#because I miss drawing robots

[k4pp4-8]

if you take requests can you draw the plaza kids as boxbots please I really love your art

Bodega men become robodega men!!!!!

[missmisnomer]

Beep boop.

Drawing robots.

[fallenumbra]

I promised that i will draw them again sometime so here are some fast sketches (that took me way more than i anticipated, but STILL!)

[buttercupshands]

Congratulations on nothing. I'm back to drawing LoV again after a bit of a break

those are mostly just a redraw practice for fun Toga is a try in "more canon way of drawing" with color practice too

I'm sorry that it's in russian because I have to have some will to localize jokes that came into my head while drawing it

it's like... a robot au??? or something, mostly just a joke "what if AFo just built Tenko and changed what he wanted"

and this is a joke about our 'favorite' 419 plot twist so it's basically just a bunch of joked about AFO failing to get any way to get control instead Tenko's head is not empty. It downloaded games, friends and stuff about being a hero but NOT as a literal hero, more on "villains need help I'm a hero then" way

and yes that text behind is "hands" written all over the place bc I wanted to add hands in handwritten form

[eryanlainfa]

I don't think I posted this one ?? Screenshot redraw but with Hugo, Varian and Aiden instead of Eugene, Raps and Cass because I could.

[iindigoeyed]

So hear me out: post-wish nathalie whose illness never fully goes away. where even if gabriel sacrificed his (sick, dying) body to return nathalie to life, it wasn't enough to negate her illness. nathalie who is left permanently disabled after using the peacock miraculous in its damaged state. nathalie who accepts the consequences of those actions and learns to live with it because disability can't always be magically wished away. post-wish nathalie who has to take meds, who has to use her leg braces most of the time, who gets dizzy spells and migraines and chronic fatigue but can take precautions for them, who has to spend some days in bed, who walks with a designer cane to match her pantsuits. post-wish nathalie who will never be back to full health but is still just as hardworking and takes care of adrien and who learns to be comfortable with herself, and is alive and happy-- and still disabled and that's ok. do you get me

[mossyflowers]

Okay I think the robot yaoi from ultrakill has completely rolled my brain back around because now I'm thinking abt robot yuri with pom and esh again

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

my new thing is obsessing over a funny little guy for a few months before moving onto another funny little guy

[sinhasfluffyheadfur]

in a constant battle between wanting to draw funky pointy sun and wanting to draw squishy chibi sun. squeeze him

[skullzy20]

..man I wanna draw more fnaf characters

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I was going to make a post about Twitter being a terrifying place to post art because literally the first week I made Twitter and posted art, a voice actress for the MMX series commented on one of my comics and tagged her fellow VA saying "OMG we're OTP!" (It was actually like... the one non-ship art I had posted but this too is yuri I guess, power to her.)

Anyways I was looking for that comment to screenshot it and just got blindsided seeing that the English VA of Reigen is the one that frickin sent it to her.

[noosayog]

gravitate ft. miya atsumu

wc: 2.2k part 2 of 2

part 1

contents/warnings: fwb dynamic, a lil bit of jealousyyy <3, angst to fluff, suggestive but sfw, she/her! reader, referred to as girlfriend, wife, reader has minor social anxiety

Atsumu thinks he did the right thing. 

It’s the truth after all, that even if he got a committed partner now, he wouldn’t be able to give them the time and attention they deserve. 

It’s the responsible thing to do. 

Never mind the fact that he’s fallen absolutely head over heels for you. It’s okay, though, because you had always seemed so on board with casual. At the end of the day, he’d only be hurting himself by getting more involved with you; you were the better one at drawing boundaries and saying goodbye.

Yet, after that night, he’s never been more grateful for a lull in the season, a brief break before the games begin again. He could dedicate time to practicing and conditioning and more importantly, no games meant no afterparties for him to give himself the wrong idea.

The idea that you might also have feelings for him. 

It’s wishful thinking right? He’s reading into the fact that you asked if he could wear his jersey right? Logically, he couldn’t stop you from wearing it, so why did you ask? Some roundabout way of asking if that would give all your friends the wrong idea? Of course it would. They would never miss out on a chance to clown him. 

All to say, the break in the season gives him some time away from you.

It’s all completely ironic though because all it does is gives him nothing but more time to think about you. The longer his runs are, the more time his brain has to drift to thoughts of you. At the gym, every rest interval between sets is spent remembering your smell, taste, sounds. And rest days, rest days were the worst. 

The time passes excruciatingly slowly and quickly at the same time until the season picks up and your unsaid meeting time comes around again. 

– 

A part of him had expected that you might not show up to the after-game party after what had gone down between the two of you. 

That’s if you even see what happened as note-worthy. 

So when you show up, laughing it up and enjoying yourself like nothing happened, he’s convinced that he did indeed make the right decision. This is and always has been casual to you, like what was agreed upon. It’s like a stab in the chest, but a foolish part of him thinks that means maybe the two of you will casually be drawn together at some point tonight and he’d be able to take you home and get the small piece of you he sees as his. 

But, damn, he had missed you. He can’t help the way his eyes drift to you every 5 minutes to see when he’ll finally be able to catch you alone. 

Typically, it wouldn’t take long, since he knows you tend to run low on social battery within a couple minutes of mingling. But tonight, you’re like a different person, talking and drinking all night. Every time he looks over at you, you’re a part of some circle of friends laughing like you’ve been friends forever. 

