#Tools for tap installation

[tapronlimited]

5 Steps to Installing a Tap

The "5 Steps to Installing a Tap" guide on Tapron.co.uk offers a clear, step-by-step approach to fitting a new basin tap, emphasizing preparation, correct assembly, and installation techniques. It outlines essential tools and accessories needed, including sealing tape and wrenches, and covers everything from dismantling the old tap to connecting pipes and verifying the installation's success. This practical guide is aimed at ensuring a smooth DIY tap installation process. For a detailed walkthrough, check the full guide here.

[shadowbriar]

Bucky Barnes — Dishwasher

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x (she/her) wife!Reader Word Count : 1.5k Warning : None? Synopsis : Bucky knew that he was a man out of time, but never would he expect that this world no longer accepts home appliances as presents. Notes : If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Bucky’s palms were starting to sweat. He knows when she’ll return home, down to its minutes, but he still couldn’t shake the jitters that were brewing up his spine. He has more than enough window to finish his quest, perhaps even sparing himself a good other hour to clean up any possible mess and wipe the apartment clean before she could smell anything amiss, but with the ticking of the clock taunting on him, agitation was starting to pool a little thicker in his gut.

He taps on his watch, wondering where the technicians that were supposed to be here half an hour ago might be at. The drive from the store to their apartment shouldn’t be that complicated. He’s written in bold font the address and their unit number. There should be no issue for them to find it.

He was just about to ring the store when the doorbell rang.

“Mr. Barnes?” one of the technicians asked, looking at the clipboard in his hand “You ordered a dishwasher, Sir?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers with a slightly annoyed grunt “I’ve been expecting you.”

The technician shows a corporate disinterested smile, walking in the apartment as his partner wheeled the boxed item.

“Where do you want us to install it, Sir?”

“Right here,” Bucky says as he pulls the cabinet door that hid their old dishwasher “Could you bring the old one with you? I’d rather not leave any trace of mischief for my wife to find.”

“Of course,” the technician says as he begins to unbox the appliance “Wait, you didn’t make this your wife’s Christmas present, right?”

Bucky frowns, shaking his head with his brows knitted, “No, why?”

“Cause the guy at the last house did and that was a bad scene, man,” the other guy finally speaks up.

“Bad scene, why?” Bucky’s arms were folded to his chest now “They didn’t like the dishwasher?”

“No,” the first guy snorted with his laugh “They didn’t like it, alright.”

“The wife was insulted. Said home appliances don’t count as a gift,” the second guy further explained as he begins to take out the tools to install the item “She said it’s not fair that she always gets ‘gifts’ that are just things that their household needs to function while he gets all the niche personalised presents.”

“Not going to lie, I felt bad for the lady,” first guy chimed in “It was a bloodbath there, man. She was yelling and crying by the time we finished installing the dishwasher. Poor woman, I hope the husband found her something better for Christmas.”

Bucky could only nod in agreement. The crease on his forehead only gets deeper as the technicians continue their story. A new sense of guilt and anxiety brewed in his stomach. Perhaps the dishwasher wasn’t a great idea, afterall.

At first, he thought giving out a lie to a random technician about whether or not the item was his Christmas gift for her wife would never bring any harm. These men are just strangers that need not know any of his business, anyway. But now that they’ve told the story of their last customer, Bucky wonders if he should’ve just answered truthfully and see if these men have any better ideas for a replacement gift.

In his defence, the dishwasher was something she said was listed in her wishlist. He got her the very one she pointed at when they went to the electronic store the other day, down to the very colour that she said was her favourite. He thought that this would be the grand gift to reveal for her, the grandiose early Christmas present that would get her jumping and squealing in excitement, but having the story sinking into his brain now, such fantasy might not be the reality he’ll witness.

Bucky knew that he was a man out of time. That the world has progressed in ways that his mind couldn’t catch up still, but never would he expect that this world no longer accepts home appliances as presents. Perhaps he needs to whip out that notebook of his again and relearn the rules of gift giving in the twenty-first century.

—-

“Doll,” Bucky starts while his fingers cut through the meat of his dinner, trying his best to act as nonchalant as he could “I have a proposal to offer.”

She nods, chewing her food, “I’m listening.”

“Since you’re pretty busy with work and I have the whole month off from missions, why don’t I take the kitchen duty? I’ll cook our meals, make our coffee, wash the dishes, everything that’s involved in the kitchen, I’ll take care of it.”

Her head darts up to face him, an impressed smile tugs on the corner of her lips, “Okay..? Why?”

“Just wanted to take some of the burden off your shoulders,” Bucky lies through his teeth, shrugging “I’ve seen just how tired you’ve been lately. It’s the least I could do.”

“You’re very sweet,” she replies as she places a small kiss to his forearm “I’ll take the laundry duty, then.”

Bucky smiles, nodding in agreement.

His brain has been wiring since the technicians left their apartment. He wonders what he could get for her that would match the brilliance of the dishwasher that he thought would have been. He tries to squeeze the essence of his memory, trying to find anything that she might have mentioned that he could get for her, but everything she’s ever told, he’s bought, and he still wasn’t sure if there would be anything bigger than the dishwasher.

Now priding himself as a good husband, how could he not know what his wife wants most?

—-

In his defence, a twenty minutes longer sleep was something he earned for all the hard work he’s done in the kitchen for the past week. Bucky has made every meal, every coffee and every snack that he’s promised to make. He’s taken out the trash without being asked and has done all the dishes before the grease could even set on their plate. Now he might be a supersoldier, alright, but waking up early to brew some coffee and make breakfast was still something he’s not accustomed to and letting his eyes rest a little bit longer feels like a reward he’s very well earned.

So now he finds himself buried under the many layers of their blankets. The fluffiness of their pillows and how the scent of her shampoo still lingers on them made him drown in the pool of comfortness. He snuggles tighter to the pillows, burying his face on the softness of its fabric, before slumber was abruptly yanked off of his feet.

“Good morning,” she says after jumping right on top of him, now sitting on his stomach with a teeth-rotting grin “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” Bucky grunts, smiling through the regret of his lost doze “You’re up early.”

“No, I woke up on time. You’re just taking a little more nap than usual,” she answers as showers his jaw with kisses “When were you going to tell me?”

His eyebrows knit, trying to understand her words with a brain that’s still partially asleep, “Tell you what?”

“That you got me the dishwasher.”

Bucky’s eyes shot wide. His blue fraught-filled eyes were clashing against her fevered ones. He studies her face, trying to find any trace of disappointment or anger, but the only things he could find were the lovely creases around her eyes and the big grin that he thought must’ve ache her cheeks after a while.

He sits up, leaning against the bed frame as he tries to assess his situation better. Wrath was devoid from her face. She was jumping a little, evidently excited upon unravelling his confidence. Something that he wasn’t sure how to react to now.

“You’re not mad?” he asks instead.

“Why would I be mad? You got me the dishwasher!” she exclaims, placing another kiss to his lips “I was planning to get it next week after my Christmas bonus is in, but here you are playing Santa. You’re quite literally crossing wishes off my list. I love you.”

 “I love you,” he answers “But— You’re sure you’re not mad?”

She sits up, studying his attentive manner with a raised brow, “Why would I be mad?”

“Because the technicians said home appliances don’t count as presents anymore,” Bucky answers, looking further lost “They said dishwashers don’t count as Christmas presents.”

“Sure, they do! Home appliances or not, a present is a present,” she argues “It’ll only be an insult if all your gifts are home appliances. That wouldn’t count as Christmas presents. But that’s not what you’re doing. You’re giving me something that I want, which so happens to be a dishwasher.”

Bucky closes his eyes, letting out a sigh, “I am so confused right now. I thought I ruined your Christmas.”

“On the contrary, you’ve just made my Christmas,” she beams, pampering his face with little kisses “I love you, thank you.”

“I love you, Doll,” with his eyes still closed, Bucky pulls her face to his chest, trying to tame her excitement a little so he could recollect the drowsiness that was slipping off his fingertips “Does this mean I can forfeit from kitchen duties, now that you’ve found the surprise?”

She looks up, resting her chin to his chest with a satisfied laughter, “Yes, baby, we can get back to our usual schedule now.”

[the-original-skipps]

|| Yandere Hacker!Scaramouche x Reader ||Headcanons || Genshin Impact ||

so I was watching hoyofair and this came up so I thought I’d do a quick something mehehe I mean I did spy scara before so might as well continue the tradition

cw: mentions of cyber stalking. privacy breach. slight mention of violence involving firearms.

Hacker!Scaramouche has your phone and laptop/computer bugged with his own personally made virus, which basically acts as a listening device. He can also remotely access both devices without you even knowing.

Hacker!Scaramouche who basically knows everything about you. He can hack into the government database to find out any personal information you have. Any records, all the names of your family members; he can just find out with a tap of his finger.

Hacker!Scaramouche knows your whereabouts at all times, a tracking software installed into your phone which you’ll never find. You can be in any part of the world and he’d still be able to find you. You don’t have your phone with you? Not a problem, he’ll just assess the satellite and look for you.

Hacker!Scaramouche who because of the virus on your phone, he pretty much listens to you go about your day. In this day and age, a person’s smartphone is an essential tool after all and he knows you’d always have it with you. He can be going about his day and your voice would be heard from this headphones. What you’re saying as you browse the internet, your personal mumblings - he hears them all. Especially the phone calls you have with other people.

Hacker!Scaramouche knows your current interests and wants. He knows you have that item in your basket on your shopping app that you’re putting off buying. So, he makes things easier for you and buys it for you. He’ll have it delivered straight to your house. A little gift from him.

Hacker!Scaramouche who has access to your phone’s photo gallery. He saves all the pictures you’ve taken into his own personal computer and phone. The pictures of the food you’re about to eat, the pretty scenery of the sky - they’re all backed up and saved. Though, he has a special folder for pictures with you in it.

Hacker!Scaramouche can hack into any security camera in any part of the world. He has a live stream of the security camera feed running in front of your house/apartment so he’d know when you’re home. He also keeps watch in case you bring any visitors home. If you do, a simple facial recognition program is all he needs to know who they are and if they’re a threat to him.

