#and it seems like prosthetic limbs take a lot of time to learn to use esp if you never learned to use that natural limb in the first place?

[sesamenom]

tentative design sketch for reverse gondolin au idril's wheelchair

Still not sure about the backrest part - i wanted to make it look kind of throne-y but it seems like the back + armrests would get in the way? also the buckety front part on the footrest is basically a splash guard, since gondolin is still a large medievalish city with accompanying levels of street cleanliness (or lack thereof)

[bigcowboydyke]

about your disability pride month post: is there anything important/significant you think people should take notes on when writing a character with an upper arm prosthetic? (like starting from the elbow if i phrased correctly)?

Yeah! I think the biggest is that you ought to consider first, esp if its an OC, your reasoning for making the character disabled- you wanna make sure you're not fetishizing or exploiting their disability to prop up abled characters. I've got a list of questions for authors to ask themselves along those lines that I can post or dm

Secondly, you have to consider what level of realism you wanna go with. If you have a character where, in universe, the prosthesis functions in exactly the way an arm does, you could just go with that if you want - it's the path of least resistance, right? BUT you ought to consider that most prostheses in media exist in that way AT THE EXPENSE of good representation of disability. Erasing disability or "curing" it with magical prostheses IS a form of ableism that is so pervasive it just goes unnoticed by most. I believe personally that disabled bodies are worth portraying well even when the creators of the source material did not do that. SO if you want to go with real well thought our representation, here are some common things I think authors and artists often miss (specifically as it pertains to upper limb prostheses):

1) I already said this, but seriously, I cannot emphasize enough that upper limb prosthetics ain't cheap and are usually uncomfortable. Your character, if they are poor, or even like middle class, won't have access to multiple high tech popular mechanics cover story type robo arms. Even if they did ...

2) Not all limb different folks use prosthetics! I personally have used multiple and I disliked them. I tried very hard to learn, but there are multiple requirements to be able to use each model and sometimes, a lot of times actually, limb different people - especially people without a hand or an arm function Better without prosthetics. Be aware in your art that limb different people are Whole. How you ask can somebody without an arm, say, do all that stuff?

3) Consider the idea of adaptation in your writing and art instead of relying only on magicking disability away with prosthetics. Disabled People live in a world full of barriers and tend to be Very creative about navigating it, adapting to our environment through just being a little clever about how we do things is the biggest way i see other people with upper limb differences interact with the world. There are three main ways that we go about this without prosthetics: Using adaptive equipment, Finding an alternate method, or as a last resort, asking for help.

Example 1: I have like 1.5 arms ok so obviously only 1 hand, and I need to clip my fingernails every once in a while. The obvious solution to me, while it may seem gross, is just to bite them off. Bad habit, but efficient. I could use those horrible little nail clippers, with my remaining stump and a little finagling but it takes forever. I could also get some adaptive nail clippers - they make great big handled ones for ppl that can't grab the little ones. Or, I could ask my partner to trim them, but I'm usually too proud to do that. Let disabled people have their flaws too lol!

Example 2: I love to rock climb. This is where adaptive equipment comes in. I could slip off a rock climbing wall pretty easily right? So bouldering (rock climbing without harnesses) is totally inaccessible to me. But if I go to a gym that has harnesses, then that's fine - they catch me if I fall and that's adaptive for me.

Adaptive equipment comes in many shapes and sizes and can be regular items repurposed.

3. If after all that you Must create art or write about an OC or preexisting character that uses upper limb prosthetics, consider that in general, limb different people's prosthetics are not equivalent to having two arms. Prosthetics are only practical for limb different people if they enhance your life or are useful in some way, however, getting one high tech enough to do that is unlikely because they are expensive. There are different groups, clinics, and charities that make lower cost options but they tend to be much lower tech than is depicted (and often are clunky). My first prosthetic was a long flat piece of metal, similar to a doctors tongue depressor, attached to a plaster cuff velcroed around my stump. The idea was that since I had a little bit of stump poking out, I could pin objects against the metal and it would work like a crab's pincers. It was okay, but I did accidentally smack many. Many. Things with it, including my own face and since it was metal, that was unpleasant. Obviously hindered more than helped. Also it did not look even remotely like a hand.

4. Which prosthetics you can get generally depend on what you got on you. Literally. Bodily. With upper limb prostheses, If you don't have an elbow or wrist, your options are almost exclusively limited to the pricier electric options that are both super futuristic, unavailable to many, and also like new car priced. Many of the manual, non-electric models depend on the ability to flex a wrist or elbow, so if you have those things are a little more accessible overall. It also matters whether you are born limb different like me, or if you are an amputee. Amputees are more likely to be candidates for prostheses than people like me because they have all those preexisting muscles and nerves for prosthetics that are higher tech and require surgical attachment Also prosthetics might be an easier learning curve, and more useful for somebody who has been abled bodied than it would be for somebody who never had that limb in the first place.

5. This is a little thing and ... Not to get too medical with it ( and neither should yall) but limb different people often have physical changes associated with lack of or loss of limb. If you do not have a limb, you are not going to be developing the muscles that are surrounding it in the way an a nondisabled person would. Again for example I have 1.5ish arms which means I've got plenty of stump on my "affected" limb. Even when I did Varsity sports and everything, I was never able to get beefy on that side. It is a pet peeve of mine that many people do not seem to get this - Most art I see of vash the stampede has him with two super beefy shoulders and like yeah i get it that's hot, but if hes got roughly the same amount of stump as me, he probably shouldn'tlook like that. Another thing in this vein is chronic pain is associated with limb loss and limb difference- I have it and its reasonable that any prosthetic user or nonprosthetic using limb different person is more likely to have it. Again these are little things but if you're looking to do good representation you need to consider that limb difference is not just a cool little stylistic choice to make a character look tough or what have you - limb loss and limb difference mean that that character will not only think differently than abled bodied people, but move differently, pose differently, have different routines and preferences than are ever represented in most media. Disability is not a style, and it's not a diagnosis, it's an identity. It's important above all to be respectful of that by letting go of centering able-bodied expectations and aesthetic in your art and writing. Hard to do but i believe in y'all!

Hope that helps! I've also got a bunch of links to go along with these points, if you want them lmk! I'm always happy to take asks about this stuff!

Tl;dr please consider making characters that don't use prosthetics, or don't use them excessively because it's more realistic, better representation, and makes me, a disabled dyke on the internet, really happy.

Lastly if y'all liked my advice and appreciate my time you are always welcome to tip me for it - my c*sh*pp is $neptunedrive

[n7punk]

“Make Me a Monster” Fic Notes

MMaM was pretty short and this will be too but this fic has some Backstory and I wanna talk about it lmao.

Playlist:

Warriors (AJ Michalka version)

heavy. — Au/Ra

The Creeps — Garbage

LIFE AFTER SALEM — Lil Nas X

The Heartless (original rock version) — PVRIS (kind of hard to get. Was only available on their PARIS EP which isn’t available for streaming last I checked)

Waking Up (Acoustic) — PVRIS (from the acoustic version of the PARIS EP, which is available on youtube)

chaotic — Tate McRae

Hate myself — Tate McRae

R.E.M. — Mothica

Shatter — Against The Current

Frankenstein — Rina Sawayama

My Limb — Hayley Williams

Epilogue Life:

It takes awhile and I could never write this fic in a timespan where it’s complete, but Adora does come to accept her new prosthetics. After the revelations about She-ra and the Heart, she comes to realize this version of them is the most ideal she could get purely because they don’t need maintenance, removal, cleaning etc and she can care for them the exact way she can the rest of her body, which makes them feel a lot more like her body. Her sense of touch isn’t 100%, still losing some texture differentiation and the ability to really feel light touches (she wouldn’t feel a bug walking on her arm for example), but as shown in the epilogue she learns to adapt, and eventually she stops covering up so much either. When she starts to wear her jacket less is when Catra knows she has made real progress. Her prosthetics are magic and never need intervention, which helps.

On Catra’s part, her guilt also takes a lot to process, as does her trauma from her time chipped, which only feeds into her guilt because she feels like she inflicted that same dehumanization on Adora. She comes to focus her energy on “fixing” things instead though, which does lead to some unhealthy burnout, but the worry her friends show for her then does a lot to help her internalize that no, they really don’t hate her.

It’s one of those cases where they take longer to get to a healthy place than in canon, but they do eventually reach it. They get through the worst of it early on, but those effects echo for a long time.

Chapter 1:

⦁ I was pretty worried going into this how people would feel about this, mostly because it’s an incredibly complex situation. Prosthetics are often helpful, but they tend to not be as effective as people hope and even when they are, that still doesn’t mean people don’t look at them and see what they lost sometimes. This situation in particular, where the prosthetics were largely unnecessary and completely forced on her, was painful. Adora is struggling not just with that, but with the very familiar process of trying to get back where she was before an injury/disability, but sometimes that’s just not possible. She’s seeking every piece of functionality and feeling she gets with her prosthetics, but that doesn’t mean she is less for having lost something either. I was worried about people thinking that attitude she has is ableist, when it’s really just a part of the disabled experience. Some people never have it, but I’m definitely someone who has struggled with trying to get things back while knowing I’ll never get it all. It… really sucks, and even when things seem good, there can be a bittersweetness to them. That’s the kind of attitude I was approaching this fic with. There was also the medical abuse angle with her prosthetics. Despite her impossibly advanced prosthetics, this is a very real thing I actually saw conversations about when TotK came out, which is what gave me of the exact phrase for that trigger because I was having trouble naming/describing it in the content warning before that.

⦁ Hordak was working on prosthetic limbs in the event that his deteriorating state made it impossible for him to keep working, using Adora as his guinea pig to test their effectiveness. Shadow Weaver kind of thought there was a chance She-ra could regrow them entirely even if that wasn’t what she was banking on. She actually thought the second accident was a mercy, because Hordak already wanted to test out the set on Adora at that point, so making it “necessary” was supposed to be easier on Adora. Her empathy meter is broken.

Chapter 2:

⦁ Catra just can’t “get” why Adora stayed, but it was kind of impossible for her to leave before that. Part of her already knew Shadow Weaver would be back for more, but she couldn’t let herself do it because it was the “wrong” thing to leave Etheria to the princesses. When she realized the Rebellion wasn’t actually monsters, it was all so much worse because she realized everything — her arms, Catra’s punishments, the horrible way they grew up that she didn’t even really have perspective for — had been for nothing. Catra was right all along. They should have runaway. So she did

⦁ I didn’t intend to title the chapters of this fic since it was so short, but then the “You promise?” line came up and I wanted to make that the chapter title for clarification purposes if nothing else, so I added them in.

Chapter 3:

⦁ I know I’m kind of the “let’s talk about traumatized Catra” person but tbh I still don’t think we give enough weight to having your body literally puppeted while you watch and undergo nightmare hallucinations. Like how the fuck was she functioning after that. So yeah on top of Adora being extra traumatized in this (and Catra additionally having extra trauma from watching that happen), I wanted to go a bit into the echoes of having been under Horde Prime’s control for Catra too. (Other members of the Princess Alliance who were chipped definitely deal with nightmares from this too, but I have a feeling the nightmare scenarios were mostly unique to Catra, especially considering the green pool wasn’t used on the others and by the time Prime had the others under his control he was dealing with a lot of chips and conjuring up nightmare scenarios for them all doesn’t make sense.)

⦁ In this AU there was a lot more immediately obvious awfulness from Shadow Weaver, so even after the portal Glimmer did keep her confined to her room, not that it helped Adora’s mental state much. She was a lot more hated and shunned in Bright Moon and when they were on the run. Catra and Adora still cried watching her die, but after the fact their general attitude is a mixture of “good riddance” and “how could she do all that to us and then just die without ever acknowledging it?” They take her sacrifice as the closest thing they’ll ever guilt to an admission of feeling guilt.

⦁ The thing about Adora never being able to tell if her sensation is back to “normal” is a very real thing when it comes to disability. I remember at one point telling a friend that I couldn’t tell if I wasn’t in pain or was just shouldering it because I didn’t remember what not being in pain felt like anymore.

⦁ If you know my poll, this was “in the engine room.”

Chapter 4:

⦁ In this AU, they have no idea the First Ones Virus could infect She-ra with just the sword since it seemed “obvious” it spread from the robots, to the sword, to her prosthetics, which somehow caused everything to go haywire. Because she was working with her original set that was less advanced, the virus was legitimately latched onto She-ra itself, which also explains why it went away with she reverted the transformation. They just thought changing “bodies” let her purge the virus when she transformed back. The corruption from the First Ones… worm, thing, corrupted Adora’s limbs similarly to how the virus took over her, only with green instead of red, completely changing the colors of her arms and legs and then slowly creeping up her veins. It was gnarly.

⦁ Entrapta just has a better connection with Catra and was looking to her for an answer, but a small incline of the head was their signal back in the Horde that she should really just agree with whoever she’s talking with. She almost never paused to notice it, but Catra was trying her best (and failing) to keep her out of trouble.

Original Outline:

Originally this AU was supposed to be longer, starting when Adora first lost her limbs, then skimming through scenes throughout the series, until finally landing on Darla. That was just an extra 2-3 chapters probably, but 1) god that’s too much angst. It kept me from writing it for like 9 months because I didn’t want to do it, 2) the balance just wasn’t there? Everything got “minute-to-minute” once they were on Darla, with entire chapters dedicated to it, where as the previous chapters were scattered moments taking place over literal years. This did mean I lost some ideas that were supposed to take place in the war and such (the princess prom scene, for example), but it’s still better for it.