As the night drags on, Atsumu gets antsy, glancing over every other minute. He finally catches you when you break away from your group. 

“Hey,” he says, hoping he sounds significantly less – just less – than how he actually feels. “I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you all night, miss Popular.” 

You raise a brow at him. 

“I haven’t seen you talk to this many people ever,” he jokes. 

You give him a weak smile at that. “So you think catching me during my one and only break is gonna win you any favors?” 

He relaxes a bit at the quip. “My company should count as a break.” 

You laugh and he grins back. At long last, the sound he’d been wanting to hear all night. Not aimed at some stranger, not the forced robotic sounds he knows you offer out of politeness. He’s about to throw his arm around you and lead you to someplace quiet when you seem to catch the eye of someone you know. You wave them over and he suppresses a groan. 

How many more minutes until he can have you to himself? 

A girl he dimly recognizes from some other gatherings wanders over to the two of you and Atsumu’s eyes narrow a fraction when you take half a step back to let her get closer to him. 

“Atsumu, this is Yukie. Yuki, this is Atsumu.” 

“Hi! Nice to meet you!” She comes in for a hug and almost instinctively, Atsumu shifts his body to turn it into a side hug. He pats once at her shoulder before pulling away but she keeps her hold around his side for one second too long to be friendly. 

“Well then,” he hears you say. His gaze whips to you, like knows what you’re about to do and can’t believe you’re doing it. “I’ll leave you kids to talk alone. I need to take a bathroom break. Don’t have too much fun!” 

Don’t have too much fun? He mocks you in his mind. Could you make it any more obvious? 

Atsumu pries the hand from his side off, intent on chasing you but Yukie steps in his path, starting to chat up a storm, leaving Atsumu frustrated but trying not to be rude. Something akin to rage starts to fill up in his gut, clouding his brain with impatience to end this conversation already and find you to figure out the what fuck your intentions are here.

He finally got one moment, just one moment alone with you after weeks of nothing and you just pass it off to someone else like you don’t give a damn. 

It takes several reassurances that he’d be seeing her again at other mutual friends’ gatherings to break away, and he immediately weaves through the crowd to find you. Fuck subtlety and whatever cat-and-mouse bullshit the two of you used to play.

He half expects you to have gone home; he could feel the social exhaustion oozing out of you in waves even in the couple of minutes he did manage to get with you. So imagine Atsumu’s surprise when he does indeed find you still present, chatting up Tobio-kun of all people. Sure, being high school friends with Shoyo-kun means you had the same relationship with Tobio, but why the fuck do you have a hand on his shoulder, doubling over with laughter as if listening to Tobio’s jokes made your whole night of small talk worth it. 

The red hot feeling bubbles over, and before he knows what he’s doing, he stomps over to rip your arm off Tobio’s shoulder. 

“What? You just pawn me off to some other girl so you can go off and find someone else for tonight?” 

Tobio, bless his heart, with all his social ineptitude picks up the cues and makes himself scarce. 

You shake Atsumu’s searing grip from your wrist and put some space between you two, but he’s not having it. He steps even closer, backing you up until you hit the wall. Suddenly, the hallway seems too empty, too quiet. Atsumu doesn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears anyway. 

You only look at him for a moment before closing your eyes and turning away. “What are you talking about, Atsumu? It's not that seri-” 

“It is and you fuckin’ know it.” 

“Atsumu, I don’t think this is the place to talk about this– ” 

“So come over to mine. Let’s talk.” 

“Atsumu…” 

“Please,” he’s damn near begging, one degree from being on his knees.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

He grabs your chin and forces you to look right into his eyes. “And why not? I think we both know something happened tonight that we need to talk about.” 

“Tonight?�� you echo. You slap his hands away and shove at his chest, forcing him half a step back. “Something happened last time too and you didn’t seem to wanna talk about it then. Well, now it’s my turn to tell you. Nothing happened tonight, so there’s nothing to talk about.” 

His chest aches, so much so that he can’t get any words out as he processes what you’ve just said. So he didn’t do the right thing after all. 

The aching intensifies hearing you refer to whatever went down tonight between you two as “nothing.” 

He takes a deep, heavy inhale before eking out, “don’t say that, baby. I’m sorry. Can we please talk about this?” 

“I don’t want to. In fact, Atsumu, I don’t think we should-” see each other anymore. 

“No,” he cuts you off. “Whatever it is you’re about to say, my answer is no and that’s final.” 

“And what I want doesn’t matter?”

“It does! But I won't allow you to make that decision for us until we talk properly.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you anymore.” 

“Just-” 

What should he say? What can he say? He’s running out of words to convince you and you’re not budging. It’s pure panic that arises in his throat when he watches you desperately try to pry his fingers off your wrist. 

He grips tighter. He has a feeling that if he gives up now, it would be that easy for you to venture beyond his reach. You’d never come to another one of these gatherings. Maybe he’d get a glimpse of you at a game against Tobio, you wearing an Adlers jersey with a #20 printed in the back and fuck- 

That’s such a terrible image, he almost feels like physically doubling over to soothe the stabbing jealousy in his chest. 

“I love you,” he utters out. 

“What?” 

His forehead comes down to rest on yours, pouring out his entire being into those three words again. “I love you.” 

“Atsumu! That is not casual!” you whisper urgently. 

He can’t help but laugh. It’s a mixture of relief that the confession has finally freed itself from the confines of his ribcage and at your alarmed but adorably frank comment. 

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.” 