Hacker!Scaramouche who spends majority of his time behind a screen but isn’t afraid to come in person when needed. This new person you’re seeing? He already knows who they are and where they live. He’ll ruin them - drain them of their assets, enter false criminal records; anything to get them away from you. If they don’t get the message, a gun to the face will be sure to change their mind. 

[reasonsforhope]

Humans are so cute. They think they can outsmart birds. They place nasty metal spikes on rooftops and ledges to prevent birds from nesting there.

It’s a classic human trick known in urban design as “evil architecture”: designing a place in a way that’s meant to deter others. Think of the city benches you see segmented by bars to stop homeless people sleeping there.

But birds are genius rebels. Not only are they undeterred by evil architecture, they actually use it to their advantage, according to a new Dutch study published in the journal Deinsea.

Crows and magpies, it turns out, are learning to rip strips of anti-bird spikes off of buildings and use them to build their nests. It’s an incredible addition to the growing body of evidence about the intelligence of birds, so wrongly maligned as stupid that “bird-brained” is still commonly used as an insult...

Magpies also use anti-bird spikes for their nests. In 2021, a hospital patient in Antwerp, Belgium, looked out the window and noticed a huge magpie’s nest in a tree in the courtyard. Biologist Auke-Florian Hiemstra of Leiden-based Naturalis Biodiversity Center, one of the study’s authors, went to collect the nest and found that it was made out of 50 meters of anti-bird strips, containing no fewer than 1,500 metal spikes.

Hiemstra describes the magpie nest as “an impregnable fortress.”

Pictured: A huge magpie nest made out of 1,500 metal spikes.

Magpies are known to build roofs over their nests to prevent other birds from stealing their eggs and young. Usually, they scrounge around in nature for thorny plants or spiky branches to form the roof. But city birds don’t need to search for the perfect branch — they can just use the anti-bird spikes that humans have so kindly put at their disposal.

“The magpies appear to be using the pins exactly the same way we do: to keep other birds away from their nest,” Hiemstra said.

Another urban magpie nest, this one from Scotland, really shows off the roof-building tactic:

Pictured: A nest from Scotland shows how urban magpies are using anti-bird spikes to construct a roof meant to protect their young and eggs from predators.

Birds had already been spotted using upward-pointing anti-bird spikes as foundations for nests. In 2016, the so-called Parkdale Pigeon became Twitter-famous for refusing to give up when humans removed her first nest and installed spikes on her chosen nesting site, the top of an LCD monitor on a subway platform in Melbourne. The avian architect rebelled and built an even better home there, using the spikes as a foundation to hold her nest more securely in place.

...Hiemstra’s study is the first to show that birds, adapting to city life, are learning to seek out and use our anti-bird spikes as their nesting material. Pretty badass, right?

The genius of birds — and other animals we underestimate

It’s a well-established fact that many bird species are highly intelligent. Members of the corvid family, which includes crows and magpies, are especially renowned for their smarts. Crows can solve complex puzzles, while magpies can pass the “mirror test” — the classic test that scientists use to determine if a species is self-aware.

Studies show that some birds have evolved cognitive skills similar to our own: They have amazing memories, remembering for months the thousands of different hiding places where they’ve stashed seeds, and they use their own experiences to predict the behavior of other birds, suggesting they’ve got some theory of mind.

And, as author Jennifer Ackerman details in The Genius of Birds, birds are brilliant at using tools. Black palm cockatoos use twigs as drumsticks, tapping out a beat on a tree trunk to get a female’s attention. Jays use sticks as spears to attack other birds...

Birds have also been known to use human tools to their advantage. When carrion crows want to crack a walnut, for example, they position the nut on a busy road, wait for a passing car to crush the shell, then swoop down to collect the nut and eat it. This behavior has been recorded several times in Japanese crows.

But what’s unique about Hiemstra’s study is that it shows birds using human tools, specifically designed to thwart birds’ plans, in order to thwart our plans instead. We humans try to keep birds away with spikes, and the birds — ingenious rebels that they are — retort: Thanks, humans!

-via Vox, July 26, 2023

[wing-ed-thing]

Honey Cakes (Shino x Reader) Chapter VI

Synopsis: You were stupid. You made a stupid choice; it left you with the first real heartache of your life, and you could safely admit that you deserved it. But then the war came. And as quickly as it came, it was over. So what about you and Shino? Sequel to Honey Stand.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: No Reader Pronouns, Post War, Slow Burn, Slight Canon Divergence, Aged Up Characters, Angst, Language

Notes: uh... meow?

When you got home, the first thing you did was take a long, hot shower. Only when you changed into a fresh set of loungewear—reinvigorated by the clean clothes and the steam wafting out of your bathroom—did you turn your sights to unpacking your mission pack. 

It sat on a tattered mat by your door. The dye on the thick, hardy fabric had faded early in your career, and the dense threads were caked with dirt and other stains that would never come out. Sweat had probably penetrated every stitch. You hauled it by the top strap into your workshop, and from there, you began unpacking. 

The dirty clothes were tossed into your laundry basket. Your unused kunai and shuriken were placed in a pile on your workbench to be repacked into your smaller bag for patrols. You’d inspect them later. 

With you and Shino home again, you knew it would take no time for the both of you to be incorporated back into the schedule for patrols, guard duty, and other routine responsibilities for experienced shinobi. The leftover equipment and tools used for your installation went back into their proper places in your organization system (or at least what you called “organized”). 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You perked up at the sound, instinctively turning in the direction of the window between your lounge area and your kitchen. You padded out of your workshop, and before you sat a messenger hawk on its outside perch. It pecked again, although gently, at the glass. The surface was still scratched and weathered. A neat little card sat in its beak.

You unlatched the window, sliding it open to take your message from the bird. You took the card from the messenger hawk, which let out a delighted shriek, flaring its wings. It motioned with its head, and upon further inspection, it appeared that the hawk carried several messages. All of them were crammed into the message canister so tightly that you thought you would have to take the whole harness off, but with a bit of effort, you managed to retrieve your cylinder of communications. You sent the bird off with a small treat before closing the window again. 

You read the first of the bird’s communications. You started with a lilac-colored note as you rinsed your hand off in the sink. The square-shaped envelope carried a letter written on quality, heavy-duty paper. You studied your name written at the top in neat penmanship. 

“We would like to formally extend an invitation to our wedding rehearsal…” the first line read. You skimmed the rest, quickly absorbing the time and location details before flipping the card over in acute confusion. 

You didn’t think people usually sent out invitations to wedding rehearsals, but you had, after all, been unreachable as of late. You had also never planned a wedding before, so you decided that perhaps you weren’t one to judge a couple’s abundance of communication with their wedding guests. 

You flipped past a few bills and other documents you deemed ignorable for the time being. You were late on a few annual trainings and had to renew some certification or another. Deadlines for various menial tasks were approaching somewhere off in the near-distant future, although it wasn’t something you were remotely worried about. 

The documents were so crammed together that they were hard to separate. But amongst the curled notices, you instantly recognized a formal insignia. Your fingers fumbled, quickly separating it from the rest, only to find that there were two official messages. Your name was printed sternly at the top of both, and together they read,

“I am pleased to offer you the position of Senior Commanding Jōnin at…”

— “Fort Azuma, the eastern base affiliated with Konohagakure…”

— “Fort Nantou, the southeastern base affiliated with Konohagakure…”

That was… horribly fast. However, you weren’t too surprised that the satellite bases were hurting to acquire some experienced leadership. So much had changed after the war, including the mass of shinobi who decided to retire and those lost on the field. 

It was a good thing. It was what you wanted. And yet, you couldn’t help the beat of hesitancy that wracked your body. 

You stood, holding both offers in your hands. You traced the letters with your eyes; their shape served as an oddly harsh and surreal reminder of reality. You had taken the steps to transfer out of the central village. You dreamed about the opportunity to escape your routine, to become someone new somewhere else. And yet… perhaps you didn’t consider you’d get this far.

A single, curled note floated to the floor from somewhere behind your offer notices. It was printed on intricately official paper directly from the Hokage’s office. Only one word was printed on it.

“Drinks?” It read. 

You let out a heavy sigh.

“Fuck yes,” you breathed.

***

 Shikamaru had a usual place that he liked to escape to both after and during hours when it came to lulls on busy afternoons. It allowed for smoking and wasn’t too far from the Hokage building. You arrived shortly after receiving his note, knowing that it was more likely than not that he was still there. If Shikamaru wasn’t at work, he was at home with Temari; if he wasn’t at home with Temari, he was here. 

The sun still shone light in the sky, but its orientation was slowly sinking as if trying to slink off behind the horizon without anyone noticing. It wasn’t too dissimilar to the way Shikamaru had slinked off to his corner bar seat. 

The bar sat half inside and half outside, with the outside part coiling around an unfortunately placed pillar near one of the outer walls of the building. But the awkward orientation made for a quiet, out-of-sight nook for Shikamaru, his drink, and his ashtray.

“You’re hiding,” you frowned, sliding onto the seat next to him. You plucked a little rectangular menu out from under Shikamaru’s ashtray.  

His back pressed against the wall behind him as he sat sideways on his chair, lounging laxly with a cigarette between his fingers. He took a drag on it with a shrug.

“You found me anyway,” he hummed. You didn’t humor his sarcastic reply; you already engaged with the bartender who took your drink order. Shikamaru couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to what you asked for. He slumped a little farther down against the wall, letting his knees spread on his seat. His free hand rested on the back of his chair. 

You turned to Shikamaru, “Food and drinks are on you, right?”

Shikamaru exhaled a puff of smoke, brow cocked. 

“Who said anything about food?” he huffed, but you were already handing your little menu off, and the bartender went on his way. After eating nothing but boring base food and field snacks, you were itching for something with a little flavor. A little something that would surely clog your arteries didn’t sound too bad, either. 

Shikamaru sighed, extinguishing the butt of his cigarette in his ashtray. He was planning on charging the tab to Old Man Kakashi anyway…

“How was the install?” he asked. You didn’t notice the delayed drag of his words as Shikamaru tried a little too hard to remain casual. His eyes flickered toward you, then down as he brought his drink to his lips. 

