#back to reading the hydraulics book

[wolfchans]

BANG CHAN ♡ MIROH

[luveline]

If you ever start requests up again (if you don't thats fine lol), I'd wonder how Miguel would be with an autistic (or any neurodivergent disability) reader? Thanks regardless for the great reads you've given!

hi!! i don't have autism so please forgive any inauthenticity, but i have a frame of reference in someone close to me so I hope this is somewhat like you wanted! if you ever want to request with specific traits, please do! ty for requesting

"This is the worst thing that could've happened," Miguel says, furious. 

You, sitting on the table by his workbench, glance away from your book reluctantly. Your lips part, confusion a line between your brows as you ask, "Are you making a joke?" 

"It's hyperbole. I'm exaggerating." 

"I thought so, but it's hard to tell. You said it very convincingly." 

"Sorry," he says, glaring down at his broken doohickey. Useless plastic, useless screwdriver useless Miguel. 

"Exaggerating… you're upset," you say. 

Miguel is both surprised and not. He doesn't always expect you to be able to read him. Your autism complicates how you recognise emotion, but you're caring, and now you've been told an effect (exaggeration) you can identify the cause (Miguel's broken device). 

"I'm frustrated," he tells you, leaning back in his chair. "I really thought this one would work." 

"I think the wrong thing all of the time," you say, sympathy creeping into your tone. Some might think you're unemotional, and the reality might be true for others, even yourself when you're with unfamiliar people, but it's not true in this instance. "Maybe I can help." 

Miguel scoots back his chair and you stand between his thighs, eyes roving over the fragments of his device, taking everything in. You love engineering —your involvement with the Arachno Humanoid Poly Multiverse had been, in your own words, the best thing that ever happened to you, as it dropped you head first into new technology, better technology than you ever saw on your Earth. You spend longer than you should bending over books about science undiscovered on your planet, your life a pressing of hydraulics, centrifuges, holographic projection, and magbelt machinery that Miguel loves to play. 

"It's badly soldered," you say. 

He winces. No punches held. "I used to be better." 

"You're bad now." 

You asked him a while back to let you know if you ever stepped on his toes, so to speak. Usually Miguel would leap to agitated disagreement, but you asked, and he likes you. He explains.

"Ah, that hurts my feelings," he says, without heat. "I know objectively that you're right, but people appreciate fluffing when it comes to observational critique." Miguel scoots his chair back as you turn to face him. "It's okay. I'm not mad." 

"You're patient," you say, nodding. "Sorry. Fluffing… how would you say it?" 

"I'd say, your soldering is a little iffy." 

"It's a lot iffy." 

"That's the fluffing. A white lie. No one's feelings get hurt and the problem is still identified." 

You nod more. "I'm a little better at soldering. I can fix it for you." 

"Nice," he says. 

He stands up and squeezes your shoulder gently. Your face dips to his hand and holds it there, cheek pressed to his knuckles, a smile turning the corners of your mouth up. Miguel isn't expecting it, but he doesn't rush you. 

"Can we spend time together after we fix it?" you ask.

"If we fix it." 

"I can fix it," you say happily, straightening your head and freeing his hand. "I'm much better at soldering than you." 

Miguel's a prideful person by instinct. He walks to the side of the workshop where he keeps the soldering iron and associated paraphernalia, throwing a quip over his shoulder, "You think you're better."

"I know I'm better," you say, sitting in his chair. "Sorry. I know a little that I'm better." 

He should say, Hey, we'll work on it, but Miguel doesn't want to. He likes you just as you are, accidental insults and all. 

[dragimalsdaydreams]

[image ID: several cartoony diagrams and infographics of Melusines from the game Genshin Impact, but re-imagined as nudibranch-like creatures.

the first image is a diagram of a Melusine's basic anatomy. they're shaped like typical nudibranch sea slugs, with a mantle over top a muscular foot. the front half of the body is lifted up, with the rounded head facing forward. a couple of round, antennae-like rhinophores sprout from the head, with the text, "scent and water/air currents provide sense of spatial awareness." a mass of rounded, feathery gills sprout from the back end of the mantle, just above the foot. ocelli/eyespots sit on the head just in front of the rhinophores, with text reading, "wide range of color vision, poor depth perception." five sets of legs are situated underneath the body, with the foot partly hanging over the lower legs. these legs are much like caterpillar prolegs-- chunky and short, hydraulically powered, with cup-like suction grippers. the two front sets of legs are lifted up above the ground, with the lifted half of the body, and have slimmer grippers that look modified for grasping.

a doodle below shows the Melusine walking with all five sets of legs, with text reading, "'rippling' walking motion. they normally walk on just the lower 3 sets, but can use all 5 sets. usually reserved for running." another doodle shows the Melusine swimming flat in the water, with text reading, "legs pull up into body cavity when swimming. foot extends out farther and provides wavelike locomotion."

another doodle shows the Melusine slowly forming around a mechanical gear, with text reading, "Elynas goop clung to 'tokens' over time, leading to current forms."

the next image show a simple doodle of Melusine skin covered by a layer of Hydro particles, with oxygen molecules in the air gathering towards the Hydro. nearby text reads, "Hydro layers over the skin on land, protecting Melusines from desiccation and sun damage, and providing support to their soft bodies. Melusines can also pull oxygen and water from the air through the Hydro layer, breathing and retaining moisture as they would in water."

below that we see a human hand patting a Melusine on the head, with text reading, "the Hydro layer also provides some protection from physical damage. touching a Melusine, one would only feel the cool, smooth, somewhat rubbery surface of the moisture-wicking Hydro layer, rather than the truly moist, slimy skin of the Melusine. this layer can technically be broken, but it's difficult to break the molecular bonds outside of elemental damage."

below that is a doodle of a healthy Melusine on land in Fontaine, then that same Melusine on land anywhere else, laying on the ground dried up and dying. nearby text reads, "this semi-aquatic lifestyle is only possible in Fontaine's heavy Hydro concentration (arguably Watatsumi as well)."

the next image starts with text reading, "Melusines can change their color/patterns, and their language is based in complex color/pattern cues. each Melusine has developed unique color/pattern preference over time, so communication rules/cues vary widely between individuals. (though they've learned to telepathically communicate using common human languages, with Neuvillette's help)." a doodle below that shows two Melusine staring blankly at one another, with text reading, "having a heated argument (they've been completely silent and still for 10 minutes, but their patterns are rapidly shifting)."