I started to write that longer version of it back in 2022(!) but only worked on it for two days to about 2k before I was like this is not vibing and dropped it. When I picked it back up with the shorter timeline in mind, I wrote 70% of this fic in one sitting back in September, but then I got kind of stuck on their reconciling conversation and I think it was just a little too much angst for me then so I didn’t come back to it the next day. I’ve opened it occasionally since then to glance over but it just wasn’t clicking until this week. I edited what I had and wrote the rest of the fic in two days once I was there, though. I am proud of this fic but it’s definitely a very emotional one so it kind of has to happen in bursts like that. I’m glad to have finally gotten it out now, as rocky as getting from idea to completion was. I had the idea November 14th 2022, wrote most of it September 4th 2023, and finally finished it March 9th 2024.

Upcoming:

Start Your Engine ;)

[cy-cyborg]

Hello! First, I just wanted to say I love your blog so much!! It's been very insightful for me (an abled bodied person) to learn about amputees and physical disabilities 🥰🥰🥰

I've been in the early stages of planning my novel and was planning on using cyborgs as a big part of the story. The more I thought about the robot limbs, surgeries, living circumstances, and so on, I realized they parallel so much of what irl people today go through. Which is why your blog is so great! I really hope I can capture a lot of the nuance writing characters because I'm already so invested into their lives.

As for my question (sorry if it's been asked before...) but do people with leg prosthetics use wheel chairs after they relearned how to walk? If so, is it an occasional thing? Hopefully, my question makes sense.

Thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying it! That's actually part of the reason why I use "cyborg" in my name - well the main reason was because of a joke but I kept it because it works as a parallel lol.

As for your question, absolutely! It's most common in double leg amputees, but I know of a few single leg amps who also use wheelchairs too. the reason why is that prosthetics aren't a magic cure-all like a lot of folks think they are and they do come with downsides. The more leg you lost, the bigger those downsides tend to be. For some people, those downsides are just too much, or they just don't want to deal with it, so they use other mobility aids like wheelchairs (lots of single leg amputees also use crutches too), even if a prosthetic technically seems to work fine for them

For me personally, I have a chronic illness. I don't know what it is but I know one of the effects is that I have very limited energy. Putting on my prosthetics (one above knee, one below knee) takes a lot of time and energy, and i'm usually exhausted by the time i even get it on, so it's just not worth it for me unless it's something really important/I know is going to be inaccessible for my wheelchair (and even then I usually just won't go lol). Even before my chronic illness manifested though, when I used my legs a lot more than I do now and would have very little issues with them at all, I still sometimes used my wheelchair because I have shit time management skills and just didn't leave myself enough time in the morning to get ready lol. My wheelchair was faster so I'd just take that to work/uni/school instead. Also if I just wasn't feeling good, didn't sleep well the night before or a host of other reasons that would leave me with just a little less energy than usual, id sometimes decide to just use my wheelchair instead to make things a bit easier on myself.

I also had a mate who was a single leg, above knee amputee. I think I saw him wear his leg like... twice? in the 5+ years I knew him. He was really good and confident on it, and had no real issues with using it, but when I asked why never wore it, he said he just didn't like how the socket felt. It, and I quote "comes up too high, I don't like how close it is to my junk". Which honestly, is fair lol.

Prosthetics can also be really hard on people's remaining joints, especially the hips, so they get harder to use as you get older too, which is another common reason for people to learn to use them, and then decide later it's not for them.

There's a lot of reasons, but a lot of the time it just boils down to they weren't the right tool for that person. Sometimes that can for big reasons, sometimes it can be for something really minor. It just depends on the person and their needs and wants.

[ramzawrites]

ARIA - Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant | AI!Reader in the Krang Apocalypse

Gen

Part 2

Pairings: None

Characters included: Future!Donatello, Future!Michelangelo, Future!S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N

Warnings: n/a

Series: Part 1

Summary: Donnie is stretched thin in the apocalypse. Everyone needs the help of the genius but there is always so much to do, even with the help of his family and Shelldon.

But luckily Donnie is a genius inventor. Might as well create a robot that is simply there to answer everyones question.

Thus the Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant, aka ARIA, was born.

Word count: 2539

Authors Note: This is just a personal project I will work on in between Dream World and my college work. I just love the idea of Donnie creating a second AI and Shelldon immediately taking the mantle of the older brother. I just wanna write the robot siblings causing chaos while Donnie scrambles behind his robot kids to make sure no one dies. Also i just wanted to take the chance to maybe write in the future Casey jr and Shelldon hang out bc you can't tell me those two wouldn't kinda think of each other as cousins lmao

Also I gave Reader a name (Aria) in this one but Y/N will be used sometimes at some point in the future.

In the apocalypse Donnie’s mind has probably become one of the most important assets. He provides clean water, weapons, protection, and intel. And he makes it look so easy. You had a problem? He probably has multiple ways to solve it for you.

The thing was everyone had some kind of problem.

“Hey Donatello, we have problems with this water purifier. We can’t find the correct replacement parts, do you know what we can do instead?”

“Oh, Mister Donatello! We are trying to bioengineer crops that work well with the destroyed soil here somewhat. We need your expertise!”

“Aha, Donnie! Our weapons seem to be less effective against the Krang. Got something to juice our weapons up more?”

“Donnie, we really need you for this recon mission to determine what the Krang are building there.”

“Donnie, how is your research going into reversing the effects of Krang infection?”

“Donnie, we need more prosthetic limbs.”

“Donnie, medical supplies are running low. We need a proper substitute if possible.”

“Donnie, you really should sleep more.”

Hah, sleep.

Sleep felt like it was only a distant memory at this point.

He wanted to help! He really did but it was just impossible to follow every inquiry with the same priority. Either because some things were frankly impossible at the moment, they didn’t have the correct materials for the project or there just wasn’t enough time.

There was always so much to do and never enough time.

Even with the help of his brothers and sister. The work seemed never ending.

So, as a way to try to mitigate it, Donnie decided to upgrade Shelldon. Over the years the bot made great strides when it came to learning more about behavior and seemed to get better at interacting with people. His rebelliousness faded over the years. Understanding that there were more important things to do and if he can help his creator, or father as he began calling him over the years, then so be it.

That said he still acted often more like a young teenager than the recon bot he was supposed to be. Frankly Donnie giving Shelldon proper limbs like legs, arms and of course hands seemed to have enabled him more when it came to his mischievous behavior. Now being able to interact better with the world around him.

Still, he was reliable and was able to assist with recon missions and relay important information from one point to another in record speed.

Besides, Donnie would never admit it out loud, but he did appreciate Shelldon’s attitude somewhat. Somehow his mischievous behavior brought him a sense of normalcy. Something that survived the start of the apocalypse. Sure, he was an AI and part of this could be then attributed towards Donnie’s programming but still. A lot Shelldon learned himself. Even more he seemed to have picked up from Donnie’s family to his chagrin.

As much as Shelldon helped him out though it never seemed enough. Shelldon was meant more for recon rather than as an information bank to help other parts of the resistance.

There was a knock on the door to his workshop. Donatello didn’t even bother answering already knowing it was Mikey who would just let himself in. If Leo, Raph or April did that he’d make an annoyed comment. Mikey had the younger brother privileges. Not at all times but most times.

Enough to particularly annoy Leo with that fact.

“What can I do for you, Mikey?” Donnie asked as he hurriedly continued to type on his computer. New lines of code appearing on the screen in a scarily fast tempo. His battleshell was laying on the ground against the desk. The design having become more sleek over the years. Though even in the apocalypse Donnie couldn’t help himself adding a few LED lights for the aesthetics.

The Krang were the absolute worst thing that ever happened to the world and the universe but when they do manage to liberate a Krang labor camp they did get access to interesting Krang materials that he didn’t hesitate to use for his own projects.

One such project was currently sitting on a workbench on the side connected to his computer with a ton of cables. Charging as he worked on upgrading the programming of his new invention.

Mikey was now standing behind his chair “We haven’t seen you longer than a few moments the last few week. We’ve been worried about you. Gotta eat and sleep, Donnie.”

He wanted to roll his eyes but his eyes were too busy scanning his code since there seemed to be some kind of mistake. Probably a missing semicolon.

“I am eating and taking rests. Don’t worry. Besides once I’m finished with this I will hopefully have an easier time taking breaks.”

This obviously piqued Mikey’s interest “Oh? Why is that? What are you working on?” He finally moved to his side, his eyes now scanning the code as well which was amusing to Donnie. Mikey probably tried to gleam any kind of information from it while barely know anything when it came to programming. Not that Donnie hasn’t tried teaching him. He never got past the basics with him.

But this was way past the basics. This was genuine GeniusTech programming that can create a sentient AI.

“I’m making an assistant.” He simply stated.

Mikey paused “What like… what? Isn’t Shelldon already kind of filling that role?”

Donnie tilted his head to one side and back, as if he was mulling this statement over “No. I want to create an assistant that can store a vast amount of information on all kinds of subjects while being able to autonomously do research shouldn’t the correct answers be there.”

“So, we don’t have to bug you anymore when asking you how god and the world work, eh?” He didn’t need to look at his younger brother to know that he was smirking. At this point this has been one of his biggest grievances after all. Sure, he loved infodumping but topics like the filter of a water purifier weren’t exactly on the top of that list.

“But more importantly.” Mikey drawled out the last word “Does that mean Shelldon will have a sibling?”

Donnie bristled at that, as well as a turtle can bristle “No! This is just my Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant. Nothing more. I’m building it to give us room to breath to work on more projects at the same time.”

His brother chuckled at his response “You say that but you aren’t even correcting Sheldon anymore when he calls you dad.”

He couldn’t even respond before Mikey spoke up again “Anyway, is that them?” Probably pointing to the slumped over robot on his workbench.

The robot was just like all his tech purple. The head was more humanoid in nature with a screen for where the face would be. They also had a shell on the back. Knowing Donnie there were probably a ton of hidden compartments that held all sorts of interesting gadgets. It was probably only around four feet tall which would put it around the same height as Shelldon.

This actually felt rather short even for Mikey nowadays. All the Hamato brothers have had growth spurts over the years. All but Mikey were almost towering over other humans at this point. This just seemed to be one of the other effects of originally being created to be soldiers to fight in a war against humanity.

It was a bit ironic and almost heartbreaking that this gave them now an edge while warring against the Krang. Even though Draxum created them for this reason he still seemed somewhat sad about that fact now. Though Mikey was sure he was the only one who noticed that about the goat yokai. He was probably the only one who could read the yokai almost like an open book at this point.

Donnie’s gaze flitted over to his workbench, looking at the robot that Mikey was now closely scrutinizing without actually touching it “Yeah, yeah. That’s the Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant. Or will be.”

Mikey furrowed his brows, his hand running through his short black hair that he was slowly growing out, mostly on Donnie’s orders since he was still a bit perplexed by his sudden hair growth “Why not just call them Aria. Seems easier than to say the whole name out loud.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Aria.” Donnie sighed.

“Shelly knows about them, right? Like he has to since you work on them in the open like that.”

Donnie scoffed at that “Of course he knows. He helped assemble the pieces and calibrated the joins while I worked on other things or the code.”

“That might explain why he has been more high energy than usual.”

“I swear if Shelldon touched one of the Krang energy cells again-“

Mikey laughed “Nah, I think he is just excited at having another robot around soon.”

Donnie didn’t respond to that. He was too busy adding more lines of code. Everyone seemed somehow way more excited at his new invention than he anticipated. Aria, as Mikey had dubbed it now, would be hopefully a big asset in the base.

“Anyways. Stop working on them. It’s Hamato dinner time. I was supposed to just grab you. Let’s go Donnie, we actually scrounged up some nice ingredients for once. Come on, come on. I cooked real food after ages.”

The prospect of honest to god real food sounded fantastic. It sounded so good after months of just military rations that he immediately saved his project and got out of his chair to put on his battleshell. It was just dinner with the family but especially nowadays he despised walking around without his artificial shell.

After being caught in a fight without it he almost glued the piece of tech on him. He even slept with it on for a while. His brothers had to practically peel him out of it. Leo then had to take care of any chafing on his soft shell. This whole experience was unpleasant enough that he learned to at least take it off again when he sleeps or when he is hunkered down for days in his workshop.

“Food sounds good.” He agreed as he followed his brother out towards where his family was undoubtedly waiting for them. If they started without them Mikey would probably beat them all up. Knowing him he probably wanted to see everyone’s reaction to his cooking after such a long time.

It took a good while longer for the work on Aria to progress. A lot came in the way of that but Donnie tried his best to work on this project whenever he could.

Donnie was currently working on Shelldon’s left arm that got a bit jostled during his last recon mission. He had to admit he always felt a few trepidations when he sent out Shelldon with others for missions. This time it seemed somewhat warranted since a Krangified human apparently got close enough to get ahold of him to pull his arm out of its socket. Were he a living being trying to set the arm back in would be painful as all can be but luckily for Shelldon this was mostly a thing of moving it back in and just repairing and fastening screws to hold it in place.

Maybe he should upgrade Shelldon again and give him even more defensive capabilities even if it’d slow him down.

A metallic scratching sound pulled him out of his thoughts “Shelldon. What are you doing?”

Shelldon was using his other arm to look at the exposed wiring and exoskeleton of the robot next to him. Aria was still sitting on the workbench slowly collecting dust.

“Just seeing if I can do something while you work on me, dad. I wanna see them finally come online.” He simply replied.

Donnie pulled one small screw tighter “If you want we can work on it more once I’m done with your arm.”

Even if Shelldon was incapable of an actual smile due to his build, Donnie swore he could see him do so in his own way. He obviously perked up at the prospect.

And as promised as soon as the arm worked again and was calibrated to Donnie’s standards, which took way longer than Shelldon would have liked, they jumped at completing the chassis.

Completing the code took longer than that. It took a couple more weeks between missions and work for Donnie to feel confident enough in his work to try to activate the robot for a test. He just wanted to see if his code started up correctly.

Shelldon was at Aria’s side while Donnie worked on the computer side of things. Starting up multiple of his analysis programs to record how the technology worked with each other. If there were parts that unexpectantly heated up for example.

