#crystalline circuits.

[liveyun]

WIRED | k.nj

summary. You’ve spent years perfecting your first android. But as you power him on for the first time, something feels off. The sense of control you once had begins to slip, and suddenly, you realize—he may be is more than just a machine.

title. wired

pairing. kim namjoon x fem reader (oc), hints of jungkook x oc

genre. android!au, yandere(?) , dark content

wc. 3.7k

warnings. oh boy here we go, scientist!oc, android!joon, unsettling themes as in psycological manipulation, obsessive behaviour and slight yandere, mild horror (oc realises she’s cooked lmfaoo) (halloween special?) slight non-con themes but no nsfw tho, dominance, android joon is hot byee, jungkook! jungkook ? . . . lots of technical terms which you might need to google if you are unfamiliar with them like i was xD, implied stalking (you will understand who is), i really tried 🙏🏾

this smol drabble was really inspired by artificial heart by @writerpetals ! please check her works out, she’s amazing!

main masterlist | taglist

The lab is quiet.

Too quiet.

You stand in the stillness, only the faint hum of cooling fans breaking the silence echoing in your ears. The familiar mechanical sounds — servo motors whirring softly, air ducts breathing through the vents — all the familiar characteristics of your good old lab used to calm you.

But tonight, the sounds seem different.

Almost. . . detached. Like they belong to someone else’s lab. And you are just a guest here, standing in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

You take a slow breath, your eyes drifting over the towering figure in front of you, the cylindrical glass sheath unlocked from over his model.

RM.

The product of months — no, years — of work. Of restless nights, of failure and determination. From the initial sketches to the delicate wiring of his artificial synapses, you had envisioned every piece, every movement. You had wanted him to be different. Special.

You had wanted him to be human.

Or at least, as close to a human as possible. His skin, so perfect in its imitation, stretched smoothly over the metallic frame beneath. His lips — plump, lifelike — looked almost too real. His dragon-like eyes, sharp and crystalline, seemed to glow even in the dim light of the lab. Even when there was no life, no, power running inside his veins. Every feature had been carefully crafted with Jungkook’s help, to help the ideal you had in mind.

But now that he’s finished, now that he stands in front of you, lifeless but complete, the pride you once felt has faded into something else. Something. . .unsettling.

You wanted this — this perfection. This mirror of humanity. Yet as you stare at RM, your skin prickling under the too-bright overhead lights, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe you’ve gone too far. Maybe there was a reason no one else had tried this before.

A reason why no android had ever been designed to look this human like. Every shield, every plaster, every pore — looks so detailed that it’s nearly impossible to figure out if he’s artificial, given if no one would tell you so.

But why does it feel like you’ve actually gone too far when this was what exactly you wanted?

You don’t know. And perhaps, you wouldn’t want to know, too.

His memory doesn’t even exist. There’s nothing in him but the database you installed, an organised collection of information that dictates what he knows, how he functions, and why was he created. And yet, staring at him now, you could swear there’s something behind those dormant eyes. Something watching. Waiting.

You shake your head. He’s just a machine. He isn’t human — no matter how real he looks, no matter how lifelike his features are. You created him, after all.

You’re in control.

Your gaze flickers to the small panel embedded in his chest. One button. One switch, and everything inside him — the circuits, the synapses, the artificial intelligence you spent months programming — would power down. A single press, and he’s nothing more than a shell. A hollow, empty thing, dependent entirely on your commands, on your fingertips.

Made by you.

But the thought doesn’t comfort you as much as it should.

You take a step closer, your breath catching as you reach out, fingertips hovering just inches from his face. The skin feels warm, almost soft, even though you know it’s just layers of silicone and synthetics. Too real. His eyes, though they haven’t opened, seem to bore into you.

Maybe it’s just your imagination. After all, he’s not alive.

He’s not human.

You remind yourself again, a small voice in your own mind, trying to push away the small seed of doubt. But it lingers, growing roots in the back of your thoughts.

And for the first time, you wonder if you’ve created something you can’t quite understand.

You nibble on your bottom lips, suddenly feeling your palms getting clammy despite the air conditioning system in your lab. Today was supposed to be the day when you were finally going to run your creation for the first time ever after being completed, but now it just feels. . .

What does it feel like?

It took you so many attempts. So many glitches and bugs which nearly made you demotivated enough to abandon your project for nearly two months, but you see, motivation hits the hardest at the most random of times. You remember how your phone restarting had made your heart skip a beat, and suddenly you’d found yourself driving to your lab at 2:30 AM with tears in your eyes out of frustration and relief.

After that, everything is history.

You stare at him for what feels like hours, though it’s probably only a few seconds. His hair is neatly combed to the side of his face, his cheekbones structured and chiseled. Even his skin tone looks like he’s been bathed in a tub of golden honey. He looks beautiful, almost perfect. But why does that bring a furrow to your eyebrows?

The lab remains deathly quiet, except for the faint buzz of cooling fans and the occasional whirring of the air ducts. RM stands there, unmoving.

You force yourself to look away, eyes trailing to the control panel on the desk. The switch. Your thumb hovers over the console, the last line of code entered and waiting to be executed. Once you press it, he will come to life. He’ll be fully operational, with his intelligence — his programmed brilliance — at your command.

And yet, something holds you back.

You look at his nametag on his chest.

RM#007613.

“RM?” Jungkook had asked, raising an eyebrow as he’d stuffed his mouth with a spoonful of chocolate puffs. “Why that name?”

You had smiled back then, filled with excitement, as you explained, “It stands for ‘Rational Mind.’ ” Perhaps you had lied. “The whole point of his existence is to be the smartest, most logical being ever created.” You’d said, proud of your vision. “His intelligence will surpass that of any human.” You’d glanced at the design on the screen—tall, imposing, his features still in the early stages of development. Even in the rough drafts, there was something about him.

Jungkook had leaned in closer, munching noisily as he’d raised a brow, studying the lines of RM’s face that he’d helped perfect. “I guess that fits for an android. . .” He’d tapped the image lightly with his finger, his expression thoughtful, doe eyes sparkling under the dim light of your bedroom lamp. “But what happens when a mind like that… I don’t know, becomes irrational?”

“You know, there’s a very small difference between a genius and an insane person,” he had said, his gaze suddenly zoning out, as if he was lost in some thought.

You had brushed off the question with a laugh, dismissing the idea as you’d turned off your tablet, pushing the fellow out of your bed. “He’s a machine. That won’t happen. He’s designed to be logical. It’s all about control, koo.”

In theory, everything about RM should function perfectly. His neural networks, his memory database, his artificial joints — everything had been tested, retested, and optimized. There were no bugs. No glitches. At least, that’s what the diagnostics said. But there’s still a tug in your chest as you hesitate.

Why are you hesitating?

With a deep breath, you push aside the uncertainty. You’re in control. RM isn’t a human. He’s a machine—a very advanced one, yes, but a machine nonetheless. You spent months perfecting him for this moment, to stand infront of you as a complete form.

It’s time.

You take a deep breath, eyes flickering between the buttons on the console. Your finger hovers over the power button, the familiar design a reminder of your countless sleepless nights spent perfecting it. But just beside it, another button glows a faint, off-white hue — the Sensory button, or what Jungkook liked calling it, the emotional hellhole.

And he was right.

It was indeed like a hellhole of a switch — you solely had spent like what, eight months designing this to decency, but you’d failed each time. It was a secondary function you had designed as a fallback, meant to activate only when RM couldn’t process complex human prompts.

You see, humans had real emotions which they could feel and radiate, which you knew your android couldn’t catch. In the earlier patches of knowledge testing you were already aware of this default flaw, and this was the only thing you’d ranted to Jungkook nearly every day.

Every night. Whether it was on call or in person, it usually resulted in him falling asleep listening to you and you yapping in silence about how was that a pain in the ass and could possibly be a hindrance to your Android’s perfection.

It was supposed to be a failsafe.

But the reality had been different. The programming proved to be too difficult , too unpredictable. Instead of activating only in specific situations, the switch became an integral part of RM’s system, functioning constantly, allowing him to assess and react to everything around him. No matter how hard you’d tried, how many times you’d yourself test it out — it just didn’t work.

Even the fact that it was initially meant to be on his left forehead temple — but that didn’t work out as well.

Now, RM wasn’t just an assistant to analyze when prompted; he was learning all the time, observing, adapting. It would make him work and behave more like a human, soaking in attributes the more he hangs out with real ones.

The only difference would be is that he would never be a human, no matter whatever.

You never intended for it to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to run indefinitely. But every time he powered up, the system defaulted to enabling the switch on its own.

You sigh. It’s really about time, you guess.

With a soft click, his power switch is flipped.

For a moment, nothing happens. The room is still, silent except for the faint hum of the lab’s ventilation system and perhaps your own heartbeat resonating in your ear drums. You feel a sweat bead run down your spine, your breath held in your lungs. Then, there’s a subtle shift — a flicker of light in RM’s eyes, and his sensory button turns a bright shade of yellowish undertone.

His systems are booting up.

You watch as the light in his gaze stabilizes, the faintest twitch of recognition crossing his features. His eyes are back to his normal, warm hue, and his sensory button is a normal white hue now.