“So then… why did you… that night…” 

“That night, I was an idiot that didn’t realize how much I felt for you. I took for granted that I’d always be able to see you again like this and have you like I always have. But I don’t wanna live on hope or ‘next time’ anymore. I wanna know that I can and when I will see you again.” 

Foreheads still pressed against another, he leaves you with nowhere to run. You close your eyes. He does too. 

“So will you please come home with me so we can figure this out together?” 

Much like that very first night at the bar, you waver between going back out to the party or staying with him. He sees the indecision in your eyes and for those few moments, he walks on a tightrope and you hold the scissors. 

“Okay,” you whisper, so quiet it barely makes a sound. 

–

“Missed you so damn much.” 

“Atsumu, wait-” 

It’s immediate when his door swings open. Suddenly, you’re pressed against the wall and the door slams shut. Atsumu pushes closer one leg forcefully opening yours up and picking you up by the thighs. With nowhere to run, you wrap your legs around his waist and open up for Atumu to deepen the kiss. 

“Thought we were gonna talk,” he hears you say between breaths. 

“Later,” he rasps, kissing you harder and starting to rock his hips against you. “Missed you so fuckin’ much.” 

“Me too,” you admit quietly and that’s all you get to say before you succumb to his desperation. 

– 

“You know,” you say, much later that night as you rest your cheek on his chest. “You still owe me an explanation. Just ‘cause we slept together doesn’t mean I totally forgive you.” 

Atsumu considers making a quip about how you being here with him, drawing indiscernible patterns on his torso with your finger, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, smelling like him is making it look pretty good for him, but he figures he flew way to close to the sun for today. 

“I know. And I promise we’ll talk more. No more dinin’ and dashin’ in the mornin’, yeah?” 

You consider this for a moment, before propping both arms on his chest and resting your head on your fists thoughtfully. 

He thinks it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Just so I don’t misunderstand anything again-”

“You’re not misunderstanding anything, I promise.”

“I know, but I have to hear it.” 

“Will you be my wife?” 

“Atsumu!” 

“Okay, okay sorry. We’ll do that later then. Can we start with girlfriend?” 

“Hmm… I’ll need to think about it. Not sure how I feel about a guy who goes straight to home plate before he even takes me out to dinner.” 

“Y’know what, now that you mention it, I don’t know how I feel about a girl who goes home with a guy she just met-” 

“Shut up.” you snort and something’s definitely not right because every sound you make is the most adorable thing. He swears he’s got hearts in his eyes.

“And ‘Tsumu?” 

Lovestruck, he croons, “yeah, darlin’?” 

“I’d love to be your fiance.” 

“That’s my girl.”

[tojisun]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8tQfwXt/

this with biker!simon 🤭 the way he just melts omg

OH MY GOD I YELLED

nono fr omg the way he melted as soon as he heard it and the way he literally looks like hes about to lose his mind on the highway??? SCREAMING

!! suggestive - minors dni; sexting ig // biker!simon mlist

thinking about how this isn’t really something you’d usually send—you’re so used to his friends snooping on his phone so of course you two have to be careful. discreet.

but.

it’s been a while since you two have done anything more than rushed make out kisses. even the last time you two tried to squeeze a quickie, it was still, somehow, interrupted by your conflicting schedules.

you’ve tried to hold onto your patience. tried holding back even when all you wanted to do was jump simon because there he always is, beautiful and hot and just overall so goddamn attractive, it should be illegal to be that good looking.

but it’s been a while now. and you’ve missed him dearly.

it didn’t help that his last meet was all over social media, getting mixed into edits because of fucking course he is a tiktok edit now. you really can’t blame anyone—you were there, after all.

you’ve seen, first hand, the way he unveiled his new shop project before pairing up with that guy who you all still call konig. god knows what his name is but honestly you’re not even curious anymore. not when simon stole the goddamn show. again.

then the asshole had the audacity to point at you, black leather gloves stark against all the flashing cameras, and you watched as he made a little fucking heart with his hands. if the cameras weren’t going ham on simon then, they sure were after that little flirty stunt.

you felt yourself be engulfed in flames so, yeah. you really can’t blame anyone for sharing every pictures and videos they have of simon that day all over the internet.

still, somehow, you want to monopolize him. possess him.

and, if you’re not blaming anyone for sharing every sliver of simon’s meet, well, you hope no one can also blame you for what you’re about to do.

-

simon grunts as he finishes rounding a corner and begins easing into the highway. he rights himself up and blazes past the straggling sedans to get into the thick stretch of the road.

it’s not too windy today but dusk is breaking out and simon’s just glad he’s finally en route to your place. it’s been a long day and gods he’s missed you.

he gets the notification a few minutes in.

“hey, baby,” your message starts. “i missed you.” there’s a pause. “i’m wearing that lingerie you’ve always liked, you know the blue little thing? i forgot how lace feels since it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

simon’s breath is suspended in the pathway through his lungs, his eyes going wide as your words draw on. not even siri’s robotic voice can shake away simon’s thoughts—the vivid imagination of coming home to see you in that lace bralette and panties and—he grips the hand clutch tighter—the matching lace choker it came with.

fuck-

“might start without you, lover boy. so drive home—to me—safe, okay? see you soon, baby. love you.”

fuuuck.

simon books it home.

AAAAHHHH SCREAMINNN no bc this is me w simon!!

[lovebugism]

Heyo!

Can you pretty please with sugar on top do something with Steve and shy!reader and then passing notes?