He pressed on his enter key to start up the Aria program. Immediately turning around to see his GeniusTech logo appearing on the screen of Aria’s face.

A few commands appeared. Showing him exactly what programs started and loaded up only to disappear again and a pixelated face in a neutral expression appeared. Huh, he swore he designed it in such a way that it should start with a resting expression.

Aria blinked.

“Hello. I am your Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant. How may I help you?”

Donnie couldn’t help his glee as he yelled out “By Galileo! It works!” It loaded up and reacted just how he wanted when being approached by someone else. There was definitely too much static in their voice and there was a weird echoing effect on it. Something he will have to work on.

But now to test its capabilities.

Something easy to test the waters.

“At what temperature does water boil?”

The response was immediate “Water begins to boil at 99.97 °C, 211.9 °F and 373.15 Kelvin.”

Ah just as precise as he had hoped.

“Explain to me what the measurement of metal strength is.”

Once again, the response was fast “Tensile strength is a value that indicates a metal's ability to resist deformation and failure when loads are applied that pull it apart. Tensile strength is typically quantified through units of pounds per square inch, PSI, or pascals, Pa.”

Perfect! Now what else should he ask to really test their ability to pull the correct knowledge out. What would be a complicated enough question?

“Brah. Come on. They just came online! Do you just want to quiz them?” Shelldon whined. Sometimes Donnie was really confused where he got his attitude and speech pattern from. Then again Leo did sabotage him years ago.

Sighing, he relented “Alright. Autonomous Research Interactive Assistant. Register an alias for yourself.”

They tilted their head to the side to look at him inquisitively “What name do you want me to register?”

Shelldon’s head snapped up to his creator. There was something pleading in the way he acted and looked at him. Donnie nodded.

The turtle robot walked in front of the new one “Aria. A-R-I-A.”

“Aria.” They repeated. “The name has been registered as an alias. You may refer to me now as such.”

[until-the-brahmin-come-home]

little snippet that i don't think is really going anywhere anytime soon (it's just Nate thinking about his prosthetic and being briefly kinda gay for Danse):

The Brotherhood had made him a cybernetic hand. It wasn’t better or worse than the first one he had gotten, over two centuries ago now, after the initial loss. Just different. But still not good enough; nothing could ever be good enough.

The best way he could explain it was that there was a delay. Imperceptible to anyone watching, for sure, but that tiny fraction of a second was enough to make every movement with the hand miserable. So he usually went without.

The other issue is proprioception. And god, isn’t that an old world word now – and he doesn’t even remember where he learned it. In the doctor’s office, maybe, in those long hours where they outlined his recovery and fitted him for a new hand. He can’t feel the prosthetic the way he can feel his other limbs, even if he can make it move with a thought. It’s just dead weight hanging from his elbow.

It does make some activities more difficult, even if he’s mostly learned to adapt by now. He’s not as good with rifles, his attempts at sewing usually end in him cursing at the fabric, and he can’t do the fine manipulation he used to be able to when working on mechanical projects. That’s generally the only time he puts the arm on, anymore, when he has a vision he needs to make real and absolutely needs all ten fingers to pull it off. Otherwise, he asks for help.

He used to be bad at that. Used to go for days running on fumes because his stepfather and brothers and every other goddamn person had drilled it into his mind that asking for help was a weakness. He had gotten better because of Nora. Because she was bad at asking for help, too. It had taken a lot of nights going mad with worry over her before he realized that she likely did the same over him, and they came to a mutual agreement to just reach out to each other if they needed anything. That, more than anything, served as the foundation of their marriage. What was love, if not helping one another?

He missed her all the time. This skip into the future had been messy and confusing, a chaotic scramble to keep the people he cared about alive. Nora was often away on her own missions trying to eke out an existence in the wasteland, while he played nice with the Brotherhood or investigated the safer mysteries available to him. He spent his days playing twenty questions with Piper, teaching Dogmeat new tricks, cleaning up settlements with Preston and Codsworth. He knew he was being useful. He just...still missed Nora.

He scrubbed a hand over his beard and groaned. He had preferred to keep it trimmed neat, before getting flash-frozen, but that was less of an option now. He rooted around in his pack until he found his straight razor, idly flicking it open. It was a bit of a bitch to pull off, but he had managed to shave like this before. It was just a bit of a process, and he’d probably nick himself a couple times.

“Problem, soldier?” came Danse’s voice suddenly, and Nate barely refrained from flinching. The man was rarely stealthy, but Nate had been lost in thought.

“I just need to shave,” he said, tapping the flat of the blade on his thigh. Danse frowned – or rather, frowned deeper. There was usually a mild scowl on his face. Nate tried not to take it personally.

“Do you want me to fetch your-” Nate waved him off before he could even finish his sentence.

“No need, really. I can handle it. Thank you, paladin,” Nate didn’t mean to bring out the title, but he had a habit of doing such things when he got annoyed with people. Danse never seemed to notice. Sometimes, the man’s obliviousness was endearing. Other times...less so.

“But wouldn’t it be easier?” Danse pressed, moving so he was more directly in Nate’s line of sight. Nate grumbled something wordless, before flipping the razor around and offering Danse the handle.

“If you’re so worried about me, why don’t you do it yourself?” he asked. He meant it mostly as a joke, but watching the way Danse flushed and looked away, he was immediately swept up in the possibility. Danse’s hands on his face, careful and precise. He was sure Danse would take to it with the same brisk efficiency the soldier approached most tasks. And he wouldn’t dare let the blade slip.

Okay, let’s dial it back a little, Nate thought to himself.

[psychotic4ghost]

:Siren & The 141:

A/n: Sorry this chapter took so long for me to release. I haven't been liking my writing as much recently so I wanted it to be to my standards before I posted it. Enjoy! WC: 4k Masterlist prev pt next pt

🚨 Warnings 🚨 Smut (18+ MDNI), hospital, limb loss, prosthetics

Chapter 10 - *Bound*

Rain trickled down the window as Mykie watched the drops. Time seemed to move incredibly slow as she sat cooped up in the safe house. Simon was back at the base working on training and more missions. She hated not being able to help them find Pablo. She felt defeated until a thought popped in her head. She quickly unlocked her phone and tapped a contact in her favorites. 

“Price?” Mykie asked quickly the moment the phone clicked.

“Mykie, is everything okay?” He asked, rather worried. 

“Yeah, I’m great. I have a proposal.” She waited, holding her breath. 

“Okay, go on.”

“Intel. I can hack and I’m really good at it, you’ve seen it first hand. Let me be the eyes and ears of the 141. I can do hacking, coms, quick fixes with gear. Price, I’ve been in the field, I know how useful it could be to have a skilled special agent on coms.” Mykie blurted, she sucked in her breath as she waited for his response. 

“I appreciate your drive, Mykie. But…I’d have to run it through my higher ups. Let me finish this paper work and I’ll give them a call, okay?”

“Yes! Thank you Price!”

“However! You have to continue with your therapy and you cannot slack on that if I let you back in, got it?” He pressed. 

“You have my word, sir.” Mykie beamed into her phone.

“And mine.” Simon’s voice rang from the background of the call. He was in Price’s office and heard the whole thing.

“Oh, hi, Simon…” Mykie mumbled, she hadn’t spoken to him about her idea yet so she felt rather embarrassed. 

“Hi, Mykie. Don��t forget to eat.” Simon said in a gruff but caring voice. 

“Is that something she’s been forgetting to do?!” Price shouted as the line clicked. 

Mykie let out a soft chuckle. Simon was right though. She had been spacing out so much lately that she was forgetting to eat. And with Simon back at the base, she had to be the one to remember to feed herself. She pulled herself up from the armchair that Simon pushed in front of the window for her. She was still getting used to her new limitations. 

Simons hoodie unrolled down to her knees as she stood up. She wore a pair of his black sweatpants as well, despite how long they were on her. She had to tie the drawstrings as tight as she could and roll the legs up. 

The small kitchen was attached to the living room. There, she made a quick meal, some mac and cheese from a box that Price had sent over. He wanted foods she could make herself for when Simon or the nurses weren’t there to help her. Her and Price agreed on her not being babied so she could learn to function on her own as soon as possible. Nurse visits were becoming fewer and fewer as the months ticked on. Even Simon was forcing her to do things on her own now. 

“Hey, Dr. Faulkner.” Mykie chimed into her cellphone as she hung her spoon from her mouth. She set her bowl down on the counter as the phone was pressed to her ear with her shoulder. 

“Hello Ms. Jamison, how have you been feeling?” the doctor asked through the phone. 

“Pretty good. The redness has gone down a lot and I can wiggle the muscle without any strain.”

“Good, I have some great news. It will take some time but I’m sure it will be very well worth the wait in the end.” 

“I’m listening?” Mykie said before taking a mouthful of mac and cheese, her phone was now on the table on speaker phone. 

“Your new arm is ready. It is a bionic arm. You will need to make some appointments for fitting and testing then continue your physical therapy.”

“Really? That’s perfect, when can we do this?!” Mykie beamed. This was exactly what she was hoping for. 

“As soon as you’re ready. From your last check up, your stump seems healed enough.” 

“Awesome, I’ll contact Captain Price and let him know.” Mykie was so ecstatic about getting her new limb that she called Price back as soon as she hung up the phone with Dr. Faulkner. 

“Cap, is Simon still there?” Mykie nearly shouted into the phone.

“He is, I’ll put you on speaker. Go ahead.”

“Dr. Faulkner called, my prosthetic is ready!”

Mykie could hear Price and Simon both audibly gasp at the news. They spoke about times and dates they could have appointments made. Price had called in and got her appointment set up for the earliest date. 

“Do you have everything?” Simon asked as he slung Mykie’s backpack over his shoulder. 

“I think so. I brought my kindle and I’ll have my phone of course.” Mykie tapped her chin as she looked around the small house. When it was just her and Simon, they were both softer, warmer than how they were on the base. It felt nice to finally let her guard down and feel safe around someone. 

“I can’t wait to be able to drive again.” Mykie huffed as she climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep. 

“I don’t mind drivin, My.” Simon said before shutting the door and opening the backseat, throwing her bag in there. 

“Yeah, I know. But when you aren’t here, I can’t go anywhere.” She complained. 

“Even if y’could drive, there’r still things in the outside world I’d have to help with. Which I don’t mind doin’ either. Let me care for you, My.”  

Their ride was a little on the long side. They had to cross the border into Texas for the fitting. Mykie had her feet on the dash as the two jammed out to some metal/rock. Bad Omens blasted through the speaker as Mykie sang along. Simon couldn’t help but steal glances at her as she rocked out. She was wearing his hoodie again as usual. His chest burned with an unusual feeling when he looked at her.

“Ms. Jamison, Mr. Riley, good to see you. Will Mr. Price be joining us today?” Dr. Faulkner questioned as she led the two down the hall to the room for the fitting. This one was much nicer than the last one. It was more furnished. 

“No. He is staying at the base.” Simon informed as he set down the backpack he had slung over his shoulder.  

“Sounds good, I’ll let you get settled in. Make sure your socket is clear so we can access it. A tank top will do nicely.” She informed her before shutting the door behind her.

“Nervous?” Simon asked as he sat down on the couch that was across from the bed. 

“Yeah, a little. I don’t like hospitals. But I also hope I can work with this prosthetic, I know it’ll take time but…” Mykie sighed as she unzipped her backpack. “Can you help me? It’s still hard to put on shirts.” 

Simon nodded and stood to help Mykie. He slipped her hoodie off as well as her shirt. She crossed her arm over her bra with her right arm. “It’s cold.” She mumbled. Simon chuckled as he grabbed a tank top from the backpack, He gently pulled it over her head and helped her pull her arm through. His fingers gently brushed against her skin as he helped her. 

“I brought my zip up jacket, so we can take it off easier.” Mykie said as she reached for the gray jacket in the backpack The nerves were definitely starting to get to her. 

Simon didn’t hesitate to grab the jacket from her, he helped her with her arm and tied a knot in the left sleeve for her. “Mykie. I know we haven’t really…put a title on what we have goin on but, I figured now would be a good time, I wanted to ask…if you would be…I dunno like…”

Mykie stopped him as she tugged his black surgical mask down and planted a soft kiss to his lips. “Yes, Simon. I’ll be your girlfriend. Even though I kind of have been for like, 7 months now.” Mykie giggled against his lips before dropping back to her flat feet. 

“‘S’pose that’s true…” Simon rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 

“Ms. Jamison?” A few knocks sounded at the door. 

“Yes?”

“Are we ready for the fitting?” Dr. Faulkner asked as she pushed open the door further. 

“I think so.” Mykie glanced at Simon, nervousness flooded her green eyes.

Dr. Faulkner and another man entered the room. They had a box which Mykie assumed had her new arm. 

“I’m Dr. Burns. I’m going to be taking scans of your muscles today and see if we can start fitting in one go. If you wouldn’t mind slipping off the sleeve.” the man gently reached for Mykie’s sleeve, she let it drop happily. They applied a balm to her skin and took scans of her shoulder where the prosthetic will be attached. It had taken a good amount of time just doing the scans alone, but as soon as they finished Mykie pulled her sleeve back up and on quickly. Her skin was red and irritated after all the touching. 

“I apologize for the discomfort, Ms. Jamison. We are done for today and I got some excellent reads. You sat perfectly today. I will keep in touch and we should have you ready to go within the week.” Dr. Burns informed Mykie as he stood to leave. He shook both Mykie and Simon’s hands before  leaving. 

Mykie made her next appointment with them before climbing back into the jeep. The two had packed some bags before the trip, planning to stay in Texas. 

“Thank you. Room 217, noted.” Simon said to the clerk as he took the keycard handed to him. “We’ll be in room 217. We should grab something to eat.” Simon offered as he reached Mykie who was in the waiting room. 