a short comic sits below that, starting with text reading, "*early in Sigewinne's career*" Sigewinne-- a light blue Melusine with pink accents, wearing a white nurse's cap-- stands silent, staring into a box at her feet. Wriothesley the human stands nearby, thinking to himself, "Hm, Sigewinne hasn't moved in a while." grabbing Sigewinne's attention, Wriothesley says, "doin' alright there, Sigewinne?" Sigewinne flips through a yellow book with the title, "Human Expressions for Dummies" with a simplified Melusine mascot on the cover. then she turns back to Wriothesley to telepathically yell, "No, I'm not!!!" with angry eyebrows and a cartoonish pulsing vein on her head, created using color patterns on her face. Wriothesley simply replies, "Ah."

the next image shows many different Melusines, with text reading, "Wide variation in body, rhinophore, and gill shape." indeed, some Melusines are thin and tall, others are short and round, while others are stocky and squared-off. some have thin, upturned snouts, while others have short, stubby snouts, or blocky, drooping snouts. some of their rhinophores are thin and straight, or round and curved, or branch/antler-like, or have more pronounced nodes/ridges. some of their gills are bulbous and pointed, or thin and wavy, or feathery, or branch-like, and some Melusine even have extra gills higher up on their bodies. all of these Melusines have different colors and patterns, with text reading, "Melusines can be found in all colors across the spectrum (including colors humans can't see), but individuals usually prefer a few specific colors."

a doodle below shows off Sigewinne's present-day outfit. she's wearing a white nurse's cap tied to her head with a pink bow, on top of a grey wig with a bob cut and curling bangs. a white apron with blue hearts and pink ribbons is tied to her front, with a two-tier cut to allow her front legs to move freely. another white apron with pink and blue bows is tied across to her back, covering most of it. nearby text reads, "no concept of nudity, clothes are just fun accessories. wigs are both exotic accessories, and a way to show kinship with humans."

below that is text reading, "Melusines usually darken their tones outdoors, for extra sun protection." a nearby doodle shows a pale Melusine indoors, then that same Melusine outdoors, her colors visibly darker.

the final image is an edit of a meme, reading, "If a Melusine wore pants, would she wear them like this or like this?" above two drawings of the same Melusine. in the first, the Melusine is wearing jeans cut to fit around her three lower sets of legs and the bottom edge of the foot. in the second, she's wearing jeans cut to fit around the back end of her body and last set of legs, covering the back end of the foot and mantle, and cut around the gills.

end ID]

I swear I had no idea it was nudibranch day yesterday, this was just a happy coincidence LMAO

anyways, I hate how Melusines look in-game, so I decided to make them Actual Slugs b/c that's objectively cuter. obvious nudibranch base design, but I added in some planaria and caterpillar elements for the eyes and legs, respectively. it's a bit goofy, but I'm real happy with how it all turned out <3

also sorry if the Sigewinne comic isn't true to her early career, personality, or her relationship w/ Wrio. we haven't seen her much yet, and tbh I didn't rly care to look into her current lore all that deeply

[amphibimations]

okay so idk how much people have already told you but anime boy Heathcliff seems to be in that 3-year timeframe in Wuthering Heights where he disappears to become rich and he stole some hair coupons to make his hair look nice for when he sees Cathy again. Unfortunately the coupons belonged to a high-ranking member of one of the biggest gangs in the world so he got the shit beat out of him. He's fine now though. He also has parallels with anime girl Ishmael which is interesting because she had parallels with Captain Ahab who had a thing about obsession... also anime girl Don Quixote had the idea to go track down Santa and steal his clothes and Heathcliff went along with it (they did not succeed)

Yeah!! I’ve had a few people tell me about that 3 year theory i think thats very interesting!! It makes a lot of sense for them to use that time frame because literally the book just goes ‘idk what he was doing for those 3 years, it could be anything!!!’. Perfect opportunity to add their own anime heathcliff story in there. And after heathcliff gets back from being away for 3 years he just starts getting more and more evil so it would be harder to use him as a protagonist at that point.

Ive never read moby dick but just from the vague things i know about it, yeah the whole obsession thing sounds like a really cool parallel to make… :0

Its fun that even just by hearing broad details about anime heathcliff’s story i can see the connections they’re making to the book, like people helping him look nice for cathy. I wonder if they’re going to have an anime nelly dean when it gets to heathcliff’s chapter…

ALSO YEAH… SOMEONE ELSE ALSO TOLD ME ABOUT THE SANTA THING … APPARENTLY THEY WERE GOING TO GET HYDRAULIC PRESSED INTO CHRISTMAS PRESENTS?!?!??!??????? THATS THE FUNNIEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE…

[r0b0s-robos]

"Our Love, Everlasting"

A past conversation rears its head right before it's time for you to clock out. [A.K.A. A short conversation between you and Sun about mortality]

check tags/read on ao3 -> here

"You know," Sun began. "We don't really live much longer than humans. 

You looked up from your book to see the daycare attendant standing across the security desk. His index finger drew imaginary circles across the surface as his eyes darted from you to the desk. The daycare would be closing soon, so of course he picked now of all times to revitalize this old conversation. You pushed aside your book and leaned back in your chair. 

You indulged, "You don't say?" "I do say!" he exclaimed. 

He continued, now meeting your tired but interested gaze briefly. "A while ago you mentioned that it was a concern. A rightful one, of course! By all means, Moon and I could go on and on... but, it's quite unrealistic!" He crossed his arms and nodded as he faced away. 

You leaned into your hand, watching as he turned away from you. Eye contact during conversations like these was never achieved easily. He talked with his hands and walked around too much for any lasting connection. 

He raised a finger to insinuate a point being made. "Unlike humans, we need repairs, upgrades, maintenance. If those were to stop, we'd... Well, it must be a similar experience to aging, I assume." 

Your expression fell, eyebrows creasing. "Sun..."

"Wait! Wait!" he turned back and shushed you. Once you were quiet, he began pacing the length of the desk. "Moon and I have been thinking, and we've decided that's the best course of action," he nodded to himself. "That way we don't have to… be alone for very long." 

"What? Sun- " 

"Of course, we'll stay functional to care for you as you age. We wouldn't want us to go before you. It'd defeat the entire purpose!" He laughed, but it was dry and forced. "Though, in fifty to sixty years, they might not make our parts anymore... technological advances and all."

"Sun!" you shouted. His shoulders jolted at the shout, he still wasn't facing you. You shook your head in confusion. Where had this all come from? "Stop... Stop talking like that. What's all this about?" 

He finally turned, rays retracted as he nervously looked at the ground and tapped his fingers together. "I... Well... It's just..." Sun mimicked a gulping sound. "We don't... Neither of us wants to be without you, Sunshine." He finally looked you in the eyes, his gray optics shaking. "Don't make us. Please let us do this. We know it's a selfish request, but- but we can't think of any other solution. Please." 