Feel free to skip if you want, and thank you in advance! Your writing skills are so good!

ty angel! hope you like it xoxo — after a scolding from keith for talking to you on the job, steve takes matters into his own hands (shy!fem!r, fluff, established relationship, 1.3k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Grieving, grieving, grieving.

Steve goes into his fourth hour on the clock mourning the lack of you. You’re sitting just beside him, click-clacking away at the chunky computer, but he misses you anyway. He hasn’t said a word to you in an hour. He’s pretty sure it has to be a record by now, especially with you close enough to kiss.

Keith got mad at the two of you for ‘fonduing on the job.’ Whatever that means. Now, the two of you are silent and unsure of what to do with yourselves. This job was only tolerable because he could spend eight hours with you. What’s he supposed to do now? Work?

“Have a good day,” he says, a bit robotically but with a smile, as he hands a customer their bag of movies. Killer Klowns, Poltergeist, and Basketcase — for what must be a horror movie marathon for a holiday season cleanse.

The customer service grin washes away the second the door dings open and shut again. The store is quiet and mostly empty, eerily so without you to fill the void. 

A funny joke pops into his head then, and his first instinct is to tell you about it — just to see you smile ‘cause he knows you’ll laugh even if it’s not funny. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Keith isn’t looking, then finds the weirdo watching him like a hawk, only his beady eyes visible over the aisle of tapes.

Steve cowers beneath the ice-cold glare and turns away again. He reaches for a sticky note instead, bright yellow and with the Family Video logo printed in green at the top. The jotting of his pen against the pad fills the mostly silent store. 

He yawns and fakes a stretch to stick the thing on the counter next to you.

You don’t notice it at first — because inventory has drained your awareness so much that it’s all you can focus on — but you’re smiling the second you do. It schlicks when you un-stick it from the laminate to find a sloppy drawing of a cartoon pig. 

“Missing you pig time” is written in something close to chicken scratch just beside it.

You get all giddy, like a schoolgirl in the back of the classroom getting a note from their crush. Being with Steve feels exactly like that, all the time. On the legal pad next to you, you write a cheesy pun of your own — a plump hippo in a neater cursive that reads “I hippopota-miss you.” 

You rip it from the notebook slowly and with a palm spread flat to avoid making too much noise. You crumble it up to pretend like it’s trash, then intentionally miss the bin beside you. The thing bounces by Steve’s sneakers before he bends down to pick it up with a golden hand.

He smooths out the paper as best he can on the counter. Then leans on his elbow and props his scruffy chin in his palm, using his fingers to hide the beam on his face. With his free hand, he draws you a hedgehog adjacent to the cartoonish animal you’d created — only he doesn’t really remember what a hedgehog looks like, so it’s more of a circle with spikes.

“Could really use a hedge-hug right now,” he writes.

He crushes the paper between his palms and tosses it into your lap.

You shoot him a glare, accompanied with a small smile, but he looks away too quickly to see it. 

You begin to beam as your eyes dart over the crumbled paper, an expression so wide Steve can see it in his own head. He’s grieved to miss it, but he doesn’t want Keith to see him and think he’s distracted again. Besides, he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll have no choice but to kiss you stupid.

Now all you are is unkissed and grieving, more so than you were just five minutes ago. You grow empty with the feeling. It makes the spark of bravery and sudden longing burn brighter behind your ribcage.

You rise from your squeaking swivel chair and walk the very short distance to Steve. Three steps. Five, maybe. Six at the very most. You don’t count them, too overwhelmed by your love for the boy who doesn’t see you coming.

You wrap him up in your arms, wedging yourself between him and the countertop. Your arms clasp behind his lower back as your cheek squishes into his sternum. He smells like home, cologne, and something warmer.

Steve tenses beneath your embrace. Not because he doesn’t welcome it, but because you’re not usually so affectionate this way. It took you months to kiss him first — longer to stop asking to kiss him before you did it. 

And you’re a delicate little thing, too. You hate getting in trouble. Hate the thought that someone, somewhere in the world, was at some point unhappy with you. And even though you don’t particularly care for your boss, you’d think you’d probably cry if Keith ever scolded you.

Steve knows this, too. So he doesn’t give in to you so easily.

“Whatcha doing?” he croons lowly to you.

“Give you a hedge-hug,” you mumble into his chest.

He scoffs a faint laugh that fans across your forehead. “You’ll get in trouble,” he teases in a gentle whisper, slowly melting into your embrace. His wide hands smooth warm along your spine. He doesn’t press you anything closer with his touch, just cradles you softly against him.

“Don’t care. I just miss you.”

“Hippopota-miss me?” he jokes and noses into your hair. You smell like home, in both the figurative and literal sense of the word. Equal parts because you spent the night at his place and because your scent strikes something short of nostalgia inside his chest.

You laugh. He can feel the golden sound of it in his ribcage. “Pig time,” you answer.

“How’d you like that one, huh?” he asks, muffled against you.

“It was genius.”

“Right!” he chuckles. “Thought of it outta nowhere and had to tell someone about it.”

Your head shakes against him as a grin blossoms on your lips. He can’t see it from this angle, but he can feel it — in the way your cheek squishes harder against his sternum. “Your brain is so amusing, you know that?”

Steve, knowing that would be an insult coming from Robin, decides to take it as a compliment from you. He presses his petaled mouth to your forehead and lingers there for several moments. “Thank you,” he murmurs after.

The Robin in question turns out to be his savior, neither intentionally nor ungrudgingly.