“I could really use some comfort food after today.” Mykie sighed. She was scrolling on her phone as she waited. “Look.” She said as she shoved her phone in Simon’s face. On the screen was a picture of a big bowl of ramen. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Mykie nodded her head quickly. She wasn’t used to going out in public now that she only had one arm, she feared the looks. Fortunately, it was September and the air around them was starting to cool off, meaning she could wear her hoodie and have the left sleeve of her Simon’s hoodie draped down. Their trip to the ramen shop was fun, Mykie got Simon to share some of his infamous dad jokes, or military humor as he called it. 

“Two please.” Simon said to the hostess who walked them to a small two seater table. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been out in public doing normal things.” Mykie sighed as she struggled to break apart her chopsticks. 

“Give me that.” Simon ordered as he took the chopsticks from her and pulled them apart with a snap. 

“Thanks.” Mykie grumbled. 

“My, please. I know it’s difficult, but I wanna help you. You’re still independent, we don’t see you any other way.” Simon reassured her, he could see the look of defeat in her eyes. 

“I know…just sucks sometimes.” 

“Eat.” Simon ushered as he handed her chopsticks back. 

Mykie had to alternate spoon and chopstick as she couldn’t hold both like she usually would. It was rather messy as she slurped the noodles into her mouth, no spoon to hold them up. Simon couldn’t help but laugh at her as a noodle smacked her in the forehead. She threw him a daring look as she wiped the broth off her forehead. 

Back at the hotel, Mykie flopped onto the bed absolutely exhausted from the day. She rolled over and reached into her bag taking out a soothing lotion. 

“May I?” Simon asked as he sat on the bed next to her with his hand out.

Mykie slapped the bottle of lotion in his open palm. She shimmied off the sweater she wore, exposing her biggest insecurity to him.  

Simon stayed silent as he squeezed out some of the balm onto his open palm. He cautiously placed his hand on her irritated skin, massaging it into her skin slowly and lovingly. 

“When you were in the hospital the first time…” Simon started, he searched for the right words. His emotions were still a foreign concept to him, despite the months since she entered his life. “I thought I had lost you. I…was…scared.” It felt weird coming from his lips. He had numbed himself to the world of emotions. With this line of work, and his specialities, numbing himself seemed like the best option. The thought of caring for someone who, hell, someone caring for him was such a weird idea, it almost felt like it was impossible. But here she was. A soul who was capable of caring for him. Despite his past and even his present. His job, his mannerisms, his lack of emotion, all the burdens he carried and yet, she didn’t care. She saw him for who he was and couldn’t dream of caring for anyone else. 

Mykie turned to face him, her small hand cupping his cheek. He rested his cheek into her hand cautiously. Despite their nights together, he was still wary of his vulnerable movements. 

“Simon?”

“Hm?” 

“I…I’m in love with you.” Mykie choked out. She hadn’t used those words since the day her sister died in her arms. She had forgotten how they felt on her tongue. It took a lot for her to not flinch away, to run and hide the moment the words left her lips. She searched his eyes, fearful of how he might react. Her shoulders tensed.

“Mykie…” Simon trailed off, his mind was racing. He hadn’t heard anyone use those words towards him since his mother. He almost felt like Mykie was lying to him. A part of him was sure she was fucking with him. A cruel prank. His eyes were wide as they locked onto her equally shocked eyes. 

Neither of them knew what to do as they stared for what felt like hours. Simon’s mind went blank as he pulled the nape of her neck towards him abruptly. He crashed his lips to hers with hunger, as if she would disappear if he didn’t. Mykie pushed further into him, the hand that rested on his cheek now carded through the hair at the nape of his neck. She tugged hastily at his hair. 

“I fucking love you so much.” Simon panted against her lips as they pulled apart for air. The separation didn’t last long before their lips were attached once more. 

Simon gently pushed his weight into her, forcing her to lay back on the bed. Mykie didn’t protest as he slid his hand up her shirt. He cupped one of her breasts, kneading it lovingly. A soft moan escaped Mykie’s lips. His hand slipped behind her, unclasping her bra and throwing it to the side. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgious.” Simon huffed as he pulled back to admire her breasts through the very very thin fabric of her tank top. Her nipples grew hard against the fabric as the cold air kissed them. 

“Si…I need you.” Mykie panted, her arousal taking over her mind, pushing her sane self out of the way. 

“As you wish.” Simon grinned ear to ear as he captured her lips in his again. His hands pushed her tank top up and over her head, only breaking the kiss for a sec. His hands attacked both her breasts again, pinching the nipples harshly between his rough fingers. 

“Simon…please…” Mykie whined against his lips. 

“S’needy.” He chuckled. He obliged her request though, dragging his hands down her abdomen and down past the ties of the sweats she wore. His fingers brushed against her heated core. The soft cotton of her panties were already damp to the touch. 

Simon broke the kiss. He left wet, sloppy kisses over her jaw, he trailed down her neck then to her collar bone before capturing a nipple in between his teeth. His hands worked at untying her his  sweats. He pushed them down as low as he could without leaving her breasts with his mouth.

Her back arched as he bit and nibbled her breasts, making sure to give each the attention they deserved. Soft, sweet moans left her lips as he swirled his tongue around her buds. She placed her hand on his shoulder, attempting to push him down to where she needed him. 

“Be patient, lovie.” Simon chuckled against her skin as he agonizingly trailed wet kissed down her sternum, down to her belly button. He kept his trail going all the way down to the top of her panty line. He took the hem of her panties in between his teeth, looking up to make sure she was watching as he pulled them down. His hands gripped the hem under her ass as he pulled them down to her knees. After ripping them off the full way and tossing them blindly to the floor, he climbed back up her body. Simon looped his arms under her back, lifting her with no effort before tossing her back down but higher up on the bed. 

Soft giggles left her lips as she bounced on the bed before settling back down. “Sorry love, needed more room.” he said as his hands pried her thighs apart with no warming. A small yelp left her. 

“S’wet for me.” Simon cooed as he traced a single digit along her lips up to her clit. He repeated this motion until she was begging him for more. 

“P…please Simon…please, I need you.” She whimpered. It made Simon’s cock twitch as he watched this badass military woman, who he’s seen kill men in cold blood, whimper and whine just for his touch. 

“Or what?” Simon teased as he left feather light touches against her clit. 

Mykie didn’t respond, instead she shifted her hips down and began to move them in a circular motion against his fingers. Small moans pulled from her lips as she ground her hips down into his fingers. 

Simon clicked his tongue as he watched her pleasure herself against his fingers. His free hand gripped her hips tightly, pushing her down into the bed, unable to move. “I would love to watch you fuck yourself against my fingers, but I’m the one who is going to rip those pretty little moans from you tonight.” Simon growled as he lowered his face to her entrance. He jut his tongue out quickly. He lapped at her entrance.

The aforementioned ‘pretty moans’ poured from Mykie’s lips uncontrollably. Simon inserted his tongue into her entrance and back out at a maddening pace causing her back to arch. 

“Hand in my hair. Now.” Simon demanded against her pussy, the vibrations making her moan more. 

She nodded her head quickly as her hand threaded through his hair, gripping tightly. 

“Words, Siren.” He called her by her call sign, making her cries stutter. Hearing her call sign in bed turned her on more than she thought possible. 

“Y-yes sir.” She croaked out. 

“That’s lieutenant to you, Sergeant.” 

“Y-yes Lieutenant.” Mykie whimpered. 

“Good girl.” Simon growled against her clit, the vibrations sending her even closer to the edge. 

Simon pushed two fingers into her aching core with no warning or time for adjustment. He began pumping quickly as he could feel her end nearing. Stuttered and choppy moans and whines left Mykie as she felt her core tighten around his fingers. “Si-Lieutnant…I’m so fu-ucking cl-ose.” Her legs shook around his head. Her grip in his hair tightened causing him to wince at the pleasurable pain. 

“Cum for me baby.” Simon pushed his fingers in quicker as he lapped and sucked at her clit. 

Without warning for either of them, the tight coil in her abdomen snapped. Her legs shook violently around his head, her walls clamped around his fingers and her grip in his hair released just for her to dig her nails into his shoulder. 

“Gooood girl. That’s it.” Simon cooed as he lifted his head from her core. His fingers still pumped lightly in and out of her as she rode out her high. “My turn.” Simon growled as he quickly shoved his fingers into her mouth while whipping his chin clean with his other hand. “Suck.” He ordered. She wasted no time closing her lips around his thick fingers, cleaning them of her own juices. 

Simon’s belt flew to the ground rather quickly. He didn’t bother pulling his pants all the way off, instead he dropped them to his ankles, boxers included. He was rock hard already, pre-cum nearly dripping down his shaft as he lined himself up with her entrance. “Brace yourself.” He warned. Mykie wrapped her legs around his hips, her arm draped over his shoulder. She nodded her head quickly. 

Simon smirked as he coated his dick in her slick juices. He pushed the tip all the way in, pulling a gasp from Mykie. She wiggled her hips quickly, wanting to waste no time. “Y’sure?” Simon hummed against her earlobe. 

“P-please. More.” she whined, nearly pushing herself down onto his cock. 

“Might want to bite something, love.” He warned. Mykie opted for his shoulder, she placed her lips against the warm skin of his shoulder, bracing herself as he fully bottomed out inside her with the help of her heels digging into his ass cheeks. The sting struck her harshly as she dug her nails and teeth into his shoulder, suppressing a cry. “Doin’ okay?” 

Mykie nodded her head quickly, “Just m-move. Please Simon.” she practically cried out. Tears trickled down her cheeks, the pain only brought her more pleasure. 

“I don’ wanna hurt you My.” Simon warned, as he tried to pull back. Her heels kept him locked in place. 

“Y-you aren’t…I l-like the pain.” 

“As you wish, use your words if you need a break.” He ordered as he finally began to move. More moans spilled from Mykie as the sting increased. His size made it easy for him to hit the spongy spot that caused her to cry out. 

“As…much as I love-yer moans…we are-in a hotel.” Simon huffed out in between thrusts. “Don…make me gag you.” 

Mykie took this as a challenge of course. She did nothing to stifle her moans and screams of his name. Simon had no choice at this point, he didn’t want to explain the noises and deal with the noise complaint if he let her continue with these lewd sounds, no matter how much he loved to hear what he was doing to her. 

Simon quickly clasped his lips to hers, taking her moans into his mouth. His tongue jutted into her mouth, exploring every spot he could reach. 

His quick and brutal thrusts were bringing them both to the edge quickly. His grip on her hips were sure to leave bruises as he tightened, feeling his climax barreling to the surface. Mykie’s walls clenched around his cock, tugging a guttural moan from his throat. 

“M’close. S’c-close.” Mykie groaned against the crook of his neck.

“M’too.” Both of them were almost completely out of breath.

“C-cum ‘n me…please, I need to f-feel you.” Mykie begged as her high was dangerously close to spilling over. 

“T-together…” Simon huffed. 

A few more thrust from Simon and the two of them snapped, their intertwined moans filled the air as they both came undone together. 

“You okay, lovie?” Simon asked as he smoothed her hair with his hand. They were now tangled together, laying in the bed. Simon’s slowly softening cock still rested inside Mykie as they cuddled. 

“Mhm…Didn’t think I liked it that rough.” She admitted. Her eyes were slightly closed as she nuzzled her nose into his chest. 

“That wasn’t as rough as I can be.” Simon chuckled against the top of her head. 

“I look forward to it then, better keep your word.” Mykie teased. 

“Oh I promise.”

[biohazard-inevitable]

The Rat, The Hog, and The Fox

The dragon and the fox part 18

He had forgotten how alive it made him feel to be racing down the highway with madmen, sirens wailing in the distance as howling laughter rose above the wind to sing into Zayne’s ears like a symphony long forgotten. Wind lashed and whipped his hair into a wild mane as he held tight to the sidecar he and Junkrat were crammed into, the latter standing up and chucking live grenades at their persuers, trusting entirely in the fox at his feet to hold onto him and keep him steady to which the latter did with unhinged glee, knowing the police in this area to be unnecessarily cruel to those they viewed as lesser.

“Heads down, both of you.” Growled Roadhog as his large hand pushed the lanky blonde down into the sidecar as the engines snarled out a loud roar, the bike kicking into another gear as the three screamed into a tight underpass tunnel, high beams all they had to light he way as the police quickly lost their trail.

“We lost em!!! We lost em we lost em!” Cackled out Junkrat with his signature titter, not noticing the deep release of baited breath that came from the larger man at the wheel.

“What a rush!” Laughed Zayne triumphantly as Junkrat finally sat down in the sidecar with him, smiles beaming across both boy’s faces as they playfully wrestled each other for who sat on the floor and who got the cushioned seat.

“I know right?! Mate its so good to have ya back! We’ve really missed ya!” Junkrat cheered, eventually winning the wrestling match sending the shorter man to tuck into the domes bottom of the sidecar as the group raced out of town to wherever the road may take them.

“You enjoy your time in Nepal?” Roadhog huffed, glancing down fondly at the two lunatics he called friends.

“Yeah it was great! I ran into my brother again.” Zayne sighed with a soft smile. “Not the one I ran from that you guys know, the other one, the one I thought was dead?”

“And where is he now?” Asked Junkrat, leaning forward on his seat with an excited gasp. “IS HE INVISIBLE??”

“No no nothing like that!” Zayne laughed heartily, waving off the idea with a flick of his wrist. “We spent a lot of time healing in Nepal, both physically and mentally… it was good for both of us, then, we became a part of the Overwatch again, at least until they fell. After that, we spent some time togetehr, roaming the country, doing what we could where we could and then… he decided to go find our brother… the one I ran from and- I wasn’t ready to follow him yet, so here I am! Bored out of my mind but now I’m back with you guys!”