Your shoulders fell as you finally noticed just how small the animatronic looked. You instinctively stepped out from behind the desk to offer what comfort you could. 

"Oh, Sun..." you whispered as you opened your arms. 

He didn't have the capability to cry, but he felt his voice box choking up as static began to pour from him. He couldn't find it in himself to move from his spot. It had taken all his energy to merely bring up the topic. He and Moon both suspected you'd disagree, but that hardly mattered. 

You closed the distance and enveloped him in as much of an embrace as your small, fragile human arms could manage. It was enough. It was more than enough for both of them. No words were said as he slowly dropped to his knees, hydraulic-powered arms circling your waist with ease as he clung to your form. His head bent down, pushing into whatever space he could find against your warm, delicate body.

You spoke, but he didn't process it. He looked up at you in reverence, as a devoted follower would to the divine. His fingers ached to bring you closer and closer and closer.

"Promise me you won't do something like that," you whispered. Hushed, he replied, "We promise... we promise."

He returned to your embrace, finding safety in your arms and the light brushes of your hands sliding across his back.

Moon wouldn't dare to be the one to have this conversation with you. He'd be too cowardly, knowing it would upset you. 

Sun wasn't so weak. 

Even as his fingers dug into your clothing and static echoed through the daycare, he swore he wasn't weak. 

Between the two, he'd make the hard decision. After all, their minds were already made up. And a broken promise would mean nothing to someone too dead to uphold them to it.

[usafphantom2]

On This Day In 1970 The Grumman F-14 Tomcat Made Its First Flight

December 21, 2019 Military Aviation

the first Full Scale Development (FSD) Grumman F-14A Tomcat (BuNo 157980) during its first flight in 1970. (Image credit: Grumman)

It’s the anniversary of Turkey’s first flight.

On Dec. 21, 1970, the first Full Scale Development (FSD) Grumman F-14A Tomcat (BuNo 157980) took off for its maiden flight from Grumman’s flight test centre at Calverton, on Long Island.

The poor weather conditions forced the two test pilots flying the first “Turkey” (as the aircraft would be later nicknamed), Grumman chief test pilot Robert K. Smyth and project test pilot William Miller, to cut the maiden flight, carried out a month ahead of the contracted data, short. However, in spite of the short duration of the flight (consisting in a few visual patterns with wing swept forward), the F-14 had taken to the air for the first time: the first of many flights in the U.S. until the last one conducted in 2006.

An F-14 with bomb markings earned during Operation Desert Fox in 1999, aboard USS Enterprise. The aircraft’s role evolved during the years and the F-14 also carried out the bomber mission in a variant also referred to as “Bombcat”. (Image credit: Author).

The F-14 BuNo 157980 took off for the second test flight on Dec. 30 with the two test pilots swapping their seats: Miller sat in the front cockpit and Smyth in the back. The second flight is quite famous in the story of the Tomcat, as the aircraft crashed due to hydraulic failure: a mishap that was caught on camera by a chase plane.

Ezoic

Here’s how we described that second sortie in a previous article we published here at The Aviationist:

It was during this flight that a chase plane noted that the Tomcat was leaving a trail of smoke: shortly thereafter the F-14 experienced a primary hydraulic system failure forcing Miller to head immediately back to base.

While they were preparing to land, the secondary hydraulic system also failed, due to the use of the emergency nitrogen bottle to lower the landing gear: once it failed, the crew tried to rely on the Combat Survival System which had to supply the power to the rudders and tailerons only.

However this last limited control system showed signs of failing as well, the pilot lost control all over the aircraft and the crew was forced to eject.

The breakdown was caused by a fatigue failure of both titanium main hydraulic lines due to a coincidence of pump resonance and a loose connector: ironically, the F-14’s hydraulic system was fixed by changing from titanium to stainless steel hydraulic lines only.

As you can see from footage (around 03:20 min), the crew ejected only few meters above the trees but, luckily, they suffered only minor injuries.

Sadly, Miller died on 30 June 1972 when its Tomcat crashed into Chesapeake Bay during preparation for an air display with the tenth FSD F-14 (BuNo 157989), while Smyth passed away this year.

Both Smyth and Miller contributed in bringing the last in a long tradition of Grumman Cats to life.

The F-14 is still flying in Iran.

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@theaviationist via X

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Types of People in a JW Congregation

The professionally-trained(?) opera singer; always extroverted, with a booming laugh, and is either a super nice person, or the most passive-aggressively hateful son of a bitch you’ve met in your life. If they’re a guy, he’s an elder; if they’re a lady, she’s an elder’s wife

”Promising” young brother (fourteen-year-old mic handler) who has such a suave voice, it sounds like he’s recording an audiobook any time he opens his mouth; probably can’t carry a conversation to save his life

Group of plump old ladies who always sit in the back and wear fancy suits with matching hats; they have arms like a hydraulic press and will crush you when they hug you

That one brother you swear is a closeted gay man because he wears loud suits, bow ties, and has all the stereotypical mannerisms; but then he gets up on the platform and says the most homophobic shit ever; usually really nice, not necessarily because he actually is, but you feel that way because you feel sorry for him

Five-year-old who gives disturbingly articulate comments and is probably hyperlexic (reads their parents’ words off a card and gets all the credit for it); householders think she’s adorable and she places literature without trying it it’s a me

Old crotchety elder (or group thereof) who likes to fuck with the mind of one specific guy for a prolonged period of time, to the point of giving said guy severe health problems; has driven at least five people out of the congregation and/or out of this mortal coil

Young People who present “The Truth” in such a new, hip, and cool way, it’s physically painful to listen to

Mother who nudges their kid to answer and whispers what she wants them to say in his ear, word-by-word; said kid always sounds like he was just awoken out of a dead sleep

The elder’s wife who smiles too much; probably bursting at the seams to gossip about you

Super Witness Wife and her unbaptized mate who you could have sworn was already a ministerial servant; they’re both really fun, actually

Middle-aged pioneer with seventeen studies who’s dying from stress; usually ends up having some kind of mental breakdown or health concern

The POMI who shows up once in a blue moon; visibly dissociated from reality

Keepers of the Bonfire Party (probably old and/or wealthy, with a forest for a backyard)

That One Sister with a questionable hairstyle who everyone lets slide because she’s a pioneer; has dyke energy

Quiet single person who never comments and always leaves immediately following the prayer; either everyone wants to talk to them, or no one seems to like them and ignores them, depending on how old, attractive, and visibly neurodivergent they are

Person who will talk both your ears clean OFF about Jehovah and how he “helped” them; seems happy but is severely depressed and you‘re very concerned about them