She’s stacking VHS tapes on the shelves with Keith, both of them crouched to restock the bottom rows. She rises first, bones creaking in protest. “God, I feel like an eighty-year-old, man,” she groans and stretches her aching knees.

Back to full height again, she sees the two of you wrapped in an embrace behind the counter. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Not because she’s jealous — she’s definitely not jealous — but because the two of you couldn’t last a whole hour not talking. It’s deplorable.

But despite her internalized complaints, she refuses to let Keith catch you fonduing a second time. Right before he stands beside her, she swipes a hand over the top row of tapes. Adventure movies titled L through M tumbled to the ground, a few of them knocking the older boy on his mulleted head.

“Ow!” he winces, nasally and whiny. He cradles the top of his deep brown, only slightly greasy hair and stares daggers at the girl above him. “What the heck was that for?”

Robin shoots him a shaking smile, freckled face blotched pink. “Sorry,” she lilts, voice trembling. “Spasm.”

[melanirana]

A Tune and a Drink

singer!reader x bartender!sun/ moon

Suprise! Have a little something. You are a singer in the 1930's and two specific bartenders have caught your eye, just like you have caught theirs.

I even have a musik recommendation for this one. Habits - Vintage 1930's cover and Levitating - 1920s style cover by PostmodernJukebox on YouTube. Check em' out they're really good.

with that said, enjoy

It’s the 1930’s, the era of glamour, fashion, parties but most of all, good music. Big cities are getting bigger, new opportunities arise on all sides, technology is advancing and you are right in the middle of it.

You are known throughout the whole city, not famous enough to be known across states but known enough that clubs and bars fight to have you sing on their stage. To have you bless their establishments with your voice and draw in the people, so these people make their bar The City Bar.

Whenever you agree to sing at their club they make it known immediately. Whether that is through the newspaper, telling their guests who tell it their acquaintances, or hanging papers around the city. 

“downright heavenly”

“the voice of an angel”

“as powerful as it’s wonderful”

“rich with a beautiful smoky undertone” they call your voice. A bit of an exaggeration you think, you can agree on the smoky undertone but the rest. It must be because you hear your voice every day, when you wake from sleep, when you talk, when you warm up, when you practice when you sing.

But other people only hear you when you sing, it isn’t often it is a special occasion, it is desired it is sought after. To them it means so much and therefore it means so much to you. To sing for people, to lighten their day, to make them happy.

There is barely ever you turn down an offer to sing, it is simply a matter of when you have time again. More often than not you don’t come back to a bar for a month or two, too busy singing somewhere else, writing, or any other reason.

So why is it, that even with such a full schedule, you always find time to come back to sing at one certain high-profile bar named Celestias. 

People wonder. Is it close to home. Do you have a deal with the bar. Does it mean something to you. Is it the celebrities that frequent this establishment. Or is it simply the wonderful view of the river that divides the city, that flows right by the building.

All good guesses, but utterly wrong.

The reason you keep returning is the bar, those how tend to it specifically. Two highly advanced Animatronics.

Metal polished like a brand new 540 K Special-Roadster, but not just a car. Highly advanced machinery capable of many things, but not an industrial machine. Eyes that see, hands that move, mouths that speak, but not human.

The robot pair is truly unique with their circular faces and wonderful colors. One bright as a golden Charleston-dress under a chandelier, eyes so wonderfully bleu they seem to be carved out of the ocean itself with a crown of metallic rays. The other shines like a blue evening gown under a low light, eyes as dangerous and enticing as a ruby with a long silk night cap that looks like it was sewn from the night sky.

Both with crescents that split their faces in the fashion of theater masks.

Both wear high-quality suits, the black of the suits contrast with their color, making their color shine even more and complementing their long limbs. A thick tie sits at the base of their slim metal necks, the end tucked neatly into their suits. The golden animatronic’s tie is a rich scarlet as well as his half gloves that always cover the animatronic’s hands. The blue animatronic’s tie and gloves contrast his counterparts wonderfully with their deep navy blue.

The robots are the bar's pride and joy, placed where everybody passes by, and the reason why they come here. The bar.

You noticed the animatronics the first time you visited, they were hard to miss as the owner proudly showed you them, even when it was from across the room. After that you had no time to pay the two bartenders any mind, quickly surrounded by people eager to meet you followed by your performance only to once again be surrounded by more people.

It was only your third visit that you truly saw them, and saw them you did. In the middle of your performance your gaze wandered to the bar, and what you saw was the golden robot cleaning a glass and looking at you.

You were no stranger to being looked at, your place was the stage after all, but the way the robot looked at you was different from the usual. Almost love-struck in that wonderful half-lidded lazy smile kind of way.

Your response to the animatronic’s gaze was a particular smile while singing a more romantic part of your song. This would have people hiding their faces as they reddened, have them melting on the table they are leaning on, or your favorite, bring a hand to their face as they hide their giddy giggles.

This however was not the response you got from the bartender.

Instead, you got a raised eyebrow and an amused smile, the robot placed the glass below the counter without braking eye contact. “Are you sure?” he said without making a sound. A challenge.

A challenge that you accepted.

For the rest of your performance during any particular romantic part of the song you made sure to let your gaze glide to the bar and exchange look with it’s bartender. His expression had changed ever so slightly from the first time you caught him looking. Still mostly the same but now with a hint of danger mixed in.

You could feel the tension between the bar and the stage rise with each exchanged look, neither of you breaking eye contact during the few seconds you had.