“Hope we can meet him someday.” Roadhog rumbled. “Your zombie brother, that is.”

“Zombie brother.” Zayne scoffed with a laugh. “Yeah, cant argue with that, pretty accurate, though he’s more of a cyborg now. Actually, being around you dorks before hand kinda helped with that! He’s lost some of his limbs so the prosthetic tips I learned from Jamie have kinda helped out a bunch.”

“Well wouldya look at that! Seems I am useful after all!” Junkrat joked.

“You’re a menace.” Teased Zayne, only to be ensnared into a grapple by the blonde in question, arm wrapped around his throat until he tapped out.

“A menace that youuuuu happen to like!” Tittered the junker.

“And you’re lucky for that!” Zayne coughed out with a smile as the other released him with a smirk, a large hand coming between their two faces as Roadhog glared down wt them breifly.

“Don’t wrestle in the sidecar.”

“Yesss daaaaaad.” Both boys sighed in unison with a roll of their eyes before snickering to themselves yet again, playfully shoving against each other, though a bit more gentle as to not rock the bike.

“So, where ya headed next mate? Gots to be somewheres good!” Junkrat asked with a toothy grin earning a huff of agreement from the strong silent Hog beside him.

“Not really anywhere I guess.” Zayne shrugged in response. “I mean, I don’t really have anywhere to go, just kinda been wandering around doin whatever been trying to tour as many states as I can though! I’ve got through most of the north on my list.”

“Then all ya need is the south right? Well why not tag along with us and we’ll drive ya down there?”

“Aw really guys? You’d do that for little ol me?”

“Sure! Why not? You’re fun to have around and talk more than the big guy thats for sure!”

“Alright! But whats the catch? Knowing you guys I won’t be getting an entirely free ride am I?”

“He knows you have access to Bluey.” Growled roadhog from beside them earning a soft snicker from the ninja.

“Oi! Its a bloody good show and yer gonna respect the Heeler family and their antics!”

“Fine fine!” Zayne smiled with a wave on his hand. “Calm down I probably can get some episodes pulled up on my phone right now.”

That certainly seemed to shut Junkrat up as he quickly scampered into place, cuddled up real close to Zayne as the instrumental theme of the popular kids show began to play, somehow being heard over the rushing air and roar of Hog’s Harley as they raced into the night, a chaotic gaggle of idiots reunited once again for better or for worseZ

[forbelobog]

"Gep," voice soft so as to not to completely rouse him from their sleepy states. Spooning the man, he's got his face tucked where neck and shoulder meet. Together nicely in a nap much needed, or it seems as if Sampo has gotten used to brief slumbers between their vacationing activities. The sun is rather draining and the mercenary has no issue tangling limbs with lover. But the one thing that's remained on his mind prior to leaving is the prospect of harming Gepard or even ruining their vacation altogether thanks to the Laughter. And of course, the rest of his past that will eventually creep in, even if he had a reasoning, he still has no issues doing what most consider to be be bad. "I wish we could stay like this..." Soft sigh against skin. "I don't... I don't want to do something that'll make you hate me."

he's hovering, half awake/half asleep, which is pretty rare of the landau. usually hyper-vigilant at all times, this little vacation has certainly helped him relax a bit more. enough that taking a nap in hte middle of the day actually sounded like a splendid idea, and not just a fever dream. gepard landau didn't nap, it just wasn't in his schedule. here, in sampo's arms, on a foreign planet with barely a care? they had all the time for it. 

sampo speaks, bringing gepard's attention more to the forefront than previous, unaware how long they've been asleep but not exactly caring either. another first - he's not concerned with where the day went or where he needs to be next. he just wants to be here, with sampo. 

the sentiment is agreed, until...

"hate you?" gepard's sleepy voice asks, more awake now than he was before. sampo has had a lot on his mind since the incident with aha in belobog, how gepard asked him to leave and how badly he felt about it afterward. captain turns in the man's hold so he can face him, blue eyes searching his face. he doesn't want to diminish sampo's concern, act like he doesn't need to have it in the first place. but he also wants to soothe in any way he can. the truth is what he's best at, so he speaks what's on his heart.

"do you think so little of our bond?" voice slightly deeper thanks to sleep, gepard doesn't leave space for sampo to respond. it was rhetorical, anyway, "it took a lot of work to get us here, it would take even more work to destroy it. i...i don't think i could hate you, sampo. i ever tried to, once, and we both know that didn't take. so long as we remain honest to each other, and continue learning the other's needs, i think we'll be alright."

hand raises, enough to push aside bangs from green eyes. gepard's hand bare now, no prosthetic, a showcase of vulnerability, "my love for you isn't conditional. and love is more than just happiness and sunshine...love is in the struggles, too. you will do things i don't agree with, just as i will do things you don't agree with. but i love you for our differences. you just have to trust that i will love you through the hard parts just as much as i do in moments like these. i am here for you, good and bad. sickness and health. you have my heart." // @dupliciti

[bardkin]

wanted to post a bit of noemata about my wolf's rain 'heartedness/fictotype (it's in a similar state to my Spyro-ness, this blend of kin & kith), because i don't talk about this aspect of myself often enough :p

little preamble for those who aren't familiar with the anime, wolf's rain takes place on a dystopian future earth where wolves are believed to be extinct. in reality, the remaining wolves have been using magic to hide in plain sight, disguising themselves as humans. they aren't werewolves or shapeshifters, but simply appear human.

Wolves' human disguises, referred to as an "illusory," are not a full-transformation or hologram. Instead, this illusory affects others' perception filter, influencing the minds of any observers to make them subconsciously "see" the wolf as human. Even other wolves and animals can be susceptible to it, unless they know what to look for.

If someone isn't actively looking for wolves, they won't see any. Similarly, if someone is looking for wolves, they still won't instantly see through the illusory, unless they know and remember what the individual wolf themself looks like. The disguise isn't completely foolproof, and can often be seen through by people under the effects of substances like hallucinogens or alcohol (though these people are just as often overlooked if they claim to have "seen a wolf," due to their inebriated state).

The wolf is still physically a wolf, and is thus limited to only being able to do tasks that a wolf could. I.E, A wolf can't use their illusory's hands to open a jar lid, because they don't actually have hands and thumbs to manipulate the lid. They could use their jaws in some way, if they're clever enough, and their illusory would make it seem like they're doing the closest human equivalent of that action — or at least, in theory. Some people might see the illusory actually twist the lid off with its teeth, if the wolf doesn't have a lot of control over the visual suggestion aspect of this magic.

A wolf has some choice in their illusory's "design," though not always. Their illusory also does not have to reflect a one-to-one "human design" of themselves — a white wolf would not have to make their illusory have white hair, for example — but it often has key elements of their physicalities. Scars, sense of style, gender presentation, and any physical accessories on the wolf themself, such as a collar or bracelet, will be visible on the illusory. However, illusories always reflect a wolf’s current physical state; I.E, Injuries, illnesses, missing limbs, prosthetics, etc. If the wolf is bleeding, so is the illusory. Injuries will appear on the closest analog to where it is on the wolf's actual body. A wound on their back paw will be on the illusory's foot, for example.

It is often difficult for a wolf to maintain their illusory if they have to physically interact with a human, since the magic only affects perception and short-term memory. If someone were to touch a wolf on the shoulder, they would physically lean down; they (and any other observers) just wouldn't realize they did so, and believe they're touching something at human-shoulder-height. This effect wouldn't last forever, though, as the sensory illusion can only do so much for so long.

Some wolves are better at maintaining close contact with humans than others, but it's a survival skill to be built up. Some wolves also learn human languages, if they're in close proximity to humans. (Tsume and Kiba are prime examples of this; Tsume worked with and lead a street gang, and Kiba was raised by Native Americans — both speak and understand their learned human languages to better blend in.)

Illusories don't affect cameras or sensors, but the perception of any images or recordings of disguised wolves are affected for a period of time. Anyone who looks at a photo of a disguised wolf would see their human illusory — or at least a humanoid image — for a few hours to days after the image or recording was taken. The length of time depends on the individual wolf's skill and power with their magic.

Any and all wolves possess illusory magic, but not all know that they possess said magic. Most must learn how to willingly activate it at some point in their life in order to use their illusory.

Some wolves view their human disguise as an extension of themselves, or just as themself (i.e, they refer to it as their own name, "I, me," etc). Others view it more like a piece of clothing or (the equivalent of) an online avatar; it's just something they wear.

Others might have conflicting feelings about using an illusory, or have a complicated relationship with the concept of “hiding as a human.” Some may feel proud of their skills with such an illusion. Others might be largely indifferent about it, and some still might detest the practice all together.

[nalmull]

It’s Mr. Compress hour! Focusing on him again because I love him; but also with his Harima Oji’s Bloodline Reveal, we can look back at what he does with that perspective.

For now, though, because this post got way too long, let’s take a look at how he’s doing post arm loss:

*disclaimer: non-disabled person writing about disability representation. my apologies in advance for any mistake or mis-portrayal or just overstepping my position!

As far as I could tell, Mr. Compress got his arm blown off by Overhaul in early September, got fitted for a prosthetic mid-September, and was taunting Overhaul with his new arm late September.

(Shout-out to Giran, who “had a hard time finding a manufacturer [that could create a prosthetic that is capable of] delicate, elaborate movements.” But he did it, and it’s good work.

*From Databook 2.)

That’s pretty much impossible irl with our level of medicine - from hastily done google research, it takes six to eight weeks (or longer) for surgical wounds to heal after an amputation, in which then you can get fitted for a prosthetic. After that, one needs rehab/physical therapy for both managing the residential limb and learning how to use the prosthetic, which takes months, sometimes up to a year. And of course, that’s even not mentioning that current technology haven’t succeed in creating a sci-fi ‘can do anything a blood-and-flesh arm can do’ cyborg prosthetic.

So Mr. Compress’s prosthetic process is pretty much firmly in the realm of futuristic science-fiction, with luckily is what HeroAca goes with: We’ve got robots and holograms and Japan’s super fast bullet train goes even faster. This puts the story/character/concept at risk of the ableism of ‘the magic cure’, which effectively makes the character ‘no longer disabled’ and issues of disability is just dismissed or forgotten or erased to bring the character back to the non-disabled norm.

…Which is fortunately not totally the case here! Yes, Mr. Compress has a magic robot arm that looks and seems to function like a flesh arm— but Horikoshi-sensei does give thoughtfulness about the realities of having a prosthetic: As shown above, the prosthetic needs repair (Japanese text has it that it’s ‘creaking badly’), maybe even replacement. Compounding the problem is that Mr. Compress has to wait and make do until Giran shows up (and if not, he’ll have to find a new broker who can find a new prosthetist who can custom make his specifications).

Later, we see Mr. Compress examining his prosthetic arm/trying to fix it? Which is another nice touch to show that it requires maintenance. By the end of the chapter, the hand is broken off completely and stays broken for the rest of the arc, leaving Mr. Compress effectively one handed.

(In the following two chapters too, we’ll see that in the background action, he’s losing his balance a lot - something that can happen since like one just lost a chunk of weight asymmetrically.)

Significantly, I think, is that - though it’s not addressed in the text, which is a pity and a handwave - Mr. Compress, even with his relatively-high-tech prosthetic, has permanently lost half of his quirk. Before, he can compress things with either hand; now, just one. Which is huge, for someone who uses his quirk to often fight for his survival against other Villains out to kill. His battle power (?) has been reduced, as has how he incorporates his ability into his nimbleness and magician’s act. Really wish we could’ve seen the repercussions of this! Mr. Compress seems rather unfazed, even taking this in good humor - but what’s under that mask? Did he mourn that loss? Did it affect his self-esteem or self-image? Is it possible to feel phantom quirk sensations?

So there’s quite a few elements of Mr. Compress’s disability portrayal here that are too convenient and shallow. He’s easily up and about within weeks, and his feelings and new experiences are entirely glossed over. He’s a side character, but still it would’ve been nice to receive one chapter focused on him in regards to this. So far in the story, the broken prosthetic doesn’t give him much of a challenge either.

And yet Mr. Compress’s disability remains and is addressed; he’s a character who does have to deal with the experiences and consequences of losing a limb. The futuristic setting could’ve easily allowed Mr. Compress a super-arm that brings him back to the non-disabled norm and all concerns and portrayals of a life after an amputation gets tossed out the window. But Mr. Compress still goes through issues of mobility and accommodation, and his prosthetic isn’t a cure-all. (At last in the MVA arc. Post-MVA is for a whole other post. also will need another post about the other portrayal of limb loss in other characters in the story, tho.) He’s not portrayed as tragic or broken, and befitting his personality, he’s come to accept it as part of his life.

Not that the author did anything amazing or perhaps even above the bare minimum - and we don’t even know if this was intentional - but I think it’s cool that Mr. Compress’s disability is incorporated into his character, as part of him now as much as his signature mask and magic.

thanks for reading this long post. and back to liveblog, sorry for the wait!

[teeth-farie]

IDK how you feel about Lucio requests, but I'd die to see one where he's now being punished for disobeying whatever rules (talking back, teasing in public, typically-bratty-Lucio-tingz) & is being edged 1 time, 2 times, several times, until his façade cracks and he's almost in tears asking for a release (/▽＼*)｡o○♡

I’m just fine with Lucio requests!! I’ll let you know if I won’t write for a character. I went with headcanon/bullet point format for this one!

In hindsight, you probably spoiled him too much. Lucio’s far too used to getting his way and you were too lenient with how you kept him in check.

Lucio knows he’s been bad, he’s actively trying to be, after all. He’s always wondered how far he could push his magician, what it would take for your resolve to break, for you to beat him back into submission.

It took a lot, he learns.