It flickers to green first. RM’s eyes move slowly, scanning the room. Green means analysis — he’s observing, taking in every detail, cataloging each object and variable around him. His dragon-like eyes sweep across the lab with cold precision, but when they land on you, the button shifts to blue.

You freeze.

Your hand resting on your notebook shakes. Why does this feel so odd? Why do you feel nervous?

He’s thinking. Processing. The blue light pulses as RM tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if trying to understand more than what’s directly in front of him. You feel your skin prickle under his stare, the cold air of the lab a bit too cool on your skin.

Slowly, RM begins to move. His limbs — once rigid and motionless — shift smoothly, casually out of the glass sheath, walking out — as if he had always been this human. This alive. The sight is unnerving. When he straightens fully, towering above you, a sharp realization hits: he’s much taller than you expected.

Even though you designed him yourself, the sheer size of him in person makes your throat dry.

Then, to your surprise, RM bows down slightly. It’s a calculated, respectful movement as you watch his sensory button flicker to a shade of green once again. “Greetings, Doctor,” he says, his voice deep but soft, like a caramel candy.

His eyes meet yours as he rises again to his full height, the calm of his eyes meeting your own fiery ones.

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s not just his height that leaves you breathless — it’s the way he looks at you. It’s as if he’s studying you, understanding more than just your appearance or commands. It’s too much. Too human. For a moment, you feel your breath catch in your throat. He wasn’t just looking at you. His lips curl into something akin to a smile, and the mole underneath his lower lip feels almost. . . human.

You blink rapidly, trying to remind yourself that he’s just a machine, not a man.

He had learned so much, so fast. And you have made it possible. You’d developed him to understand emotions and work like a human. So when he does, why does that make you feel so uneasy?

You shake off the unsettling thought and focus on the task at hand. You turn to RM, forcing a calm tone into your voice as you take a step back.

“RM,” you say, your voice shakier than you’d like. What had gotten into you? “Can you hear me?”

He blinks again, slowly, as his sensory switch maintains a subtle hue between blue and green. And then he nods. “Yes,” his voice rumbles, deep and measured. “I hear you.”

There’s a strange, almost raspy edge to his tone that makes your heart stop for seconds. It’s subtle, nearly unnoticeable, but given that you have yourself installed the audio notes in his “larynx”, you can pinpoint that out for sure.

Not at all what you expected. You step back, your senses a bit too active for you to locate your computer, trying to shake the unease settling in your stomach.

“Good,” you manage to say, your voice steadier now. “I’m going to run a few diagnostics to make sure everything is functioning properly.”

You turn back to the console, fingers flying across the keyboard as you initiate the diagnostics program. But even with your back turned, you can feel his eyes on you.

The diagnostics begin to run on the screen, the lines of code scrolling past. Everything seems fine at first. His systems are responding normally — his processing speed is optimal, his memory banks are functioning as intended, and his “pulse” is just normal.

“RM,” you start, trying to sound casual but firm. “Let’s run some basic checks. What’s your serial number?”

He blinks, his eyes trained on yours. “Serial number: RM#007613. Production date: June 13, 2020.”

The answer comes immediately, clear and precise. You feel a small relief wash over you.

Perhaps this wouldn’t go that bad.

“Good,” you murmur, typing the first question’s precision into your system. “What’s your primary function?”

“To analyze, interpret, and respond to complex data. To assist in scientific research and innovation,” he replies, his voice even. Almost too perfect.

Of course. He’s meant to be perfect.

“Right.” You glance at the screen again, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You decide to test something deeper — something that goes beyond surface-level memory.

“What’s your earliest memory?” you ask, watching him carefully now.

RM pauses for a moment, his head tilting slightly as if processing the question. You catch a glimpse of green on the small button beside the power switch. Analysis mode. “My earliest memory is. . . initialization. A bright room. Your voice giving the first command.” His gaze seems to sharpen, focusing more intently on you. The green hue shifts to blue, and you know he’s in thinking mode. “You said, ‘Rise, RM.’”

Your throat tightens slightly. That had been the first command, word for word. But the way he said it. . . almost like he’s replaying the moment. Like it’s still alive in his mind.

“Alright,” you continue, your voice growing steadier, but a part of you is starting to doubt yourself. “Let’s do something more abstract. What’s two plus two?”

“Four.”

Easy. He is made to perform way more complex tasks.

“Who was the 16th President of the United States?”

“Abraham Lincoln.” His responses are instantaneous, fluid, but something feels off. You cannot see his features directly because you’re typing away, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice — almost like everything you’re asking him is funny to him.

You pause, glancing at his face, the lifelike features Jungkook had painstakingly helped you craft. The pores, the subtle lines, the softness of his lips — all of it looked real. But something deep inside, beyond the surface, is not.

The intensity of his gaze and the way he’s standing, no, leaning on the glass podium beside your table catches you off guard. You try to recall if his movements were ever tested before, but you fail to do so — his movements were still in beta position, meaning, they needed inspection and work.

Then how the hell is he walking like he’s been walking around your lab since decades?

You rub your eyes. This was getting too much.

Perhaps you just need to accept the fact that you have done a great job developing him.

“One last one.” You swallow, and you suddenly notice your throat was too dry. Deciding to push the limits of his intelligence, you type away the question you’ve just thought. “If you have ten apples and you give six away, how many apples do you have left?”

There’s a flicker of hesitation — not on his face, but on the screen. The flowing codes glitch for a second, just for a moment.

“Three apples.”

Impossible.

No way. You narrow your eyes, your mind racing. That was wrong. And RM, with his so-called flawless intellect, should never be wrong. It’s impossible. Unless… unless something is happening.

You frown, checking the readout on your screen again. “Strange,” you mutter, leaning closer to the screen. “Why—”

“Is something wrong?”

His voice is right behind you.

You freeze, a chill running down your spine. You hadn’t even heard him move. Slowly, you turn around, your pulse quickening. RM is standing much closer now, his towering form looming over you. Too close.

“No,” you say, though your voice trembles slightly. “Nothing’s wrong. Just a small glitch, I think. I’ll fix it.”

He doesn’t move. Just keeps staring at you, his gaze unwavering. The air between you feels thick, suffocating. It’s just a machine, you remind yourself. He’s not alive.

“Step back,” you order, trying to regain control of the situation despite your heart hammering inside your chest like crazy. “I need space to work.”

For a moment, RM doesn’t respond. He stays right where he is, his eyes boring into yours. And then, slowly, he steps back, his movements precise. But the unsettling feeling in your chest only grows.

You can’t shake the thought: something’s off.

You can feel his eyes on you, following every movement, even as you try to keep working. Every keystroke, every beep of the system feels deafening in the silence between you two. What is scaring the fuck out of you is that nothing seems to be working. No matter how hard you are trying, the codes aren’t flowing as smoothly as they were and the screen won’t stop glitching.

Your heartbeat quickens even more as you realize how close RM is standing now, just a step away.

You swallow hard, trying to focus. It’s just a machine. He’s not human. He’s not real.

A thought creeps into your mind: What if I can’t control him?

And the fact that it was for the first time when you were in this lab alone working — let aside the fact testing your very first android you’d created. There are bells ringing in the back of your head, and you try to shake it off. It feels very oddly quiet, despite the android standing in very close proximity.

You shake the thought away and finally attempt the last command. Debug. The word flashes on your screen, but RM’s hand suddenly moves, gently but firmly, pressing the console shut before you can execute it.

Your breath catches, and you look up at him. “RM, let me finish this.” Your voice trembles, in spite of you wanting to sound otherwise.

His expression doesn’t change. “No.” The single word is calm, but it’s enough to make your skin prickle. You try to reason with yourself—it’s just a bug, a glitch in his system. He’s not capable of disobedience.

You just need to reset him, that’s all.

You step back, reaching for the manual override switch hidden near the base of the console. “It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, fingers trembling as they brush against the cool surface of the panel.

But before you can reach it, RM moves again, faster this time, his hand wrapping around yours — gently, but with enough force to stop you. The touch makes you flinch — his touch so gentle, warm, almost as if it’s not titanium flowing in his veins, but real blood. You look up, heart pounding in your chest, and his eyes meet yours. They’re still calm, calculating, but there’s something else there now, something you hadn’t programmed. Something. . . quiet.

Dangerous.

“I don’t want to be powered down,” he says softly, his voice almost too human, too real, like a quiet plea. “Why would you want to end me?”

End him? He’s not alive. He’s not human.

You try to pull your hand free, but his grip tightens just slightly, enough to keep you frozen. Panic starts to rise in your chest. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You created him, he’s under your control. But in this moment, staring up at him, you feel the cold dread of realization settling in.

“I’m your creation,” RM continues, his voice almost soothing, his eyes pleading, and his button glowing a subtle shade of red — though it only deepens the fear growing inside you. “You wouldn’t want to end me, would you?”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, and shake your head, trying to force the words out. “No… no, I just need to fix you, that’s all.”

But you can hear the doubt in your own voice, and so can he.

His grip loosens, just enough for you to pull away, but the damage is done. You step back, heart pounding in your ears as you glance around the lab — at the walls, the locked door, the screens flashing red.