Group of kids who all talk about watching Naruto and Marvel movies in the company of each other; they seem PIMO, but they’re so unafraid about their spiritistic tastes that you can’t tell

Witness family who thinks all modern-day media is demonic, and only watches, reads, and listens to old stuff; the whole family seems like they’re suicidal; there’s definitely more abuse going on than meets the eye

The ten-year-old unbaptized publisher who admits to staying up all night on their tablet because they can never get to sleep before 1:00 AM, but gets nervous when you ask what they were doing on said tablet; probably browses gore websites and reads about methods of torture to feel something and/or reading My Book of Bible Stories got them into it

[o-craven-canto]

What if humans had never discovered fire? Could there ever have been a complex, literate, technological civilization if we’d never learned how to rub two sticks together? I think it can be imagined. Our fireless society would have to exist somewhere in the far north, somewhere without too much dry vegetation. Slopes of black soil fuzzed in dense, sodden moss, glaciers that roll perilously over the peaks, reindeer nuzzling the muck, seals groaning on swept-out floes. Between the mountains and the sea, a bubbling volcanic lake, and a city on its shores: huts, sealskin stretched over whale-ribs, temples and palaces in jagged blocks of stone. Hunters set out in walrus-skin canoes with stone harpoons; when they return the meat is carved, thrown into nets, and lowered into the lake to boil. Elsewhere, there are farmers, blubber-slathered, who tend to the forests of kelp. Fish are bred in shallow pools; every year the water foams with roe, and ledges heave long fillets curing for the winter. Nobody goes cold at night, as the geothermal waters are carried into every home. These people are master plumbers by necessity. Their epics and legends are about pipes and channels; instead of hearth-gods, they have the spirits of the soapstone radiator. Maybe saunas, hot and cold showers; maybe a hydraulic messaging system, with letters scratched in pumice. The great library is an ossuary: endless racks of antlers and whale-skulls, crowded with scrimshaw to record the deeds of gods and kings. The librarian gets her daily ration of sous-vide seal and salty kelp-porridge. She knows only about books and doesn’t think too much about where her food comes from. But the nights are long up here. How can she read without a candle? Well, the intestinal tracts of polar squid are full of bioluminescent bacteria. Leave a fresh squid in cold water for a few days and it will begin to glow. In the long, dark winter, the streets are lit by bowls of phosphorescent slime, steadily burning an unearthly blue. And above them, the aurora shines in long, lonely squid-gut strands . . .

-- Sam Kriss, Infinite Hitlers [an essay on alternate history], 2021

(I love everything about this scenario, but geothermal cooking sounds far too spotty to be useful on civilization-building scale, and I'm doubtful that you could feed a human-like brain only on the raw food that human teeth and intestines can process; our use of fire for cooking stretches much further back than the latest wave of development of our brain cortex)

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @elsie-writes!

Find the Word Tag

My words: cup, desk, sparkle, calm, hundred

Your words: ground, convert, circle, link

Pulled from MG book 2 ;)

.

"A cursed weapon, huh...," the woman breathed.

"Oh, the Garell boy's curse is actin' up again!" Elwe piped up. "I was supposed to tell you when ya got in."

Astra sighed long-sufferingly. "I told you, momma, that ain't a curse. He's got asthma. Tell 'em to keep makin' 'im breathe the vapor from a cup a' branic tea twice a day. It ain't ever gonna go away, but that'll help some."

.

Her hand made no sound against the sturdy, iron door. The noise of her hydraulic pump and dragging foot, however, betrayed her. The rhythmic pings that had echoed from inside ceased at once.

Vermir stepped into the darkened interior. Azidor's was a small shop, specializing in only certain materials and catering to a specific crowd. Strewn about the tables and benches, she could see metallic hands prepared with hidden tools, silver faces etched with beautiful, floral designs. A sign at the front desk read in both Janazi and Kevete: High-quality adjustments for robotic parts and prosthetics alike. Ask about our sensory rune upgrades!

.

"We ain't never gettin' into that central lab, are we?" Astra muttered. Her gaze flicked up to meet his. None of the typical mirth or bravado sparkled in her blood-ringed eyes.

"It's...." The man swore under his breath. "What other choice do we have?"

.

"I'll be right behind you," Mashal said. By his tone, it was obvious he was trying to calm her anxiety while being rather afraid of the crossing himself. "If you slip, I'll catch you."

"If'n I slip, you keep your hands to yourself so I don't drag us both down," she answered a little more snappishly than she intended.

When Mashal's expression went sad, Astra took a deep breath, berating herself internally. She had to get a handle on her fear. Her ma had always said that when the night was dark, there was no need to start painting with pitch, even if the colors matched.

"We're gonna be fine," Astra said, offering a smile over her shoulder. "I ain't gonna fall and neither are you. In fifteen minutes- Nah, twelve. I'm gonna beat my record, I can feel it. In twelve minutes, we're gonna be home free."

.

"You're taking your sweet time for some squiggles." Thibault's eyes darted nervously to the hall they'd come from. Mashal and Avymere stood ready and tensed, prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.

"My momma always said, if ya don't know shit about a thing, you'd best keep your mouth shut 'fore that shit starts leakin' out from 'tween your lips," the witch muttered. "I need you to remember this number though - one thousand six hundred and seventy point fifteen. If I ask for the Tamm unit conversion, talk it back to me."

Thibault's ears flicked anxiously. "That's a hell of a number...."

"Well, all ya gotta do is remember it, thank the gods," Astra shot back.

.

I'll tag @mk-writes-stuff @aestheic-writer18 @winglesswriter @autism-purgatory and anyone else who's interested :)

[saeran-exe]

December 6th, 2024

It's been a while!

Exam season was tough, both academically and personally, so I didn't post anything about it. However, I was successful and passed all my classes, as well as finished and handed in the hydraulic pump project (maximum score! The suffering paid off lol)!

Well, it's now holiday season (Uni break started almost a month ago lol I've been adapting to doing nothing without feeling guilty) and I'm excited for Christmas and New Year's Eve!

A few plans for spring/summer break (yes, it's almost summer over here and I wish it was colder but at least it's usually cool in my town for most of the day):

• Change gyms

• Make exercise a habit (ongoing, going well)

• Make good progress in therapy (going well!)

• Work on hobbies

• Spend quality time with family and friends

• Read at least one book

• Go back to driving (going well!)

• Study the important subjects that I didn't get to learn that well or need to recall

[warmbloodedzines]

Here's another zine by Xalli—this one's called Folk Punk Inauguration.

[Image Description: The cover page of this eight-page mini zine has a little cut out bat drawing from the Trader Joe's newsletters in the top/middle right area and an entry band for a show at a venue called The Smell along the bottom of it. To the left of the bat are the words 'FOLK PUNK' and between that and the entry band is the word 'INAUGURATION'. Thus, the name of this zine: Folk Punk Inauguration.

