. The sparks that keep igniting on his shoulder, the continous twitches, the blood that doesn't let him see. His jaw that keeps getting stuck.

He goes to a doctor, a new one, specialized in this kind of things. Sitting there, one on one with him in his study, white walls and rows and rows of books, he gets told that his right arm is no longer usable. That the tecnology that was implemented, almost all software and almost no hardware, wasn't feesable: it failed too much trials. It was dangerous. It fried the bones and the nerves. The small chances his arm had to recover its functionality are gone.

And not only: the material used for the hardware has an high percentage of rejection. At first, it gets immediately integrated in the body, allowing little to no refractory period, but soon after the majority of people start to have a reaction to it. They show him pictures of the inside of his arm. The bone is corroded, rotting along with the nerves and the muscles and the flash. His body, in an useless attempt of getting out what it percieves it shouldn't be there, has been trying to kill itself.

Of course, the doctors weren't aware of this downside, when they put it in him. It was a new tecnology, after all.

The doctor tells him, with a serious voice, both hands on the desk behind which he's seated, that the only option is amputation.

Marc looks down at his mangled arm, the muscles weak, reinforced with metal and wires to allow him to use it still, control lights blinking up and down for its whole lenght. The piece of metal they weren't able to get out, risking to compromise too much funcionality, that still goes through his wrist. His fingers, kept straight only by metal rods and small plates. It's been a couple of months since he's been able to move them fully. The wires getting out of his open forearm, where the bike control is supposed to be. They took it out when he stopped racing. It was too much of a risk to keep it there.

His arm. What's left of it. Rotten and dying.

He agrees to the surgery.

There's not much he can do about it anyway.

Three days later, fresh out of surgery, he looks at his new arm. It's not a marvel of tecnology: he insisted on having an older model, a mainly mechanical one, that couldn't interfere with his other systems. Even when they told him it wouldn't happen, that they would update all his softwares, he refused to change his mind. A new neurological path gets estabished, one apt to replace his nervous system. It has the same updates as the rest of him, the oldest ones he could get without risking major bugs.

The metal shines under the sterile lights, against the white sheets. he moves his fingers, and for the first time in God knows how long, they do exactly what he wants them to. They will need constant manteinance. System updates, eventual rewiring, oil in between the joints. That's the main problem of menichals: they need work. Old racers used to do it constatly, back then, up until the 2000s. But nobody ever had a whole limb replaced.

Marc looks at this new part of him, delicately sawn to his shoulder, wires white and red and blue inserted into his skin, connecting it to the rest of him, making him funcional again.

Marc looks at his new arm, and cries.

[equalseleventhirds]

what up besties sorry i haven't been online much but would u like to read the piece i wrote for my final for creative writing? it's metaporically about being trans n neurodivergent n disabled n ppl loving an idea of you more than you, but also it is about a zombie who comes back, not wrong, but not quite what anyone wanted..

(cw for death, electrocution, being buried (not quite alive), and complicated feelings about gender & name but that journey not being completed yet.)

- - -

Grave News

Amelia Marquez, 34, passed away in a tragic accident…

            Later, when anyone learns she woke up already buried, she can see the horror movie assumptions playing out behind their eyes. The thought of waking up, trapped in a tiny, dark, airless space, scrabbling at the walls, gasping for breath, the weight of the earth above pressing down, down, down…

            She smiles and accepts their pity, their horrified dismay, and does not tell them about lying awake, perfectly motionless, trying to figure out how to move. About how easy it is not to struggle for breath when pulling air into your lungs takes conscious effort. About pushing at different groups of muscles, her body twitching and twisting in the dark, until she works out forward, works out force, works out the flex of her hand as it pushes through velvet, then oak, then dirt, then dirt, then dirt.

            Amelia claws her way out of her own grave, not frantic, not berserk, but deliberate. Gradual. Almost mechanical, as she practices moving by repeating the same thing again and again, her patient hands working their way through wood, through earth, to the surface.

            (It isn't until later, standing in her parents' doorway and listening to the screams, that she realizes what ceaseless digging does to the human hand. She realizes that she somehow did not feel the pain as she dug. She realizes she needs to buy gloves.)

…the home she shared with her fiancé…

            Cole had been so certain about his repairs. Fifty bucks at Home Depot and a couple of days of work, and Amelia’s concerns brushed aside.

            “I’ve got this, Ames. Way better than hiring a contractor.” And she had agreed, had let him do it himself, had made dinner for a week while he spent his evenings messing with wires and fuses, assuring her that he was nearly done, that the video on YouTube made it so easy.

            Cole hadn’t been home when the lights went out, when Amelia went to the fuse box and tried to flip everything back on. When the jumble of wires in their walls shorted and flared and spread electricity through her body.

            When it killed her.

            Once her parents call, Cole drops everything to rush over. He falls to his knees in front of her, staring up into her face through a haze of tears and hope and shock.

            “You’re back. Ames, Amy, you’re back, how…”

            She stares down at her lap, making sure her hands are covered by the blanket her mother had nestled around her.

…a beautiful light in our lives, extinguished too soon. Her friends and family…

            Her memorial photo, the black clothes, the incense on the table, are all gone the morning after she comes back, packed away in boxes or thrown out in opaque garbage bags. Hands hesitate before touching her. They keep her at home, talking about rest, about recuperating.

            “Since you’ve been…” She sees the glances, the mouthed no, don’t say it. “…in your condition. It’s important to rest up.”

            It’s as though they think one wrong move, one wrong word, will kill her again.

            She wonders a little bit if they’re right.

            Her mother is the gentlest she’s ever been brushing Amelia’s hair, her hands careful, her voice filling the air. “And I unpacked some of your nice clothes,” she says, working through a tangle. “You don’t have to wear sweatpants anymore, I found your skirts…”

            Amelia looks down at her loose, comfortable clothes, the t-shirt worn and soft against her skin. She thinks about struggling with buttons on a nice blouse, thinks about whether ruffles will still itch the way they did when she was alive. Thinks about the way the mottled colors on her legs have lasted too long to be called bruises. Maybe she should call it decay.

            Her mother clicks her tongue sadly as a few strands of hair pull loose from her head. “These knots…”

            “What if I cut it?” Amelia asks. She’d been thinking about short hair back when she was alive. And it would be easier. “I can’t make you brush it for me every day.”

            Concern melds with distress on her mother’s face. “You can’t cut it,” she hisses. “What if it never grows back?”

...bright, funny, resilient, the first to volunteer...

            Once, she accidentally sleeps for three days. That’s the kind of thing the living joke about—so tired I could sleep for a week, as impossible as that would actually be. Turns out it’s easy for the dead—easy to lie still, easy to stop pushing, easy to drift away into forgiving darkness.

            She wakes to her mother weeping, her father pacing in the hall, Cole pale and haunted and clenching his phone in two hands. The funeral home’s phone number must be burned into the screen by now, but he hasn’t pressed the call button. Not yet.

            Amelia makes herself sit up in bed, reaches out to him, and sees him flinch.

            Right. Gloves.

            Even as she twists her face into a smile, she knows she's done it wrong. Her eyebrows are at odd angles, her lips curled strangely. She tries for light-hearted: "Whoops, close one! Don't want to wake up in a grave again."

            No one laughs.

...kept forever in our memories and our hearts...

            Late at night, she hears her parents whispering. “Is she all right?” her mother asks. “My little girl, my Amelia—she’s not acting like herself. She’s so tired, so...”

            “She just came back,” her father says. His voice is firm, comforting. Determined not to let any uncertainty slip through. The same voice he’s always used when her mother worries—the same voice he used when Amelia told him her own worries, her doubts about the future, about Cole. She always ended conversations with her father sure that he was right.

            “She’ll be back to herself soon enough,” he says. “We just have to keep her active. Remind her about being alive.”

            “But what if she’s not herself? I know we said not to bring up…” Her mother’s voice drops, furtive. “…the Z word…”

            “We’re keeping an eye on her. We’ll notice if she does anything that needs… intervention.”

            She closes her eyes. Wonders if she can turn off her hearing. Wonders if it would have been easier, staying in her grave.

            The next day, she brings up moving back in with Cole. He says he'd be happy to have her, and she pretends not to notice the look he exchanges with her parents.

…brought out the best in people, always ready to help, to listen…

            Cole is attentive. He brings her pastries from the bakery near their apartment and tells her about his day—work, his hobbies, a dog he saw at the park. Shows her pictures and videos on his phone. Mentions people by name, and she's not sure if they're new, since her death, or if she managed to forget people she knew about before.

            She knows which muscles to move for an understanding nod, an encouraging smile. She knows how to make herself chew and swallow food, how to bring it back up later so it doesn’t just sit and rot in her stomach. She still remembers the right way to ask questions so Cole shares more.

            There’s no real reason not to do it, but the more she thinks about it—the more she imagines forcing her body into the right place, the ordeal she’ll have to go through later—the less she wants to do it. She sits silently, pastries untouched, letting the muscles in her face go slack.

            “Ames? You okay?”

            It takes a second; she has to fill her lungs to respond. She tips one side of her mouth up in what could have been a reassuring smile, once. “Fine. Just tired.”

            He sits next to her, worry pinching between his eyebrows. "Of course. I'm sorry. Let's just sit here and watch TV? There are new episodes of all our favorites."