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you pulled the offer letters out of your pocket and gently threw them on the table. They fell perfectly, the pages sailing to a spot on the counter between you, where they sat overlayed with each other. 

Shikamaru nearly choked, taking little more than a second to recover as he stared at you with wide eyes.

“Oh shit,” he coughed, “You really went through with it.”

In his state of shock, neither you nor Shikamaru knew if his words were a question or a flabbergasted statement. The bottom of his glass was quickly placed back on the countertop. It hit the surface with a tiny splatter, his cup sweating far too much condensation from the time he’d been sitting there and nursing it. 

Shikamaru tugged the top letter down just enough to see the contents of the paper underneath, even though he already knew what it said. 

“I mean…” he trailed. Fuck, he needed another cigarette for this. Shikamaru dug around in his pockets. “Congrats.” 

He took his pack from his pocket, summoning a cigarette upward with a sharp flick of his wrist. Immediately, he took it into his mouth, lighting the end with an acute sigh of relief. 

Shikamaru had an inkling this would happen. You mentioned a transfer in passing a few times, and no matter how often he made grunts to the contrary, you seemed to always have it in your mind that condemning yourself to a satellite base would make you feel accomplished. 

Kiba also did a stint at the southern base when he was having a quarter-life crisis. He called it a tour of the boonies before he came back to the village with his tail between his legs to finally buck up and settle down with Tamaki. 

You frowned, quickly shuffling the offer letters away. 

“I wasn’t expecting a big reaction out of you, but jeez,” you huffed. You waved your hand in the air to try to dissipate the smoke that seemed to pour from Shikamaru. 

“What?” he said with crinkled brows. “I said congrats.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed. Try to be less excited. Please, Shikamaru, this is embarrassing.” Your drink was delivered sometime between mockeries, and you wasted no time bringing it to your lips. The appetizer you ordered followed closely behind. 

Shikamaru rolled his eyes.

“No one’s gonna jizz their pants because you got a position you’re overqualified for.”

“Thanks for that.”

While the satellite bases were nothing to look down upon, they hardly got much action after the war. Armed with skilled shinobi as they already were, having you there would be like fortifying an anthill with a bazooka. 

The generation most responsible for the Leaf’s successes during the war was the most accomplished class in a long while, with each and every one of you being a powerhouse in your own right.

Shikamaru shook his head, putting the butt of his cigarette out with a bit more force than necessary. It wasn’t an angry action but one of laziness as he let his wrist almost drop down amongst the ashes.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

“You don’t gotta prove shit,” he muttered, but not lowly enough for you to be able to ignore him. You frowned, crossing your legs as you continued to nurse your drink. He reached for a bite of your food with a shadow he didn’t think you’d notice, slowly inching the basket closer. 

“You don’t get restless?” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. Shikamaru shrugged.

“Only the ambitious get restless,” he sighed, pressing his cheek into the palm of his hand. “I’m gonna live here, die here, and that’s plenty for me.” 

“You’re in a mood today.”

“You’re starting to sound like my wife,” Shikamaru mused with a grumble before letting silence wash over the two of you. Idle chatter from around you melded together into white noise along with the low music that played from somewhere. He took a shallow breath in.

”Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Breathing like that.” You swiveled slightly on your seat to face him. Your eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even ask.” 

Shikamaru’s eyebrows bounced as he dug a bit deeper into the food. The basket appeared to have grown just slightly closer to him. You didn’t like the self-assured dip of his lip. 

“So it’s about him after all,” Shikamaru sighed, reaching for another bite. You pulled the basket away before he could, much to Shikamaru’s visible dismay.

“Don’t even go there,” you warned, glaring. “It’s not.”

“But it’s at least a part of it.” He appeared otherwise unbothered. “Can’t you two just kiss and make up already? This has been going on long enough—”

—“I’m not the one who brought it up—”

“Talk about emotionally constipated…” 

“I’m not talking about this because there’s nothing to talk about. It’s not about him, okay? It would be stupid if it was.” You slapped his hand away from the last bite of your food, meeting his gaze as you shoved the last of it into your mouth. Shikamaru’s posture visibly deflated. 

“Now that’s just uncalled for.”

“Get your own.” You swiveled back around to face the counter, still guarding the now-empty snack basket. You slumped back against the back of your seat, arms crossed. “Besides… We talked about it plenty. Probably too much. It’s just…” Shikamaru’s intent stare made it easy for him to catch your eye. It made it even easier to see through the slight smile you tried to offer him. “… time to move on, isn’t it?”

Shikamaru tore his gaze away from yours, already digging for another cigarette. 

“It seems like you’ve already got your mind made up…”

***

“Is everything… okay?” Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. He clasped his hands together, leaning the tip of his chin on his folded fingers. 

A vein in Shino’s forehead twitched in confusion.

“Yes…?” He spoke slowly, thrown off by the intense stare that bore into him. Kakashi sat unmoving despite Shino’s answer. He gazed straight ahead, almost as if he were expecting more. “Why?”

“I thought I’d have better luck getting an answer out of you than—” Kakashi motioned to the empty space next to Shino where you had just been standing. You dashed out of his office after delivering your report quickly. It would be a few more hours until you met Shikamaru for drinks. —“That one. Nearly ripped my doors off the hinges coming in and out of here.”

“I can’t say I have anything else to report,” Shino said, the corner of his lips pulling slightly downward. He buried his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t need any other information about the installation, I’ll be going—”

Kakashi waved his hand in the air with a sigh.

“I’ve heard all I need to about that,” he said with another huff. “I wanted to know what was going on with that weird chakra between you two.” Kakashi raised a lazy finger, gesturing between Shino and the empty space again. 

Shino’s frown only deepened. 

“You can’t possibly be this bored.”

“It’s not like you to be getting into fistfights.” Kakashi shrugged, sitting back in his chair with his arms coiled over his chest. His words weren't scolding as much as they almost sounded mocking. He was getting at something; if Shino was good at anything, it was picking up on subtleties. 

“Fair enough, you’ve made your point,” Shino was quick to speak, his words spitting out with more force than he intended. 

It caused Kakashi a slight pause, not so much taken aback as silently self-satisfied in an unspoken hunch. Perhaps he was bored after all. He sat up just a bit taller. Kakashi’s arms remained crossed over his chest, his elbows now resting on his desk as he leaned forward. 

He didn’t say anything else, simply staring at Shino with an unsettlingly unreadable expression under his mask. And then, without warning, he rose, slapping his fingers on the surface of his desk.

“A personal matter then… None of my business.”

“Am I dismissed then?” 

Kakashi hummed affirmatively, and Shino paid little mind as Kakashi slowly meandered around to the front of his desk. Rather, Shino turned quickly, eager to get home and shed his gear. 

“But if I could give you one piece of advice before you go…” Shino had just reached the door, his hand hovering over the handle as Kakashi spoke. He cringed, eyes pinching closed just slightly as his head ticked to the side. 

He ironed his expression back out before he turned around, eyeing Kakashi with a little less restraint for his annoyance. Although, his demeanor wasn’t too far from his regular appearance. 

Kakashi leaned his hip against the front of his desk, a few papers in his hand. He didn’t look at Shino when he spoke, shuffling through the same three pages.

“If you’re going to make a decision, I would do it sooner rather than later,” he said. Shino didn’t have time to respond. Kakashi lowered the pages, finally making lazy eye contact. “I’ve been getting quite a few base transfer requests lately. I suppose a change of scenery is in high demand right now.” 

Shino eyed him warily from behind his darkened shades. 

“I suppose it is.”

***

Kiba was apparently looking for him. He had been banging at Shino’s door a few times a day, much to the dismay of Shino’s neighbors and the rest of the Aburames at the family compound. But if Kiba was anything more than a nuisance, he was thorough. Several different people reported Kiba’s ruckus to Shino but also carried a message: Kiba wanted to meet and soon.

Even so, Shino took his sweet time meeting his fellow squad member. The whole change of scenery thing stuck with Shino more than he would’ve liked, but he thought that with all the bustle about the wedding, there would be plenty to distract himself with. Konohamaru had apparently been working on some grand video in Shino’s absence, and everyone in their class was brainstorming creative ideas and gifts to bring to the celebration. At least, that’s what his beetles were reporting back to him.

“Ew! A bug!”

“Catch it! Catch it!”

Shino’s head snapped to the side just in time to catch a small group of children rapidly closing in on one of his beetles. Shino lunged forward with a yell, with a bit more urgency than was necessary if he were actually thinking, startling the group as the beetle swiftly escaped to its host. But with his bug safe and his 194cm form now hovering menacingly over a group of small children, Shino considered damage control.

“That bug’s my… friend.” He cringed as the words spilled off his lips. The sheepish crinkle of his brows was well hidden behind his hood and dark shades. To Shino, the statement made sense. Still, he was aware enough to understand how his words could potentially come off as absolutely insane. 

“You’re a bug summoner!” one of the kids exclaimed in recognition. Shino let out a subtle breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. Great, he couldn’t even talk to Genin in a coherent way without help.

“Yeah,” Shino affirmed, and what little control he had over the interaction vanished as the group of kids swarmed him. And being the sucker he was (Mirai’s made him soft in recent years), Shino was commanding his beetles to do tricks before he knew it. He contorted them into different shapes, answering questions and entertaining chatter about the children’s various shinobi ambitions. 

“I’ve never seen a bug-user in person before!” Well, now you have.

“Do you have to summon them one at a time?” No.

“Are you popular at parties?” No.

“Do you want to become an insect summoner?” Shino asked a boy whose hands were just about saturated with beetles. The boy glinted up at him with wild eyes, hands poised up in the air like a surgeon ready for a procedure. 

“No way!” he exclaimed with certainty. A thick layer of bugs crawled over his palms and fingers. “I’m gonna become Hokage one day and surpass Naruto Uzumaki as a ninja.” 

“The Hokage, huh?” Shino hummed with seriousness. (He could ignore the implication that an insect summoner can’t be Hokage.) “Well, if you want to surpass Naruto, you’ll have to become Hokage, right?”