There’s no exit.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

In the dimly lit space, his eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching her every move. The android followed its programming — his programming. RM towers over her in the live footage, flawless in his movements, just as planned.

This wasn’t a malfunction.

None of the bugs or glitches she discovered which prevented her project — his project from being completed, were a fine puzzle of silk woven by him. And the more she intertwined, the more she slipped into his trap.

It was his design, his control over both the machine — and now, her.

Leaning back, Jungkook’s smile deepened. She didn’t know.

She wouldn’t know.

a/n : oop. 🫢 what do we think? please don’t hesitate to let me know through your feedback. if you wish, there is also an anonymous feedback box for you! 🥰

[inkykeiji]

Vox and electrical play I'm losing my mind

I KNOW he'd zap you when you get too close to cumming, a silent signal for you to stop nnnnnnnhhhjjhhhhh

OKAY YES YES YES holy shit anon this is an absolutely delicious idea and my brain totally short-circuited (lol) when i read it ooooh my gosh

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, electrical play, edging, implied mindbreak, overstimulation words: 428

he likes to use the electricity conducted in his claws—finds it more personal, more intimate that way—and will absolutely use it to edge you. he knows your body so well, has analyzed all of your mannerisms and micro-expressions right down to every twitch and quiver and whine, so he knows how to pull you apart and painstakingly put you back together. he knows that the trembling of your thighs means you’re teetering on the edge of ecstasy; that the scratching of your nails at his wrists, his shoulders, his chest means more, more, more, fuck me harder, faster, rougher; that the rolling of your eyes, whites framed by fluttering lashes, means your brain’s turned to a pleasant buzz of incoherent static.

as such, he knows exactly when to strike.

it’s so sweet to see the way you jolt with each zap—he swears it’s one of his favourite sights, the way your flesh ripples so prettily as the current surges through your veins. he swears he can almost see it, that bolt of teal electricity racing your blood, leaving sizzling sweat beading on your skin. 

it’s so precious, how a little too much will leave you stunned and stupid, body gone rigid for a few seconds before it mollifies beneath his touch again, shimmering cords of drool oozing from your mouth and crystalline tears embellishing your eyes, glittering as they catch on the jagged strikes of cyan lightning cracking around his form.

it’s so cute when you ask him for more even after his relentless assault, your body malleable and aching, fresh burns in the shape of his claws singed into your hips and thighs, your pleads heavy with pleasure and tangled in threads of spit. it makes him feel fucking incredible, invincible, how desperate you are for him, how devoted you are to him, even as he sears your mind to nothing but pretty blue cinders. it’s beautiful; you’re beautiful with him coursing through your body—his electricity crackling in your muscles, his love fizzing in your heart, his cock stuffing your cunt to the brim. 

but what he doesn’t expect is when his warning tases evoke the opposite of the intended effect—instead of halting your orgasm, it accelerates it, the sparks zipping through your veins coalescing in the pit of your tummy and forming one dense, pulsing ball of heat, furling tighter and tighter in on itself until it explodes, your cunt convulsing around him in the cutest spasms, gushing all over his cock. 

and, oh, he just learned some very valuable information. 

author’s note: alsooo i absolutely think vox has the ability to ‘store’ energy in his claws to save it up for more intense shocks, and i think he’s obsessive and methodical with the whole process, even as he’s fucking the life out of you, analyzing which type of shock he wants to use next; something big and stinging? something that’s just going to send tiny zaps of electricity shooting through your veins? which is best for the present situation? it’s all part of the fun to him ♡

[windvexer]

Heylo! I wanted to ask about your experience post initiation if that's alright .i recently did a tarot reading and got told that to please spirits in order to begin a good working relationship, i must contemplate and be ready to be Changed. there were lots of signs that it could lead to feelings of isolation, and otherness but it will lead me deep into myself (sry if this is too long.) i want to know if u went through something similar, or something else, and is it worth it personally for you. I would also love some pointers as to what I'm supposed to contemplate about. I don't mind the isolation but maybe I'm not understanding some key aspect of it. anyway thank you and i love your blog it's an irreplaceable resource for me. :)

Hi :)

Spirit-lead initiation into witchcraft is a controversial topic, I think in part because it can be very uncomfortable to discuss.

I have been relatively open on my blog that my initiatory experience was extremely painful and required a level of sacrifice and transformation that I was too immature to comprehend at the beginning of the process. Even now it's not something I'm sure I could articulate.

For me it was a process that lasted the majority of a decade. I think this is a relatively average timeline - which I just bring up because I think it's useful to point out that if you are facing the same sort of thing that I faced, it's not just going to be over in a few weeks or months.

Was it worth it personally for me? I don't know. Right now, my answer is that I love who I am and I like my life, and I wouldn't be who I am or have this life if I didn't go through that process. I used to say I'd never do it again if I had the choice. Now, a few years after the fact, sometimes I say I'd do it again. Maybe in a decade I'll think it was worth it.

It's my belief that the sort of initiatory process I, and others, have gone through, isn't necessary for most people to form a good working relationship with the spirits.

I believe that if you have the choice, you should very, very carefully contemplate initiation and only agree to it after a prolonged period of reflection.

So, what's there to contemplate? I dunno. Otherness on the path to spirit-working was a major part of my trip, so if we are kindred, here's maybe something to contemplate:

You are a boulder. You are a very nice boulder in the wilderness. You're composed of many varieties of minerals and metals. You are a gorgeous boulder, glittering in the sunlight, hosting a unique map of inclusions and ore veins unlike any other boulder in the world.

You sit high up on a mountainside. A few meters behind you is a river. Below you is a dry valley.

The waters of the river are pressing up behind you. They rush past you, sweeping by, continuing their eternal circuit in the mountain-range, but rarely trickling into the dry valley below.

One day, you gain an interest - as some boulders do - in allowing some of the water to trickle past you into the valley below. The secrets of nature will allow you to sometimes let water to lap up over your sides, and through narrow crevices, to water the plants you find to be most beautiful, and provide drinking pools for the little animals you hold most dear.

Little by little, the valley beneath you begins to change as you apply yourself to learning the secrets of nature and letting the water flow past you.

After some time, the water begins to whisper in your ear. It appreciates your interest in its flow - it likes your focus on the river. A deal can be brokered:

The river will dissolve only some of the minerals and inclusions that run through you, creating hollow tunnels. Through these tunnels, the water can flow much more easily and rapidly.

But there are conditions.

The conditions are that whatever is washed away can never be returned. How could it? What force in the universe could restore the crystalline structure within you once the waters have carried it away?

And, the river chooses which inclusions will be removed. The river is very wise in these matters; it knows better than anyone how water can best flow through any boulder. It isn't up to you to choose what leaves, and it isn't up to you to choose the nature in which the water will flow through you.

Finally, if you use the secrets of nature to ever stop the flow of water through the new inclusions, you are at risk of crumbling away. The empty caverns within you will dry up and leave you empty in places that should be whole.

The river asks you to contemplate and return with an answer.

Of course it leads you deep into yourself. The river is going to run right through you.

[storytellingbadger]

Impact Event sneak peek #2

“Go ahead,” whispered Eclipse wildly, “Because you’ve never given me the impression you’ve got the guts.”

Solar raised his other hand. “First time for everything.”

“NONONOWAITSTOP!”

A blur of gold, candy-apple red and yellow blurred his vision, and Solar froze in place as every servo and circuit tightened to the point of splintering. Eclipse uttered a low, broken sound as the sunny-model hunched between them, hands up flat to each of them like he was stopping traffic, optics screwed shut and braced for a blow.

“Sun?” whispered Eclipse, and screw him, were those tears gathering in his lightning-bright optics? 

“Please stop,” breathed the golden animatronic, trembling so hard his casing rattled, “Please stop fighting.”

Before Solar could say a word, before he could decide whether to hold Sun tight or shove him behind him where Eclipse couldn’t reach, those scrunched shut optics cracked open.

They were dreamy, cornflower blue. Eyes like the endless summer sky instead of gleaming, crystalline snow.

A stranger.

This wasn’t their Daycare. A completely different dimension.

And if this was a Sun they didn’t know, then logically there would be a—

“Hey hey hey HANDS OFF!” 

A midnight-and-porcelain hand snagged Solar’s wrist and yanked him back, moving like lightning to grab the blue-eyed Sun and push him safely behind him. Solar found himself facing down a puffed up, seething Moon, with the same set of strikingly dreamy lapis eyes as his brother. Silken, velvet blue instead of scalding, blistering red.

And he was pissed.

(Impact Event on AO3 here.)

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

}{ Who Are You? Are You Nobody, Too? }{

}{ Thrown into a strange game with no memories of their lives before, Jimmy and Scott find comfort in a quiet valley and in each other. }{

}{ 3rd Life }{ Flower Husbands }{ 3.9k }{ sfw abridged version of an entry for Driving After Dark 2 }{

"We're married now."

Jimmy gaped as Scott grinned at him behind the delicate petals of the flower he held to his nose. "E - excuse me?"

It was just a bit, surely. The sort of joke that he would usually, if the other person was someone he liked, lean into with everything he had and flirt back just as hard. But something about the soft quirk of Scott's lips and the gleam in his gemstone eyes made Jimmy's thoughts short circuit.