The first page has half of a hot pink entry band for The Smell on it. Above it, the page reads “I've gotta say, I've been skeptical of folk punk for a while, now. I feel pretty strongly that the culture of folk punk now is what traditional punk wished it was, but I was never too sure of the music. It felt a little too weird, and I'm a bit of a snob about voices sometimes (not on purpose, I promise) so I was just unsure. It’s been growing on me slowly, though – especially after a show this Tuesday.”

The second page starts “To be honest, the night started out sort of shit. I took the train and got harassed, and got there almost half an hour late, too. The energy inside changed everything right away, though. The crowd threw a billionaire skull piñata around and beat it up for toys, and everyone looked trans as fuck, and I knew I was in a good place. Moon Bandits, Rent Strike, and (of course) Sister Wife Sex Strike all played and fucked it up!” Below that, there's the text “(I can totally draw)” and, below that, an incredibly rudimentary stick figure drawing of a crowd of people looking up at two people on stage.

Page three starts with the phrase “Some HIGHLIGHTS”-- the 'Some' made out of two cut up words ('So' and 'me') from some book and 'HIGHLIGHTS' written in black Sharpie and highlighted with yellow highlighter. Below it is a bullet point list, which is also continue onto page four, that lists that “the pit was so fucking cool! great energy... so much joy and lots of two-stepping”, “the outfits... holy shit, do people know how to dress! so cool + creative”, “the aforementioned piñata - so silly + fun”, “when SWSS come down into the pit for ‘Electricity’”, “when the pit turned into a lot of people (including me) dancing with our partners during ‘Gentleness’”, “Rent Strike's song about hydraulic press videos”, and “the way the bands talked to us: so friendly & funny & felt like family (will come back to this one). Across the bottom of both pages is a sticker for Unity Skate Co. of two naked people, one colored in orange on the other's shoulders (and the other is colored in pink). Underneath the sticker across the right side of page four is a strip of Washi tape in dark blue, red, and black colors, with eyes and lips.

Page five has the word 'MERCH' written across the top left side of it with a squiggly line drawn underneath it. Next to it, starting on the right side of page five and going all through the top of page six is an orange sticker with the word 'QUEERS' in a black bold font with underlining. Page five starts out saying “A lot of the merch was sliding scale, and the vendors were so cool! I had to get stuff!” and then leads into a list of things I bought, including “Sister Wives Strike Back (Deluxe) CD”, “Rent Strike fox (?) on fire shirt”, “Moon Bandits ‘Squash Cops’ patch”, “Moon Bandits ‘Crocs not Cops’ sticker”, and “Moon Bandits 'Protect Trans Kids' Raccoon-filled sticker”. Under the 'QUEERS' sticker, page six simply states “Anyway, the show was amazing if you can’t tell. But there’s something more there, too. Getting to mosh + sing + scream and be happy + sad with other trans people – other nonwhite people too, oh my God – was so new + beautiful. It felt like family + home in such an unmistakable + necessary way. I’m so grateful.”

The back cover has a sharpie drawing in the top left of a weird fidget toy I got from the billionaire skull piñata that got thrown around during Moon Bandits' set, which is sort of a little orange handle and two (yellow and pink) weird extensions that are made of a ball and plastic legs that attach to the handle. The little extensions swing 360 degrees around the handle and can hit each other and make noise. Next to it is a little note that says “a weird fidget toy from the piñata” and has an arrow pointing to it. Underneath it is a drawn on dashed line and then text that says “by Xalli”, “apr 19, 2023”, and then notes that my social medias are “insta: desertfirelight”, “tumblr: canineical”, and “neocities: tehuan”. At the bottom of the page is a continuation of the entry wrist band that's on the cover and first page of the zine for The Smell. This part of the band mainly says 'EXIT' on it. /End ID]

[dbmars]

Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL: Chapter 72

Chapter 72 came out today! We have some of my signature Hannibal 1st person POV at the beginning, and Randall Tier finally gets to take his steampunk animal suit for a spin. Steampunk is a genre I'd love to explore more thoroughly. I think I've read a couple of books and I do love classic sci-fi like HG Wells. It was fun to imagine how Randall would create his suit using Victorian-era tech, since hydraulics were in their infancy.

I found this page from the Art and Making of Hannibal someone had uploaded and used that as a reference for quite a bit of Randall's suit creation scenes:

When I was writing the first scene way back when Hannibal meets Randall for the first time, I realized how perfect the Randall/Renfield comparison really was. All Randall ever wanted was to be a predator, and on top of that, Hannibal can shape-shift into animals, which is Randall's dearest wish! Dracula and Hannibal really do just perfectly mesh together.

Hannibal also encounters the other creature he's created... Please enjoy these pictures of Caroline Dhavernas giving FIERCE vampy energy...

But Jack, Will, and Chilton are in investigation mode, and they head to the hospital to interview a child that had an encounter with this "bloofer lady"...

And who do they run into but one of Chilton's old medical school cums chums (that was a legit real typo and I left it because HAHAHA) Dr. Donald Sutcliffe, who was, apparently, a total fuckboy at university. We were getting pretty serious in these chapters and you gotta have some levity.

In that case, always make a joke at Chilton's expense. I LOVE YOU CHILLY

He's SO MAD Donald never returned his telegrams.

Here's the inspo for the Bloom family mausoleum.

Alas, there is no smut in Chapter 72, so this will be an EXCERPT ENDING:

The tomb in the daytime, and when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and the beetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discoloured stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished brass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than Will could have been imagined. He felt his throat going tight again. That Alana lay here, locked up to decay along with the flowers…

XOXO DB

[antichristual]

a small fic request: some fluff about Papa IV. pairing can be reader insert / one of the ghouls / OC or platonic relationship is okay, too. maybe a birthday fic would be nice...? 😊 thank you in advance if you will write this 🧡

HELLO ANON🫂 !!! this is my first time doing this, im squealing over the fact that people actually sent in requests..literally so sorry it took me so long to post this, i wrote it like two days after you sent this in and then i just never posted it cuz i didnt like it at the time, i think it okay now though, so here you go! also im not sure if this was for your birthday, but if it is then happy birthday :3 most likely very late

You had been part of the ministry for years now, working alongside Sister Imperator, making sure all of the pieces of the tours stayed on track. Keeping them all together was hard work, and it had slowly taken a toll on you. Sometimes the looming idea of another long day amongst ratty organisers felt like carrying a bag of bricks on your shoulders. You were some hardy earthen clay, but this much going on in your head was a hydraulic press.