            The shows all feel distant, the plots blurred, the characters unfamiliar. She watches with him for hours anyway.

...a kind and giving spirit, she wanted to create...

            Shattering the mug isn't intentional. Even if she's started to resent the comforting cups of tea Cole brings her. Even if she's sick of pulling latex gloves over her cloth ones so she can wash the dishes. Even if the cutesy blobs of yellow and pink painted on it have always been too much, too bright, too false-forced-cheer, from the moment she was gifted it eight years ago.

            She still doesn't mean to let go of it, the muscles in her hand (and there are so many muscles in the human hand, so many to keep track of, and most of hers are damaged already) loosening and spasming as she's walking to the sink.

            The jagged pieces of it surround her, and Cole's hysterical babble of questions and assurances—"Are you okay, I've got it, just hold still"—fades into background noise as Amelia leans down to try and gather the shards.

            A hand wraps around her wrist and she turns to meet Cole's wide, frightened eyes. "Amy, your foot."

            A full inch of jagged ceramic is buried in her heel.

            She does not bleed, even after Cole pries it out.

...although she will never fulfill those plans, her dream will live on...

            "Ames, I'm worried." Cole reaches out, stops with his hand just over her thigh. Puts it down on the chair next to her, not touching. "This is... I know you've been through a lot. But you're acting like—"

            She turns her head until she can look at his face. Her neck jerks in the wrong direction a couple of times, but she's getting better at it, faster. "Like?"

            Cole's eyes are red, and can't quite meet hers. "Like..." His shoulders drop. "Not like yourself."

            He waits a beat—two—and gets up, breathing out harshly. "Ever since you came back, Amy. You barely look at me. You barely talk to me. You don't even like doing the things you used to like. I understand about your... condition, but..."        

...pray she rests well, and waits in peace for her loved ones...

            She sits in their apartment—Cole's apartment—long after he's gone, watching the afternoon sunlight shift across the space they used to share. Her books are still on the shelf. She remembers packing up her childhood bookshelf to bring to their new home. The painting she bought at a flea market is still hanging on the wall. She remembers joking with Cole about picking up a masterpiece for two dollars.

            Looking at them now, she doesn't even particularly want to bring them with her.

...invited to celebrate her life at...

            Merely dragging her body across the ground would be easier. But, even though she's wrong, even though she's not the person they think about when they look at her, she's still not a mindless, lurching zombie. Mostly.

            She walks. One step forward.

            Was she ever the person they thought about when they looked at her?

            One step.

            Maybe now she'll find out.

            One step.

...in lieu of flowers, the family asks...

            She settles into her seat on the train, making sure her hands are covered. A new start doesn't mean much if she sends an entire train into a panic.

            Someone sits next to her, bouncing in their seat. "Hey there! Looks like we've got eight hours ahead of us. What's your name?"

            She hesitates. Amelia. Amy. Ames.

"Mel," she says. It's strange in her mouth. Just slightly wrong, the same way she's just slightly wrong. Maybe that’s the right fit.

[quirkwizard]

URGENT MATTER WIZARD! Training, evolution, equipment and super moves for the Quirk Nature Ally???? I love how versatile this is 🤩

Like a lot of minion powers "Nature Ally" doesn't need a lot of equipment. Unless the user wants equipment to fight with their golems, like say a whip or a staff, there isn't much. Plenty of fun choices for costumes though with the elemental and nature theme. On the other hand, there are plenty of options to use if they want to apply items with the golems, like throwing out gasoline to help the fire one or throwing out wires for the electricity one to shock a person. Maybe they can even have something on hand to make the golems more resistant to certain elemental weaknesses, like having minerals around to help protect the water elemental from electricity.

Training would be the user simply having the golems out and about. Preferably fighting other Quirk users. That way, the user can practice to keep their minions out for longer periods while improving their ability to control them. This kind of training would result in the specific traits of the golems becoming more refined, such as the earth becoming better defensively and the fire getting better offensive power. Maybe they could even learn to shape the elements in certain ways, like having the water one take the form of a dog. Nothing too extreme, as they'd still stay roughly human sized, but could give some fun variety and more the minions more distinct from one another.

Evolutions could result in the golems becoming more resilient, such as being less exposed to their respective weaknesses and being physical better then before. As for other kinds of growth, they would be able to field more of their golems at a time, though this would be overarching evolution rather then something they can just do. The more immediate evolutions would have them fusing the golems. It wouldn't give them a bunch of new properties, but would combine the best of both minion's abilities. Like the fire and earth golem would make lava. The resulting golem wouldn't be as hot as magma, but would give them all the offensive and defensive abilities of the two elements and help to protect against certain weaknesses.

[umbra-borealis]

Little Toxin Masterpost. No ref sheet yet but for every like this post getst I'll leave a fact about Toxin and his parents below! Retweets count too!

Facts below the Read More!

Fact #1

Toxin's parents are Shadow and... Scourge!

They're a close family that lives isolated because they all hate being around people for too long.

Fact #2

Toxin goes by he/they pronouns and is intersex like both his parents. Yes, both, it's a no brainer on Shadow since him being alien tends to go hand in hand with otherworldly... situations but Scourge requires some more context. Keep liking the post and I'll share that too ;)

Fact #3

Okay okay, Scourge context!

Scourge has fused with Chaos in this AU making him a water elemental. On top of that Scourge's mother was a mimic octopus pretending to be a hedgehog to trick his father, whom I've also re-written and given the name 'Cobalt', into marrying her to connect their kingdoms. When she was found out she fled, leaving her two sons behind, one of which was Scourge and this technically means he's already a hybrid. His affinity for water is genetic, he was practically born to be homies with Chaos.

Scourge didn't inherit the camouflage ability like his brother Sapphire did, no he got the funky gender shenanigans instead and with no one to tell him stuff or compare himself to, he opted to tell everyone he's cis and run if they ask sussy questions. Shadow is the first person he told.

Fact #4

Shadow 'carried', as much as you can call it that side his alien species is of the egg laying variety. (No I will not go further into detail) He's part of a race (that's essentially Black Arms and The End from Forces combined and expanded upon) called 'Nova Luna' and his species generally has traits such as digitigrade legs and crystalline growths on their body of varying shapes, colors and sizes. (I have art of this coming very soon)

High ranking individuals pose as fake moons, hiding their colossal bodies to influence a planet from a distance. Shadow however has turned his back to them for good after having met Scourge. Toxin and Scourge are the best things that ever happened to him.

Fact #5

They had no idea this would be possible, but Shadow had no issues carrying and Toxin hatched about as normally as a little toxic green alien hybrid pup can. Needless to say they were relieved to see a hedgehog and not some horrible mismatch of their DNA with a ton of genetic issues. Toxin was a healthy pup, if anything he was causing his parents problems instead.

Fact #6

Toxin is in fact, venomous! He's not lethal but a decent bite from him as an adult can paralyze you for a couple hours and a small nip is enough to partially paralyze/sedate the area. Scourge found this out the hard way after Toxin hatched and got nipped in his hand. They had to teach him in his toddler years to not use his teeth to solve every minor inconvenience.

Fact #7

Toxin's abilities are mostly Chaos Energy related. While his parents are fire and water elemental's Toxin appears to have an in-born talent to control raw energy by itself, which is incredibly dangerous! :D

Shadow and Scourge are only two out of seven Guardians who each have an element they master and controlling an element is just handling electricity cables while controlling the raw energy form is the equivalent of grabbing an exposed wire and hoping for the best. There's no buffer in the form of an element to focus energy in, on or through. Why Toxin has this talent is unknown... to most.

Fact #8

His shoes were absolutely a gift from Shadow and an updated replica of his own. Toxin was gifted the shoes when he was 18 and does regular maintenance on them ever since. Its important to him emotionally but not just because it was a gift. It allows him to keep up with his parents in speed and he has many fond memories of learning how to use them with their help.

Fact #9

I know the shirt he's wearing mentions a vape, but he doesn't actually use them. Most he does is smoke the good old fashioned way and even that is sparingly. Because of his alien DNA he's ridiculously fast at healing any injuries or ailments and isn't very addiction sensitive. He'd be lying if he didn't do it to look cool though. He's an edgelord. (Toxin is a cartoon, it's not my aim to romanticize or endorse anything. He'll be fine but us humans wont be, so with that said, don't harass me over art okay? Cool)

Fact #10

Toxin's personality switches between calm, reserved, barely talking at all and absolutely unhinged. It depends on who he's with. Shadow definitely brings out a calmer side in him while Scourge is the type of chaotic dad who teaches his kid curse words and pranks. He's a good guy though and knows when to be serious.

Fact #11

He considers Sonic and Knuckles to be his uncles, even if they're not at all related. They were the first people to give Scourge a chance and support his growth into a better person after all. They would've done the same for Shadow and when Toxin came along they would do anything from babysit to teaching the young hedgehog how to use his abilities. Toxin gets along great with both of them but secretly prefers Sonic, he'll drop just about anything to grab food with his favorite uncle.