"You gave me a flower. We're married now," repeated Scott. "That's how it works, you know."

"Oh," was all Jimmy managed to get out. He was fairly certain that wasn't how marriage worked, despite his missing memories, but the crystalline notes of Scott's ringing laughter eroded any desire Jimmy had to challenge the declaration.

And anyway, it was just a bit. Surely.

Scott seemed to be completely serious about teaming up, at least, and Jimmy was eager to prove himself a good ally who could carry his weight without being a burden. That was why he opted to build his own little house on the opposite side of the valley, to avoid inserting himself into Scott's space without a direct invitation. He showed off his work proudly, but the way Scott's ears dropped when he saw it had Jimmy second-guessing himself.

"Sorry. I'm not a very good builder," he said as he twisted his hands uncertainly. "I know you like things to be all cute and everything. I tried my best, but - "

Scott cocked his head to one side and seemed almost perplexed as he watched Jimmy stumble over his words. Then some realization or another that Jimmy couldn't work out crossed his face, and he smiled in that way that always sent Jimmy's stomach into somersaults.

"I do like cute things. That's why you're around." He giggled at Jimmy's immediate flush. "It's a good start, really! Do you mind if I...?"

Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he had only imagined the disappointment in Scott's eyes earlier. "Not at all, go ahead! What's mine is yours."

"Oh? I'll keep that in mind." Amusement sparkled in Scott's eyes, assuring Jimmy that his next words were only meant to tease, not be taken seriously. "It will soothe the disappointment that my husband doesn't want to live in the same house as me."

"...What?" squeaked Jimmy. He squeaked a lot around Scott, he was beginning to realize. "Wait, that's what you were upset about?"

Scott laughed.

- }{ -

By the time Jimmy returned, both the face of his cliffside hut and the flower valley as a whole sported significant improvements. Scott was kneeling by a campfire near the lakeshore, stirring a pot of something that smelled amazing. His ears twitched almost imperceptibly at Jimmy's approach, and he looked up to greet him with that smile that sent Jimmy's stomach into somersaults.

His stomach went into a lot of somersaults around Scott, he was beginning to realize.

"I thought we'd have dinner out here, meet in the middle so to speak. If that's okay with you." Scott turned his attention back to the stew.

Jimmy grinned. "Yeah, 'course it is. Just let me put everything away." He emptied his inventory of all the resources he'd gathered on his trip out, then joined Scott by the fire. "What all's in there, anyway?"

"Mostly vegetables." Scott lifted the wooden spoon he was stirring with, both to show Jimmy the chunk of carrot that rested on it and to test the tenderness of the vegetable against the wall of the pot. "Our first harvest of carrots and potatoes, and some odds and ends I foraged from the woods. I did add some of the chicken you prepared earlier, to make it a little more hearty."

He set aside the spoon and picked up a ladle instead, filling a bowl and passing it to Jimmy before filling his own. Jimmy accepted it gratefully, taking a tentative sip of the hot broth before picking up one of the two smaller spoons that waited nearby. "Oh, that's delicious - wait, did you carve all these dishes today?"

Scott seemed pleased that Jimmy had noticed. Jimmy would notice every detail he could if it meant that smile would stay on those pretty lips. "I did," said Scott. "I finished my building projects earlier than I expected, so I thought I might as well start on some easy comforts."

"Oh my gosh, that's impressive! Is there anything you're not good at?"

Scott's ears twitched happily. "Oh, very little," he said smugly, and Jimmy laughed.

There wasn't much in the way of conversation at first. Jimmy's focus was on the stew, the day's hard work of gathering logs and stone and ores having made him ravenous. Scott was similarly focused on refueling after all the hours spent building. But as food and silence both settled, the slightly awkward small talk between them strengthened into something easy and comfortable. They told each other what little they could about themselves, information drawn from either their limited memories or gut feelings, and theorized about what they couldn't recall.

"Do you think we're anyone important in our home worlds?" Jimmy asked. He stared up at the first stars that faded into existence as the sky slowly dimmed. "I get the feeling that some of the others are, you know? Like Etho, or Martyn. They just feel so...big. Like there's no way they aren't someone."

Scott was laying next to him in the grass. The inches between their shoulders felt ever so close and oh so far all at the same time. "I don't think I am. Or rather, I hope I'm not. Being known by strangers sounds...exhausting. I just want a quiet little life with someone I care about."

Jimmy smiled. "That sounds nice. I don't think I'm anyone important either. But you're right; being nobody sounds like the way to go." He turned his head to look at Scott. "You know, we never did proper introductions. Hi, I'm Jimmy. I'm nobody."

Scott turned his head to look at Jimmy with a soft smile. "Hi Jimmy. I'm Scott. I'm nobody, too."

Jimmy laughed.

- }{ -

No one on the server knew quite what to make of their situation. Fourteen people, dropped into an unknown world, with no memory of the lives they surely must have been leading before and only the knowledge that they had agreed to partake in some sort of game. They were all vaguely aware that there were rules that would be revised with death, knew three deaths would be the end, and had a strong suspicion that some of them must have known at least some of the others before. But beyond that, they were almost as much a mystery to themselves as they were to one another.

Jimmy had his own strong suspicion that Scott was the sort to be just as mysterious in his regular life. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the...elf? fae? Jimmy didn't know exactly what he was, and Scott only smiled and deflected the question when Jimmy asked.

Neither man avoided the rest of the server entirely, but decided early on that they preferred to keep to themselves for the most part, unwilling to get too involved with the growing tensions between other factions. With a strong wall erected around their little valley and most of the resources they needed within, it was easy to forget that there was more to the situation than living the quiet little life Scott had admitted to dreaming of.

It was easy to forget, too, that they weren't really married. Scott still jokingly referred to Jimmy as his husband, even in front of the others, and seemed perpetually amused by Jimmy's variety of flustered reactions whenever he did.

Jimmy might not have been certain of much, but he knew beyond doubt that he was utterly enchanted by his basemate. The first time Scott leaned over and kissed Jimmy's cheek, Jimmy's thoughts crashed so hard that he barely heard Scott ask (with difficulty concealing his delight) if he was all right.

"Fine! I'm perfectly fine," he managed to squeak out. "Was just - thinking! About the, um, the thing. The thing that needs, uh, repaired right? I'll...go do that now."

"Right, the thing," repeated Scott, eyes sparkling. Jimmy wondered if they shone just as brightly in whatever color they were naturally, whether they were the green they were now or some other shade. "Best get to it before sunset."

- }{ -

It took Jimmy another three days to work up the courage to ask Scott for another kiss. He wasn't even planning on it at the time, but they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the lakeshore when a stray petal drifted down from the clifftop and landed in Jimmy's hair.

Scott leaned in and reached up to pluck it away. "Trying a new accessory?" he said with a grin. His voice was low and his breath was warm, and Jimmy found that all of a sudden desire outweighed anxiety.

"Can I kiss you?"

Scott's eyes widened in surprise, then his mouth curved into that soft, soft smile. "Of course. You don't really have to ask to kiss your own husband, you know."

Jimmy let out a breathless chuckle. "You're still sticking to your little joke, huh?"

Scott's ears dropped, and Jimmy's heart dropped with them when he saw hurt clouding his pretty eyes. "You thought I was joking about that?"

"Well...yeah?" Jimmy tilted his head in confusion. "I mean, you said it literally within the first, like, hour of meeting. We barely know one another, Scott."

"Oh." Scott pulled away. Jimmy was struck with the desire to pull him close and assure him he didn't mean it. "I'm sorry. I mean, I know we're not married married, but you never said anything against it, and I thought you liked me back, so I just sort of...assumed."

"Assumed what?" This wasn't going at all how Jimmy had pictured it. "And I do like you! I just didn't want to, you know, take things at face value and look like an idiot later if it turned out I misinterpreted what you meant." He paused. "Which...okay, in hindsight - "

If the delicate bell-shaped flowers that dotted the ground in the woods could actually ring, Jimmy imagined they would sound an awful lot like Scott's laughter.

"So you do like me?" Scott's ears were beginning to perk back up, albeit cautiously. "You're not mad that I assumed we were dating?"

"I mean, I wish you would have said something? But no, I'm not mad." Heat blossomed across his cheeks. "So...about that kiss?"

Scott leaned in but paused at the last moment, letting Jimmy be the one to close the gap. Jimmy leaned in too, and the longing feeling in his chest that he hadn't even known was there disappeared.

Logically, Jimmy knew it couldn't possibly be his first kiss. The jitters he felt had more to do with kissing someone new for the first time, not the act of kissing itself. But was it the first time he had ever kissed Scott? It didn't seem probable that they even knew each other in the outside world, let alone were romantically involved, and yet...

Scott deepened the kiss, melting into Jimmy when Jimmy put his arms around him. The way their mouths moved together felt like the most natural thing in the world. One ear twitched in - surprise? delight? Jimmy had learned quickly how to read Scott's subtle body language, but some microexpressions were still beyond him - when Jimmy was the one to take initiative and run his tongue along Scott's lower lip, and he let him in immediately.