The final straw was teasing you at a party for nobles and elites. You weren’t in your element at all, barely holding it together in such a forgein environment. This was much more suited for Lucio

He carts you around like arm candy, hands gripping over your bicep, waist, hips, shoulders far too tightly, digging into the meat of your skin. You shoot a tight lipped smile, a warning that he ignores with a chuckle and a swig of champagne.

His wandering hands pick at the seams of your clothes, whispering little antagonistic thoughts into your ear, what he wanted you to do when you go home with him, what seems to much like a reward for him. Of course, you have different plans.

Finally in the safety of his own wing, he practically drags you to his chambers, pressing into you in a searing kiss. You indulge him, if only for a moment.

Then you strike, pushing back on his plush bed and crushed velvet blankets, his body bouncing upon impact. “Finally getting rough with little ol me?” He teases, winking with that smarmy little smirk. “You don’t know the half of it.” And that, that sends a shot of excitement through his very core.

He tries to talk his way out of it when you tie his wrists to the headboard with his own silks, his smirk wobbly and sweat bearing on his brow. Those amber eyes betray his exterior, hungry for what you’re giving, truly a glutton for your punishments.

“Little brat,” you sneer, tugging down his trousers, and somehow he feels more exposed being left in only his blazer and his pants hanging by his ankles. “You’re gonna get what’s coming to you.”

You start with slaps to his thighs, painting the scar speckled skin the same ruby as his jewelry—until he’s trembling, tenting his underwear. “You seriously got hard from that?” You scoff, and you can practically hear his humiliation kink rev up in his head, dry starting the gears. His hips raise, thighs clenching together. “Can you blame me?” He flounders, attempting to entice you with the wiggle of his hips and the bite of his lip. You have different plans for him.

You start palming him through his underwear, harsh and unforgiving, just how you know he likes it. He rocks into your hand, throwing his head back, curses spewing from his lips. A wet spot starts to rise in his tented underwear, his moans getting louder, more desperate, and that’s when you stop.

“What are you doing? Keep going!” He practically hisses, red faced and panting. “Oh, little Lucio, so I have some bad news for you.” You snicker, peeling his underwear down his thighs, licking your lips when his swollen cock bobs free. “This is punishment, you’re going to have to cry before I let you cum.”

Lucio swallows thickly, dazed in the eyes and throbbing between his legs. Maybe that statement did more to him than he thought it would. He tugs at the restraints around his wrists, purely futile. “..please?” He pouts. You scoff. “Nice try.”

Every time that knot in his gut grows, the tensing of his limbs, and the fuzzy, mushy feeling in body becomes almost too much—just enough, you stop, leaving him to collapse into a boneless heap and curse your name.

“I’m sorry, ok! I’m sorry!” He whines, thrashing weakly, tears bubbling to his waterline. “I’ll be good, I promise!” Those big tears of frustration finally fall down his cheeks and you’re filled with a gratifying satisfaction.

“There we go, was that so hard?” You wrap your hand back around him, stroking his poor cock quickly, further abusing his swollen shaft. Lucio babbles, clenching his fists and digging little indents into his palm, the metal of his prosthetic scraping together.

“M’gonna cum, gonna cum,” how cute, like you’d really budge now. The moment his teeth clench and his body spasms, you move your hand away.

Lucio chokes on a sob, pitiful little globs rolling down the side of his dick. “I thought, I thought you were gonna, hic! l-let me,” he whimpers, though you can’t find it in yourself to feel bad.

“Oh, Luci, did you really think we were done here?”

[popatochisssp]

This one’s a long one, sorry for all the backstory!

Potential tw for those who need it: body horror, loss of function, referenced violence and death

Horrorswap

A Fallen Human’s rampage has left the Underground in shambles. The monarchs and all of the collected souls are gone, many monsters are dust, the Royal Scientist has vanished, and the food supply is running out.

Alphys, the Captain of the Royal Guard, ascends to the throne. In spite of her grief over loved ones lost, she takes her new mantle with grim stoicism and makes a plan for the hope and safety of all monsterkind. They only need one more human to fall and then... she’ll take their soul and absorb it to cross the Barrier, the plan Queen Toriel had wanted to follow all along, but had been too afraid to; afraid of leaving her people without a leader in case she never came back.

Being left without a leader again is no longer the worst potential outcome for monsterkind and Alphys is willing to take the risk.

The waiting for that one last catalyst-human is...hard. On everybody, but especially the new Queen, thrust under so much responsibility with such high stakes, after so much loss.

Sans, one of the only best friends she has left, does his best to talk to her and to get her to open up instead of internalizing her feelings, but she’s in no way ready to talk and when he keeps pushing...

Well.

Even a little angry shove with Intent can do damage to a monster. Only half an HP in this case, but when the monster only has 1 HP to begin with, it’s still nothing to sneeze at.

Alphys is horrified, no matter that Sans is ready and willing to brush it off--his fault for pushing, he understands it was an accident, he’s usually a much quicker dodge--and however brief, the Incident just makes her shut down even more.

It also sets the stage for Sans to return home with half his HP gone to horrify his brother in equal measure.

Papyrus hadn’t liked the talk of killing humans when Toriel was alive Queen, but now it’s worse and everything else is getting worse by the day, sometimes by the hour. The Fallen Human betrayed them, Undyne is just gone, everyone is starting to go hungry, and now his brother’s at risk too?

Papyrus is scared and he’s not used to the feeling. He never thought about Sans’ 1HP before; he never had to. Sans was always just his tough and energetic big brother, and in their peaceful world it  had never even occurred to him that something could... happen.

He can’t lose Sans too... Sans, expectedly, gives Papyrus the same ‘IT’S FINE’ speech he gave Alphys, to similarly dubious effect, but his pep talks just aren’t in top form these days--he’s got a lot on his mind too. In this plan of the Queen’s, for the Next Human, he’ll be the one with the responsibility of escorting them straight to the Capital to meet her axe. His sentry station is the first out of the Ruins, no one in the Underground can travel quicker than he can...and he was the Judge who let the Fallen Human pass, he didn’t stop them when he could have, it’s only right that this responsibility now should fall on him no matter how guilty the thought of leading a probably innocent human to their death makes him feel. Eventually, the Next Human falls. Sans does his duty and escorts them to the Capital, promising them a way out… And in the split second before Alphys pulls them into their final Encounter, after they realize the friendly skeleton has betrayed them, they swing on him.

Sans dodges it, just as he promised Alphys he could, and as he promised Papyrus he would...

But it’s close, and it digs the thorn of doubt just a little bit deeper. Alphys kills the human and absorbs their soul, subduing it beneath her will to save what’s left of her people. She crosses through the Barrier to retrieve more souls, promising to return in a few weeks, a month at most. If she’s not back by then...

.........

In the meantime…Sans stews.

He’s in charge while Alphys is gone. Another human could fall. They could fall at any time and it would be on him to...well he wouldn’t want to kill them but he’d surely have to contain them somehow, so they didn’t wreak the same kind of destruction that the Fallen Human did… And now, with everyone’s doubts in his head, layered on top of his own...

What if he can’t?

What if he needs...help?

Sans used to be a scientist, back in the day. He knows where the Royal Labs kept their DT, extracted but never used--deemed too dangerous to experiment with, even on monsters who were already Fallen Down.

It’s unfortunate that Undyne of Underswap never ran the DT experiments, because if she had, Sans might’ve used an even lower dose of the raw Determination he injected himself with in his anxiety-driven attempt to become stronger.

And Sans does get stronger. His HP increases significantly above the single-digit it’s been his whole life... but it’s... not without its drawbacks.

He doesn’t go home for several long days until he can get it all under control, and by then, Papyrus is suspicious, all too aware that Sans seems different somehow, more...muted and serious, intentionally calm... He doesn’t understand it, and he definitely doesn’t like it, but figures it’s stress getting to him or something… They’re all stressed these days, food growing scarcer and scarcer as they wait for the Queen to come back or not.

Papyrus doesn’t really understand what’s happened until another human falls, before Alphys has returned.

Sans sees the human too, and he’s frozen with indecision of what to do. He’s stuck between his pacifist code and the need to at least act, for the good of all monsterkind...! And right there, right in front of Papyrus, Sans starts to melt.

Papyrus, naturally, freaks out, launching himself into his first panic attack in literal years--and why wouldn’t he? This is obviously his brother dying, the last person he had to hold onto in all of this and Sans is dying, in a horrible, awful, messy way that he didn’t even know monsters could die, and…

Papyrus isn’t proud of it, but he runs away.

Beaten down by weeks and weeks of hunger, of worrying about his brother, of grieving for Undyne, of thinking about all the undeserving and probably innocent humans that were being hunted down and killed up on the Surface just to get them out, his body and soul are at their limit.

Papyrus Falls Down. By the time Sans, not as dead as previously suspected, finds his brother, Papyrus is already unconscious, his condition looking bad—already starting to disintegrate to dust—and there’s only one option that remains.

As much as Sans fears being wrong again; condemning his brother to his own semi-solid existence…

It’s Papyrus.

And he’d rather Papyrus be alive than not, so he gives Papyrus a dose of DT, too.

This time, it works.

Papyrus stops dusting and only remains comatose for another day before coming to and having a horrendously upsetting heart-to-heart with Sans, just a little too late to do either of them any good.

The hapless human who triggered the whole scene wanders straight through the Underground, all the way to the Barrier without ever encountering another monster—the survivors of the last human they remember too weak and afraid to even think of confronting the new one.

They arrive just in time to see Alphys’ only mildly overdue return through the now shattered Barrier…and quite naturally, panic and flee up to the Surface, never to be seen again.

Monsters are free.

Alphys turns herself in for the humans she killed as a gesture of goodwill and ensures that the rest of monsterkind can live peacefully amongst humans once and for all.

And everyone else just has to learn how to keep going with the scars of the experience.

Horrorswap Sans (Merc)

The DT injection destabilized his form, tied directly to his emotional state: relatively pleasant or middling emotions can make him drip a bit, while strong or negative ones can reduce him to a puddle making disturbing attempts to form limbs. He can still maintain structural stability, but only by staying in tight control of his emotions as much as possible

He’s researching ways to properly blend the DT into his magic to stop having to worry about melting at inconvenient moments, or at least to give himself control over when and how he liquidizes. It’s…a slow-going process…

Absolutely blames himself for his brother’s near-death experience and partial dusting (and the consequences therein), and for what he did to himself. If he’d just waited a few more days, if he hadn’t gotten so caught up in fears about the future and self-doubt, then… Well. It was senseless and there’s no changing it now, that’s what kills him the most

There’s a rift between him and his brother now and it’s jarring from how close they used to be. He doesn’t like it that he can’t get Papyrus to talk to him anymore, or spend time with him just…hanging out… but he figures it’s probably no less than what he deserves, for his own stupid hubris…

He gets into yoga at some point so he can still train his body in a lower stress way, and runs a small home cake-decorating business out of his kitchen, and between that and a deep, abiding love of all the science-fiction media there is on the Surface to engage with, he’s actually mostly hopeful about the future

Horrorswap Papyrus (Ell)

Not unscarred by his brush with Falling, low-energy and missing his legs above the knee, both turned to dust before he could properly stabilize. Wheelchair-bound and not too happy about it, but nowhere near ready to even have a discussion about prosthetics just yet

Definitely struggling with the loss, and the rest of the trauma of everything else that happened Underground, and doing himself a pretty huge disservice by figuring he should just ‘get over it.’ Grappling with a lot of bitterness and frustration over it all and trying to either blow it off or ignore it

Absolutely blames himself for his brother’s instability and the loss of his own legs—if he hadn’t psyched Sans out, if he hadn’t immediately freaked out and jumped to conclusions like an idiot when he saw… Well. It was senseless and there’s no changing it now, that’s what kills him the most

He hates the rift between him and his brother now too, they used to talk openly about whatever, they could just be brothers... but then The Human and the secrets and the lies… He wants to fix it all somehow but it’s so raw and he just doesn’t know what to say—he can’t read his brothers face like he used to anymore, and half the time it feels like he’s living with a stone-faced stranger…

He’s teaching himself some programming languages in his spare time around the house, thinking he might try to freelance someday. Still into writing and fiction, but his tastes have taken a turn for the darker fare, and horror/ghost stories are becoming a great outlet for him—he spends a lot of time with creepypastas from reddit playing in the background while he tries to figure out why his stupid code won’t work

[akaluan]

The thought of kisuke building wings for himself is stuck in my brain for reasons beyond me or my control. Please take it from me

Kisuke frowns at the mess of mechanical and magical parts scattered across his workbench, trying to make the bits and bobs resolve into something logical; when he’d started this project, he hadn’t expected it to be so… so convoluted, but maybe he should have.

There’s a reason humans rely purely on magic in order to fly, instead of crafting themselves actual wings, after all.

But he’s set himself upon this path and he’s not going to give up just because it’s hard. He’s pretty sure that he can figure it out given enough time — hopefully without resorting to using reiatsu in the process — and then he’ll have actual wings to play with!

And if he can do this then… then…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe he’ll sell bespoke wings to people who want them? The extra funds would be nice, but the idea of having to deal with commissions is a strange thought. Truthfully, the idea that anyone would want anything that he makes is an even stranger thought, but he’s spent more than enough time on the internet to know that there are people out there who will pay absurd amounts for actual working wings. He just has to offer proof of concept in the right places, to the right people, and things will fall into place.

Kisuke sighs and reaches up to tug at a lock of hair, trying to refocus on the present instead of a potential-future. Nothing matters until he can finish up this set for himself, of course, which means he has to actually finish it. Not stare blankly at the pile of parts and hope vaguely that it takes form by itself.

He hums. Leans in.

Gets to work.

\\\

He doesn’t work on just his wing project, of course, so a day turns into a week turns into a month turns into months with no end in sight, but he’s making progress. Slow progress, but progress none-the-less.

It’s actually a pretty rewarding project, if he’s being honest. It’s fun, fun in a way that things haven’t been in decades. Fun in a way that he never thought anything could ever be again.