“You get it!” One of the other children chirped. 

Shino nodded, memories of Kiba and his bragging prevalent in his mind. It almost made Shino crack a smile. A group of two boys and one girl… They even looked a little like Team 8. 

“Yeah, I know someone else who wants to be Hokage. And if you ask me, you’ve got him beat already.”

The boy’s eyes glittered. 

“Really?”

Shino didn’t have it in him to stifle the way the corners of his mouth turned upward. 

“Really,” he said, “I can’t say I know anyone who says they want to become Hokage as an afterthought. You’ve got a serious dream, alright.”

“Was your dream to become an insect user?” The little girl asked. 

Shino faltered. His logical side wanted to say no, that the Aburame clan established their hives at very young ages as part of a long-held tradition. However, he was reluctant to say that what amounted to upholding his birthright wasn’t his dream. But no one had asked him outright what he wanted out of life before…

Once again, Shino didn’t get the opportunity to speak. 

“Oh,” one of the little boys asked, seeming to sense Shino’s hesitation, “Are you one of those shinobi that just want a wife and kids?”

The other little boy smacked the back of the boy’s head. 

“Not everyone wants a wife, stupid.” He turned to Shino. “He can have a husband,” he said with assertive certainty. He nodded profusely. “Or like, I dunno, something like my parents!”

“I really have to be going,” Shino cleared his throat. Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, he was already late for his meeting with Kiba, and his conversation with this genin group was beginning to sound like an Aburame family gathering.

So, when Shino and Kiba gathered to discuss wedding presents, Shino thought that the lightness of the topic could keep him well-distracted. 

He thought wrong.

“It’s our final mission as Team 8,” Kiba said, glancing over his shoulder at Shino with a wide grin. “Once Hinata gets married, we won’t get to work together the way we used to, right?” He was too lost in his grand proclamations to see the visible tension in Shino’s figure.

“Yeah…” Shino muttered. “That’s true.” 

Shino knew— yes, the thought had crossed his mind— that Hinata getting married would mean the end of Team 8. Hinata was hardly enthusiastic about mission work anyway. Despite all she did to do her part in stepping up during reconstruction, the donations of her time and efforts were more out of the goodness of her heart rather than a passion for late-night patrols. 

Her wedding would mark a perfect opportunity for her to retire. Shino knew Hinata had always wanted to be a mother, so retiring and having a baby or two would be a well-deserved dream realized. Shino was more than happy for her, but it was another thing he had never heard spoken out loud before. 

Kiba had even said it lightly. We won’t get to work together the way we used to, as opposed to Team 8 will never fight together again. (Unless Hinata grew restless for a bit of field action, Shino couldn’t recount the last time he witnessed Hinata restless.)

And so, despite Kiba’s abundance of excitement to set out on a quest, Shino quickly took the lead. They both set off quickly, searching for the perfect gift for Naruto and Hinata.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Hi hi hi I'm sorry for the... 2 year delay 🥲 I finally figured out what I want to do with this story and I guess it took this long. No timeline at the moment, sorry!

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI

[copperbadge]

[ID: Two images; on the left is my bathroom sink, recently scrubbed, with various tools for grooming humans and cats alike -- it's the cats' favorite place to be brushed. Right, a blue bucket slowly filling with soapy water, which is about to cover a big pile of Lego at the bottom of the bucket.]

NaClYoHo day two! Yesterday was mostly linens, today is mostly scrubbing.

Top of the list was actually to put on real trousers and go find a missing package; I bought a small USB-charged overhead lamp to install in the shower, since the lighting in my bathroom isn't great, and Target likes to hide packages from me when they deliver them. It's one of those things that are genuinely in the spirit of NaClYoHo in terms of improving my living space -- it won't improve the property value and it doesn't make the bathroom look better; arguably it looks like the garage kludge that it is. But it's purely for my comfort. I did manage to find the lamp, so it's charging now; the mounting plates have been installed and I'll post photos once it's up and running.

Next up, since having I couldn't immediately install it, I decided to scrub down the bathroom sink -- I took off everything sitting on the sink and dusted or washed it as needed, scrubbed down the counter and tap with CLR and then after a rinse with Scrubbing Bubbles, dried it, and put everything back. Again, there's only so much I can do to make the sink look good (it's probably as old as I am) and I would love to replace it, but that's expensive and will probably require outside help.

And, once I'd done the dishes, which I am counting as part of my cleaning today, I washed the last of the Lego I brought home from Texas. It's all drying now.

Very fortunate for me, I put on an episode of Kill James Bond ("Thunderball With No Notes") which is an hour and nine minutes long, and right as I finished rinsing out the Lego bucket it ended, so except for eventually sticking the lamp into its mounting brackets, I'm done cleaning for the day!

[happysaddca]

This is. Incredibly self-indulgent and requires context.

You are a veteran FazCo employee who worked as a janitor (and eventually dates that location's DCA) when the Glitchtrap virus infects the plex. Unlike the game, this virus affects all the mega pizzaplexes, and it leads to you getting mauled by Moon. You nearly die, the DCA is deactivated and replaced after the virus mysteriously vanishes, and eventually you start working at a new plex, with a new DCA and staff.

After a long and bumpy road, you finally have your DCA's chips installed in a functional animatronic. It's time for a reunion.

Parts and Service still creeps you out, even with the changes the tech team here made. At the very least, you’re allowed to wait in the cylinder instead of outside with everyone else. 

You take a peek through the glass, catching Gemma and Anika watching you. Your body locks up, and you manage a stiff little wave before focusing on Sun behind them. Sun isn’t watching you (at least, you’re pretty sure he’s not). Sun’s watching the body on the table. Your turn back to it as well. 

It’s another Daycare Attendant unit, currently completely off. The color changing material of the animatronic’s pants and paint sits at a muted, muddy brown color, the light not bright enough to bring out Sun’s colors but too bright for Moon’s. When you touch its faceplate, it’s cold, unmoving. It’s an older model, a spare body for the DCA standing outside. And it currently holds the chip that is your 

That is your Sun and Moon. 

“Everything good in there?” Gemma’s voice is tinny over the speakers. You nod quickly, giving a thumb’s up. “Okay, I need you to back away for a second. Gotta plug in and give the OS one last check before we power them up.” 

“Okay.” You give a reluctant half step back, then another at Gemma’s prompting, retreating closer to the wall and the people outside. Overhead, electricity thrums as the diagnostics and repair tools come online, a cable snaking down to plug into the back of the animatronic’s head. “You’ll warn me when they’re about to be turned on, right?” No answer. “Guys?” 

The sounds overhead changes, with a chime sequence signaling that no, you were in fact not being warned ahead of time.. Some pseudo-soothing, corporate beeps that remind you of commercials advertising anti-depressants begin, but when you go to approach the body again, the speaker crackles on. 

“Stay right there.” 

“But I want—” You’re cut off before you can even turn to face the trio waiting outside. 

Anika’s frown is made more severe by scarring distorting her forehead. 

“We don’t know how they’re going to react to being woken up for the first time in three years. For them, it’s only been a moment since they shut down, and we don’t really know how that… hey. Don’t look like that. I thought you’d already worked past the guilt.” 

“No, I have. But. I.” Another chime sequence has you whipping back around, but there’s no change. You shift so you can keep half an eye on what’s happening while you’re talking to everyone on the outside. 

“Sunshine.” Sunny speaks over Anika, leaning forward to take the microphone. “Think about what might happen if they come online and hurt you.”

“It’d be—”

“It’d be an accident, but.” Sunny holds up one long finger, indicating that you should wait. You look back at the table again, but there’s still nothing to indicate what’s going on. “Friend, turn your screen around. They’re going to be fretful unless they know what’s going on.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Gemma turns one of the monitors around, showing off a series of progress bars that you don’t know what they mean. She taps the monitor. “Once this hits a hundred percent, they’ll boot up.” 

“Thank you.” The lump in your throat eases, just a little. You stare at the little bars slowly working its way up. 

“Sunshine.” Sunny catches your attention with his talking-to-children-about-complex-topics voice. “We should stay here until the other attendant wakes up and has a moment to process that they aren’t affected by the virus—and that they’re safe.” 

“As safe as they can be in here,” you mumble, and Sunny’s smile widens as he gives a small nod, setting the microphone back on the table. The progress bar fills ever so slowly, and any noise behind you makes you twitch and look back at the animatronic with concern. Your palms itch, suddenly slick, and you wipe at them quickly before shoving them in the pockets of your overalls. 

Overalls. You are bringing back your oldest, dearest friend that you’ve not seen in years and you’re wearing the world’s most fucked up, stained overalls. And that does count farmers and mechanics around the world. You take a peek at the progress bar and—how has it jumped up 30% already? It had been dragging just a minute ago! There’s now no way you can slip away into something better, and of course you couldn’t have gone anyway. 

The noise from overhead changes, and there’s an error sound, sharp and blunt, followed by the mechanical squeak of the monitor getting jerked back around to Gemma. “Anika, can you grab the thingie?”

“The thingie?” 

Gemma gestures vaguely behind her and Sun, who is standing frozen, rays partially retracted as he stares at the table. Anika zips off to find whatever it is Gemma needs, but you’re turning away again, watching as the spare daycare attendant unit twitches. 

“Sun?” you ask, stepping closer. The animatronic twitches again, one hand, then a whole leg, spastic and out of control like it’s being electrocuted in bits and pieces. Their rays start to poke out, then snap back into place with an audible click. One gets stuck, tangled up in white and blue fabric. “Moon, Sun, it’s okay,” you say, voice barely audible over their fans starting and immediately going into overdrive. “You’re safe. It’s me.” 

“Sunshine!” Sunny’s voice breaks when you are close enough to touch the twitching attendant’s foot. 

Your ears pop as the doors open, and you twitch, turning just enough to hold out a hand. “Sunny, it’s okay. I know but… they’re glitching out. I think they’re going to Eclipse.” 

“All the more reason to stay away!”

“You stay there if it makes you comfortable, but if they’re Eclipsing…” You turn back in time to catch the rays spring out, a handful caught in the hat, shredding into it. “I’m staying. Sun? Moon?”