Fact #12

The Nova Luna have a hierarchy based on minerals and as they age or improve in skill there's a chance they can 'evolve' into a different rank. Toxin is an elusive Emerald to them because their whole deal is their obsession with the Ancient's Chaos Emeralds. Controlling all that power would make them all powerful and be capable of controlling the galaxy. The thing is, none of them have ever risen higher than the Ruby rank. Toxin however is related by DNA to someone of said Ruby rank, as well as someone directly responsible for guarding and controlling at least one of the Chaos Emeralds in the present day. That combination of the perfect circumstances caused Toxin to be born with the elusive Emerald rank.

Fact #13

Toxin being this rare of a creature makes him priority number 1 to the Nova Luna and since I have no intentions of writing his story just yet since it's pretty deep into the AU I just barely started writing, I can go ahead and say that he does get taken and spends at least a year in servitude/training to the Nova Luna.

Fact #14

Of course has trauma from his time there, but he did learn a lot about himself too and managed to cling to that knowledge for dear life. Any progress he made in skill level would come to bite the Nova Luna in the ass super hard in the end. Once reunited with his parents, Shadow and Scourge help him process everything he's experienced as they too have experience with trauma.

[blackbloodteeth]

Past Rambles #12

OSASk #4: Never want to let you go

This is the fourth (or fifth, if you count the scrapped entry) and possibly final installment to the unwritten "Of Souls and Serial Killers" series.

This mission is to find missing people again, with the antagonist this time being a puppeteer made of wires.

Soon after The Puppeteer is tracked down, it captures both of them by using soul puppets as bait. Both are pulled in and strung up in the nest and Soul gets untransformed due to the suppression magic in the wires. The Puppeteer admires them equally as interesting research specimens but decides to take Soul first due to him being a weapon.

Obviously Maka is not doing well by this point given the course of the previous installments, and has finally reached her breaking point, causing her to start absorbing the magic in the wires into herself and overthrowing The Puppeteer to take over the entire nest, with the desire to keep ahold of Soul fueling the magic as it begins to corrupt her soul into that of a monster's.

Soul was dropped out of the nest due to the sudden surprise of Maka's takeover, leaving him to fight against the nest's wires trying to make another grab for him, the magic shocking him as he attempts to slice through them. Having to think quickly, he decides to let them recapture him to take him back up so he can find a way to shut down the entire nest, however as he tries snapping Maka out of it, he can clearly see how it's twisting her. Soul then tries to buy time by assuring her that he'll never be taken from her again right before he attacks the previous puppeteer to destroy the magic.

The whole nest quickly falls apart and Maka is left practically half-dead on the floor, as there are probably some serious side-effects to the corruption.

Perhaps the true final installment is the corruption never truly healing and taking hold of her again to make her want to fuse herself with him? We'll see haha

[ichiwashername-o]

What Are Friends For Ch. 24

An Undertale fanfiction.

Written by ichiwashername-o

Summary: The skeleton brothers begin to construct their time machine! But, of course, time traveling is very rarely a simple endeavor . . .

Rating: Viewer discretion advised.  Contains swearing, trauma, and psychological horror

Cast: Undyne, Papyrus, Sans, W.D. Gaster, Grillby and others

WE'RE BACK, BABYYYYY! And to kick it all off is a doozy of a chapter! I really hope you all enjoy!

[CH.1] [CH.2] [Ch.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] [CH.7] [CH.8] [CH. 9] [CH.10] [CH. 11] [CH.12] [CH. 13] [CH. 14] [CH.15] [CH.16] [CH. 17] [CH.18] [CH. 19] [CH. 20] [CH. 21] [CH. 22] [CH. 23] [CH. 24] [CH. 25]

AO3

With no time to waste, with neither brother wanting or needing sleep, the duo headed downstairs to the basement, a room Papyrus hadn’t personally entered for some time. It was much like how he remembered it; dusty, with parts and blueprints strewn all about, a massive blue tarp half-covering some sort of strange metallic contraption. And for the first time in a very long time, Sans stepped forward to tear it off.

A great cloud of dust billowed in the air as the tarp was removed, revealing an arc-shaped machine, half-constructed with metal plates torn off, exposing the wiring and skeletal structure underneath.

“The time machine?” Papyrus ventured.

Sans gave a lazy half-shrug. “Was supposed to be. All the math checked out ok, but theory and practice are two different beasts. Could never get it to work right, and never figured out how. I suspect the human kid had something to do with it. Interference, or something.”

Papyrus gave a cautious nod. He was vaguely aware the human has— had —some strange influence over time. “But now the human is . . . not here anymore—”

“No more interference. So, maybe it’ll work this time,” Sans finished. Hey, it was the best they got. Anything was worth a shot if it meant they kept Gaster well and out of their lives. Let him rot in whatever purgatory he found himself in. 

Bastard deserved a lot worse.

“Let’s get started.”

Sans dug through the drawers, stuffed with an encyclopedia’s worth of blueprints and schematics. Initially, Sans was tentative about showing all this to Papyrus. This was complicated stuff, and the last thing he needed was to confuse his poor brother. But, to his delighted surprise, Papyrus took to the blueprints like a fish to water. It seemed all of Papyrus’s extensive knowledge of fabricating his own convoluted traps proved to give him exactly the experience he needed to read the blueprints. He had quite the mechanical eye, Sans would learn.

It really was impressive how quickly Papyrus picked up on things. With something to do, something for him to physically work on, Papyrus dove in with vigor and enthusiasm Sans hadn’t seen in him for a long time, not since the kid, that was for sure.

“Could you hand me that crescent wrench?”

“Sure thing, just pass me the terminal plates while you’re over there—"

“You want 12-gauge or 9-gauge wire for this?”

“Well, our current voltage is going off 240, and depending on the load, I say we err on the side of caution and go bigger—”

“-Green to ground, white to neutral, red to hot—could you hand me that black wire, this motor is three-phase, oh, we might have to change out the fuses, those aren’t nearly big enough—”

The hours flew by, both skeleton brothers working in tandem, getting their bones and clothes covered in dust and grease and wire shavings. And it was . . . fun . Sans had no idea how much fun it could be building something with his brother. Why hadn’t they done this before? The two of them had their fair share of joint projects, but either Sans’ slacking off made the end result a joke, or Papyrus’s endless ambition and enthusiasm caused it to blow up in a spectacular fireball before the final piece was finished.

To be fair, they were very spectacular fireballs.

But now, with the two of them working with synchronized fervor and purpose, they were making more progress than either of them could ever dream of.

Which proved to be to their detriment, they would find. So engrossed in their work, so captivated by a tangible mission and something to throw all their energy into, they . . . might have lost track of the time. And only were reminded of petty things like eating and sleeping when Papyrus stood a little too fast and nearly fainted.

Sans caught him before he could crack his head on a table. “Alright, um, I think we need to put a pin in this And I ain’t talking about the pins and needles in my legs from kneeling so long,” he chuckled.

“Clearly, we do need a break,” Papyrus noted sourly. “Because your jokes are becoming truly insufferable.”

Retreating up from the basement, they made their way to the kitchen where Papyrus began to pull out various food bits from the pantry in an attempt to cobble together some sort of breakfast—actually, what time was it? Papyrus glanced at the clock and his eyes widened. Ah, not breakfast, he decided. More like a dinner. A very, very, very late dinner.

How the time flies.

And how he hoped they’d make time fly at their own discretion when they were through, he thought wryly.

Soon enough, Papyrus, with Sans’ help, (or interference, depending on how you looked at it) he had made a nice dinner of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. So, he did end up making breakfast. But only because he hadn’t gone shopping in a long time and they were starting to run out of food! That was next on the list! Going to the store!

As they ate, they continued to talk about their project and how the time machine was coming along. Progress was going smoothly. If they kept up this pace, it’d be done by the end of the week.

“The hardware’s not the issue, though,” Sans said, jabbing the air with a fork. “It’s the programming. If you think plotting out a series of coordinates in 3D space is tricky, try doing it with another dimension mixed in there.”

Papyrus stuttered for a response. Yes, he was more than capable of handling the mechanical side of their little project, but the mathematical side? Not as much. “Well! Surely you have a good idea of how to do it! Or at least, where to start.”

“I do, but it’ll take a while,” Sans shrugged. He speared a rather crispy piece of bacon where it crumbled under his fork. Shrugging again, he squirted a dollop of ketchup over it and nibbled up the pieces. Papyrus gagged.

“Seriously, how on earth did I end up with such a defunct brother,” he sighed, shaking his head

Sans snickered. “I’m gonna swing by Alphys’s lab tomorrow and run the numbers by her and see what she thinks. She has a great eye for this sort of complex stuff.”

“Good idea! I need to go grocery shopping and refill our pantry! And then we can have a proper dinner!”

“Why, what’s wrong with eggs and bacon? It’s a classic,” Sans says as he takes another bite of a ketchup-slathered slice of bacon.

“But that’s breakfast food, and we’re having dinner!”

“Huh, funny, because we’re eating it for dinner, thus making it a dinner food.”

“UGH! Sans! You know what I mean!”

“I defy your conventional food standards and declare myself a culinary rebel.”

“Not as long as I’m the one in the kitchen, mister!”

“Ah, then I better go get my own.”

“Maybe you should! Then you can commit all the sacrilege against your daily sustenance that you wish!”