It was the most exciting performance you had in a long while, but it had to come to an end. The night just started and you needed to save your voice for your continued performance later in the night.

Immediately you were surrounded and distracted by people once you started your brake. Even though you couldn’t see the bartender you were pretty sure he saw you. Shortly after you began your brake a waiter came up to you, on a silver platter sat a single beautiful decorated crystal glass. The glass is short and wide like a whisky glass.

A rich orange liquid filled the short glass to a perfect half. When you asked the waiter who sent you the drink he simply said “It’s on the house.” You had ever the slightest hunch from whom it came. When you sipped from the glass the taste of honey sweet and yet smoky whisky filled your mouth, followed by a fruity aftertaste.

You couldn’t help the little that spread on your lips.  

Later in the evening, your performance continued. But this time it was not the golden robot tending to the bar but his blue counterpart. A little childish part of you wanted to make the two bartenders jealous of each other, make them vie for your attention.

While resting the owner had told you more about the robots, how highly advanced they were, how they are unique and that there is no second pair like them, how they work together like a well-oiled machine. “Almost like twins,” he said.

‘Twins’

Maybe you can cause a little bit of a sibling rivalry then.

Nothing too bad, just a little bit of fun.

You didn’t even need to get the robot's attention, when you let your gaze wander to the bar he was already giving it all to you. You went through the whole routine again, you smile at the bartender during a romantic part of the song, he raises one eyebrow in a challenge and you accept.     

And just like his counterpart, he did not break eye contact as the few seconds you had each song ticked by.

This went on for a few songs until his counterpart returned. When you looked back to the bar you saw the two of them talking, the blue one facing away from you and the other blocked by his counterpart. They looked neither irate or iterated, rather they looked natural at least from what you could tell during those few seconds before you returned your gaze to the guest. 

Oh, too bad.

Maybe they figured out what you trying to do and decided to ignore you then. You couldn’t really blame them, even if you did. A fun challenge ended because you wanted some excitement in your life.

When next you returned your gaze to the bar you where meet not by one but two pairs of glowing eyes, both pairs half lidded accompanied by lazy smiles. The two robots have banded together.

Two robots band together against you in order to win this challenge, that is known only to you three. They might have been at a numbers advantage, but if they thought that you were going to let them win they were in the wrong. You were not going to back out just because it got more exciting. 

And so this challenge went on for the rest of the evening and into the night, unbeknownst to the other guests in the large room. 

By the time your performance ended it was well into the night, the sun was long gone and the moon took its place in the sky.

And just like always the moment you step off the stage you were surrounded by people eager to snag all your attention for themselves. You gave them your attention, but not all. Just like on stage, you glanced towards the bar but there were no eyes meeting you.

The bartenders had returned to their duty, now that your performance was over the guests wanted their drinks. Both animatronics hands move at impossible speed around the bar, you were surprised they didn’t knock anything over at the speed at which they were moving.

Your challengers are distracted by their duty so you allowed yourself the be distracted as well.

Not long after a different waiter came up to you, on the silver platter a tall wide decorated crystal glass. It almost looked like a whine glass but not quite, that moment you decided that you’d have to brush up on your glass etiquette. The liquid inside this glass was deep red, along the edge a ring of sugar.

Again as you asked who this is from the waiter said “It is on the house.”

You toke a sip and the sweet flavor of wine spread across your tongue along with a light taste of citrus from the ring around the glass.

That’s when you decided you have to come back and come back often.

And so you did.

Over the following months, you were at the bar at the very least once a month. Every time without fail, after you went on brake or finished your performance, a waiter would come up to you with a wonderfully decorated glass and the best-tasting drink inside of it.

Once, when your voice wasn’t the best to the point where it was hard to miss that you weren’t at your best, a waiter brought you a simple glass, inside was warm milk with honey when you asked who sent it the answer was “The bar.”

Months and months have past, and a good amount of change happened both in your career and in your relation ship with the bartenders.

Career-wise you have taken off. Now recognized and sought after outside the state you were busy going to new locations, meeting new people, meeting contemporaries, and singing your new songs.

You were outside the city more often and longer, but you made it a point to always drop by your bartenders.

Your bartenders, with whom you have not exchanged a single word since you first saw each other. The bartenders with whom your relationship has developed past a simple challenge.

The looks you exchange have not increased in length, which was nigh impossible while you stand on stage, but they have increased intensity.

Their looks are no longer love-struck but devouring. Every time they look at you they drink up your entire being, as if your existence and your existence alone keeps them alive. They now let their eyes wander across your form, you never see them doing it but you can feel their eyes on you.

As their eyes travel up and down your body, drinking it in. The way you move, the way your costume lays against your skin, the slightest of wrinkles in your clothing, the smallest of hairs it doesn’t matter. They absorb it all, like a flower after drought drinking up all the water it can get.

That night when you first noticed their eyes traveling you, you almost lost the challenge. 

When your gaze followed the path it took so many times before, you saw them. Sitting behind the bar counter, leaning on it as they rested their faces in their hands. They had no shame as they showered you with their affection, attention, adoration and anything else they could give you through their eyes alone.

You immediately felt your face heat up and the urge to hide your face but you caught yourself before you looked away. Your cheeks remained a soft shade of pink trough the rest of the night and your singing had a bit more pep in your step.