There’s no reply from the animatronic, just more twitching and spasming. You want to free the rays from their hat, but this early model has no silicone softening the metal edges. They’re just a bunch of very dull knives and with no consciousness controlling their movements. You settle for touching their shoe instead, feeling the twitching of their actuators. Are they in pain? Can they feel anything at all?

“Hey, be careful in there! I’m unplugging the cords now and sometimes they can be a little whippy.” You grimace, pulling away as far as you could without relinquishing your touch over the moon patch. You give a thumbs up without looking away. 

The cords are a little whippy, jerking away from the table and snapping back into the ceiling with such force that it makes them look alive. You hate Parts and Services. 

“We’re at ninety percent now. Sunny, if you can step back? We don’t know how they’ll react to another Attendant hovering.”

“Right… right.” Sunny’s voice is closer, and you’re surprised to find he’d crept well inside the cylinder, the distance between the two of you halved. He holds his hands up, retreating back to the door. You stare and he gives a timid little shrug, his faceplate tilted towards the now waking animatronic. 

You’ve been around FazCo branded animatronics for ten years now, been in love with one, this one, for almost as long. Even in a new body, even Eclipsed, you know they’re waking from the change in their fans, slowing briefly with a little click clatter click before returning to overdrive. The foot under your hand twitches one last time before stilling and pulling away.

There’s static, climbing up your arm and into your mind as you look up. There’s static there too, a thin, trembling stream from Eclipse’s hidden speakers. They’re staring at you, eyes locked on. You shift, and they shift, ever so slightly, eyes tracking the scars visible on your face. 

“Eclipse?” you ask, holding a hand up as they start to answer. “No, it’s okay. I-I am happy to see you. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re both safe, right?” 

You have to walk around the table. They still watch you, hands limp at their side until you reach for the nearest one. They flinch away, dragging their hand into their lap, claws catching on the coarse material of their waist ruffle. Once, a long time ago, you’d asked about those claws and Moon had explained they used to play stringed instruments, just like the glamrocks did now. 

“You won’t hurt me,” you tell them, taking their hand anyway and squeezing it so hard you can feel a joint in your wrist pop. You toy with one of the claws with your thumb, worrying the little gear that makes it flip back into their fingers, sighing softly. “You didn’t hurt me.” 

You look up to see them staring at you, and despite things, you give a little laugh. A wet laugh, something sticking in your throat uncomfortably. “It wasn’t you Moon.” 

You don’t know how or when, but a cold hand brushes over the ruined half of your face, stroking the skin just under your eye. It pulls back, metal shiny with tears. You laugh again, hiccuping and holding your free hand up to your face as you force yourself to calm down. “I’m okay. I’m here. You’re here. I missed you so much you big stupid dummy.” 

You can’t wait any longer, so you throw yourself at Eclipse, worming your hands under their arms, tucking your face carefully under their faceplate, away from the metal rays. They can’t see you crying like this, but it’s an ugly messy, human thing and their neck ruffle is horrifically itchy. The slow weight of hands on your back make you sob, voice breaking. 

There’s a few minutes that are likely very awkward for everyone not currently on or half on the cylinder’s table, but you don’t notice any change until there are claws digging in your back. “Eclipse,” you mumble, lifting your head, but the hands pin you to their torso. “Eclipse, what’s wrong?”

“I-it might be me!” Sunny’s voice trips over itself. “I, we, all of us wanted to make sure you were okay?”

“I’m okay,” you say, a little too softly at first. You feel up for Eclipse’s cheek, stroking it gently. “‘Clips, let me up. Sunny isn’t going to hurt us.” 

The hands dig, and you can feel those claws in your skin, but they loosen as you continue to push up. You settle on the table a little awkwardly, perched to avoid hurting Eclipse with your weight. You wipe at your eye, trying to clear your vision, before taking Eclipse’s hand again. “Sorry Sunny. I know things aren’t going as planned but…” You clear your throat, smiling weakly. “Sunny, this is Clips. They Daycare Attendant from my old plex. Eclipse, this is Sunny. He’s the Daycare Attendant here in Sandusky. He uh, he helped convince me it was worth trying to save you.” You hesitate. “He and his Moon went through it too,” you say more softly. Eclipse’s grip tightens on you and Sunny grimaces. “We’ll talk about it later, when everyone’s recovered. Sunny, move.” You gesture and he gives you a confused look before stepping out of the way.

Anika and Gemma are staring through the thick plexi of the cylinder. Gemma’s mouth is hanging open, but Anika looks vaguely smug. You hold up your entwined hands in a wave. “That’s Gemma and Anika. Gemma helped get this body back online and you in it, and Anika helped me save you. We saved you.” Oh, you’re starting to cry again. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Gemma’s voice is clipped, and she turns her monitor back to you. You can just barely see some graphs and charts, but the orangey-red lines, and the continued strain of Eclipse’s fans clue you in before Gemma can. 

“Oh, oh, Eclipse, you need to restart with just one of you fronting.” You turn back to them, catching them staring at you once again. You twist around to hold their face, stroking over the edge and the craters, finding the large swirl of an eyebrow before you reach their hat. They flinch as you pull at it. “I know. But I’ll stay right here the entire time. I won’t even let go of your hand.” 

“Sunshine, that’s—”

“I’m staying right here Sunny,” you say, a little more sharply than you meant to sound, but the intent remains. You don’t look away from Eclipse, leaning forward to press a kiss over the moon’s eye. “I am staying right here. You can restart. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” 

Eclipse stares, and there’s a long, long minute where you worry they’re going to refuse until they burn out but finally there’s a soft stream of static and a nod. Eclipse leans forward as you pull on their hat, freeing it incrementally from their rays. The light from their eyes dims and goes out, their fans slowing a couple minutes later. You pull the hat free successfully, their hand slipping from yours as you check over the fabric. It’s torn and greasy where it’d gotten caught in the gears, but you can probably fix it, if they want. Or perhaps you’ll be able to get help remaking their old hat, if that’s what they preferred.  

“Is everything all right?” Sunny’s voice is quiet, and his hand is soft as it rests on your shoulder. You twitch but don’t pull away, watching your attendant’s faceplate intently for any flicker of light. “They’ll turn on again.” 

“I know they will. But will they be able to let go? It’s got to be Moon, I think. It’s always been more willing to take control.” Sunny’s gentle verbal prodding compels you to continue. “Sun’s a softie, even if she does have a spine about the rules, her rules. The ones that are important to her. She tried so hard…” You trail off into a cough, swallowing back the lump wrong and making it worse on yourself. You have to wipe at your eyes again, sniffing hard. “But if Moon is scared or upset, they might Eclipse again.”

The startup is quieter, so you miss it in your talking to Sunny, until you feel more than hear the thrum of the animatronic’s inner workings. Sunny steps back, out of reach, when the rays retract, one at a time, jerkily, like the mechanism controlling them is unfamiliar to the Moon currently in control. Because it’s Moon who is waking up now, and it’s Moon’s gravelly voice that lets out a surprised noise when you immediately push into a hug. 

“Starlight?” 

The nickname is enough to make you cry again, and you squeeze him so tightly your arms hurt. “I’m here Moony. I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again.” 

[baldy-wan-kenobi]

The Mechs of my mech setting: A summary

So, my mech setting, for the most part, has four main categories of mechs, separated into Generations. These generations mainly differ based on what power source they use, getting larger and more advanced with each generation. In-universe, they're called "Combat Frames", or just "Frames", colloquially.

Generation One mechs are little more than powered armor, battery-powered exoskeleton suits that provide protection, and enhanced physical characteristics to the wearer. They are usually either immensely heavy, durable and slow, to enable the user to act as a one-man tank, wielding heavy weapons with ease, or extremely agile and fast, to enhance the mobility of its wearer to a superhuman degree. While knowledge of their construction was not lost to the ravages of the Long War, it is rare to find them outside of the security forces of city-states or the Knights of Svalbard, as they do not provide much utility to Tinman mercenaries or raider gangs, due to their higher maintenance requirement and lesser capability, in comparison to the similarly-expensive Gen 2 mechs.

Generation Two mechs are squatty, angular machines, reminiscent of the style of mech seen in fifth-generation Armored Core games, with limited vertical mobility, but able to maintain ground-skimming hover maneuvers for a significant amount of time. They are, without a doubt, the most common type of Frame in the world in the aftermath of the Final Armistice, and many of the largest corporations in the world specialize in producing parts for them. They are in the hands of every force on Earth, from the private armies of city-states to the marauding bands who roam the wastes. However, their most famous pilots are the Tin Soldiers, soldiers of fortune infamous in the new world as tools for the interests of City-States and corporations. They are somewhat limited, with directed energy weapons being rather rare and valuable, though some Gen 2 Frames are greatly enhanced, through the use of Old World Tech or the installation of a Cortical Control Augmentation system, which I'll discuss momentarily. They use specialized fusion engines, and are, with the exception of mechs retrofitted with a CCA system, controlled via two control yokes and several panels of buttons, switches, and screens.

Generation Three Frames are a new technological leap forward from the squatty, clumsy mechs of the second generation, using their Esoteric Reactors to power massively enhanced systems, extreme mobility equipment, and devastating weaponry. They are, more or less, at the level of mecha that Armored Core 6 operates on, with insanely fast mechs capable of extreme vertical mobility and immense destruction. They are used heavily by the Knights of Svalbard, though there are others in the hands of the powerful and enigmatic individuals known as the Veterans, whom I will discuss at another time. For generation 3 mechs, a Cortical Control Augmentation system is necessary to pilot it, which means the pilot must undergo two critical procedures that prepare them to use their Frames:

In surgery for Cortical Control Augmentation, the subjects synapses are enhanced, and among other things, augmented with networks of fiber optic cable, increasing the speed of signal transmission in the brain by a great deal. This is done to massively upgrade reaction times and parallel processing ability. Implants are also installed that tap into the nervous system to "bypass" the motor functions of the brain, rerouting them to the mech itself, such that a pilot with CCA implants is capable of using a mech like it is their own body. It also allows them full use of the mech's enhanced perceptive suite, though with no sense of touch, pilots report difficulty in controlling the mech's immense strength.