They shared a laugh, and in that moment, it was like their life was right back to normal. No longer did shame and guilt haunt Papyrus, and no longer was Sans writhed with fury and indignation. Determination filled them both. Determination to set things right. And knowing his brother as well as he did, Sans had all the confidence in the world that it will be done.

The brothers departed their home, both traveling on the boat together to Hotlands, further discussing construction plans and Sans waxing theories too complex for Papyrus to understand. But the younger brother didn’t mind in the least; he was more than happy to be someone Sans could think to out loud. Stepping off the boat, they split off, Papyrus running to the store and Sans veering towards the Hotland labs. 

He knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. He knocked again, and veering on the side of caution, he also opened up his phone and shot the good doctor Alphys a text.

Hey, you around? I wanna run some numbers by you, he wrote.

He didn’t get a response back to his text, but the doors did crack open, revealing the little yellow lizard. Alphys had certainly seen better days. Her eyes were lined with dark circles, her scales were dull, her clothes absolutely filthy. But there was a brief spark of life in her eyes behind those dusty scratched spectacles that lit up when she saw Sans.

“S-S-Sans! W-What a surprise!” she said, her voice quiet and scratchy. Sounded like she had a sore throat. “I w-w-wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wasn’t expecting me, either,” he joked. “You got a moment? I’d like your input on something.”

“O-Oh, do you? I’m n-n-not sure what input I’d even give you–”

“You don’t even know what I’m working on yet,” he said gently. “C’mon, ain't you a little bit curious? I can promise ya, it’s real juicy.”

Alphys’s lips twitched in what Sans assumed–-or at least, hoped-–was a smile. “O-Okay, b-but p-p-please don’t be mad, the l-l-lab’s a total disaster.”

“Why would I judge? It probably looks exactly like mine,” Sans said, earning an actual laugh from the doctor. He stepped inside, casting a brief look around the lab. Honestly, it wasn’t that much worse than the last time he was here to look at the camera footage of the fight. Maybe the garbage pile was a little taller and more instant ramen cups were scattered about. 

Alphys cleared a small space on her desk, swiping away reports and food wrappers alike off into the overflowing trash can. On the trash was a small sticky note that simply said, “Me.” Sans frowned.

“S-so, what are you w-working on?” she asked. She tapped her claws together nervously.

“Paps and I are building a time machine,” he said simply. He produced a folder, opening it up and showing off all his blueprints and notes.

Immediately, Alphys’s interest was piqued and she leaned forward, adjusting her glasses. She picked through the papers, reading them over eagerly.

“Y-you are?!” she said, the excitement in her voice palpable. Sans shrugged, his grin growing. He figured this was just the thing to break through poor Alphys’ stupor. “B-but I thought you totally gave up on this project–”

“I did, because the human kept interfering with it,” Sans said. “But now with the human gone . . .”

Alphys deflated. “Y-yeah, that’s a good point.” She chattered, her entire body shivering as her stuttering grew worse. “But there’s–there’s s-s-still s-someone else wh-who can control the t-t-timeline . . .”

Sans paused. “Flowey.”

Alphys nodded.

Well. Shit. In all the excitement, he completely forgot that one tiny little hiccup.

Sans tried to hide his frustration, but it was hard not to be discouraged. He was so sure this would work, only to find out that–once again–his plans and work all amounted to nothing.

“Ah. Well, in that case, I better get out of your scales,” Sans said, taking the folder out of Alphys’s reluctant hands. “Sorry to bother you.”

He turned to leave. Now how in the world was he going to break the news to Papyrus–

“Wait.”

Sans paused. He turned around. Alphys was still hunched over, but from her frown and the way one claw was raised to her lips in deep thought, he could see the gears churning rapidly in her head.

“W-what if . . . what if Flowey was . . . willing to help us?”

Sans stared. “And why in the world would that little weed wanna help us ?”

“Because he’s bored !” Alphys said. “H-h-he was talking to me recently, a-a-after he m-m-made me–”

“What,” Sans asked sharply. “What did Flowey make you do?”

“It’s not important,” Alphys dismissed. Sans knew better than to push her. “But what is important is that he was telling me how bored he was now! He told me how much he hated how things worked out! Nothing’s fun for him anymore!” Despite what she was insinuating of the little flower’s psychotic behavior, she was smiling. She looked genuinely excited. 

“I-If we told him we were w-working on something to fix the timeline, I think he’d help out!” she went on. “N-Not because he’d want to help us, o-of course, but because the one thing Flowey hates more than anything is being bored. And this timeline is really, really boring for him!”

Sans hated to admit it, but Alphys had a point. He remembered all of Flowey’s rants and taunts about how much he liked to play with them. How much fun he was having torturing them. And he recalled very distinctly how furious Flowey was when the fun had run out for the little beast.

“Well, that’s an idea,” Sans said slowly. “But it’ll be hard to convince him. He can be pretty stubborn and egotistical. Maybe if we make it seem like his idea instead of us asking him directly–”

“L-Leave it to me,” Alphys said, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever. “B-Being s-stuck with him for so long, I know how he thinks.”

“Just be careful,” Sans warned. “And if he does anything to hurt you–”

“D-Don’t worry about me, he w-won’t hurt me,” Alphys said. Her voice lowered. “He . . . he enjoys playing with me t-t-too m-m-much to hurt me too badly.”

Sans stiffened. 

“I got this!” Alphys added in a rush, putting out her hands. “J-Just trust me! P-Please?”

Sans let out a reluctant sigh. “You got my number handy. Just promise to call me if he does anything funny . Cuz that’s my job.”

“Promise,” Alphys swore, drawing an x-shape over her chest. “O-Oh, and Sans? I ran your calculations through my head.” Once again, her eyes sparkled. 

“It’s going to work!”

–---

“Let’s see here–spaghetti noodles–always an essential–and sauce, and bread to make Sans’ favorite sandwiches, and milk ! Don’t forget the milk!”

Papyrus cruised up and down the isles of the massive general store, appropriately called The General Store, loading his shopping cart with food. If they wanted to build the time machine, they needed plenty of energy! And for that , they needed food to make plenty of tasty meals!

As he shopped, he hummed a little tune to himself, not paying too much mind to the surrounding shoppers. If he was, he might notice them giving him a wide berth, which just made shopping that much easier since he wouldn’t have to snake the big bulky car through the throngs of fellow patrons!

The humming also drowned out the whispers and the mutterings. All for the better. 

As he proceeded to the check-out, he was surprised to see a familiar blue flash of scales and crimson hair. He brightened, waving over at Undyne. Undyne caught sight of him, jerking in surprise herself, before she smiled and hurried over.

“Hey, Paps, whatcha doing?” she asked gently. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral for all the Snowdin residents and sentries, but he looked so much cheerier . Which was a very good thing!

“What does it look like? Shopping, obviously!” Papyrus said, gesturing to the cart of food. “Our food stores grew dangerously low, so I thought it most prudent to restock!” He glanced at the basket in Undyne’s hand. “I’m assuming you’re doing much the same?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I was running low on tea and seaweed,” she said, hefting the basket stuffed so full it was a miracle nothing was spilling out and over. Or that Undyne could carry it all effortlessly in one hand. “Um, you look . . . good.”

“I am, and I’m feeling much better, too!” Papyrus said. He leaned forward and whispered in a voice that was only barely quieter than his usual bombastic voice–

He was speaking loud again!

“Sans and I are building a time machine!” Papyrus said excitedly, barely able to contain his own excitement. “Isn’t it great?! We’re going to go back in time and fix everything!”

Undyne stared. Now, she had seen plenty of animes with time travel shenanigans, and it always seemed to go . . . poorly . To say nothing if it was even possible.

“Oh, is that so?” she asked, trying to gauge if this was some sort of ruse. But no, Papyrus looked completely serious.

“Indeed! My brother is visiting Alphys as we speak! He’s running the calculations by her to make sure everything’s up to snuff! We’ve already got the machine built in our basement!”

Oh. Oh, wow, they were serious .

“That’s–that’s great, Papyrus,” Undyne said, but her head was reeling. Darn it, she didn’t have the head for all this complicated science crap! She knew Sans was smarter than he let on, but smart enough to build a time machine?!

“Hey, you know what? I haven’t visited Alphys in a bit myself. Let’s swing by and say hi!” she suggested. She needed to see all this for herself. It was too crazy to believe! Time travel, of all things!

“Okie-dokie!”

Papyrus quickly paid for his groceries, loading himself up to the elbows with bags. Undyne helped. They made their way over to the labs, which wasn’t too far of a jaunt from The General Store. With their arms so full of groceries, they didn’t have anything free to knock, but the door was slightly ajar, so they let themselves in, figuring Alphys and Sans were just inside.

“Hey, Al! Sorry for barging in, we just wanted to say hi–!” Undyne shouted, but her voice stopped cold when she saw the lab was a wreck . It was more than the usual mess of papers and food wrappers and trash; furniture was toppled over and computers smashed. Vines snaked their way out of cracks in the floor and walls.

Both she and Papyrus dropped the groceries. They only shared one brief and horrified look before they took off, scouring the labs.

“ALPHYS?! ALPHYS!!!” Undyne shouted madly, panic and anger rising up in her soul. If anyone hurt a single scale on her girlfriend’s head, she’d destroy them!!!