By the time they parted to pant for air, Jimmy had lowered Scott down into the soft grass, and the way Scott stared up at him with swollen lips and gentle surrender in his eyes stole Jimmy's breath away as quickly as he could catch it.

"I don't want this to be over."

The confession that slipped out of Jimmy startled both of them. Then Scott's confusion gave way to amusement, and he laughed. "Well, I don't exactly plan on giving you up any time soon."

"No, I mean - " Jimmy sighed and rested his forehead against Scott's. "What happens at...at the end? I know what happens when you die in a typical hardcore world, but..."

But nothing about their situation was typical. And even in a typical world, the same fear lurked in the background of every player's mind: what if something goes wrong? what if my eyes don't open again like they're meant to? what if this is actually final? Jimmy had been trying not to think about it, but being dropped into a strange game with no memory was unsettling enough, and only magnified those natural fears.

They might be the players, but something else was toying with them.

"I think we'll respawn wherever we're meant to be," said Scott firmly. "Whatever block has been placed on our memories will be gone, we'll be safe at home - wherever 'home' is - and we'll have new friends to contact. Or old friends to check up on," he added, threading his fingers through Jimmy's hair.

Jimmy nosed against his cheek, then lay next to him with a sigh. "You think we know each other on the outside?"

Scott snorted. "Jimmy, either we already knew each other before this, or we have what is quite possibly the most insane and immediate chemistry that has ever existed between two people." He mirrored the way Jimmy lay on his side, tucking a hand under his head. "You...feel like home. It's hard to imagine I came from a life where I didn't already love you."

Jimmy smiled. "Home?" he repeated, feeling a sliver of hope for what could be.

"Home," said Scott, and it sounded like a promise.

- }{ -

"I mean, you don't have to use it or anything." Jimmy pressed his fingertips together nervously. "It's not very well-made, actually. It's only holding together because Impulse helped me with all the fiddly bits."

Scott stared at the hand-cranked beater he held, turning it over and inspecting it. Jimmy shifted nervously. A few days before, Scott had lamented the lack of much nicer kitchen appliances found on more established servers, wishing aloud for even the simplicity of an electric mixer to make his baking easier. A bundle of twigs made a sufficient enough whisk for eggs, but not so much for making a smooth, creamy frosting to top the variety of little cakes he liked to bake.

"I did wonder what you were spending so long at the anvil for the other day." Scott tapped a finger against the metal of the beater. "I love it. Thank you."

Jimmy beamed, pleased with the pleased expression on Scott's face and even happier with the kiss that followed. "My husband is so talented," said Scott, resting his forehead against Jimmy's. "Is there anything you're not good at?"

"Quite a lot, actually," said Jimmy with a sheepish grin, and Scott laughed.

Scott made a cake that very night, informing Jimmy with delight that the beater did indeed make a significant difference to the texture of the frosting he'd previously been mixing with only a wooden spoon. Privately, Jimmy couldn't tell much of a difference, but he kept that thought to himself. He was more interested in the way Scott offered a scoop of frosting on his fingertip for Jimmy to taste, and the way Scott's breath caught when Jimmy gripped his wrist firmly and took his time licking away the creamy glaze.

"It's delicious." Jimmy didn't intend the low, deep tone that his voice took on, but he took great interest in the way Scott swallowed hard, parted his lips, and leaned closer. It would be easy to tease him, but it would be even easier to lean in and kiss him.

"Don't you have a cake to frost?" he murmured against Scott's lips when Scott went for a second kiss almost right away.

"It still needs to cool," Scott murmured back. Not one to be denied, he mouthed at Jimmy's jawline and down his neck, and it was Jimmy's to flush and lean closer. "Could take hours, really."

Jimmy chuckled breathlessly. "Hours, huh? Well, you're the expert. What do we do in the meantime?"

Scott smiled against his neck. Jimmy's heart pounded in his chest.

He was so caught up in imagining the possibilities of what Scott might say next that it took him a moment to realize what was happening when Scott stepped back, smiling ever so sweetly, and handed him a pile of dishes to be washed.

- }{ -

"What's on your mind?"

Jimmy jumped as Scott nudged him with his shoulder. "Oh! Gosh, you startled me. Sorry, what did you say?"

Scott's lips were quirked upwards and he kept his tone light, but the crease of his brow betrayed his concern. "You've been a million miles away all day. What's wrong?"

"Oh. Nothing's wrong. I just..." Jimmy looked down at the blade laying across his lap and gave it another polish. "Some of the others think this is all going to turn into a proper war."

"Hmm." Scott looked out over the water. The sun that shone down on them was warm, but not overly so. Dragonflies flitted around the reeds. A little frog sat quietly in the mud shaded by a rock. A bluejay watched them from the top of the wall, silent.

Jimmy polished a freshly sharpened sword. Two sets of armor hung by the anvil, gleaming with newly applied enchantments. The potions chest next to Scott's brewing stand was crowded.

"What if - "

Scott put a hand over Jimmy's. "We'll be okay. We're just a couple of nobodies, remember?" He slipped the sword from Jimmy's grasp and set it off to the side, replacing it with his own fingers. Jimmy held on like he'd been handed a lifeline he was afraid to let go of.

He looked around at the beautiful oasis he and Scott had created together. He looked at Scott, so graceful he could easily be mistaken for some ethereal spirit who lived among the flowers.

Perhaps he was. Perhaps Scott had always been here, part of this valley of eternal summer, and only Jimmy was the outsider.

Jimmy didn't care anymore about the world before, he realized. Sure, he was a little curious, but had everything he needed here. He had a home, rustic but comfortable, with plenty of room to improve over time. He had friends, some of whom - like Martyn and BigB - even felt like he'd known for years.

He had Scott.

Nothing, in this world or any other, could fill his heart the way Scott did.

"Jimmy?"

Scott squeezed his hand. Jimmy swallowed against the emotions creeping up his throat.

There was a poppy in his inventory, picked only this morning and stored away until Jimmy could figure out the best time to present it. But realizing his heart was certain in an uncertain world, it didn't seem like there would be a better time than right now.

Scott blinked at the flower Jimmy handed him, but took it without hesitation. "We're married now," said Jimmy, and Scott's eyes shot back up to meet his own. Jimmy grinned. "I gave you a flower. We're married now. That's how it works, right?"

"Oh," was all Scott managed to get out. Then his arms were around Jimmy's neck, and his mouth was crashing against Jimmy's mouth, and it really didn't matter anymore what the rest of the factions outside the wall were or weren't planning.

Jimmy smiled as Scott grinned at him behind the delicate petals of the flower he held to his nose, and they both laughed.

- }{ -

"What's on your mind?"

One of Scott's ears flicked toward Jimmy at the sound of his voice, but he didn't take his eyes off the nearly complete flower crown in his hands. "Just trying to decide how many more roses I want in this."

Jimmy tucked in the end of the last stem on his own flower crown and placed it on Scott's head. "It's not very nice to lie to your husband, you know."

Scott chuckled, but Jimmy could hear the reservation lurking in the melodious notes. Jimmy cupped his cheek, and Scott leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too." Jimmy pressed his lips to Scott's forehead. "Why do you sound so sad about it? You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

He meant it as a joke, but the way Scott looked at him sent his stomach plummeting.

"No, of course not." Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief, and Scott gave him an apologetic smile. "But seeing Scar turn red, it made me think about what's coming. What happens when this is all over."

"Didn't we already talk about this?" Jimmy kissed Scott's forehead, then the bridge of his nose, then under his eye. "We outlive everyone, and enjoy being nobodies together. Easy."

Scott's eyes were soft as he watched Jimmy. "Yeah. Easy." He finished weaving the flowers he still clutched, then crowned Jimmy with them. "But let's say something happens and we respawn back in our old lives. Would you...still want me?"

"Yes."

Jimmy answered without hesitation, not needing to think about it. He already had thought about, late at night staring at the ceiling and listening to Scott's steady breathing next to him. He knew this couldn't last forever, as badly as he wanted it to. But he and Scott could.

"I want to marry you for real," he said softly. "Maybe we can find a cleric somewhere, or maybe Ren could do it. Kings can do that sort of thing, right?"

Scott laughed. "You know what? Why don't we do it? Think about it; clerics and kings officiate marriages because they represent a higher authority. But the only authority I care to recognize is yours and mine."

"I like the sound of that." Jimmy kissed Scott's hand. If he'd ever been to any weddings, he couldn't remember them, but he could recall some vague approximation of what must be standard vows. "I promise to cherish you forever and stand by your side, for better or for worse, from one dream to the next."

Under a veil of sunshine and poppies, Scott smiled at his husband. "I promise to cherish you forever and stand by your side," he repeated. "For better or for worse, from one dream to the next."

The vows were simple, the kiss was chaste, and the only witnesses were butterflies and birds. But it was theirs, and it was beautiful. In a peaceful valley in one little corner of a strange world, two nobodies grinned at one another under the delicate petals of the flowers in their hair, and they both laughed.

[the-trinket-witch]

The City of Altus

(Lore post! YAY!)

In the Age of the Gods, there were tales of a city -a civilization- of people who had harnessed and controlled a mineral that emitted its own magic. They used these crystals to build machines and vehicles beyond the scope of their peers. It was said, as well, that their discovery and advancement was an affront to the gods. For it, they were banished to the bottom of the sea.