Finally, Generation Four mechs are defined by their use of the mysterious energy source known as Miyazaki Particles, which essentially function by giving the laws of physics as we understand them the finger and a handwritten permit that says 'I do what I want'. They are defined by their insanity, and most have little in common besides exploiting the power of Miyazaki particles. This means that they can range in their level of power from the level of the NEXTs of AC4A to the reality-bending shenanigans of the mechs of Lancer. They are exclusively Old World Tech, as they were only ever prototypes by the end of the Long War, and their use is banned, seeing as Miyazaki radiation is immensely harmful to all life, and the inherently unstable Miyazaki reactors at their hearts can cause immense damage if they go critical. In fact, the city-state of Budapest was destroyed entirely when a Fourth Generation mech that had been recovered from a local cache of Old World Tech went critical in their research labs.

[evilfloralfoolery]

Please enjoy this little bit of snzfuckery between Indigo's incredibly attractive parents, Astralis and Aurora. It's some gross courtly bullshit and I love it.

___________________________

“My lord, I can assure you that this lapse in judgment shall not happen again.” 

Even from her vantage point behind the hedges, the guard’s fear is palpable.  As it should be.  Her beloved is as stern as he is imposing, seeming to tower over all who cross his path, regardless of their true height.  Clad in crimson silk and fine etched leather, Astralis is both elegant and terrifying.

Precisely why she had chosen him.  Or rather, why they had chosen each other.

“See to it that you do not disappoint me again.”  The dark propriety of his voice is a resonant purr of sound that does not rely on volume to convey the threat. 

“Y-yes, my lord.”

Astralis waves a hand.  “Away with you, then.” 

The guard bows, retreating with a backward step until he feels it is proper to turn his back and hurry along on his way. 

A wise decision, clearly.

Astralis executes a sharp turn on his heel, his impressive length of ebony hair sliding over one shoulder and spilling down the length of his back like a living thing, obedient to the whims of its master. Although she cannot hear just what her husband is muttering to himself, it is certainly not pleasant.  

Fire flashes in his palm, brilliant and stark against the green of the hedges, and he incinerates a hapless, wayward branch into nothingness, his booted foot dispersing the ashen embers with a fluid step. It is, however, the rosebush that receives the withering, contemptuous sneer.

“Wretched and treacherous beauty,” he grumbles. “I would destroy you all, if I were able.” 

He stiffens to a halt beside the gate, his posture rigid but for a moment.

Surely he cannot see her, not with the hedges in unpruned proliferation around her. It matters not, for all she cares to witness is his most certain downfall.

And he does not disappoint.

His austere demeanor falters, the immovable facade cracking into a flash of annoyance and a sharp, singular hitch of breath. 

“--AHESSSCHuh! EHSHHHuh! ESSHH! ESSCH! EKSSSH!!”

He doesn't not bother with the handkerchief, perhaps because the urgency of the matter is greater than he anticipated. Instead, he barely manages to steeple his hands over his mouth and nose, each sneeze a greater shoulder-shuddering, body-curling event, as if his capacity to release it is somehow inadequate.

Astralis straightens with a pointed, indecent sniffle and brushes a length of displaced hair aside.  “If you do not believe yourself to be visible to me, Aurora, you are mistaken.” 

She huffs a short sigh and resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

Infuriating man.

“Perhaps,” she says as she emerges from the hedge canopy, “I was allowing you privacy for your struggles.”

A smirk curves one side of his mouth. “Is that so?”

His smug expression wavers and this time, he conjures the aforementioned handkerchief with a snap of his fingers.

“AESSSHuh! EHSSH! EKSSH!! Gods.”

Her hand lights upon his arm, smile gentling. “Bless you, love.” 

“Thank you,” he says with a sharp sniffle. “Blasted topiary maintenance. I should install an iron fence instea-hhh…!” His breath heaves and he leans away from her.”--hhuhEKSSSCHU!!” 

“Bless you!” She repeats a bit more emphatically than necessary. Her hands slide to cup his face, threads of his silken hair cool and smooth against her fingers. “Nature is so cruel to you.” 

He chuckles. “I believe it was my wife who ordered the planting of this entire fiasco.” 

“Well,” she says. “She must be quite insensitive to your suffering.” 

“Hmm, indeed.” His hands close up on her upper arms and he jerks her against his chest, “Were she not so stunning amongst the greenery, I would burn it to ash.” 

Aurora runs her finger along the straight slope of his nose, pausing to tap the tip. “Flattery is a wise man’s tool.” 

He summons an obligatory flinch at the intrusion of her touch, gathering her into his embrace.  “Sincerity is a tool far greater.”

It is only with Aurora that the sharpness of his gaze softens to warm, copper honey, his fortress of impenetrable emotional detachment conquered.

“Depart with me now before I am defeated by the whims of my own traitorous body.”  A smirk curves one side of his mouth. “Unless that is your plan, my love.” 

Aurora feigns aghast indignation. “I would never dream of such a thing.”

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 11

Warnings: Mentions of virginity, mentions of wedding night sex, sexist ideas about virginity (not from Enver though he couldn't care less)

Minors do not read!!!

The second outing Enver took you to was at his own estate. Smaller than your parent's, but big enough to suit a minor Lord. Then again, if rumors were to be believed Enver would be much more than a lord soon. Typically, having an outing at the man's estate was improper, but the rules were changed due to it being arranged. Enver had already paid a bride price for your hand. The property outside of Baldur's Gate that was your dowry was already being sighed over to him soon. The farm, the mill, and the country estate your family used for vacations during the summer. All of them would soon belong to Enver, to one day pass down to your children. Ugh. You could barely wrap your head around it.

Enver gave you a tour around his estate as your parents stayed in the parlour. "I'm surprised you got the to agree to let us be so... Alone." You admit.

Enver chuckled, repositioning his cane a bit as you walked through the back door of his home out into his outdoor entertaining space. Or, at least it was intended to be an entertaining space. Stone flooring that was once solid and polished, intended to be a dining area beneath the woven overhang, had been ripped into with pickaxes so a forge could be installed. Three different anvils littered the area around it, along with racks upon racks of blacksmithing equipment.

"Noble parents safeguard their daughters chastity like hawks so that they can marry her off. Noblemen are quite odd about insisting their wife be a virgin. I never saw the appeal." Enver dismissed. "I've already agreed to marry you, the paperwork is complete, and I don't care if you've ever laid with another man or woman. It doesn't matter to me."

You felt your face grow hot, both due to his blunt words and the heat from the forge. "Regardless of your preference, I have my maidenhead, and I plan on having it at my wedding."

Enver chuckles, leading you to the forge and putting on a pair of thick leather gloves. "Whatever you prefer."

He grabs a pair of metal tongs, thrusting them into the fires of the forge and pulling out a cup of molten metal. "Grab that mold, and put it on top of the flat part of the largest anvil."

You panic, having never done any blacksmithing work in your life. You don't know what the mold is, but you grab what he was pointing to and put it on the biggest anvil you see.

You step back, watching him pour the molten metal into the opening of the mold, his hands steady as the metal comes out in a bright red and white stream. Soon the mold is filled, and he drops the stone cup into a bucket of sand, tossing the tongs back onto the rack. He grabs the mold, tearing it in half and brushing the sand inside of it away to reveal a smoking ingot of gold.

"What are you making?" You ask, curious. You knew Enver was an artificer, but hadn't seen any of his creations yet.

"Your wedding ring." He answers, taking the ingot and setting it on the anvil. He grabs a hammer, taking it and tapping the ingot a few times. The metal is still soft with heat, easy to vend to his will.

Of all the things you had expected, that wasn't one. "You- oh. I-I didn't know you made jewelry."

"I make plenty of things." He said dismissively, cutting into the ingot to get a piece of appropriate size. "Every artificer in the world has made rings before, so as to enchant them."

You smiled sheepishly, watching as he put the piece of gold onto a cone like tool and began shaping it into a ring. "I thought they just bought rings and carved runes on them."

Enver laughs, "If they want a broken ring, sure. You can never be sure of quality unless you make it yourself."

"You smelt all the metal for your creations?" He's got a complete ring now. It's rough, needing to be shaped and smooth, but it's a ring. He takes it away from the anvil, setting it on the table and grabbing a few smaller tools.

"No, not all the time. I have employees who do the bulk of such things. But I've always got something I'm working on around my personal forge. I make all my own prototypes, then pass the blueprints and instructions along to them."

You watch over the next hour as Enver turns the chunk of gold into a beautiful golden ring. He asks basic questions, the type of ring you'd prefer, the size of your finger, embellishments you enjoy. And you talk about many other things as well. His other hobbies, yours too.

"Do you want children?" You ask when you feel brave enough.

"Yes." He says, "At least two."

"An heir and a spare?" You guessed, a sullen tone to your voice. You had hoped he would care about the concept of children just for the sake of children. Apparently not.

"Partly." He admits, no shame in his voice. "Also because I think a child needs friends. A sibling would help."

You chuckled, "You were an only child, weren't you?"

Enver looks up at you, a lopsided grin on his face. "Is it that obvious?"

"I have a lot of siblings." You said.

"I'm aware, your mother went through my list of options." He joked.

You bristled, "Your list?"

He smiles at you in a way you think is meant to calm you. It doesn't. "I knew I wanted to marry one of your mother's brood. Her terms were too good to pass up. A fellow Banite, a strong family name, deep coffers, everything I could have hoped for. She showed me each of her children's portraits, and said I was of course allowed to choose whoever I preferred, but she was quite insistent that you were the best pick."

You hesitated, "And... How soon did you make your choice?"

"About five minutes later." He says, reaching a hand over to take your chin in his hand, lifting your gaze up to meet his. "She was quite convincing."

He lingers on your face for a few moments, letting you blush under his gaze before releasing your chin. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small leather bag, and opening it to dump its contents on the table. "Pick your favorite."

It's gemstones, over a dozen of them, and scattered over the table. Different colors of each precious stone you can name. Your eyes sweep over all of them, but you ultimately land on one of the largest stones, a deep green emerald.