They rounded a corner, getting a brief peek of more carnage before Papyrus grabbed Undyne’s arm firmly and pulled her back. He placed a finger at his mouth, signaling her to keep quiet. They both leaned around the corner together.

Beyond, in a room, similarly destroyed, with vines coating nearly every inch of wall and floor, was Alphys, wrapped up in thorny vines as a little yellow flower scowled viciously down at her.

Teeth grinding together, Undyne summoned a spear. She was going to KILL that thing–!

“ Wait ,” Papyrus urged, pulling her back again. 

“What– why ?! That stupid weed is hurting her!” Undyne seethed.

But Papyrus held firm, simply gesturing to hold back to watch and listen. The scientist and the flower, not noticing their presence, continued to talk.

“And you just thought you could sneak around like this, behind my back, and I wouldn’t know?!” Flowey was saying. 

“I w-w-wasn’t trying to t-t-trick you,” Alphys insisted. Though she was shaking and completely trapped, she didn’t look . . . scared . In fact, she looked quite focused and composed. This was enough to get Undyne to pause, much to her regret. “I’m j-j-j-just the m-messenger.”

“So that sneaky little trash bag thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he?! Bet he thinks he’s even smarter and more clever than me, huh?”

“W-w-well, he is very s-smart,” Alphys said, shrugging as much as her vine prison allowed. 

“Enough! No more smart retorts from you! Tell me! What’s that trash bag up to?!”

“M-m-me? Or him?”

“DON’T PLAY STUPID WITH ME!” Flowey roared, and the vines tightened around Alphys, making her wince.

That was it. Undyne didn’t know what was going on, but she wasn’t going to let this stupid flower hurt her friend! 

She stepped around the corner, and she saw Alphys’s gaze flicker over to her. And she swore she saw Alphys mouth “No.”

No?! No what ?! No to saving her from this monster?!

But Alphys turned right back to Flowey, acting like Undyne wasn’t even there. “S-Sans is working on something. A big machine. He sh-showed me some notes . . .”

Undyne felt her phone buzz with an incoming message. Instinct told her to answer it. She pulled it out of her pocket, hardly tearing her gaze away from the scene in front of her.

It was from Alphys. It simply read, Don’t.

Undyne didn’t understand. What was Alphys doing?! She looked harder, and between the layers of vines, she could see the glow of a cell phone clutched in Alphys’s hand. Her thumb moved as she typed, all while keeping her attention focused solely on Flowey.

“It-it looked like . . . like . . .” she stuttered.

“Like what ?!” Flowey demanded.

Another text from Alphys. I got this.

“A time machine.”

Trust me.

Flowey paused. “A time machine?! Really? HA! That proves it! That trash bag is as stupid as ever!” He puffed up smugly.

Undyne deflated. That proved it, didn’t it? Time travel just wasn’t possible–

“No one can control the timeline but ME!!!”

Wait, what?! Undyne thought.

Alphys’s eyes widened in horrible realization. But it looked . . . forced? “W-what?! Oh no! That’s t-t-true! H-How could I have forgotten?”

“That’s right, my scaly little friend!” Flowey cackled manically. “You of all people should know the extent of my power! Silly little scientist! My DETERMINATION won’t allow just anyone to mess with my SAVE!”

“W-Well, I guess it’s not much of a loss,” Alphys sighed sadly. “Not much of a SAVE, if you ask me . . .”

Flowey froze. His smile slowly turned from gleeful to enraged.

“Would you like to repeat that?” Flowey hissed, dragging Alphys close. Alphys, despite herself, couldn’t help but squirm.

“I-I-I’m just s-s-saying what you said!” she pleaded. “W-Weren’t you the one who was s-s-saying how you weren’t having fun anymore?”

Flowey paused, grumbling, growling to himself. “Well, it’s pointless anyway! I can’t go back past the stupid human’s death!”

“Not unless you had some help , maybe . . .”

“I don’t need anyone’s help! And certainly not the help of that dumb trash bag!” Flowey protested fiercely. 

“Right, of course, of course,” Alphys backpedaled quickly. She then sighed again. “I guess that means we’re stuck in this boring, dull, not-fun timeline. Forever.”

Flowey scowled, barely able to speak.

“Yeah, yeah ! That’s right! You’re all stuck here! With me ! Because no one has control of the timeline but me ! SO DON’T YOU DUMB SCIENTISTS EVER FORGET THAT!!!”

And then, Flowey was gone. The vines slithered back through the walls and floor, dropping Alphys on the ground as Flowey slinked away.

“Alphys!” Undyne raced up to the scientist, pulling her to her feet and looking her over. Papyrus joined her, coming out of his hiding place. “Are you ok?!”

Alphys, despite the terrifying encounter, was smiling, looking quite pleased with herself. “Y-Yeah! I’m fine! I’m ok! I w-wasn’t expecting you! What are you two doing here?”

“Checking in on you, ya big nerd!” Undyne said, breathing a sigh of relief. Alphys was unharmed, thank the Angel above. “Are you going to tell me what all that was about?”

“W-Well, long story short, Sans is building a time machine,” Alphys said. She looked at Papyrus. “You told her, right?”

“I did! But I am not sure how Flowey found out! Or why was he so angry!”

“Oh, th-that was me!” Alphys explained.

“WHAT?! WHY?!” Undyne cried. “Flowey’s crazy evil, why would you tell him?!”

“Undyne, it’s ok! It was all part of my p-plan!” Alphys explained quickly. She adjusted her glasses, which now had a hairline crack through them. “Sans and I figured out that the time machine won’t work because Flowey’s power wouldn’t allow it to work; he would override the machine Sans is building.”

Undyne stared back and forth between Alphys and Papyrus. “Wait, are you actually telling me time travel is real ?”

“In a sense. But it’s very situational, and only beings with incredibly high Determination can do it,” Alphys said. “Beings like Flowey and the human.”

Papyrus smacked his forehead. “Oh, of course! How could I forget that?!”

“To be fair, Sans forgot, too,” Alphys giggled. “And if we want the time machine to work, we figured we needed Flowey’s help. B-But, of course, Flowey being . . . who he is, we couldn’t just ask him for help.”

“So, you set this up?” Undyne asked.

“This was all a most clever ruse into tricking Flowey to help us!” Papyrus said, putting together the pieces. “Well done, that was incredibly clever of you, indeed!” 

Alphys blushed.

“And incredibly stupid . He could have hurt you!” Undyne protested.

“I k-know, but it was a risk I had to take,” Alphys said. “A-And besides, I think I know Flowey well enough to know he wouldn’t do anything too terrible to me. I-it would mean one less friend for him to p-play with.” She laughed, but she couldn’t suppress a shudder.

Undyne got down on one knee and wrapped Alphys up in a tight hug. “Alphys that was . . . so brave of you. But you shouldn’t have done something so dangerous without telling us!”

“I knew what I was doing. I had everything under control!” Alphys assured. “Besides . . .” 

She pulled out her phone, pressing a button on it. Two things activated at once: first, a magical bubble barrier popped around Alphys, shielding her from harm, and secondly, machines in the room they had just been standing in began to activate. Out of the wall panels, gears and pistons whirred to life, revealing a mess of pipes that extended from concealed holes in the walls from every angle. The pipes sputtered to life, belching out a torrent of roaring flames that engulfed the room.

Alphys grinned. “I had a back-up plan.”

Undyne stared at the booby-trapped flamethrower room, lips slowly pulling back into a delighted smile. “Alphys, you are the coolest person ever.”

Alphys beamed.

–--

Sans didn’t have to wait long.

In fact, he was barely back in his basement, setting aside his notes, when a most unwelcome visitor barged in, springing up on Sans and wrapping him up in vines.

Sans sighed sarcastically. “Hey there, Buddy. But, I thought you knew better by now to try this trick on me,” he said as he seamlessly teleported out of the vines, standing right back on the floor. 

He stared up at the mess of tangled thorny vines that had inexplicably grown in the corner of his basement lab, and front and center was Flowey himself, grinning sinisterly. But Sans also knew  Flowey fairly well, and he could see the flower’s frustration and anger behind the mask of sadism. 

“It’s still fun to remind you how easily I could crush you to dust!” Flowey sneered. “And besides, it’s been a while since I popped in on my faaavorite trash bag.” A vine extended and poked the machine. “And lookee here! Someone’s been busy.”

“Just a little pet project of mine,” Sans shrugged. 

“Don’t pretend I’m stupid!” Flowey scowled. “Oh, I already visited your bestest friend, Alphys, and she squealed allll about your secret project! I know what you’re working on!” He closed in, his grin growing. “And I can tell you, it’s not going to work! I won’t let it!”

Sans allowed his smile to fade. But from his point of view, his and Alphys’s plan was going perfectly. 

“You forget, little trash bag, that as long as I’m around, I’m the only one with the power to SAVE! I can decide when we get to keep going, or if we get to start alllll over from the beginning–”

“Well, not the very beginning,” Sans interjected unhelpfully.

Flowey’s voice cut out, spitting in frustration.

“As powerful as you may be, you’re not as powerful as that kid. There’s only so far back you can go,” Sans reminded him, trying to suppress his own satisfied grin.

“Well, you know what?! NEITHER CAN YOU! Not with this dumpy, stupid hunk of metal!” Flowey protested, smacking a vine against the machine.