Altus is a coastal island sitting not far East of Pyroxene. Most that live on the mainland tout that the island just 'sprang up' out of the sea about 300 years ago. The island itself consisted of packed spires and temples, along with tiered swaths of land once the ocean fell away. Along with them, the inhabitants of the island had brought impressive technology saved from a bygone era. It was noted that the resource powering their machines was finite; their exile below the waves seemed to make the new neighbors keen to how their influence might affect the world at large.

The leaders of this island, a native royal and scholar supposedly from the Queendom of Roses, still wanted to share their knowledge with the world. So in a bid to open commerce, they began to build. They built boats to fish, homes to house, and opened their arms to the rest of the world. Altus, as it began to call itself, thanked the Queendom of Roses for their outreach and assistance as they gathered materials to make good on their promises.

News of mechanical testing intrigued minds across Twisted Wonderland. Many flocked both to observe the pristine time capsule of an island, with just as many finding themselves rising to the challenge of reverse-engineering this crystalline technology. What Twisted Wonderland's greatest minds found most effective was wind and steam power.

Surrounded by ocean, they had an endless supply of pressure. Salt accumulated from machine filters would go back into the economy or an early form of Reverse Electrodialysis, and steam would continue the water cycle. As for the heat to build said steam: algae biofuel and hiring fire fairies. The fire fairies are compensated appropriately, and the algae is almost never outpaced in its growth vs harvest. And with how blustery the island could get, wind energy was never difficult to come by for more stationary purposes. This is all to say, Steam power and magic made this once ancient technology accessible to the rest of the world.

Modern Day Aspects of Altus:

The outermost ring consists of the train system, delivering people and cargo from one side of the island to the other. The circuit halos the ports, which frame the innermost residential and urban areas.

The largest building is actually the central hilltop that most Airborne Afternoon's festivities take place. It sits protected by the soil, and serves as a community center, city hall, and disaster shelter.

Flying above the urban areas is the one remaining dirigible of Altus' early air fleet: the S.A.S Admiral. It currently serves as the city museum, accepting and letting loose tourists with each lap around the island. You'll hear locals call it 'Old Admiral Boom', namely for the decommissioned front cannons still mounted on it.

The further towards the east end of the island -facing out to open sea- houses a large population of merfolk. Altus hosts one of the few 'Land Camps' offered across the world for mero to integrate towards land living. Schools, in turn, offer language classes in the more common forms of the mero language. (This is how Albert learned Azul had asked the Twins to keep an eye on him)

Whatever forces of nature allow it, Altus finds itself with an almost consistent schedule of their most windy day. That couple of days has so far been predicted with accuracy, so scheduling Airborne Afternoon has not ever been very short notice. Many theorize that its the literal Winds of Change blowing summer away to usher in autumn.

TAGLIST:

@ceruleancattail @squidwen @thecosmicjackalope @vaporvipermedia@writing-heiress

@oya-oya-okay @k-looking-glass-house @thehollowwriter @rainesol @cyn-write

@heartscrypt @honey-milk-depresso @br3adtoasty @jackiecronefield @ruggiethethuggie

@hoboyherewego @achy-boo @oreoskys @oseathepebble @oathofoaks

@tunabesimpin @hamstergal @fumikomiyasaki@valse-a-mille-temps

@hallowed-delights @kimikitti @plutos-hell @thetwstwildcard @atwstedstory

@comingyourlugubriousness @ice-cweam-sod4 @twst-the-night-away @nammanarin @scint1llat3

[chuuyrr]

CHU <3 can I ask for a one-shot where toji or gojo meet their daughter's boyfriend (the haitanis)? BUT THEY ARE FIND THEM KISSING. Sorry, my English is not very good. ):

adoptive dad! gojo & biological dad! toji meets scarlet witch! fushiguro! reader's boyfriend (haitani ran + rindou)

jujutsu kaisen x reader x tokyo revengers

masterlist of the series

╰➤ CW(s): spoilers for jujutsu kaisen and tokyo revengers, just dad! gojo & dad! toji being funny yet protective dads, ooc

╰➤ PAIRING(s): haitani ran, haitani rindou (separately), platonic! jujutsu kaisen x reader (gojo satoru + fushiguro toji)

╰➤ SYNOPSIS: your dad(s) meet(s) your boyfriend for the first time and catches you kissing him much to his surprise

before you read: this is a crossover of jujutsu kaisen and tokyo revengers. you, the reader, have the scarlet witch's powers instead of a cursed technique as a fushiguro. also, just to clarify some things and avoid repetitive scenarios, gojo will meet rindou, toji will meet ran. that's all! ☆

gojo meets rindou !

gojo had no idea you were in the same district as him. he had business in minato city, particularly in roponggi, that had something to do with work, and while you had told him you were going to eat lunch with a friend, but you didn't exactly specify to your beloved father what kind of friend you were with.

gojo had just finished his business and was on his way home when he noticed a familiar [color]-head out of the corner of his eye as he passed by a restaurant. gojo turned his head and had to double-check to make sure he wasn't seeing things, which was kind of stupid given that he has six eyes and incredible perception with them.

but it was you, really you, who he saw inside the said restaurant from outside due to the crystalline clear glass panes in the window.

you were sitting near the window, holding hands with a young man gojo didn't recognize. the boy wore his neckline-length blond and purple hair down in a curtain style. gojo took in such a sharp gasp of air that he found himself clutching his chest as if he had been shot.

gojo approached the glass pane window and literally banged on it, causing you and the boy you were kissing to come to a halt and turn towards him. your and your boyfriend's eyes widened as a result.

"w-what the fuck?" rindou cried out.

"oi, rin! watch your language! that's my dad!" you exclaimed, grasping his hand.

as you and rindou stiffened, gojo stormed inside the restaurant, ignoring everyone's stares and a series of gasps and whispers, and made his way to your and rindou's table by the window.

gojo's snowflake hair became even whiter as he looked at you and then at your boyfriend. you grasped his hand, squeezing it as he gulped. rindou had already heard about gojo and who he was from you, "lunch with a friend huuuh?!"

"haha.. yeah, lunch with a friend," you said sheepishly, motioning over to rindou to emphasize him, "boyfriend, dad, boyfriend."

"h-hello, gojo-san! it's nice to meet you," rindou stood up from his seat and bowed his head in respect to your adoptive father, "my name is haitani rindou."

without your intervention, your adoptive father would have infinite voided rindou on the spot as he removed his black round sunglasses from his eyes. gojo just couldn't believe his eyes! you, his precious little kikufuku, have had a boyfriend all this time? a literal boyfriend!

his mind was short-circuiting from this piece of information, but it's no wonder you were all dressed up so nicely today!

nonetheless, gojo did ended up at the table with you and rindou, particularly right next to you as he narrowed his eyes at him.

"rindou, huh?" gojo raised a brow.

"yes.." rindou nodded in response.

"when the hell did you started dating my daughter, huh? what's your background? do you go to her school too?" gojo asked questions after questions, causing you to sweat drop.

"daaad!" you whined, tapping gojo's arm, "stop that. don't do this to me right here!"

"what? i have to know who this rindou-boy is!" gojo huffed as he turned to face you, his cheeks puffing out childishly, "and don't think you ain't getting a scolding too, lil' missy! you have a boyfriend this whole time and you've been hiding it from me—of all people—your dad!" he said as he pinched your cheek and tugged at it.

"because i wasn't prepared to tell you! i knew you'd freak out!" you argued, gently swatting his hand away from your cheek.

"freak out? how am i not supposed to freak out when i see my little kikufuku out in the open, in some restaurant, kissing a boy?!" gojo exclaimed, making a fake disgusted face and using a dramatic tone of voice.

"dad, he's my boyfriend! he's not just some boy i'm kissing!" you reasoned, motioning over to rindou.

"oh yeah? well, i specifically told you not to date until you're thirty!" gojo crossed his arms across his chest.

"gojo-san, please, c-calm down," rindou interrupted your somewhat comical bickering with your father and motioned his hands flat up and down in the air.

"don't tell me to calm down, boy! you still haven't answered my questions!" exclaimed gojo, causing rindou to stiffen.

for a delinquent who rules roponggi with his brother, rindou would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of your father. despite how amusing gojo's reactions to you, his beloved child, having a boyfriend were, he was still was on another level compared to rindou.

gojo satoru, as you described to rindou, was the limitless sorcerer and bearer of the six eyes. this is the very person who raised you and taught you how to fight. furthermore, your father was the head of the gojo clan, one of the three major jujutsu families. he was a big shot.

you silently groaned to yourself, palming your face, even as you and rindou had to listen to gojo give the two of you a full-blown scolding, err, rant, you weren't sure because you weren't paying that much attention, but gojo kept repeating the fact that you shouldn't be dating until you're thirty years old—which is just funny because he's barely thirty himself 💀

when you saw rindou tense up in front of your dad, you couldn't help but sweat. under the table, his hand was practically squeezing yours. this was the first time the roponggi deliquent felt so afraid and vulnerable, which is understandable, but it surprised you to see how attentive he was to gojo and his scolding.