Not long after you reviled a new song that made big waves and that caused you to become more known. A song about the sun and the moon, how the singer basks in the sun's warm light, how the singer would follow the moon's beautiful light anywhere and never feel alone, how the singer oh so loves the celestial bodies and their wonderful light, how they wouldn’t know how to live without them.

You let the song spread before you visited your favorite bar again, you wanted to play with them before returning the favor of a warm face. And play with them you did. You teased, called members of the audience the sun and the moon, said how the song is devoted to all and everyone. You played up how this song is to remind of the things one easily takes for granted and that whole spiel.

In the corner of your eye you could see how the robots seemed to deflate with each word. It hurt, and a lot more than you expected but you had to do it so it would hit just as hard as their affection.

When the part came where the singer talks about their love for the sun and moon you let your gaze wander before firmly landing on the bartenders, you had not looked to them before this part of the song. You didn’t care to hide your smug smile on your face as you look at your dear bartenders.

And it worked, like a charm.

They went rigid as they listened to the words coming out of your mouth, completely and fully directed at them.

The cheeks of the robots started to glow a bright orange as some mechanism in their face began to overheat, small puffs of steam expelled from their joints as they tried to cool themselves. And just like you, they almost lost the challenge.

Those few seconds felt like hours, hours their eyes were glued onto you before you released them. From the corner of your eye you could see them fanning their face, desperately trying to cool the mechanism in their face and failing.

For the rest of your performance, their cheeks remained a soft warm orange.

And now, here you are.

Sitting in front of your vanity in your brand new apartment right above your favorite bar. The owner had gifted it to you as a thanks for visiting the bar so often and coincidentally bringing in more guests and therefore income.   

Said guests have started to slowly leave the bar below as it is about to close. You can hear the distant chatter of people through your open balcony door. After one more look at yourself in your vanity mirror, checking your makeup and hair to see if it is acceptable to leave your apartment in these conditions, you get up the close the balcony door.

The chatter has significantly lessened since the beginning of closing time. The few people outside must be the last stragglers.

The bar is now officially closed.

When you return to your vanity you catch yourself in the mirror again. Your simple dark blue dress pants reach slightly over your ankle. They blend well together with your black shoes, they are not your highest shoe when it comes to heel shoes but your favorite, they give you just a few inches more.

A light green poke dot poncho hangs from your shoulders, down to your thighs. It's loose and frilly, one of your favorites. It shows enough of your silhouette but not too much, even if that doesn’t really matter since you’ve worn very form-fitting costumes on stage before.

And yet again you contemplate your looks, you have been doing this for far too long. Changing outfits, makeup, hairstyles and changing the outfit again.

You never have trouble picking an outfit for performances before. So why is it that you are struggling now to pick an outfit, your not even preparing for a performance.

You just want to finally actually meet your bartenders.

You have been exchanging looks with them for months, basically flirted with each other back and forth. Hell, you have even confessed each other's love for one another. You wrote an entire song to do it.

So why are you so nerves.

You look at yourself in the mirror for many moments and as the doubts about your clothing start to make their way back in your head and gnawing at your confidence, you all but run out the door. If you change again you’ll never meet the two.

They are already head over heels for you and so are you.

You make your way down the stairs. The staircase is illuminated by small decorative lamps along the walls, their colored glass shades bath the space in a warm yellow. With a rhythmic tack tack tack of your heals you make your way down the stairs.

Once you’re at the bottom you stand in the back hallways of the bar. No simple guest is allowed back here and yet the hallways are equally as decorated as the main floor. You haven’t had time to familiarize yourself with the all corridors, but you know the way to the stage entrance.

The path is well light and as you step on to the backstage, slowly you pass the curtain that decorates the side of the stage, the light just above welcomes you as always. Your heart is beating like insane in your chest and you have to take a couple of deep breaths to calm before you fully step out onto the stage.

The view of this usably packed place, now completely empty is more than a bit strange but that is not what you focus on. You focus on the bar and its lack of attendants. The bar sits completely empty, there is not a single metallic shine of robotic limbs to be seen. To say your heart drops would be an understatement.

Did you miss them, they should be here, they are always behind the bar. Do they just leave once the bar is closed.

Where are they.

As fear begins to pluck at your heartstrings, what if you don’t meet them now, will you ever actually meet them. Are the three of you cursed to only look at each other.

Suddenly a muffled noise from somewhere even further behind the bar gets your attention. You walk to the very edge of the stage and lean over the edge to listen for that muffled noise again.

It sounds like a conversation. And just when you think that it might be them, you see a flash of blue pass by a doorway in the bar’s wall that you didn’t even notice was there. All these months you look at the bar and nerve noticed that it has a backroom, well you were more so looking at the bartenders. But that doesn’t matter now, they are still here, you didn’t miss them.

Immediately your mood brightens by the power of the sun. You hop of the stage as quietly as possible and tiptoe your way to the bar counter. Easier said than done thanks to your heals. 

You are full of energy and nerves, your heart is doing leaps in your chest. You are as giddy as a kid whose dad is taking them to the toys shop to pick out a new toy.

In an attempt to stop the giggle building in your throat you bite your tongue. However that doesn’t stop the stupid smile on your face from spreading.

In on swift and quite motion you sit yourself on one of the bar chairs. You remain unnoticed. On top of the bar counter are two little bras bells, one with details painted in yellow and the other in blue. You have a hunch for what these bells are for.

Past the door, the conversation between the unknowing animatronics continues. You take one deep breath, then you ring both bells at once with a gentle tap of your finger. The sound the bells make is beautiful and light, but your trained ear can hear that one of the bells has a bit more reverb than the other.