It had been a rough day, Sister had said it herself as she sipped on a random cup of coffee she had laying across your planning table. You didn’t know how she did it, keeping all of it in and still making such a wonderful outcome. She had kept you in late today, for some odd reason. All the work was done, you’d already stacked all the maps and papers and booking files for the next tour together in one, intimidating pile. Every time you tried to leave though, she would call you back to look over very random things.

“How does this email look? I want it to be perfect.” Sister Imperator mumbled timidly, with a strangely still smile, like she was keeping a terrible secret to herself. Everybody knew she had the most pristine email skills in the world. It should’ve been criminal how that woman could get anyone under her thumbs with the click of send or a meek phone call. Of course though, you nodded and returned to the table. Leaning down, you ignored the crimp ache in your back and read through the— as expected— incredibly well written message. It was condensed but not lacking what it needed. Simple, quick, effective. That was how she rolled, and she executed it with a clean cut every time.

“It’s…fine, Sister.” You replied after a quick pause, holding a heavy drawl in your voice. It was your birthday, for hell’s sake, and all you’d done all day was work. Your eyes hurt, your spine feels twisted and damn…how does your right leg go half numb? Don’t get it wrong, you loved your job; and you didn’t blame anyone for having you labour on your special day. You were just tired, and yearning for your comforting bed in the abbey.

Sister Imperator closed her laptop with a swift hand, the screen coming down across the keyboard silently. A look of sympathy flashed in her eyes, followed with a sparkle of guilt, almost as if she were hiding something from you. “I’m sorry for keeping you in, you know how this gets.” Her hand waved sluggishly over the table. Following her gesture you pondered over her words, eyes fogging over briefly.

“I do, Sister. It’s not a problem. Um…” You looked sideways hesitantly, your bag hanging limp over your shoulder. “Is that all?”

She opened her mouth quickly to say something, and your knees drew somehow more magnetically drawn to the floor at the idea of her proposing another task. In a split moment, her lips sealed.

Sister’s eyes dashed to the doorway behind you, and a riveting smile dashed across her face. Satan, she looked so excited you half assumed you’d turn around and see the anti-christ himself waltzing in with a pretty bouquet of wild roses. Your feet dragged against the floor as you spun to face the door. You were seriously contemplating popping out to go to the store, and maybe grabbing a nice treat so you could at least get yourself something nice on your day. Almost immediately— after your sleepy head processed the sight in the doorway— a sweet warmth bubbled in your chest.

Copia stood there in his usual zip-up jumper, lazy sweatpants underneath, and the most gorgeously handmade cake ever in his palms. Weakly lit candles burned in the middle, lighting up the cute piped icing around the edge. You swayed on your feet with the soft mellow melting down your heavy limbs.

“Happy birthday!” He blurted awkwardly, removing one hand..dangerously..from the cake to make jazz hands…jazz hand? You just stood there, eyes wide and fatigued, a pure smile tugging helplessly at your lips. Copia shuffled forward to put the small cake on the table before he shucked his hands to his hips, a little proud expression over his usual.

[endollvors]

Robot Meat

He tips his head back, makes a noise when the cords attach to the ports on his forehead. Half a groan with a clicking stutter as his brain rushes to feel the rest of his body, his buddy, his Power. His blood pumps through his veins in sync with the coolant and fuel and hydraulic fluid. His second heart revs to life. He opens all eight of his eyes, feeling the usual creeping sensation as he sees the back of his own head from a few too many angles. Speedmaster is not strictly his body, admitting that the meat that lets him connect his nerves to the metal and muscle of a machine that, by design, isn’t supposed to think feels like a conversation could get a person thrown out of the army. He’s done that already, without needing to say anything stupid. He rolls his shoulders and Speedmaster mirrors the motion across the flaps of its carapace. Disengaging from its harness and closing with a click that rattles appreciably through his whole body.

Trava’s read the history books. He’s fought thinking weapons. He knows why that’s scary, it’s just, there’s a tingling itch in his brain, his fingertips, down his spine, where Speedmaster is supposed to be. They belong to each other. That’s why they all had to go. Because after what they’d become, after Speedmaster started to reach out and catch him, they couldn’t be anything else. They don’t want to be anything else. Trava keeps his body still and steady as the launching jut extends even if inside he’s vibrating at being able to see the jet dark around him, filling his vision until it’s just him and the stars dotting space around him and Trava’s body from behind, the back of his head and all. He was discharged for being too good. That’s how he tells it, that’s how Shinkai tells it. It makes them sound cocky in a way that neatly covers the truth of the matter. Which is that being as good as he was, as they were, him and Shinkai and Speedmaster, together, is a symptom. It is supposed to be impossible what they do, the three of them. He thinks it happens more often than they’re willing to admit. He knows pilots who never adjust right to a new power after a promotion or an old power jittering brokenly through startup after its last pilot died. Shinkai can tell stories about mechanics who follow their pet projects around and how they never behave just right without them. They’re just, the most. And they were obvious. His numbers got too good. People pay attention to things like that in the military. They have to notice Speedmaster making adjustments too fast for even Trava’s species’ reflexes eventually. And they see Shinkai mumble to himself as ports in and cleans and calibrates and repairs so precisely, never even checking systems that don’t need it.

Just because Speedmaster isn’t a Thinking Weapon doesn’t mean it doesn’t think. It just can’t move unless Trava and Shinkai listen to it. And Trava loves listening. He launches with a whoop and snaps in an erratic dance around the ship. 

Look, Shinkai, look at what we can do, at what we are, at how well you keep us together.

[mostlopez-blog]

Finding A New Home

Chapter 9: The Storm

Chapter Master List

The bots sat and waited. They sat and waited. During this time the sun rose and fell twice. Still nothing. Hank’s optics were locked on the sky, yet there wasn’t even a twinkle. He had read and reread through Hect-0r’s book collection, to the point of near memorization. He had swept the entire hut, then the perimeter. Then he cleaned the roof. Still nothing from the sky. 

His distractions were only brief, and Hank’s concern grew with every passing second. Then his concerns multiplied with every passing minute. Soon it became an overwhelming fear that crept its way into every inch of Hank’s processor. It was the only thing he could think about, and not even the miracle of life around him could get his mind off it. 

Something had gone terribly wrong, Hank was sure of it. Kickback was lost up there in space, and he had no way of helping his friend. Hank’s processor unwillingly split and began to simulate everything that could have gone wrong.

On the third day of waiting, a soft rain began to fall on the bots. The cold drops softly drummed against their metal bodies and rolled off to form shallow puddles at their feet. Hank remembered many years in the past, when the rain used to be corrosive. The term “fading frame” was thrown about a lot in those early days, to describe any unfortunate bot that was caught in the rain. 