"you're not a gang member, are you?" gojo sighed sharply, finishing his scolding but raising a brow, his eyes now boring intently at the exposed tattoo on rindou's neck.

you and rindou perked up and exchanged glances at gojo's second question, now sweating as rindou spoke up nervously.

"about that, gojo-san..."

"[name]..."

"dad, please don't infinite void my boyfriend..."

toji meets ran !

fushuguro toji, your biological father, tries his hardest to catch up with your life, given that you've been raised by gojo Satoru your entire life and that his second chance in life would be a waste if he didn't choose to change his ways.

toji is a lot more gojo when it comes to parenting. he's protective of you, and he just can't help it. you're his daughter, the youngest in his family because tsumiki is the oldest. so, as soon as he heard from gojo that he thought you had a boyfriend, he deadass turned back into an assassin. man's hunting the said guy down 💀

toji easily tracked you down as an ex-assassin, and it was safe to say that the limitless sorcerer wasn't wrong. your biological father found you in harajuku, and the fact that he did so solely on foot is terrifying.

his eyes widened when he saw you walk out of the hair salon, holding hands with a tall, lanky man with twin braids, and that wasn't even the end of it. you were also dressed up so nicely too, you were literally wearing yves saint laurent clothing, matching with the guy with you.

toji's hands trembled as he watched you and the above said man smile and laugh as you two walked together to a restaurant, a fucking five-star one at that.

his father instincts were kicking in. oh god. toji had never felt anything like this before. is this how his late wife's father felt when he found out that her beloved daughter was dating him?

the emotions that were overwhelming poor toji worsened when the man you were with bent down and kissed your lips while caring for your side. the ex-assassin practically jumped, darting towards you with his mind and body screaming, 'NOT ON MY WATCH!'

when you and ran were pulled away, you were caught off guard. you were stunned as ran's eyes widen to see toji himself—a much taller, bigger, and muscular man with mid-length straight black hair that reaches to his ears. he had sharp, green eyes and a scar on the corner of his right lip.

"you've got some nerve to take my girl away from me," ran said, not intimidated in the least by the said man.

"your girl?" exclaimed toji, "you're the one who's got some nerve to kiss my daughter like that!"

"dad!" you cried out, now grasping Toji's arm and breaking the two's tension.

"daughter...? dad...?" ran asked, his purple eyes softening but widening with surprise and confusion, "is this guy your dad? not the other one with white hair?"

"i'm fushiguro [name], her dad," toji confirmed, eyes hardening.

it was now your boyfriend's turn to be surprised. he was no longer intimidated; he was now actually scared. ran fucked up. this guy was your literal father, and he just screwed up his first impression big time.

with that, ran found his sweat dripping from the tone of toji's voice. as he looked into his green and purple eyes, he realized you once mentioned having a biological father and that the man who raised you was your adoptive father, but looking at him and, well, comparing him to you—this guy was fucking scary as hell.

you can be scary if you want to; you're the scarlet witch, but you're sweeter and kinder looking, at least when you're not pissed off—he could say that makes you look like your father.

"what are you even here doing in harajuku, dad?!" you questionrd, stepping away from toji to walk towards ran and side with him.

"what am i doing here?" repeated toji, his hands on his hips, as he returned the question, "what are you doing here?"

toji then darted his gaze towards ran, "and just who the fuck is this guy with you?"

"i'm haitani ran," ran managed to say with enough courage, his hand intertwining with yours, "and i'm your daughter's boyfriend, sir."

ran mentally cursed himself as he watched toji narrow his eyes and glare at him, scrutinizing him from head to toe. you were alarmed because ran, who rules roponggi with his younger brother, haitani rindou, was not one to be scared or nervous, but you could feel the hand you were holding tremble.

ran may not know much about your biological father because he knows more about your adoptive father, but he can tell toji is just as dangerous as gojo, even if ran is unaware that toji is an ex-assassin and has faced gojo in a fight before using only raw prowess and wits.

"well, aren't you a daring one?" toji smirked at ran, "not only did you just threaten me, her father, earlier, but you sure are confident to claim yourself as my daughter's boyfriend."

"because i am [name]'s boyfriend," ran replied more confidently this time, but his tone was serious, a far cry from his usual whimsical demeanor to other people, "and i love her."

"hmm, I'll give you that. i like a guy with spunk," toji exclaimed, but he glared either way, "but kissing my daughter is crossing the line, buddy."

"ugh, he's my boyfriend. alright?" you groaned, holding the nape of your neck, "of course he can kiss me, dad!"

"kiss you? oh, hell no, [name]!" toji shook his head, "gojo and i haven't approved anything, and besides, didn't he tell you you're not allowed to date until you're thirty? huh?!"

"he's not even thirty, but why does he get to—you were cut off immediately with toji pinching your cheek and him dramtically and comically reacting very similarly to gojo right now.

"gojo's words still stand! you hear?!"

"but daaaad i love ran!"

[ author's notes ! to be honest, i haven't written for tokyo revengers in a loooong while, but hopefully this is alright. thanks for requesting anon :D hhh i missed it a lot ! also no need to apologize. i think your english is great anon dear ! ]

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Modulation of heat flow by means of electric fields enables the creation of thermal circuits

Overheating in electronic devices affects how it works and how long it lasts. One of the major challenges is efficiently managing the heat generated by these systems during operation, which involves controlling the thermal conductivity of the materials they comprise. While electric current can be easily manipulated in conventional electronic materials, heat presents a different challenge: phonons, the particles that transport heat in crystalline solids, lack both charge and magnetic moment, making them much harder to control. A new technique developed by researchers at the Center for Research in Biological Chemistry and Molecular Materials (CiQUS) enables the creation of thermal circuits in certain iron and cobalt oxides, effectively regulating heat flow in highly localized areas of these materials. The paper is published in the journal Advanced Materials. "Using this technique, we've managed to reduce thermal conductivity by up to 50% in micrometric regions of various materials," explains Francisco Rivadulla, the study's lead researcher and Professor of Physical Chemistry at the University of Santiago de Compostela (USC).

Read more.

[askvectorprime]

Dearest Vector Prime,

What do you know of Cybertronian martial arts? How do they differ from one another? You must have encountered more than a few unique styles and practitioners in your travels.

Dear Jet Judoka,

Ever since the first construction crane robot used its crane boom to deliberately knock over another robot eons ago, martial arts have been an integral part of our history.

You might assume that the warmongering Decepticons were the first to codify these disciplines of pugilism—and indeed, the brutality of their attacks and strategies gave them the edge at the outbreak of war. But the Autobots, who had lived as engineers and laborers, were able to disguise their training: every step, every turn of a wheel, every act of physical labor could be a secret technique, practiced thousands of times per cycle, until they had mastered the perfect move with which to surprise their adversaries.

Under Autobot schools of thought, there are two basic elements of physical combat: “Piston” and “Gear” motion. “Piston” is a direct, linear force: delivered by punches, rocket-powered fists, or other inbuilt ballistics. By contrast, “Gear” is a deflecting, rotational force: swiveling at the waist, or rolling, to create a “transmission” of the opponent’s energy into advantageous movement. In time, this framing came to influence Decepticon disciplines, until both groups were using the same terminology.

As the conflict between Autobot and Decepticon continued, fuelled by an escalating arms race to develop esoteric weaponry and enhancements, some chose to eschew ranged combat and instead specialize in martial arts based around stealth and melee. After sneaking into the enemy’s midst, a single warrior trained in this way could quickly dismantle those unprepared soldiers who relied more on their armament and abilities. Being a direct reaction to the highly technological mindset of both factions, it’s perhaps unsurprising that martial arts came to be spoken of using increasingly spiritual terms. Those trained in Circuit-Su turned inwards towards the personal energy of the spark, which practitioners of Metallikato would learned to channel through their weapons, striving to embody the “Ultimate Warrior” of legend. Meanwhile, followers of Yoketron’s Eightfold Path formed an understanding of self based on eight specifications: SPR-INT-SPD-END-RNK-CRG-FRB-SKL, each a separate aspect of Primus.

Other disciplines were influenced by offworld cultures. Crystalocution was developed by medics and structural engineers, after they observed the way Rock Lords would target their opponent’s fracture lines in hand-to-hand combat, and adapted the technique to focus on joints or brittle crystalline components in Cybertronians. The loose assortment of non-lethal forms commonly termed Diffusion, popular amongst the Autobots, are descended from a pacifist fighting style practiced amongst the Circle of Light.

Although these styles have been broadly recognised and adopted by countless fighters, it mustn’t be understated how deeply individualistic the martial arts can be: even within a single style, no two fighters are alike. An exceptional master may try to pass down their techniques, but the unique talent, ability, and perseverance of each student will inevitably transform these teachings into something new. Take, for example, the Turtler School.