The conversation comes to a stop and hear what you think is a synthetic sigh. Then out from the door steps one of your dear bartenders. His rays catch the light from above and give him the appearance of a glowing crown. His wonderful blue eyes don’t meet yours as he looks down to his hands where he works on putting his red half-glove back on his exposed hand.

His had is a wonderful shining chrome, the tips of his fingers are a brilliant yellow.

When he speaks his voice is butter-smooth and honey-sweet when he talks. “The bar is closed for tonight.” He sounds exhausted, like he had to have this conversation often. “I’ll have to ask you to leave-“

He finally looks up and meets your eyes, immediately freezing mid-step. He looks at you wide-eyed, surprised to see you of all people here.

“Oh, if you don’t want me here I can leave again.” You say as you turn on the chair as if to get up. “Ah- No. Stay.” The animatronic blurts out as he steps closer to the counter, one ungloved hand stretch out as if to stop you from leaving.

You lean back on the counter and smile at the sunbot, resting your head on the palm of your hand. “I’ll stay then.”

“Yes stay here.” The animatronic says quietly, sweetly, as he moves even closer. He drinks in your very being like he did so many times before, only closer now.

Your face warms up, about to catch fire. Already you can tell, that if he speaks even more sweetly to you, this will be a lethal encounter.

At least you know the names of your demise, after all the bar owner proudly told you their names during your very first performance.

From behind your Sun his counterpart emerges, his nightcap lazily resting on his shoulder, he is also not wearing his half gloves. Just like his counterpart, his hands are a shining chrome and his fingertips are a deep blue.

“Sun, what’s going on?”

You just about die. His voice is nothing short of heavenly. Deep and lush, simply beautiful. You can feel the vibration of his voice down your spine.

The lunar bot meets your eyes and visibly brightens. “Oh~.” You are deceased. “Finally decided to visit us~.” The animatronic says with a grin, showing his sharp teeth. He steps around his counterpart and stands next to him.

“Oh, you know. I had nothing else to do.” You lean forward, closer to them and fold your fingers together before resting your head on them. Both robots lean forward as well, closing the distance between you even more.

“Plus, I thought things were getting a bit boring, so I thought we make it a bit more exiting.” The smile that spreads across your face is smug.

Both bots raise their eyebrows, just like they did the first time. “More exciting? And how might we do that.” The golden bot asks.

Without saying a word you free your hand and reach for the sun bots face. His gaze follows your hand. Gently and slowly you reach under the bots chin and lift it, from where he was looking down at your hand, to look at you.

“Oh, nothing too big.” You say sweetly.

His internal workings kick into overdrive, the wiring inside his chest becomes louder, puffs of steam seep through his suit and the metal of his cheeks becomes a hot orange. The rays around his face fold back against his head and he stammers something before he wraps his hand around yours and removes it from his face as it is getting to hot.

However, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

Next to him, Moon lets out a dark chuckle and it’s your turn to melt.

“Playing the jealousy game again?” The bot accuses you amused. “It was worth a try. Don’t you think?” You retort playfully.

He chuckles again. His gaze lands on Sun who has slightly recovered from your flirt, now he examines your hand with a loving fascination. You follow Moon's gaze and watch Sun as he gently turns over your hand.

It is only then that you realize how much bigger Sun's hand is compared to yours, his hand completely engulfs your with ease. A few seconds later you realize how much bigger they are in general. Sitting at a bar with a human bartender, you see eye to eye but with these two you have to crane your neck to look them in the eye, even if they are already hunched over.

So lost in your realization, you barely notice the hand that is coming towards your face. Blue fingertips gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before tracing your skin and cupping your face.

You can't help but lean into the cool chrome hand and let out a small sigh. You relax as a cool thump softly draws circles on your cheek and yellow-tipped fingers work their way up your arm.

And there you remain for longer, with your dear bartenders, no longer confined to look at you, but now able to touch you just as gently as they looked at you.   

[robotsprinkles]

For context:

our lead 3d guy has said multiple times that he's used godot before and — while not a particularly advanced programmer — is versed in the fundamentals of programming.

he also took the role of sound designer/music composer/etc because no one else wanted to do it/was confident in their ability at those two

he has so far:

failed to set up a single animation tree for either of the characters in the game (and from what I can tell, flat out doesn't know how they work)

given his rigs a root setup I want to say is a complete mess, and both I and the secondary 3d guy don't understand the purpose of (the root joint is a meter behind the character's world origin/centre of gravity/pelvis, and is connected to the wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, and the neck/ribcage/head, in addition to the pelvis/cog)

implemented the sounds in such a way that the game would crash either immediately on launching or the moment you tried to perform an action that played the sound because he was making the player.gd script call an audiostreamplayer3d node in the level_design.tscn scene which didn't exist.

(enemy rig in idle animation pictured below)

in his defense regarding the rig, it does work for the most part. the skinning starts dying and breaking down if I try to pose the character in any pose that's remotely intense and the legs' zeroing is busted

but it does work. the skeleton just looks disgusting when in the engine

how do you say you have experience with godot and that you're acquainted with basic coding/programming principles and can thus support our programmer by taking on some of the programming workload

and then repeatedly push changes to the shared Development branch that cause the game to crash whenever you use your attacks and abilities because you don't test anything before you push and you were trying to make the player script call a nonexistent node in the level design scene without even setting it so those lines/functions could call anything at all from the level design scene