“Still doesn’t change the fact. I think we’re both getting fed up with how current events played out, aren’t we?”” Sans pressed, shrugging casually. “It would be real nice if we could go back and prevent any of this from happening.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t ,” Flowey fumed.

“Not with that attitude we can’t.”

Flowey paused, turning to Sans very slowly. Sans could practically see the flower swallowing his massive pride to maybe, maybe humor the idea that it might be beneficial to actually work with him. Just this once.

“Keep talking,” Flowey hissed.

Sans stepped up to the machine, tapping where Flowey smacked it with a vine. There was a scratch, but it was superficial. “This time machine replicates the power of Determination. And we know from past experience that Determination is a multiplicative power–”

“Use English!”

“It means, if you use your power in tandem with this machine, your power multiplies significantly. You’ll be way more powerful than you are now.”

“Powerful enough to override that brat’s SAVE?” Flowey ventured hopefully.

“It just might.”

Flowey chewed it over. It was true, he hated being stuck in this timeline more than anything. It got boring so quickly seeing Papyrus mope about and cry. He wanted Chara–-Frisk, whoever back again so they could keep playing together.

But he couldn’t let Sans know he was actually contemplating this. “Or I can just take this machine for myself, harness its power, and take over the WHOLE Underground! With that sort of power, I can easily defeat Asgore, take his soul, and take the rest of the human souls he has hidden away!” he cackled gleefully. 

“Great plan, but unfortunately it doesn’t work like that,” Sans said casually.

“What?”

“It’s a lot of science-y mumbo-jumbo, but the crux of it is that this machine only works on the time travel part of your Determination. Effectively just enhancing your ability to SAVE.”

Flowey blinked, confused. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yeah, like I said, it's a lot of complicated science. You try to do anything outside of travel around the time stream, it won’t work. Sorry.”

Flowey scowled. “You could be lying to me.”

“I could be.”

They stared each other down, but Sans’ expression was the completely unreadable mask it always was. Finally, with a defeated huff of frustration, Flowey relented.

“Fine! FINE ! I’ll do it! But it’s not because I want to help you! In fact, first thing I’m gonna do when I bring back that brat is torture your brother even MORE! I’ll find even more sick, twisted ways for you and your brother to go feral! I’ll make you go on a feral killing spree! I’m gonna make you kill the WHOLE Underground! Hee hee hee hee!”

Sure, you do that,” Sans said calmly. He wasn’t concerned in the least. He knew a bluff when he saw one.

“I will!” Flowey declared triumphantly. “Now just tell me what I have to do to get this hunk of junk working!”

“Well, first, we need my brother here.” 

“Fine, fine.”

“And then we need to activate the machine, and when the machine powers on, I go through and–”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Flowey protested furiously. “I will be the one to go back in time! I will kill your rampaging brother! And the human brat for good measure!”

“Sorry, you can’t.”

“WHY NOT?!”

“You can’t exactly time travel if you’re the one powering the machine, can you?”

Flowey dissolved into a furious sputtering fit of rage.  “That–that’s so unfair!!!”

“Sorry, it’s just the way it works.”

Flowey sputtered more barely comprehensible obscenities. “ARGH! This isn’t fair! This sucks! YOU suck!”

“Sorry.”

“NO, YOU’RE NOT!” Flowey continued to rage. But his desire to go back trumped all else. “UGH! FINE ! I’ll do it! But if you’re tricking me in any way, I’m going to make you and your brother suffer! As well as Alphys!”

“That’s fair.”

Flowey stood there, fuming. And with that settled, Sans made some phone calls, and within a few minutes, Papyrus was back home, dropping off his groceries in the kitchen before heading downstairs. With him was Alphys and Undyne. Undyne glared at Flowey. Flowey stuck his tongue back at her, and Alphys desperately avoided eye contact with anyone.

“So, we’re all filled in on what’s going on?” Sans asked. “With Flowey’s most generous assistance–” Flowey grunted. “--we’re going to power on the time machine, go back in time, and stop the human from falling to the Gaster Blaster beast.”

There was a nod amongst everyone, all looking grim and determined. Save Flowey, who continued to pout. 

“Our priority is making sure the human soul isn’t destroyed,” Sans went on. “So that means preventing the Gaster Blaster from fighting the human. Our optimal option is to prevent Undyne from turning Papyrus in the first place.”

Undyne squirmed uncomfortably. 

“If that doesn’t work, we need to take out the human.”

“Or take out Papyrus,” Flowey said with a cruel grin. “Killing either of them prevents all this mess, doesn’t it?”

Sans frowned, not immediately responding. As correct as Flowey was, he wasn’t going to just suggest killing his own brother!

“Aww, what’s the big deal? He’ll just come back. If everything goes to plan, that is,” Flowey continued to taunt.

“We’ll play it by ear,” Sans dismissed. “You just focus on keeping the timeline open and sending us back.” 

Flowey just swayed back and forth, grinning unsettlingly.

“Alphys, stay here and keep an eye on things. Papyrus, you too. Undyne–” he paused, settling his eyes on her. “You come with me.”

Undyne jumped. “Wait, you want me to come back in time with you?!”

“You’re pretty tough. If we need to fight the human, I’m gonna need your help,” he explained.

Undyne understood. Papyrus was strong, but his fighting spirit was completely shattered. If they needed to fight–and based on the unsettling feeling she was getting in her gut, that was very likely–Sans needed a fierce and determined warrior at his side. And knowing what the human would do to Papyrus, what that human subjected them all to, Undyne would find no qualm in her conscience about putting that human into the ground.

“Alright, everyone, let’s begin.”

Everyone got to their stations. Alphys stood at the controls, typing up the commands to power it up. Flowey wrapped his vines around the machine, sinking into the cracks to get at the “meat” of the electronics so he could feed his own power into it. Papyrus stood back, offering his assistance where he could. And Sans and Undyne stood before the gate, ready for anything.

“Powering on!” Alphys called out. 

The machine whirred on, lights blinking on, electricity humming. At the same time, Flowey’s own magic pulsed, flooding his Determination into it. The roar of motors grew louder and louder until it was a constant thunderous rumble. Sparks ignited within the circular gate, the sparks coming faster and faster until lightning arched at a constant flow. And with a sudden crash, the sparks split across the gate, creating a vortex of light. The light became a cyclone, a fierce wind whipping up and pulling them towards the vortex. Sans planted his feet, bracing himself against the wind.

Beyond him was a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. It played tricks on his mind, blinking away the stars that were flashing in his eyes as he struggled to comprehend what he was even seeing. But he knew this was it. The time machine was powered on. It was working .

“Readings are stable!” Alphys cried out over the deafening noise. “GO!”

Giving one last nod to Papyrus, Sans jumped in, followed closely by Undyne. They stepped into the vortex, and suddenly, they were pulled and stretched and thrown about, two tiny insignificant beings battered in the incomprehensible stream that was time itself. Beyond flashing lights that blinded them and shapes that defied definition, they saw images. Fragments of moments in time as they were buffeted about. Some they experienced themselves, some experienced by others, and some they couldn’t tell when they happened, or if they happened at all.

And strangest of all was the overwhelming feeling of a presence with them. Sans felt a hand grab his hood, and he turned to see Undyne clutching onto him fiercely, her eyes wide with awe as she struggled to take all of this in.

Having fun? A familiar voice called out.

“Flowey?!” Undyne scowled. “Where the heck are you?!”

“All around us,” Sans reminded her grimly. “This is his SAVE. We’re flowing through his timeline.”

Hee hee! Perhaps we should make some little detours!

“Not now, you punk! Just take us where we need to go!” Undyne cried out. But her protests were ignored as a memory played in front of them. It was the day Papyrus woke up from his extensive sleep after the human died, where he found out . . . what he did.

Helpless, they could only watch as Papyrus broke out in tears, crying in sheer anguish–

“This is old, Flowey,” Undyne growled. “Could we all just get this over with already?”

But don’t you feel just terrible about what you did to your very best friend? I mean how could you do something so hideously awful to him?

“No shit , Sherlock, why do you think I’m here right now?!”

Flowey scowled, clearly discouraged by Undyne’s lack of a reaction. Well, how about you, trash bag? Shall we relive some savory moments for you?

“Sure, it’s not like I can stop you,” he shrugged passively.

Huh? Flowey said, stunned. There was a brief pause and a stutter as Flowey found his voice. Ha! That’s right! You can’t stop me! I can do whatever I want! Show you whatever horrible memories I choose!

And he did just that. He showed the two of them the worst memories he could think of, from Papyrus’s anguish to the way the townsfolk spoke of him with fear and revulsion. He showed them how miserable Papyrus was, lamenting in his grave sin. 

Through it all, San did not react, and following his lead, neither did Undyne. They couldn’t give Flowey that satisfaction. They couldn’t let him know he was getting to them.

Clearly frustrated by this, Flowey tried harder. And with a wicked burst of inspiration, he dug up the memory of him in the lab with Alphys, forcing the scientist to watch the video of the bloody carnage over and over and over again, punishing her if she dared to look away and laughing cruelly at her sobs.

Undyne stiffened, rage billowing in her chest. That horrible little thing! She wanted to lash out and hurt him for daring to torment her friend, but Sans was there, gripping her hand tightly. He gave her a subtle shake No.

Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Undyne swallowed the hot lump of rage in her throat. And she scoffed.

“Yeah, like I care.”

The images paused and then slowly began to fade away. 

You two are so boring!

“Just take us to where we wanna go,” Sans said.

Reluctantly, and with much belly-aching, the timeline swirled around them, bringing them further and further back. They could almost sense approaching the fated event–

Undyne screamed in shock as she was suddenly slammed against some invisible wall. Her reflexes kicked in and she hugged Sans close to her chest, preventing him from striking that wall. But still the billowing force of the timeline bore down on her, pinning her to that “wall,” like being trapped against a drain under a tumultuous downpour of water. She could barely move. And worse of all, she felt a static energy burn all along her back as it was pressed against the barrier. It seared her skin, burned her flesh, setting her teeth on edge as she felt lightning course through her body.

“FLOWEY!” she screamed. “What are you doing?! MAKE IT STOP!”

We’re not there yet! He protested. It’s right there, it’s right there , we need to get there!

“There’s a wall!” Undyne cried. “There’s a wall! I can’t! It burns! IT BURNS!”

Stop your complaining, I can get it! I just need more–! More Determination! I need to get past that wall!

A foul acrid smell filled her nose. The burning turned to an ice-cold chill. The rest of her body still seared from the constant surge of lighting flowing through her. Her muscles clenched so hard she thought her teeth would crack.

“Sans!” she called out.

We’re almost there! We’re right there! Just hold on! This was your idea!

Sans saw the state Undyne was in, but beyond that, he saw the wall. It was made of an energy Sans knew all too well.

Determination. But not just anyone’s Determination.

The kid.

Even with all that extra power . . . it wasn’t enough.

I can get it! Just hold on!

Sans looked back to Undyne. She was barely hanging on. They didn’t have time to spare.

I–I–I can . . . ! Flowey protested. His voice cracked. I can’t! It’s not working!

“GET US OUT.”

And just like that, everything . . . stopped.

Undyne cracked open an eye. She was laying on the lab floor, Sans standing above her. Alphys and Papyrus rushed to her side, while Flowey was still wrapped up in the machine.

Papyrus was the first to come to her aid, looking worriedly at the burns all over her back. “Oh my goodness, Undyne!!! What happened?!”

Undyne was too rattled to speak. Papyrus didn’t hesitate before putting his hands on her and cast his healing magic. Like a soothing salve, the ache of the burns dissipated and her skin began to slowly heal. She sighed in relief.

“Thanks, Paps,” Undyne muttered. She shook her head and stood on uneasy feet, Papyrus helping her up. “Seriously, what the hell happened in there?!”

Flowey wouldn’t look at them. He stared at the machine, shaking with frustrated rage as his vines wrapped around it. “We were so close! We were so close !!! Why couldn’t you just hold on for a little longer?! I could have broken through!!!”

“No you couldn’t and you know it,” Sans said, his voice level but fierce. 

Flowey didn’t look at him. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Sans was right.

The kid was far more powerful than they thought, if even all this didn’t work.

“So . . . what now?” Undyne pressed. “That’s it? It can’t be it! We can’t give up! There has to be another way!”

Sans and Papyrus shared a look. They both knew of one more option, but Sans refused to humor it.

“That’s it.” Sans said, locking eyes with Papyrus.  “That’s the only plan we got. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” Undyne said.

“I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for,” Sans replied.

“Yes you can,” Papyrus said, startling Sans. “You just don’t want to.”

“What are you talking about?” Undyne pressed.

“We have one more option,” Papyrus said, turning to Undyne. Sans sunk into his jacket. “We’re going to ask Dr. Gaster for help.”

[qadmonster]

Today's dream (I took a mid-morning nap)

It's really long

I was a prisoner in some sort of dingy complex in the jungle where lots of fighting was happening outside. Everything looked like an 80's action movie. Apparenlty we were on an island, but somehow in Bolivia...there was a flag that looked like no nation's I'd seen before but most of the prisoners including myself looked Latino. A lot of the prisoners were infected by some sort of parasite that caused them to have random mutations, most of which were just only disfiguring but some were good and those prisoners got used as labor around the complex. All of the mutations were biomechanical-looking (wires and metal parts fused with flesh). The prisoners that got good infections were brainwashed and sent to fight in whatever war was raging in the jungle. I got chosen to get parasitized but the 4th wall breaks and I'm just an actor. The director explains to me how we're going to do the infection scene and handed me this donut (he called it a donut, but it wasn't remotely donut shaped or food like, it was sticky and hard rubber and pink) shaped like some sort of sci-fi device prop that a dog was trained to bite so I wouldn't be hurt when they shot the scene. We were going to practice the scene with a big doberman.

For some reason the dream skipped to where I was already infected and I wasn't chosen as a soldier, but I was a worker in the prison with a deformed arm that looked like a mess of flesh and metal that ended with a tiny needle that got super hot. I worked as a welder. I got used to the prison and made friends with the guards and other prisoners. For some reason Kathy Griffin was there (pre facework), as she had been kidnapped from a USO tour or something. Anyway, I was working as a double agent because when the 4th wall broke the director actually gave me instructions on how to avoid being brainwashed and we hatched out a plan to foil the warden of the prison which was literally a little disk with a green dot matrix display that lived inside the head of the scientist that ran experiments and turned all the prisoners (he was a small man with a very large head and six tiny little beady eyes, the warden's disk fit into a large hole on his forehead). When the warden wasn't in the scientist's head he was kept in this big deep hole in the ceiling of the lab with all of these cables lining the wall and ceiling going into it. All of this was revealed in a memory cutaway. The ridiculousness of this woke me up from my dream and I immediately went to write it down.

As I was writing down my dream Kathy Griffin came into the room and I started telling her about it and asked her if Bolivia was an island (she said she didn't think so). I also told her she was in the dream and it was like how random comedians always used to show up in action movies, like Rob Reiner in Aliens, and she said Rob Reiner was never in Aliens, and I was like well I don't know his name...the Mad about you Guy and she said, no that was Rob Reiser and was like...that doesn't sound right let me look that up and then I woke up AGAIN.

Anyway, it was Paul Reiser and we're both idiots.

[rinwellisathing]

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 13

Enver Gortash/ Trans male Tiefling Durge

Content warning for misgendering and trauma, the usual Durge specific violence and gore, and the intro to what might be a sex scene if I feel confident enough to write it.

After dinner, it was Sentry's turn to take the lead, to bring his companion to a place he knew well and only his presence offered safe passage. He gripped Enver's hand as he led him eagerly down into the sewers and through the twists and turns that led to the ruins. Manic glee crossed the tiefling's face as he thought of showing his muse what he had been working on since their last encounter.

“So, there IS a 'secret murder cult' in the sewers. Of course I knew about you and your family, but I thought the location was pure fiction to sell copies of The Baldur's Mouth.” Enver chuckled, gazing around as his Dread Executioner led him across the threshold to what seemed to have once been a series of small dwellings. The amusement turned to awe, however, as the two entered an otherwise unassuming hovel near the entrance to the ruins. Gortash could see the tell tale signs of arson. Ashes were all that remained of any furniture or signs of life that had once made this perhaps a home. Old blood stains coated the walls and floors and apart from the main large room, which once might have held a small kitchen and sitting area, he noticed all the doors seemed to have been smashed and sundered before the place was set ablaze.

“Oh, you'll need to look up to appreciate the first exhibits in my sculpture garden, my muse.” Sentry grinned, eyes bright and eager as he pointed to the ceiling.

Those deep, dark emerald eyes flicked upward and Enver found himself smiling appreciatively at the sight above him. There was an artistry to the slaughter, a beauty to it. Two tieflings, similar in coloration to Sentry, hung from the ceiling, mouths slack and wide. Their tongues had been removed leaving a dried and lovingly preserved issue of blood covering their lips, chins, and necks. The woman had her stomach eviscerated and her insides hung like the chains of a fine chandelier. The man had been castrated and his hands removed as well. Both were missing their eyes. The preservation was immaculate and though Enver could tell from the state of the dried blood that these were old corpses, they looked otherwise freshly killed. There was beauty in the loving detail.

“My first kill, my parents. They misunderstood my true father's vision for me so I made them understand MY vision for them.” Sentry's expression was giddy and beaming with pride. “Just the first exhibit in my sculpture garden. But not what I wanted to show you specifically. Still, please, enjoy the tour, yeah?” He was practically dancing with excitement.

“I see, you're a natural, my dear Sentry. A prodigy, I dare say.” Enver's lips curled upward as he admired his companion's work. His parents. It may not have been what Sentry had planned to show him, but it resonated. It was a piece he certainly understood. He must have been lost in thought because he found himself coming back to the present as Sentry eagerly tugged his hand and led him to the next room.

This room had been completely destroyed, walls knocked down with immense force to make space, but it had been worth it. The place was filled with all manner of nightmares. Body parts preserved and sewn together from hundreds of different people, bones wired and fused to create creatures most of the city couldn't fathom in their darkest dreams. A massive skeletal structure of a four armed horned and tusked monstrosity wove its way across a vast space of floor, twisted and wicked looking, seeming to stalk the rest of the figures. It was crafted so delicately with a reverence beyond even the rest. But Sentry was quick to pull Enver past the creature and draw his attention to the most lovingly detailed creation in the room.