It’s challenging and intriguing and logical, but it also requires that he dive into research fields that he’s never touched before in his life. There are so many Living World sciences to learn that he’s never quite known where to start, but this project… this project is giving him the opportunity — and the reasons — that he’s never had before.

He researches how birds fly, researches how air moves, researches metallurgy and magical manifestation and robotics and so many other bits and bobs that sometimes it feels like he’s drowning in information. Sometimes he has to set the project aside in order to build something else, just because a thought won’t leave him alone once his brain has put the pieces together.

He never really shows anyone those side-projects — doesn’t think anyone will be interested in them, to be honest — but they’re fun and they do have a use.

The more Kisuke puts together, the more he learns and the better he gets. His first efforts are… crude, to put it mildly, more mess than use, but even his failures are fascinating; Seireitei doesn’t have magic per-se, not to the same extent that the Living World does, so he’s never put any effort into researching it before now. Seeing all the ways it can fail is like discovering kido-crafting all over again, and sometimes he can’t help but shove magic types together just to see what happens.

(Explosions, usually.)

(But sometimes something else, something new, something fascinating occurs instead.)

(He lives for those moments of discovery.)

By now, he’s, ah… renowned in certain circles. He has five mages willing to supply him with both standard elemental crystals — a dime a dozen online, but he’s starting to trust these mages and their abilities — and with rarer, more expensive set-spells. They’re even interested in the results of his experiments, sometimes to the point of offering him extra crystals or new set-spells to experiment with.

(Apparently, not many people are willing to risk explosive experiments.)

(That’s fine.)

(More fun for him!)

It’s not his original project, but Kisuke doesn’t believe any research to be wasted research, so it’s fine.

He’ll find his answer eventually.

\\\

Somewhere along the way, he ends up… accidentally stumbling across his answer while shoving different combinations of set-spells together to see what happens.

It’s a complex, delicate piece of work when spun together into a single spell; its carefully balanced elements make its structure as beautiful as lace and stronger than steel when crafted just right, and it takes weeks for his mages to figure out how to cast it correctly. There’s plenty of explosions in the process, based on the mishmash of notes he finds in the shared research document, and it makes him abruptly cognizant of exactly how lucky he is.

(He would never have been able to reach this moment without his favorite mages supporting him and working together.)

(As talented as Kisuke is, he’s no mage and never can be.)

(Magic is for the living and for the spirits of those who were mages when alive.)

(Kisuke is neither.)

Of course, the just right bit is important, because the slightest disturbance during the initial casting can turn the set-spell into an explosion waiting to happen, as Kisuke learns while experimenting with the first one he’s sent.

It’s fine, though, it’s fine. The mages are worried-apologetic-dismayed when Kisuke reports it, but Kisuke doesn’t care.

They’re working through email and shared notes and the occasional live chat, not side-by-side. Kisuke doesn’t expect perfection in these cases — wouldn’t expect it even if they were working side-by-side, considering how experimental this whole thing is! — so a little unexpected explosion every so often is fine.

(Not that any of the mages seems to agree, considering how much the others chide him about being careful with brand new spells.)

(The concern is… strange, but also… nice?)

(Weird.)

Still, the next several set-spells Kisuke experiments with work out better, and he quickly learns how to tell which ones are viable and which ones aren’t. There’s a sort of… hum… that set-spells have, he’s realized, not so much audible as something felt while holding the crystal, and if he focuses closely enough he can sense which ones are unstable and which aren’t. It’s a useful skill, though apparently a rare one? At least according to his favorite mages, it is— something about it meaning he’s extra sensitive to magical energies, even though he isn’t a mage himself.

(Apparently, if he’d been a mage, he’d have instinctively blocked the sense out when he was young in order to not be constantly overwhelmed by it.)

(He wonders how many mages can’t do that, and are therefore constantly on the edge of over-stimulation because of it.)

(He wonders if he can find a way to help.)

(Hmm… a project for later.)

Regardless, now that Kisuke’s pretty sure he has the set-spell necessary to support flight, things go faster. He builds and tinkers and tears apart and rebuilds, slinging the exo-skeleton on and off with growing ease, the magical connection becoming smoother and cleaner with every iteration. Kisuke doesn’t want there to be a menu or buttons or anything of the sort to control the wings, not when magical prosthetics are already capable of interfacing with the brain and translating intent into action.

He just… needs to adapt it to work with limbs the body’s never had.

Somehow.

Somehow.

Except the brain is an incredible thing on its own, and it ends up being less about teaching the interface to work with extra limbs as teaching his brain to consider the wings part of his body. Which is a bunch of trial and error — lots and lots of error — but eventually the stuttering, twitching mess slung across his back starts to smooth out, starts to flex and shift and spread, and the interface—

The interface does what it was built to do.

Kisuke can feel it as his new wings spread. Can feel it when he accidentally bumps a wing against his workbench. Can feel it when he runs a hand over bare metal struts and magical feathers. Can feel so, so much—

It’s a bit too much, if he’s being honest, especially when he takes the wings off and suddenly loses all that extra input. It doesn’t hurt, at least, but it’s weird and leaves him feeling unbalanced for a while afterward.

(A side-effect he’d never considered, but one his mages are quick to point out is expected if he’s going to use that method of connecting the wings to his mind.)

(Ah well, he’ll adapt.)

(It’s what he does, after all.)

From there, it’s just a matter of refining the wings, both in looks and in function, and then… and then—

And then he can finally fly.

\\\

His first flight is less ‘flight’ and more ‘uncontrolled tumble’, but Kisuke isn’t bothered by that.

(He maybe trying to run (fly) before he can walk.)

(Just maybe.)

He gets up, brushes himself off, and tries again.

And again.

And again.

Until he finally figures out how to coordinate his wings to gain lift, and then it’s almost like everything just clicks into place; not that it becomes easy as such, because it doesn’t, but things start to make sense at last.

(His dreams become weird, tangled messes of extra limbs and feathers and darting flight.)

(Even his normal dreams start to be invaded by wings.)

(It’s weird, but apparently normal?)

(How do brains even work?)

It’s fun though, especially as soon as he stops face-planting as often! Soon he manages to take off, fly for a bit, and then land without falling, and if that’s not an accomplishment he has no idea what is.

(Landings are hard okay?!)

It gets even better when Kisuke has Tessai record one of his short flights and then send it to him, so that he can share it with his favorite mages. Almost instantly he has five very, very interested mages who want their own wings to play with and, well, who is he to deny them when they’ve helped him so much?

They give him suggestions on what to try, too, and while some of them work out terribly, other suggestions actually help. They’re basically writing the whole manual from scratch here, which seems to excite everyone, and Kisuke… Kisuke sometimes can’t help but stare wistfully at his screen, wondering what it would be like to work alongside these five in person.

(He bets it would be incredible, bets it would be like nothing he’s ever done before—)

(But this is still more than he’s ever had before, so he’s going to treasure every moment he gets.)

(He’s learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth these days.)

(Besides, now he has wings!)

(And that’s enough for him.)

[crystal-moon-101]

Right! So I’ve decided to do some redesigns again, planning on doing the main villains of Generator Rex, Ben 10 and The Secret Saturdays. Vilgax and Argost will be coming up soon, but I thought I’d start with Van Kleiss, as this fellow has been an interest of mine for sometime, in terms of the potential of his character. Unlike the other two, I’ve always just...felt like Van Kleiss didn’t need to be dog kicking evil to be a villain for Rex, that being evil for the sake of evil wasn’t something they needed to do to make him and Rex opposed to each other. I’m not saying to make Van Kleiss soft hearted and kind to every person he meets, but add more of a complicated story to him, show more to this man than just a jerk who likes being a jerk. After all, this is a show about things not being so black and white. So I shall share my rewrite background for him! I should also note that I mentioned in the Hong Kong Gang redesign that Circe is his daughter, so that will tie into this. Warning for mentions of deaths by illnesses and murder!

“Van Kleiss is a man you could say has not had the easiest of life, especially when it comes to social things. Raised by strict parents with high expectations, he felt like he was never good enough for them, eventually kicked out of their home for not living up to their ideals. He wasn’t exactly good with making things either, coming off as odd, a strong loner who was easy to mess with. Most of this resulted in him being anti-social for quite sometime, afraid to reach a out hand to people incase they bite back. Then, while trying to live his young adult life the best he could with what he had, he was caught up in a terrible accident, one that resulted in him losing his left arm. He was stuck in recovery for a long time, with no visitors of course. He was quite use to being alone at this point, a cast out in people’s eyes, so you could imagine his surprise when meeting his physiotherapy, a bright, young woman around his age by the name Cassandra, who was in no way put off by Van Kleiss’s demeanor. He will admit, he was taken aback by how pleasant she was, so chipper and ready to strike up a conversation with him, kind and gentle towards him as she helped him learn to live with a prosthetic, and yet would also respect his boundaries, treating him....human, for a lack of a better word. At first, Van Kleiss was keen to just stay quiet and ignore her, mostly uttering how short sentences to try and make things process quicker. But there was just something about her that made him feel alright, calm, as if those walls he built up to protect himself weren’t needed when she was around. It was like some strange magic Cassandra had, slowly able to get him to open up more, share stories, ideas, goals, dreams, thoughts, never once judging Van Kleiss for the person he is, while others had been so quick to. Quite the people pleasing person she was, the opposite to Van Kleiss, but he wasn’t complaining, especially when the fool started realizing his he beginning to fall head over heels for this woman. He was a bumbling mess when asking her out the first time, and yet it somehow worked. Life seemed to be going up hill since then, the two hitting it off so fast, becoming a couple, then finances, and suddenly marriage was right around the corner. And just when Van Kleiss felt like he didn’t need anyone else other than her, another surprise came in the presence of their daughter, Circe. A family life wasn’t something he had thought about, nor did he think he would ever get the chance, but here he was and he was happy to be there, he had even gone back to school to study. But...he bad luck in life would soon return. Circe had only just turned five when it began to happen, and no one had seen it coming. Cassandra was starting to seem off, tired, dizzy and feeling faint often, at first assuming it was the flu or something...but she didn’t get better, instead getting worse. She started collapsing, struggling to breath, eventually coughing up blood. She had gotten sick, a disease infecting her that had no known cure. The best they could do was pray that she could recover, could beat it, after all she was a tough woman, with a lot of hope and love from her family. Sadly, love isn’t always going to be enough, and Cassandra passed away after saying her final goodbyes to her daughter and husband... Struck with grief, Van Kleiss went quiet, a haze with his manners. He wanted to scream, cry, yell at the world for taking away his love, the one who showed him why he should keep going in life. But he didn’t allow himself, for he had to keep himself steady for the sake of his daughter. Circe needed him, and he was afraid to see what would happen if he gave into those painful feelings of grief inside him. So he locked it away, and pushed forward in life, eventually graduating school and began looking for a job. He applied and worked for a few places, but none of them really stick, especially since he still struggled to get along with people. Many were still uncomfortable around him, or quick to crack a nasty joke at his expense. He did his best to ignore it, again locking it all away, pushing forward for him and his daughter. And then, one day, he caught word of a project in the making. The nanite project, rumors of microscope machines being built to do many tasks, like solve world hunger, regrow limbs and even cure disease. The thought of something able to help others survive something his wife could not...it caught Van Kleiss’s interest, something he could do to honor his late wife. And so, after some applications and interviews, Van Kleiss eventually found himself landing a role in this project, which also meant him and Circe would move to the labs location. It was hard to pull Circe away from the life she already knew, but he felt it was for the better. But there were to noticeable issues right away. Again, the way people saw and treated him, and his general demeanor sparked some problems with other scientists. Most kept it professional, but many cast doubtful or harsh clears his way, or mutter whispers about him. He was use to most of this, though...he did end up caught in quite the nasty rivalry with a certain man. Caesar Salazar. Neither of them knew exactly why, but right from the bat the two did not like each other. Maybe it was because they were similar in many ways, maybe it’s because they both were bad a socializing, maybe each other’s backgrounds caused some sparks. They just could not stand each other, quick to criticize the other and speak badly. It did help that Van Kleiss felt like he had no one backing him up, as many were already familiar with the Salazars and were even friends with them, while Van Kleiss was alone in the ordeal. Strangely though, the opposite could be said with the younger brother, Rex Salazar. It didn’t take long for Circe and Rex to meet and become friends, given they were the only two kids there, which often resulted in Van Kleiss watching and babysitting the two in his lab space, sometimes even getting dragged into their games. He was happy that his daughter wouldn’t be lonely out here, but Rex being her friend wasn’t why he thought the kid was good, it was rather his friendship with Van Kleiss himself. Rex was a lovely kid, very kind and understanding for his age. While he cracked jokes and often got into trouble, he treated Van Kleiss like a human being, and often liked talking to the man and asking him many questions. Van Kleiss was a little stand-offish at first, but the kid managed to soften his heart a little. Things seemed to be going as good as they could for a while, but then things started happening. It first started with Rex’s accident. Van Kleiss had been watching Circe and Rex, but when he got caught in something, the two snuck off to play hide and seek. Next thing anyone knew, Rex got caught in a lab accident in the main nanite room. It took a while to get him out of there, as there had been a lock down to prevent any loss nanites to escape, but he was quick to be rushed to the medical section of the labs. He was found to be close to death, with no normal means to save him, but Rex also had a few nanites in him from the accident. However, instead of taking them out, the nanite project group, including Van Kleiss, decided in the end to try and use the nanites to save him, with the help of the Omega to the side. After a long struggle, it eventually began to work. Things became complicated for Rex, now being used in testing, developing strange technological powers he was struggling to control, now feeling off...different. Van Kleiss and Circe were there to support him, but because Van Kleiss had been the one who was suppose to watch him before the accident, there was tension between the Salazar and Kleiss families. Eventually, while there were new changes, lab life started to go back to focusing on the project, even a new member called Ebony Hale (Black Knight) joining as an assistant. Things started going back to normal, or as normal as they could be, until that fateful day. Word got out in the chief scientist that their sponsors, The Consortium, had no only put a unknown spy among them, but were planning to use the nanites to take over the world. A large debate broke out on what to do, some arguing to destroy the nanites and all the data on them, some saying to keep the project going but find a way to keep the Consortium out of it, and some even saying they just wanted to do the project and didn’t care if the Consortium taking control. Van Kleiss was part of the side saying to keep the work, but kick out the Consortium. But eventually it was decided to destroy the project. But the spy must have caught wind of this, as while they began to remove their work, the Consortium sent in a heavily armed team to take out everyone on the project. During the chaos many things happened. Not having time to get rid of everything, members of the project decide to give Rex the Omega to hold onto, as he has enough experience with nanites to handle it for a few hours. Van Kleiss did try to say otherwise, not thinking it was fear on Rex, especially when his parents and Caesar agreed to this. In the end they did end up giving Rex the Omega, with the plan that he would meet Caesar at the docking bay. Van Kleiss had originally wanted to go with him and take Circe, but next thing they knew armed soldiers came in and everyone spilt. Rex managed to wander by as not only did the soldiers have no interest with the kid, but Ebony, who turned out to be the spy, ended up letting him past without knowing what he was hiding. Van Kleiss and Circe ended up running into Rex’s parents, who were busy trying to wipe the computers. The three parents got into quite the arguments, with Van Kleiss eventually leaving the room with his daughter, only to be confronted by some soldiers. They noted that the room that Van Kleiss just left was locked, so they made him an...offer. Either he unlocks the door and let them in, or they kill him and Circe where they stand. Despite how harsh the Salazars were on Van Kleiss, even he didn’t want to make this choice...but after everything, and looking down at his own daughter...he made the choice to let them in, holding his daughter as they heard gun fire. With everything coming to a head, it suddenly happened. With scientist messing with computers and machines, soldiers raining bullets everything, and Rex off somewhere glitching out with the Omega, it just became too much and the nanite event happened. A massive explosion that sent out a wave of unfinished nanites across the world, and for Van Kleiss, everything went white briefly... Then, he opened his eyes...finding himself feeling different. To his shock, he found himself to be mutated, his prosthetic arm gone, now replaced with an arm of wood and vines, a deep connection to the earth around him. Thankfully, his daughter was still by his side, but she two had changed, with the agility to emit a powerful scream. As days turned to weeks and then to months, Van Kleiss found himself turning his old home into something new...into a place that him and the out cast could belong into...But after everything that happened, the things he lost and was hurt by, he began to put up those walls again. He could no longer risk getting attached, not if he were to complete his goals....” And there we go! My tale about Van Kleiss in my rewrite. It does go into other things that I will eventually write down that happened in this rewrite, but it’s a good place to start as any. I wanted to give him a tragic back story, something that shows why he behaves the way he does today, and how it ties into his goals. I like the idea that he does believe in the dream of turning everyone EVO and ruling them, but so that he can start a new age and era where people don’t have to be out casts anymore. After all, if everyone is different a monster, then no one can be judged, at least in his mindset. So Abysus is a safe haven for EVOs that need a home, and he does want the best for his subject. The only problem is that one, Van Kleiss doesn’t want to get deeply attached to anyone, as many past friendships eventually failed on him, so it’s bound to happen again, and two, he can get a little power made because well, he’s spent so long being the underdog and kick to the ground, so it feels great to be able to be the one standing tall. It also helps make him feel like Rex’s opposite, not only with the nature vs technology design for the two, but the idea that one is someone who wants to get attached to people, while the other is someone who doesn’t want to get attached anymore. A tragic hero and a tragic villain, who have history tied together. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my version of Van Kleiss, and for hearing me ramble! 💙