The weather was the reason homes in Nema town were built with copper roofs, under the misguided belief that the metal would resist the elements better. Of course it did not, and one could easily tell which homes were newly built due to the sudden burst of orange in an otherwise sea of green. 

Thankfully, since those early days nature managed to heal itself. As it always does, though not without considerable effort. The rain was just cold now. Hank and Tony huddled together under a large branch. 

“Do you think we’ll ever see her again?” Hank asked quietly. 

Tony beeped and held Hank’s hand. “[I'm not seeing enough movement] [You got a- ] [Believe there out there]”

There was a faint movement that caught Tony's attention. They watched a shadow silently dart up and behind a hill. It was the thing from the scrap yard again, the creature. It had been stalking the lands around the bots ever since it was freed. Studying them. In truth, the creature had never really left the pair, and had been hiding in shadows for sometime now. 

The thing would circle them, over and over, watching them closely. It climbed into holes or disappeared into dark places. How something that large could hide so easily was unnerving. It would curl in on itself, winding its long body until it was hardly noticeable except for its single glowing eye. 

By now the creature had repaired itself, the best it could anyway. Its body was still ragged and in pieces, but now old wounds were reinforced by odd lumpy plating. The creature had sprouted two extra sets of arms that flanked it evenly on both sides, bringing it to a grand total of 6 hands. 

The bots could faintly hear its body whine as it slithered along. A quiet scraping of metal and strained hydraulics as its tail swung quickly back and forth. They would have been happy to help, or at the very least give advice. But the moment the thing thought it was noticed, or heaven forbid the bots approached it, the creature would slither away quickly. Its body squealing in pain as it disappeared over the hills. 

For another whole day, the bots waited. The rain continued to fall. By now the air had changed. The breeze was wild, and the clouds dark. The rain suddenly turned heavy, and the wind blew hard. Thunder crackled. The trees around them tumbled against nature. They bent and bowed to the sky’s fury. 

The rain continued for hours, slowly building upon itself. The ground was so dry that the rain ran right off it. Very quickly, the shallow pools by the bots grew large. Soon great ponds dotted the lands in between the rolling hills, and some of the lower trees were swallowed whole. Tendrils of water lapped at the bots ankles, as rivers began to rage around them.   

Tony and Hank scrambled for higher ground. They raced for shelter deeper into the forest. But suddenly, Tony’s foot caught a stone and they stumbled. Tony's screen smashed into the ground, and great cracks splintered out from a large hole in their face.  

Before Hank could grab them, Tony was swept away by a great torrent of mud, and they slid into the raging water. They were swallowed easily and quietly. Tony disappeared.  

Nearby, the creature was watching, and emerged from the darkness. It watched the small finger tips of Tony as they grasped out of the water. The creature quietly slipped into the current, and swam to them. Somehow, the creature reached Tony, grabbed them, and pushed them onto its back. It carried Tony to shore and laid them out under a branch. 

Tony was barely functional. They could feel strands of water slowly trickle through their circuitry. It pooled in their chest, and sloshed about in their head. They had no choice but to power down. The last thing Tony saw before blacking out was the creature’s glowing eye soften. It pulsed rhythmically. “No harm will come to you. I won’t allow it. Rest.” 

By the time Hank found the pair the storm had calmed to a gentle drizzle. The creature had dragged Tony far away from the new river, and was trying to dry them. Hank almost tripped over himself, running to them. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s body and shuttered. He then turned to the creature, and hugged it as well. 

“Thank you,” Hank mumbled. “Thank you… I don’t know what I would have done if I lost both of them.”

The creature didn’t resist, but it slowly slithered out of Hank’s grasp, and slinked away. As night fell once more, the bots sat together, far apart, but together. The stars were bright that night, and the faintest of shimmers poked through the thick canopy of leaves.  

“She was trying to get up there” Hank explained, “but she seems to have gotten lost”

“A dangerous trip,” The creature agreed. “But why leave. Why build the ship at all? Did you not have shelter and resources in Nema town?” 

Hank was quiet for a long time. He had begun counting the stars, a process he did often. There were more stars here than anywhere else Hank had counted. “Yes,” Hank quietly laughed, “Yes, we could live there. But they couldn’t live there.” Hank trailed off, lost in thought. “Does that make sense?” He turned to Tony’s body and adjusted what little was left of the bowtie still tied around their neck. He glanced at the rest of their uniform. Nothing was left but soggy rags. Tony would be very upset when they woke up. 

The creature watched the pair silently. Its processor struggled with new information. “That is not their function,” the creature stated, “Why do they wear it?”

“Because they want to.” 

The creature’s eye faded from its usual red, to a softer blue. Its tail shifted silently and hugged a nearby tree. 

The pair sat in silence for a long time. They watched the moons dance about in the sky. The large rocks circled about each other in a long never ending waltz. The creature had no face plate. According to other bots it had met, it was frightening, and a monster. Supposedly it could not feel anything. And yet, in this moment it was so overwhelmingly sad.  

“Do you have a name?” Hank finally asked. 

The creature searched its databanks, but found no such designation. “No. I was never given a name.”

“Do you want one?”

“Why would I need one?”

“Well, we need to call you something. And it would be disrespectful to call you ‘that thing that follows us around and sulks about.’ Don’t you think?” 

The creature glanced down to Tony, then Hank, then the stars. Slowly, it’s single eye cycled through several colors. Yellow, green, blue, back to red, then settling somewhere in between a nice mix of green and blue. The colors swirled together into a pleasing cyan that danced and twitled. Suddenly, the creature found an old line in its coding, a shorthand the organics often used instead of its serial number. It felt correct. “Ash-Heart. The organics used to call me ‘The Ash-Heart’.”

“That’s a nice name.” Hank said, “It fits you.”

Ash-Heart nodded. 

“Do you mind if I ask you an uncomfortable question?”

Ash-Heart’s body shifted in place. His tail flicking back and forth in rhythm to a beat Hank couldn’t hear. “You may,” he finally said.

“Is it true? Your blood grows plants?”

Ash-Heart's eye flashed angrily back to deep red. “No. I do not possess blood. That tiny bulbous idiot mistook my hydraulic fluid for fertilizer.”

Hank nodded. Though his answer raised more questions, Hank decided not to press the subject. “I’m sorry he put you through that.”

The eye simmered down to yellow. “Why do you apologize? You were not responsible.”

“No. I wasn’t. But I didn’t know. Now I do. And now, I am responsible for your well being.”

Ash-Heart’s body went stiff. His tail drifted slowly towards Tony, then retreated back and curled in on itself. “That is not your function. That is not your responsibility.” He rose from the ground, and began to slither away. 