A throne of severed and preserved hands rose up just behind the monstrosity and mounted atop it was a sculpture of bones clad in a black horned half-mask, long black and gold robes, and decked out in jewels and gold. The hands were painted black and atop its head was a crown of carved and gilded ribs set with glimmering purple gems.

“A crown for my muse. A throne for The Tyrant.” Sentry's gaze was wild and eager. Lust and violence dancing behind those bright mismatched eyes.

Enver gazed quietly at it for a moment. Frozen, his body and mind blank and unsure how to react, torn between a thousand emotions before finally, he grabbed Sentry by the arm and pulled him close. The Executioner's reaction was swift, free hand flying to Enver's throat and tightening around it. The two grappled roughly before their lips met, nipping and biting between deep kisses. The copper tang of blood on their tongues.

Clawed, calloused fingers began to undo the laces of Enver's shirt. “Fuck, these are laced so, so poorly.” Sentry remarked between breathless panting.

“Meanwhile, who dressed you? The shirt is something from a bad romance novel.” Enver replied, nipping at Sentry's neck as he opened the black velvet vest and began to unlace the white undershirt.

Sentry froze a moment as the shirts were pulled away, tense and feeling blood pulsing in his head. Jackal's taunt filled his mind. 'Be sure to kill him before you get to the bedroom, he may not like what he finds'. Orin's constant reminders 'Vereena the breed-spawn.' Bile rose in his throat but he forced it down. If he doesn't like what he finds, imagine what he'll think of what I'll do to him. The sculpture garden could always use another piece, I could improve my Tyrant. He waited, breath caught in his throat. Enver's hands traced his scarred chest, lingering a moment on the precise surgical scars, but he made no mention of them and Sentry's eyes widened when he realized no look of shock or disgust crossed his muse's face.

He pounced, shoving his partner to the ground and straddling him, pinning Gortash's arms and kissing him deeply before trailing affectionate nips and love bites down his neck and chest. The thick hair that coated his muse's body was soft and the tiefling nuzzled like a contented pet against it. He admired the softness of the Tyrant's body. No chiseled muscle for his blades to contend with one perfect night he could imagine years from now. His tongue ran down over the soft flesh, tasting eagerly and burying his nose in that dark hair, inhaling the scent as he moved lower, achingly slowly. He felt fingers tangling in his silver hair and then, one hand gripping one of his horns. Heat rushed to his face and his vision blurred just a bit. A sound halfway between a moan and a purr escaped Sentry's lips, muffled by his muse's supple flesh.

[medfetabdl]

I thought I’d share some very valuable information that I had to figure out myself when I was trying to build my own charger for my MP2 monitor.

The charger that Philips sells is ridiculously expensive and apparently are in high demand because you can’t find one anywhere for less than $200. If you read the service manuals for the Intellivue monitors the only information you get out of it is the voltage of the MSL connection which is 36 to 56 volts DC. For my charger I used 48 volts because it’s relatively easy to find a 48 volt power supply. And it’s a pretty good nominal voltage. I was not able to find a pinout of the MSL connector anywhere on the internet. For those who don’t know what a pinout is, it’s a diagram of what each individual pin on an integrated circuit or connector does. In some of the really old Intellivue monitor service manuals it lists instructions on how to terminate an MSL cable and what color wire goes where in the connector but nothing else.

To find the pinout and where I could inject my 48 volts I was completely flying blind for a while. It’s not exactly something you can just guess because reverse polarity or putting that high of a voltage on a data pin will definitely fry something. I ended up taking out the power board on my MP2 and inspecting the traces and reverse engineering it. In the end there two things that gave away which pins were the voltage input and ground pins. As someone who’s reverse engineering plenty of circuit boards in the past I was able to find those hints after a while of looking for them. The first hint was that there were 2 pins on each side of the connector that were connected together, usually that’s a good sign that’s where power is injected because if you’re pulling a decent amount of current those tiny pins will start to heat up so spreading the load across 2 pins reduces the heat. The pins are gold plated to increase their conductivity and help with corrosion but it’s still common practice to spread the load across two or more pins. The other hint was when I followed the traces from one of two sets of pins it went right into a fuse. A fuse is definitely something you’d expect to find on the power input and almost always they are put on the positive input. With that information I was able to shove some wires under the pins and test to see if I had the pinout correct and sure enough I did and I did that all before buying an MSL cable to build the charger.

After buying an MSL cable and a 48 volt power supply to build a charger, I cut the MSL cable in half and got my final hint at where to inject the power. There were wires that were much thicker than all the other wires in the cable and they were red and black which is standard color coding for DC wiring, red for positive and black for negative (ground). The wires being thick is also a hint that they are actually handling a decent amount of power. The rest of the cables were twisted pair for data communication.

If you look closely at the MSL connector you can see tiny numbers, those represent the number of each pin. Pins 5 and 6 are for the positive voltage input and pins 19 and 20 are for ground (negative voltage) now you have the information to make your own charger if you want to. I will warn you that you will get an alarm that you can silence but you can’t get to go away that says check MSL connection. This is because the monitor has no data communication with the charger. Usually the monitor communicates with the Philips OEM charger over RS-232 providing data about the charger as well as voltage, current, power, faults, and a lot more, and it also provides Ethernet to the monitor for networking. The alarm is annoying but I built my charger for $25 which is so much cheaper than the Philips OEM one.

[clonedchaos]

Machine Memories- Day 14: Steam

Summary:

What's hiding in the steam?

Rating: G/PG

You pause. Sweat beaded at the top of your brow. It was miserable in the boiler room. Steam puffed out of one of the cylindrical vessels, illuminated by the flashlight you had brought with you.

Just what was the purpose of having a boiler room in this studio anyways? They didn’t have any water. Heat and electricity were the only plus, which is why you had decided to venture out of your hideout. The lights had blinked out, and the closest fuse box was stationed somewhere in this room— according to a map you had stolen from the city.

You take a step. The wood creaked. Steam screamed out of the pipes like a tea kettle. You jump.

You need to be on guard. Who knows what was lurking down here? You angle your flashlight to get a better look at the path in front of you. Several boilers were lined up in a row, wires and tubes snaking across the ground.

You head forward, eyes scanning the walls for the breaker. Time was ticking. The longer you stay out, the greater chance you’ll get caught.

Steam hissed out of a pipe to your left. Gears clicked in the darkness. Something shuffled at the edge of the light. You quickly direct the flashlight towards its direction. Nothing.

You swallow down your growing unease and kept going. The fuse box was just up ahead. All you had to do was fix it... however long that would take.

A chitter and scuttle sounded to your left. You turn the flashlight. Again, nothing.

When you turned back around, a spider with sharpened daggers for legs and a wide, gaping maw sat perched across the fuse box. One of its feet dug into the metal, sparks leaping out of the exposed wires underneath.

Your grip slipped and you dropped the flashlight. The sound of glass shattering was deafening. The lights went out, plunging your world into darkness.

The arachnid chittered, making your skin crawl. You turn on your heel and run, fighting your way through the darkness. Your shoulder rammed into a boiler, heat racing up your upper arm. You scream and stagger to the side, wrapping your hand around the throbbing burn.

A rapid succession of taps hit the grated floor. Something sharp jabbed you in the side, followed by ominous chirrups.

Your adrenaline pushed you forward, ignoring the now bleeding laceration on your rib cage. You fought past obstacles, never missing a beat as you felt around for the exit. At this point you had bruised your shins and singed your fingers more than once. The pain hadn’t quite registered yet, or at the very least it wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. 

You rammed into a wall. The impact had you slightly seeing stars, while your fingers grazed past its surface. There was a gap to your right and you could just barely make out what could be a door frame. Aha, finally!

The spider hissed. One of its knife-like feet caught you in the leg. Well, it was now or never.

You unhook the axe attached to your waist and bring it down in an arc. The weapon made contact with something thick, like bone. The spider screamed.

Heart pounding in your chest, you lunged for the door and felt around for its handle. The moment your fingers grazed the brass handle, you pushed it closed. A weight pushed back on the other side, stalling you. In the dim light, you could see one of the spider’s legs sticking out into the hall. It didn’t seem to get the hint, hmm?

You dug in your heels and fought to keep the spider at bay as you sliced again with the axe. The spider retreated with another mournful cry as you slam the door shut.

Finally, you sank to the floor. Your heart gradually began to ease as your body ached with pain and exhaustion. Well, that plan was a bust. There’s no way in hell you were going back in there just to flick on some lights.

You would have to head to one of the lower levels if you wanted proper shelter and power. Perhaps you could rummage around for some gauze and bandages. Injuries in this studio were practically a death sentence. And you weren’t ready to die.

[gore-terminal]

0k so we know about metal and meat (individual) being sex about each other

But i think more ppl should consider fucking around with the idea of a being who is composed of both metal AND meat where the line between the two is practically indistinguishable.

Flesh and muscle that has fused around a metal chasis, the meeting between the two being especially sensitive to touch. wires and guts being fused and tangled, groups of wires meeting and fused into one big intestine. Slicing through a metal chasis to reveal a sensitve fleshy interior that spurts and twitches as you meddle with its external machinery