[thenamesblurrito]

ladies and gentlemen this is ask dump no. 5

aw scrap here we go again!

answered asks include body modification as the opposite of empurata, Mutacons making bandages out of kibble, kibble used as furniture, numbers of Sweeps, a DILF alligator, RID15 Tidal Wave, a BIG infodump on dealing with the circus that is Iacon’s media, Cybertronian muppets, a WIP of Elita Infin1te (or rather her sword), and the many secret sufferings of Alpha Trion.

yea, sorta! body modification in SNAP is more limited than in canon. you can’t simply switch out your body like the total frame reformats of IDW or TFP, and losing a limb can be permanent if not healed in time. for the most part, the frame you have is the frame you’re stuck with, and those frames fall within specific parameters.

HOWEVER-

some modification and upgrades do exist! the most prominent here would be a prosthetic helm like Lugnut. if the processor is left intact and attached after a helm injury, a new helm can be sculpted, with extra optics to make up for the lower quality of artificial optics, and as visibly different as possible to differentiate from empurata. other replacements and prosthetics are common after debilitating injury where the original body part cannot be saved. whether or not the prosthetic is as good as the original depends on the individual and the specific injury. there are also functional medical upgrades, like thicker armor attachments, alt mode additions, etc. almost every upgrade is for the express purpose of improving one’s frame for their function, and there’s definitely a limit to them. you can’t give yourself new limbs if you only had four to begin with. a grounder cannot become a flier. the spark can only power so much mass in the frame, and some people have adverse reactions that mean the upgrades don’t take and must be removed.

this sort of relates to the next point here-

yes, with some caveats.

Cybertronians are a segmentary species, so they can detach some body parts for a bit without negative consequences, as long as that body part is reattached for revitalization and repair. many folks can do this without any medical assistance for the less integral kibble. for instance, Kup uses his tow arm as a walking stick, but he has to reattach it whenever he wants to go into alt mode, and if he doesn’t transform he still needs to reattach it for a couple hours every day at minimum. so if a Mutacon were to create a makeshift splint out of kibble and detach it, it would likely be fine, as long as they got that kibble back. otherwise, they’ve lost a whole chunk of their body that they can’t just regenerate.

for shifting armor to cover a wound without detaching it, that depends on the nature of the wound. if it’s ragged, large, or in areas with a lot of joints or movement, it might be difficult to shuffle around plating to cover it. a more superficial injury in a less delicate area would be easier

sort of! it’ll depend on the individual’s kibble, of course! double checking SNAP Bulkhead, i don’t think he could, because his kibble isn’t large enough. but Scylla could probably use her alt mode arms as a chair, Wreck-Gar has a built in backpack and belly bag, and of course the Necrobot uses his wingcloak as hands. different kibble with different bonus uses

the ideal number of Sweeps is seven, since less than that means they don’t have enough collective processing power to function optimally. more than seven, however, puts a strain on that collective processing power to smoothly operate so many at once. so there’s usually packs of as close to seven as they can get.

as to how many can just exist at the same time, it’s limited only by how many Scourge is willing to forge. he first invents them in s1e06 A Use for Army-building! An Upgrade to Sweeps. by the next episode they figure out that having dozens of them running around is... well it’s about as chaotic as having dozens of flying puppies with hands and weapons would be. in large numbers they’re very difficult to control. good thing Galvatron is excellent at commanding his new army!

(the post this is referring to) @oldboyjensenhinglemeier​ thanks Dilf Waitress, i can always rely on you

(the post this is referring to) i think that’s fantastic, i’d love to see a Cybertronian whale. imagine the size of the holding cell you’d have to have for him!

oooohohoho what a sticky subject. here’s a quick rundown on faction ideology to give you some context for how they operate and thus deal with the media. the heroes aren’t referred to as heroes, but rather as vigilantes at best and violent gangs in a turf war at worst. Froid has remotely diagnosed them with pathological dissent. at the same time, some folks have jumped on the market to make hero merch, and it becomes a very lucrative business for some. public opinion is constantly torn between fear and anger at how they do whatever they’d like and gratitude and admiration for how they throw themselves in harms way to prevent disaster and save people. it’s really a giant mess all the time that changes by the day.

there is of course the whole snafu surrounding the media’s portrayal of the Elite Guard as a backup team for the Autobots, and Elita 1 as Optimus’ sidekick. and Elita 1 is Not Happy about that. Elita 2 is startlingly good at winding the reporters around her little finger and always seems to know just what to say, whereas Elita 3 just grumbles at the cameras, even sometimes demanding they respect boundaries or be locked in the nearest building with the use of her powers. Elita 4 barely notices them unless she’s in the mood to prank someone, and Elita 5 just avoids them, as they tend to dramatize her size and thus her danger. given their excellent teamwork and how they’re (mostly) in favor of reform instead of anarchy, the Elite Guard would actually have a good shot at getting along with the news, except they bow to precisely no one, including the people wanting to interview them, so instead they come across as a standoffish and self-serving clique with dangerous habits

the Decepticons are in the bad-boy limelight and they love it. well, at least Galvatron, Hellscream, and Thunderblast do. Galvatron takes advantage of every opportunity to pontificate on the evils of society and the right to rise up for freedom. broadcasters have learned to cut the cameras as soon as he starts speaking so his ideas don’t get the chance to spread too far. Hellscream cares less about principles and more about scaring the living daylights out of every reporter he sees, often leaving them with cracked equipment and ringing audials from the sheer destructive power of his voice. Thunderblast just wants to preen in all the attention and boy does she get it. Cyclonus actively avoids most gawkers, Scourge talks too long and complicated to make good news, Drift either ignores them or sends them away with some lofty spiritual advice, and Triptych is dangerously unpredictable so most reporters have learned to stay away from him.

the Predacons came into existence in a negative light, and they were grimly prepared for it. after all, Sixshot used to be a Decepticon, and their falling-out and defection caused quite a stir. when Abominus first appeared, the fearful reaction of the public to such an ‘abomination’ is actually how he chose his name in the first place. Airachnid loves tormenting reporters with nuclear-grade sarcasm and subtle threats, but if anyone makes her truly mad she’ll string them up in her web cabling and leave them hanging. she also flaunts that cabling by using her darts to knit nets, shawls, and other decorations, despite the fact that getting cabling tangled up in seams and joints can lead to something called entrapment protocols, mentioned in the seventh ask here. Enforcers use capture equipment designed to trigger entrapment protocols, so her mimicry of that as nothing more than a casual accessory is a big ‘frag you’.

Soundwave.... is a category of his own. he only comes into being in the fourth season, but the media soon learns to quake at the thought of encountering Soundwave, and his minicons are little better. there’s at least one instance where he Rosanna-rolls the entirety of Iacon.

the Autobots keep wavering between ‘the only true good ones of all these vigilantes’ and ‘the worst possible people in the world, hide the children, lock the doors’ in the eyes of the media. Optimus does his best to treat everyone fairly, and the Mistress usually has something encouraging to share. much like Galvatron but for completely opposite reasons, broadcasters have learned to cut cameras when Ultra Magnus starts talking, because his encyclopedic knowledge of law means he regularly lists every instance of malpractice, abuse, illegality, and disrespect that he sees in the average reporter, Enforcer, or politician, which is not the kind of upbraiding that would serve the propaganda machine. however, it does get him the attention of Tyrest, who leverages legality and public opinion to try and draw Ultra Magnus into an agreement during s3e03- A Councilmember’s Boon! An Upgrade to Legality. Rodimus is a chaos beast who has been known to snatch cameras for selfies. it’s kind of a tossup as to whether Cheetor will be going slow enough to show up in the footage or not.

now, i can’t talk about the media without mentioning the feral force of nature that is Rewind. the best of the best, he’s the only one willing to brave the battlefields for an up-close look, constantly endangering himself in order to get the freshest scoop. he might not always hold opinions in line with the mandated propaganda about these vigilantes, but the media lets him get away with it, since he’s the most successful at getting them more news. this has caused him to be targeted at least once, unfortunately.

love this question. love it. you know those lil remote controlled robot dogs, or things to that effect? i’m imagining that’s what Cybertronian muppets are like, since they can create robotics and animatronics with a lot more finesse and ease than we can. in fact, making fabric is probably harder for them than robotics, since they don’t have the same materials as we do to work with. but anyway, these muppets wouldn’t be limited by what a hand can do to puppet them around, being instead remote controlled from off stage, so i don’t know if they’d have that kind of visual gag. maybe instead there would be fourth-wall breaking where one muppet snatches the remote of another?

the painful thing about this answer is that i have a design i’m happy with EXCEPT FOR THE HELM i have sketched and resketched a dozen different ideas ugh. the body looks fine, all five of them combined in a way that makes sense to me, but i just CANNOT get the helm right i’m so angry. anyway here’s the Cyber Caliber, all of their swords combined into one massive weapon

the more accurate question is, what hasn’t happened to him. he’s been through a lot, the poor mech. but i’ll list some things for you:

that one time he had a sibling be erased from reality

that one time he had to murder another sibling because they decided evil was fun

that one time a fragging beachball stole his work

the fact he doesn’t know if his twin is alive or not

that one time he was a junker running for his life

that one time he was too late to save the Terminus Blade, and it was stolen

that one time his pride and joy, the Athenaum Sanctorum, was destroyed, and everything archived there was lost

that other time the same fragging beachball stole his work

that other time he was a junker hiding for his life

the fact that the theft of his diary started a whole new branch of religion and he has to read his own words as if they’re sacred

the fact that the title of Trion was in fact derived from his diary, and the sheer painful irony of being given the title of Trion.

that one time he had to rip off some fingers to fit in

that one time Trypticon showed up, awhile before the JAAT was founded, and he had to take it on alone

that other time Trypticon showed up when the JAAT opened and he had to hand out some precious relics to children to protect the school

aaaaand his current reason for drinking! the fact that of all twenty-something heroes running around, he only knows who THREE of them are because he only gave out THREE RELICS! and relics just keep disappearing from the collection he’s guarding

someone help him he is not having a good time. and it’s only going to get worse...