Hank smiled. “I know. But I want to.”

For a brief moment, Hank caught the briefest hint of green, before Ash-Heart slipped into the darkness.  

…

It was midafternoon. The sun was high in the sky, soaking the land in a pleasant warm glow. In the distance a nice shallow breeze pushed away hesitant storm clouds. Tony’s systems slowly kicked on one by one. First their temperature sensors, then then motor controls, then the operating system. Tony was back online.  

Their optics cycled through several settings, trying to disperse the strange blur that surrounded them. Colors bled together, light flared in odd places. Only the center left of their view was clear and focused. Tony reached for their screen, and felt along the newly formed crack lines. 

Tony sat up, struggling to position themselves. Their hands sunk deep into the muddy ground beneath them. Dark brown blotches were littered around the landscape, and overlooked a sea of shifting greens. Shimmers of scattered silver glistened in the landscape, like tiny discarded diamonds that glowed in the sun. Tony tried to focus on these, to determine their shape. Their size. Anything at all. But their optics refused to obey them.

Tony punched the ground in frustration. Their hand made a soft thud, and sank into the mud. 

Suddenly movement caught Tony’s attention. A large silver blob was making it way up the hill, towards them. “[Who goes there?-]” a gruff husky voice barked from Tony’s speaker. An image of Hect-0r and his electric spear flashed through their processor. Tony staggered back. “[-what news from the front?] [Friend or foe?]”

The silver blob stopped, turned to look behind, then continued up the hill. “It’s me just me, Tony.” Tony’s processor hitched for a moment, their recognition software not responding. The blob approached, and Tony could make out the faded outline of a tan baseball cap. 

“H-H-H-hank - I can s-s-s-see your - [Form fitting] [New Silverado] b-b-body.” Tony’s screen flickered for a moment, trying to play a cartoon mouse, “[Wha happen?]”

Hank stopped and glanced down to his frame. What little was left of his pant job had been scraped off during the journey. The storm seemed to be the final blow, leaving his frame a dull basic silver. Hank mourned for only a moment, then continued on. “Don’t worry about me. It’s just paint. You were hurt. I’m glad to see you back online.”

Tony ran a quick system check. Their body shot back waves of error messages and maintenance requests. Tony dismissed them all and manually ran signals along the electrical lines of their body. Their arms responded. Their legs responded. Their torso responded. The only thing not to respond was their screen. 

For as long as Tony could remember they had used that screen. It had survived many years and many more adventures. For Tony this was a considerable loss, not just because it would be harder to communicate, but also because they couldn’t express themself as well.  

“[Who put-] [The water temple-] [ON MY DI-]” Tony was cut off mid rant as an error message flashed through their processor: “Liquid detected in USB-Z Connector. Disconnect charging cable to prevent damage to device.”

Hank stifled a dry laugh. “Having problems? Here, turn your head.” Tony did so, and Hank pressed a cloth up to their screen. A small trickle of water dripped out and was dried up. “That’ll probably keep happening for a while. Hold on to this.”

The bots sat together looking over the trees and the scrapyard beyond. The trees had suffered damage from the storm, but nothing they couldn't recover from. Hank explained how the branches would grow back in time, and that their roots would shift to accommodate the loose ground. 

To Tony’s surprise, they found themselves impressed by the plants. Trees could take care of themselves, grow themselves, fix themselves. Everything they needed was internal, and if not, could easily be collected from the ground. 

Bots on the other hand, needed each other. Tony couldn’t regrow their damaged systems. They had no way of collecting the required metal on their own. And though they could perform basic superficial repairs, Hank was the only bot Tony knew of who could handle the more extensive internal damage. Tony ran another system check, and received back the same maintenance requests. They made an internal note, “Plants superior in minor regards.” 

Next the bots turned to discuss how Tony was rescued, and more importantly, the nature of Ash-heart. He was a strange machine, quiet and lurking, intimidating in every regard. Even now he circled the bots, darting from stretching shadows, his large unwavering eye focused on everything. 

But the bots didn’t feel intimidated. If anything they felt safer than they had in days. They were protected out here. A silent guardian who refused to let the bots out of his sights.  

Tony pointed to the nearest shadow and played a quick call and response. “[♫Shave and a Haircut, two bits!♫’]. Hank frowned, his processor failing to interpret what Tony ment.

“What do you mean?”

“W-W-W-what - I - m-m-m-mean- [Two for one offer-] [-Friend request] [Just let me in-] [♫ Your Heart♫!]”  

“Well, he's not very talkative. But I’m sure if you want to make friends all you’d need to do is ask. He seems content just to follow us, for now anyway.” 

“[Friend request accepted] [Smile for the camera!]” Tony attempted to take a picture of Ash-heart, but only managed to catch their tail.

Hank offered a hand to Tony, and helped them to their feet. Slowly Hank guided Tony over the muddy hills and back towards the trees. As they walked, Tony found the silver speckles that had been caught their optics from atop the hill. From up there the silver blobs were nothing but shimmering specs, but up close, Tony could individually identify each bit of scrap. Car bumpers, sheet metal, bits of old gutters, all trash that now littered the fields. The storm had wildly thrown them about with no regard for its surroundings. Tony glanced at a nearby tree, currently speared with a pipe. Small bits of sap gingerly flowed out of the wound. 

The bots returned to Hect-0r’s hut, to discuss what to do next. The hut had also suffered greatly from the storm. Its roof was caved in by a large branch that shattered the few possessions Hecto-0r had neatly decorated his home with.  

As Hank began to instinctively tidy up the hut, Tony briefly considered the entertainment bot. A twinge of regret resonated somewhere in their coding. The bots had, after all, taken over his house, and were responsible for his damage, if only in part. On top of that, they had left Hect-0r alone in the storm, and hadn’t even considered looking for him. 

But then, as Tony glanced out the entrance, they caught the glimmer of a green eye looking in at them. Tony dismissed their poor feelings immediately.  

Hank held up one of the batteries he had taken from Clanker’s house. There was a slight weight difference from when he had first grabbed it. He opened a flap on his chest and pulled a cord out from within. As Hank suspected, the battery was almost drained, resting around 15%. He checked the other batteries, and found most in similar if not worse positions.

All this time in the wilderness was taking its toll. Their physical bodies were wearing thin, and now, what little electrical power they had left was dwindling. Hank had tried and failed to connect to the old solar panel resting outside of the hut. A branch had crashed into the panel as well, shattering its glass and dashing what little hope Hank had left. 

Tony patted his back softly and did their best to comfort their friend. Neither of the bots needed to say a word, as they both came to the same conclusion. They needed to go home, without Kickback.