You pluck it up with your fingers, offering it to Enver shyly. "... This one reminds me of you."

Enver's mouth twitches slightly, a grin slipping onto his lips. "Green, hm?"

You shrug. "It just does."

He takes the emerald, adjusts the setting on the ring, and drops it into its place. A pair of pliers tightens the setting, securing the beautiful stone into the ring forever.

He polishes it with a few brushes, cleans it with a bit of cheesecloth, and then turns to you. "It will suit you, I think."

"I can't try it on?" You tease.

He smirks, "For someone so traditional about her virginity, I'd think you'd want to wait until the ceremony to put on your ring."

You huff, "Fine. I can be patient."

His hands are suddenly on your waist, his body pressed against yours as he leans down and whispers into your ear. "Mind your tone, sweet thing."

You can't help but shudder at his voice. "I- sorry!"

He chuckles, his grip on your waist squeezing slightly. "I'm only teasing. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

Enver sighed, "There are... Traditions with Banite marriage."

You go serious quickly. "... That's what this is going to be, isn't it? It's not going to be normal."

Enver shakes his head. "I had hoped your mother would warn you."

"She doesn't talk about that with me." You admitted. "She never even told me what being a Banite is like."

Enver sighs. "Lovely. It's getting late. We can discuss it another time."

You frown, "Why not now?"

"It will be a long conversation." He explains, his voice taking that gentle and persuasive tone again. Was this how he sweet talked politicians? It was no wonder all the women at court were backing him. "It's best saved for a day with many more hours left in it. Come back this weekend, I'll have afternoon tea served, and we'll speak on it more."

You smiled softly up at him. "I prefer Earl Grey."

[solar-sunnyside-up]

Sometimes ppl will try and Get me by pointing out I'm an anarchist acting within the system I want to dismantle. Ex- My local politics, my community association. But this isn't the gotcha they think it is tbh.  yes - I believe class devision is what has caused all the harm and misery across our history of society yes - I believe we must dismantle these systems in favor of new ones. Tearing these systems down means convincing people there's another way and without showing them what that looks like it's unfathomable to most. hNow, what does it look like in action? It's having a potluck as a community voting on the new playground being installed over the summer. People being so excited about it they offer to help install it themselves, and other offer to watch children while work is done. It's inviting your neighbor to the Regentive farms Soup festival with you and they learn about decentralized food structures since these guys also happen to deliver food boxes to houses during harvest seasons. It's chatting with your neighbors in your apartment unit to build a common space to hang out and watch movies. About sharing tools and clothing swaps and being friends or friendly with the people next to you because you'd fight for one another. It's having a local bar fund the community infrastructure projects with a locally brewed beer in tap, and all you gotta do is get drunk and have a vote then try and win a triva contest or play some pool to get those new street lights installed. Once you realize these things aren't just fun little perks, they're how we're meant to be organizing in the first place. But if a organized community association or small local running provide the structure to get people to interact this way I am okay with it for now. I'll happily warp the system itself until it's no longer recognizable. I'd rather do that then burn it down without any proof of concept.

[bitterbetabunny]

Hypnovember 2: Reset

Stealing the prompt list @jammed-out is putting together for the month

CW: robot play, talk of memory and personality wipe

When K1T had agreed to let Oakley do some maintenance on it, it had hesitated.

K1T was not made for at-home updates and repair, it was one of many mass-produced bots made to break down just as the new model came down. It had been lucky enough, originally, to be bought by a family that prided themselves on not being wasteful; they had been more interested in maintaining what they had and they were willing to take K1T back to the manufacturer whenever a part broke or they wanted a new update installed.

But that had been a long time ago.

It had been a long time since even the manufacturer stopped working on the K1T model.

It had been a long time since K1T was left to be recycled.

K1T had been lucky to meet Oakley; they met recently, though K1T had trouble remembering the details. Clearly its memory storage needed some updates, or maybe it was some other part acting up.

Oakley had reassured it that they would keep things simple for the first tune up.

Sitting in the service chair, locked into place with most of its motor functions disabled, K1T could feel Oakley’s unscrewing the plate from the back of its neck. It felt the piece lifted and heard metal on metal as it was set aside. The air of the garage immediately cooled its exposed wires; K1T didn’t have any programming to mimic the shivers that human’s felt, but even one plate being removed always made it feel a cold wave run through its body. Before the cold got too far, it felt Oakley’s tools tap at one of its internal consoles.

“I forgot what you were going to fix,” K1T admitted, feeling a bit nervous.

“I mostly wanted to look around and clean things off,” Oakley said, obviously concentrating.. K1T could feel them still poking around. “You’ve still been operating well, so I doubt I’ll need to replace anything, but there’s sure to be a few things that could use some TLC.”

“Are you… going to take off any other plates today?” K1T asked, hoping to get an idea of what all Oakley planned to check. Surely Oakley would get to everything eventually, but that would take more than a day.

“Depends. I definitely want to check some of your processing, sensory, and memory modules. I should be able to do all that from here, though.”

“Oh, but you’re not going to remove anything to actually inspect yet, right?”

K1T felt the tinkering stop. “I wasn’t planning on it today, no. Is that something you’re worried about?” Oakley asked.

K1T saw and felt its lights turn a bright pink. “Oh, I, uh… I wasn’t sure if…”

“You can relax,” Oakley said with a chuckle. Their hands started moving again and they scooted their chair closer so that their leg rested against K1T’s side. The contact did calm it down. “I won’t reset you or anything weird.”

K1T felt a heat in their core and hoped it wouldn’t grow enough to trigger their fans; that might be hard to explain. It forced a little laugh. “Oh, I… Is that even something you know how to do?”

“A factory reset? Of course, there’s nothing simpler. And I would be lying if I said there wasn’t something cute about a blank bot with all their preset bubbliness and need to please.”

K1T let out three beeps in a pleasant chime and saw its lights shift to a darker pink. It couldn’t help but imagine itself standing in the default position the manufacturer had set for it, relying only on the orders given with no mods or set preferences to operate on. The ping of pleasure that came from even the simplest task when its head was so empty.

“There’s nothing simpler,” Oakley said again. “But I don’t do that often. I’m selective on the bots I work on and I only make changes or alterations upon request, I’m a mechanic, not a monster.”

“That’s… That’s good,” K1T said, glad that Oakley seemed to be ignoring their obvious… excitement. They were almost too embarrassed to say anything more, but their curiosity won. “Do you still have the bots you reset? Do you consider yourself a collector?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t have any bots under my full time care right now, but I have three that I do maintenance on at least once a month. I backup my bots before I reset them, so after we have a little fun I merge all the memory files so they can remember what we did while still retaining who they were. I have one bot that I reset fairly often, but that’s just because its girlfriend isn’t confident enough to do it herself and that’s what they like.”

The noise behind K1T indicated that Oakley was switching out their tools.

“Just a heads up, I’m going to use some compressed air,” Oakley warned.

K1T felt the chill of the compressed air, but the gentle tickle of it elicited a hum from its chest. Oakley focused on the nearest components first before angling the can to get at pieces farther up into K1T’s head. Although the module wasn’t programmed for touch sensitivity, K1T felt a bolt of static ran through its body as the air ran over its memory module.

Oakley set the compressed air aside and resumed using their more delicate tools, though now they were cleaning components much closer to K1T’s memory module. There were plenty of delicate parts up there, everything that made it who it was today.

“I would certainly love to do a full reset on you someday, if you’d like,” Oakley whispered.

K1T’s fans kicked on.

Oakley laughed. “I get the feeling that’s something you’d really like,” they teased.

K1T’s lights alternated between a purple and that deep pink and another trilling set of beeps came from them. “I– I would maybe–”

“Sweet bots like you are always so needy to be reminded of your intended purpose.” K1T felt a tool slot into the edge of a panel on its sensory module, causing another bolt of static to course through it. “And I love nothing more than to show a silly, reset bot what it means to be a pleasure bot. Maybe even replace some of that default programming with something more important; no need for some of that critical thinking they give you when I can pre-program you to respond to specific commands and know how I want you to suck my cock, hmm?”

A whining trill came from K1T’s chest. The tools and Oakley’s hand pulled away, but before K1T could complain it felt Oakley’s tongue slip into the open panel and lick the wires. K1T short circuited and when its visuals came back on it could feel its neck panel being screwed back into place.

“Oh, I’m going to have fun with you,” Oakley teased, drawing a whine from K1T.

When the panel was back on, they leaned in and gave K1T one final kiss to the metal.

“That might be enough fun for now, hm? Let’s get you fully back together.”

Oakley thumbed open a port covering and plugged something in. K1T’s lights went blue as the information was downloaded.

Suddenly, they could remember months, years that they had lived with K1T, countless tune-ups and mods and maintenance work. They had toyed with downloading alternate personalities and programs before, but they’d always been interested in trying out different resets. They wanted to save anything more intense for later scenes, so starting with a reset to soon after meeting had been a great place to start. To K1T, the idea of getting to experience its first maintenance again had been too good to pass up.

As soon as Oakley initiated its motor functions again, K1T shot up and spun to wrap its arms around them.

“That was so hot!” they yelled, their lights a bright yellow. “Oh my gods, that was so, so hot!”

Oakley winced slightly at their strong hold. “I’m glad you liked it too, we’ll definitely have to do something like that again.

[sofia-in-nc]

WIP WHENEVER

Tagged by @olath124 and @ouroboros-hideout

Modding:

Making my own mods is a very new thing for me. I usually just download from Nexus and install various mods to the game, but to actually tweak the game through my own effort is a different experience. Sure, I can design, animate and strategize a plan that could potentially annex a whole country, but to be honest, my brain just goes brrr when it comes down to technical stuff. It’s a weakness, I must say.

Here is my progress at modding for which I am happy with how it is turning out. A friend of mine from college asked if I could come up with a different take on the CP2077 campaign, but instead of doing that, I decided to start a Myers election campaign.

Despite having no clue with where to start, I posed a challenge to myself by digging through the game file on Wolvenkit to obtain the materials I wanted to change. The Palladia Center billboard was the most amusing thing to edit so far, while the ads that are scattered around the city were quite a surprise, so to speak. Especially the ones that look static from afar but animate in close proximity as the workaround for these is different from the other texture files I’ve edited. The Milfgaard atlas file came in handy for this project! 😂

I just love how modding this game taps on both sides of my brain, although admittedly, I lack on the technical side.

Virtual Photography

Yesterday, I decided to try Frans Bouma’s Reshade. I am strict with the medium I use for editing– avoiding to subject myself to numerous tools simultaneously since I want to master things one at a time. For virtual photography, I approach this department the most basic way: vanilla shots > Adobe Lightroom > ✨cinematics✨ However, I realized that this is not enough, so now I am trying to learn Reshade to amp my shots. Also, I am considering upgrading my pc as it is a potato for the time being.

Writing/VP Storytelling

If you’ve been following my posts, by now, you’d sense my evident obsession with Kusie and visualizing them in the most romantically tragic way possible.

I don’t write– well not anymore, but one of my plans is to connect all of my shots and weave a tragic plot for this troglocouple. The goal: to punch viewers in the gut (jk… or not) No, really, my goal with this is to approach virtual photography with an all too familiar method, which is film making, but technically different because the final outputs are just static images. I want viewers to feel as if they’re watching a movie, being present at the scene, to be at the center of tension between Rosalind and Kurt.

Welp, that’s it for now!

Tagging without pressure @cybervesna @cyberholic77 @awwwokay @dustymagpie @reilleclan-blog @barghestapologist @streetkid-named-desire @wanderingaldecaldo

[bagog]

N7 Month, 2023 - Day 3: Flight

“Happy birthday.” Kaidan pressed the box to Shepard’s chest and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips brushed momentarily and Shepard came away looking suspicious.

“I thought you said you weren’t getting me anything?” Shepard limped to a little table by the window. More than a year of recovery following the destruction of the Crucible and Shepard still walked with a limp. The whole planet seemed to be limping along, though. The salarian atmosphere scrubbers working day and night, convoys from some of the untouched outer Earth colonies showing up to help rebuild infrastructure. Alliance brass had sent Shepard to Corsica to recover, and he’d brought Kaidan with him. They’d only been in the Mediterranean for about a week, and Shepard had told Kaidan that Kaidan’s presence was more than enough of a birthday present for Shepard.

“I wasn’t going to get you anything, but it’s not every day you find one of these, so it felt special. Felt right.” Kaidan sat across from Shepard, the breathing in the warm air that wafted through the open window.

The box was small, and precisely wrapped in brown paper—probably the best Kaidan could find. Shepard removed the paper without tearing it, and then opened the box…

“It’s… a…”

“A T-970 mass effect field generator and flight control module!” Kaidan declared, leaning over the table to tap the label on the inside of the box. It was a mini mass effect module, made to go inside the brand of model Shepard was so fond of collecting. It made them fly. “These were always on back-order before the war. I couldn’t believe I fond one the other day that a guy was pawning.”

Shepard held the drive in his hand, maybe the size of an old silver dollar. It felt unusually heavy for its size, but none of that would matter once it was synced with him omni-tool and switched on.

“Wow, I’ve never installed one of these before.” He stared at the little black disc. His eyes burned ever so slightly to look at it, to think of Kaidan’s excitement, finding this for him on the street. “Th-thank you…”

“I know it’s not much,” Kaidan scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know how much you like those models, and I know you really haven’t had any to build lately. Figured you might try flying one around. It’ll work on any of them: standardized to work with all their sets.” He kept talking about the specifications, but Shepard barely heard them for the sound of Kaidan’s voice. Truthfully, Shepard had never thought of getting one of these little model flight modules for his models: the fun was in putting them together, not in flying them around. But it was just like Kaidan to see an old model like that sitting on Shepard’s shelf and imagine it should be flying. Shepard grinned.

Twenty minutes later, and they were sitting outside their little house with the Normandy SR-1 model hovering silently in front of them. Shepard made it rise up high above their heads, then swoop down in mimicry of the old ship dropping off the Mako on a planet’s surface.

“Flies beautifully!” Kaidan exclaimed, chuckling when the Normandy brushed over his shoulder as it whisked up above the trees and back down in a lazy arc. “Did you ever think you’d see the ol’ thing flying again?”

Shepard smiled, took his eyes off his model to study the grin spread over Kaidan’s face as he tracked the ship up into the sky. He really hadn’t ever think he’d see the old Normandy flying again. He hadn’t expected anything like this, wouldn’t have believed it, but here he was: Kaidan holding his hand as he learned to fly again.

[fipindustries]

wow from the bottom of my heart, fuck python, i can only go down so many levels of weird "in order to use this first you have to install all these other weird libraries/tools/dependencies/enviroment" once im trying to google how to install a tool that i need to install another tool which i need to compile a third tool that will allow me to open a fourth tool to download a fifth tool i think i tap out, im good, thank you

[nilesdaughter]

Wrapped in Love

Fandom: Critical Role Characters: Percy De Rolo, Vex'ahlia Pairing: Perc'ahlia Word Count: 1,065 Note: Yes, I know Perc'ahlia Week 2024 is coming up in a month--and I should be focusing on those prompts--but I've been trying to finish up what I didn't for the 2023 prompts. This one in particular was fighting me, but I finally got it to a point where I don't hate it.

[Also found on AO3.]

X-X-X-X-X

Aside from her obvious love for her archery lessons, Vex’ahlia looked back on her woodworking lessons with some level of fondness. They were not something she’d had the opportunity to do often, as Syldor focused more on the twins’ academic and martial studies rather than their artistic pursuits, but they put her at ease in much the same way that archery did, surrounding her with the comforting scent of wood even when she was indoors.

She naturally fell out of practice when she and Vax’ildan abandoned Syngorn, since she lacked access to the full range of necessary tools while they traveled. She picked up small projects where she could just to fill the idle moments, but her woodworking—limited as it was—became delegated to creating more arrows when she couldn’t buy them and carving small personalizing details into her bow. Even when Vox Machina earned Greyskull Keep, she still didn’t get a proper chance to return to it, since it took several months for the keep to be constructed and then their ordeals with the Briarwoods and the Chroma Conclave kept them away from their new home.

It wasn’t until Vox Machina spent some time away from each other that she could actually pick the craft up once more. As she and Percy settled more into Grey Hunt manor—her manor—they curated a workshop space for him, giving him an excuse to spend more time in her vicinity. (Not that he really needed an excuse, of course, but it was one of the reasons he gave Cassandra when she refused to stop needling him about it.) Over time, though, Vex eventually intruded on what she considered his space by installing a small workbench for her own tools, obtained gradually over the first few months of their break. She still didn’t turn to woodworking often, as she did have to focus on her Grey Hunt duties, but in the quiet moments where Percy was holed up in the workshop and she wanted the benefit of his quiet company, she would sit near him and cut and carve and shape the wood into more “frivolous” items.

She started small, carving small details and curling shapes along the curve of Fenthras, sprawling out from where she had made careful, tiny letters out of ‘sinaeth’ as she made the Vestige hers and hers alone. Eventually, she allowed herself to graduate to larger projects: a small bear the size of her palm, a simple trinket box where she began to keep her Earring of Whisper when she wasn’t actively wearing it, a panel of the De Rolo family crest that she hung above the mantle in the main sitting room of the manor. When she regained some confidence in her hands and her skills, she turned her attention to a more complex trinket box, using different woods from across Exandria to represent all the places she and Percy had seen together, determined to create something for the man that spoiled her with his own creations.

x-x-x-x-x

“Darling?” Vex called with a light trio of taps on the doorframe of the workshop.

“Hmmm?” Percy pushed his work goggles up onto his forehead and glanced her way. “Yes, dear?”

“I have something for you.”

“Oh?” His brow furrowed a little in confusion, like he was trying to figure out what the occasion might be.

She nodded, almost hesitant and shy in the gesture. “May I?”

“Of course, dear,” he replied readily.

Vex smiled faintly and crossed the room, holding the completed box—wrapped in dark blue paper—behind her back. Once she stood next to Percy, she set the package down in the spot he had cleared for her on the workbench surface; he seemed even more confused and glanced at her in curiosity.

“Well, go on and open it, darling.”

He nodded slowly and returned his attention to the package, careful and meticulous as he unwrapped the paper. He revealed the most complex section of it—the various wood types carefully cut and arranged to portray a landscape view of Whitestone as she often saw it from one of her favorite hidden spots within the Parchwood—and ran his shaking fingers along the edge of the lid.

“Is this what you’ve been working on when you’ve been spending time in the workshop?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied with a small nod. “You always make such wonderful trinkets for me, darling, and I felt it would only be appropriate to return the favor.”

Percy seemed to be at a genuine loss for words, silent as he looked the box over. The longer the silence stretched on, the more anxious that Vex began to feel, a small and distant part of her remembering the time Syldor had discarded a pipe that she had put hours of work into as a gift to him. Before her thoughts could truly spiral, Percy let out something of a soft laugh as he glanced up at her again.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Vex smiled, trying not to let her relief show in her posture nor expression. “I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. And I thought that you might enjoy something practical rather than purely decorative.”

Percy’s expression softened (oh, how she loved that he only looked at her so) as he said, “I believe it actually serves both purposes, dear. It’s lovely work.”

Vex blinked, startled by the praise. “Oh…! Well… thank you for saying that, darling.”

He tilted his head before he frowned slightly. “You are aware that I’m being genuine, dear? I’m not merely spouting niceties?”

Vex didn’t answer, unsure of how she felt about him knowing exactly what he had inadvertently hit upon, even if that perceptiveness was one of the reasons she cherished him so deeply.

Percy sighed a little and set the box back down on the workbench before reaching out to take both of her hands in his, his tremor seeming to calm as he held onto her. “I do love the box, dear. It’s beautiful and speaks to a skill I did not realize you had. And I’m flattered that you spent so much time and effort on something for me.”

She offered him a shaky smile and, in return, he leaned down to press a kiss to her brow.

“Thank you, Vex’ahlia,” he reiterated when he pulled away. “Truly.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”