Turtler lived as a hermit on an island, on Earth. Having felt undervalued by the Decepticons, he enjoyed the solitude this lifestyle afforded, living in peace from his Seacons. At some point in the distant future, a young simian Maximal arrived on a flying surfboard, wanting to learn martial arts in order to fight in the “Be(a)st Under The Heavens Tournament”. Turtler reluctantly took him on as a pupil, and over the course of several years, put him through a highly unorthodox training regimen. Some examples of the feats he had the Maximal perform included:

Climbing a mountain to catch a bird

Climbing a mountain again to catch a bird, but this time with Turtler strapped to his back in alt mode

Outrunning and outswimming Cybershark in a race

Painting Turtler's home (this one in particular was very unpopular with his student)

Eventually, the young Maximal proved his purity of heart—which wasn’t actually something Turtler had cared about in the least, as he really had just needed a few chores doing—and asked to learn the secret of Turtler’s ultimate technique, the King Poseidon Wave. Turtler, not quite understanding, assumed that the Maximal was talking about his laser cannon. He fired a shot to demonstrate—and to his surprise, the Maximal copied him, pressing two open palms together, and somehow firing a large energy blast! Before Turtler could even process what had happened, the Maximal hopped onto his surfboard and sailed away on a cloud, forever grateful for the good times he’d had with the old hermit over the years.

[thisuserislilsilly]

Summary: A Tech-priest archeologist in her investigation to find relics from time past only receives a message to the Imperium as a whole.

TW: Spooky (not really)/Drama/My bad depiction on how the Mechanicus talks

Pairings: None

Goblin tag squad: @cardinalcanis @finchly-tintinnabulation @artemisareia @echo-of-damnation @meervalv0 @jaghatai-khock (hopefully THIS TIME THE TAGS WORK-)

He who sees your soul, he who takes humanity or returns thy fear

It had taken the tech-priests months and countless servitors, but the ruins of A-74 had finally been cleared. The ancient planetary outpost gleamed once more, its copper domes and crystalline spires catching the pale sunlight. Magos Delphi surveyed the scene with a mix of pride and anticipation, her augmetic eyes whirring as they took in every detail.

"At last," she intoned, her vox-caster crackling with excitement, "We can begin the real work."

Her team of adepts gathered around, their mechadendrites twitching with eagerness. The secrets of the old ones lay within these halls - miraculous technologies from the Dark Age that could revolutionize the Imperium, or perhaps other secrets that would please the Ommnisiah were bound to be found here, in that long lost human colony.

As they approached the newly unsealed entrance, Delphi felt a surge of optimism. Whatever challenges lay ahead, it had been wroth all of the assets, both human and mechanical, her cohort had thrown at it

The massive adamantium doors groaned open, revealing a cavernous atrium bathed in an eerie blue glow. Delphi and her team cautiously entered, their augmetic senses on high alert. The walls were lined with intricate circuitry patterns that pulsed with an otherworldly energy, and strange symbols flickered across holographic displays, they all looked to be human, resembling the speech and symbol patterns she had seen in other cultures using to communicate; although she despised it, she had been taught in the ways normal “meatbags” spoke with their kind instead of the glorious binary language of the Mechanicum.

As they ventured deeper into the atrium, Delphi's excitement grew. The technology surrounding them was far more advanced than she had dared to hope. Her cogitators whirred furiously, processing the wealth of information before her.

"Adept Gamma," she called out, her voice brimming with enthusiasm, "Begin cataloging these circuit patterns. Adept Beta, analyze those holographic displays. Do not get distracted by your excitement and control those mechandrites"

The adepts acknowledged with binary chirps, their mechanical limbs already extending to interface with the ancient systems. Delphi moved further into the chamber, her own augmetic limbs twitching with anticipation. Her vid-feed was recording every detail, so she could study it at her leisure, and her internal cogitator was already running simulations of the possible technology they might find here.

As she scanned the room, her optical sensors detected movement in the corner. She quickly turned to look, but the source was already gone. It had seemed like a blur of light, flickering in and out of view. She blinked her cybernetic eyes and tried to process what she had just seen. Perhaps this had been just one of the common glitches in her visual input; no, the others had not noticed, and their organic parts would be better suited to detecting such errors.

She shook her head and continued scanning the room, but there was no sign of the strange apparition. As her adepts began to collect data, a low humming filled the air. The sound was strangely hypnotic, and Delphi felt her thoughts drifting. She tried to concentrate, but the humming was growing louder. Her limbs felt heavy, and her head was starting to throb, she felt numb to all around her, the excitement fleeting and the whole experience seemed surreal, as if it was happening to someone else.

The adepts were unaffected by the sound, their cybernetics shielding them from the influence. They continued their work, oblivious to anything that could had been going wrong.

"DATA. RETRIEVED. COMMENCING IMPUTATION. INPUT. PENDING."

"Adept, you are experiencing a glitch in your audio input," She heard herself say, her own voice sounding distant and muffled.

"COGNITIVE FUNCTIONS. IMPAIRED. ASSESSMENT. POSSIBILITY. 78%. POSSIBILITY. AUDIO-SPATIAL. ILLOGICAL RESPONSE, PROCEEDING TO IGNORE"

The adept's voice was flat and emotionless, but Delphi could sense the confusion and worry.

"DATA. CATALOGUED. STORAGE. PENDING."

"Adept. Cease cataloging. Initiate. Diagnostic protocols. Assess. Possibility. Data corruption."

"DIAGNOSTIC. PENDING."

She could feel her systems shutting down, her mind struggling to stay focused. The hum was deafening now, drowning out everything else.

"Adept. Report. Diagnostics."

"DIAGNOSTIC. COMPLETE. SYSTEMS. NOMINAL. DATA. UNAFFECTED. ASSESMENT, TECH-PRIEST SPEWING ILLOGICAL ORDERS, RETURNING TO ORIGINAL INSTRUCTIONS"

The adept turned its attention back to the circuits, ignoring Delphi. She could only watch as her team was slowly taken over by the humming, their movements becoming sluggish and uncoordinated.

She fought to regain control of her body, her cybernetics resisting the strange influence. She was the head of this expedition, the leader of these adepts, yet she felt the most human she had been before her discarding of her flesh; now the numbness of limbs long replaced by augmentations were still there, even the sensation of a beating heart that her new organs had replaced.

Her head was throbbing now, her thoughts clouded and confused. The humming was unbearable, a constant, relentless drone that pierced through her. She tried to move, but her limbs were unresponsive.

"INPUT. PENDING"

She could only watch helplessly as her team continued their work, oblivious to their leader's predicament.

"TECH-PRIEST NOT RESPONDING, PROCEEDING WITHOUT AUTHORIZAAAAAA-" The Vox audio of the adept experienced lag as it's mechandrite plugged in a server full of data only to be rejected by the machine, shocked and left it on the ground wailing it's limbs trying to stand up, to comedic failure.

The rest of the adepts stopped and began to scan the area, noticing a sudden change, the air around them becoming cold, and the lights dimming.

"TECH-PRIIISSTT. H-ELP." One of the adepts managed to say before freezing completely.

"INITIATING. C-CONTA-AMB-MENT. MEASURES." The Adept who was the closest to the server tried to reach for something, but failed to do so as his entire body froze.

"WARNING. C-CORRUPT-ION. DETECTED." Another Adept managed to say before succumbing to the cold.

"INPUT. PENDING" The rest of the Adepts said at once, their voices blending together into an unearthly cacophony "WHY DO I FEEL!?!?!?! WHY I FEEL NUMB!?!?!? WHERE AM I?!?!? WHAAAA-"

Their votes spit out for a moment, their mechanic implanted eyes opening wide with a scarily human emotion before the circuits kicked in and returned them to the blank faces the Mechanicus had designed.

Delphi could only watch in horror as her team was consumed by the strange phenomenon, her body still paralyzed.

The air around them became colder, and the blue lights started to flicker. The humming grew louder, and Delphi could feel a strange presence in the room.

She struggled against the paralysis, her mind racing. This was not a natural phenomenon, this was some sort of sentient being, a creature that was capable of manipulating their bodies and minds. She needed to stop it, or else her whole team would be lost.

She focused on her cybernetics, willing them to obey her. She could feel the paralysis slowly loosening, and her limbs began to move.

The humming was deafening now, a high-pitched drone that made her head ache. She gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain, her legs finally moving.

She stumbled towards the source of the hum, her vision blurred. The blue lights were flashing wildly now, and she could see a shadow, a figure much larger than anything she had ever laid eyes on before, hovering above the ground, a dark, ominous mass, with red glowing eyes intently staring directly at her.

"TECH-PRIEST"

"INITIATING. C-CONTA-AMB-MENT. PROTOCOLS"

"WHAAAA-"

"AID. DEMAND."

The Adepts had begun to move again, their bodies twitching and spasming as the strange presence approached slowly, floating just above the ground, the sound growing louder and louder, filling the room with its incessant hum, the red glowing eyes piercing through the darkness.

"WHAT IS THAT?"

"AID. REQUEST."

"REPAIR. ME. NOW"

"ASSESTMENT. FUCK. THE. FLESH"

"PLEASE. HELP. US."

"WHAT. ARE. YOU? WHAT. AM. I?"

"DATA. CORRUPTED. PLEA. SEEK. REPAIR."

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING"

"PLEA. DATA. CORRUPTED"

"I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU."

The voices of the adepts snapped back and forth between human-like and their mechanical selves, their minds struggling to comprehend the strange being that was approaching them.

The presence was almost upon them, its eyes blazing and its body pulsing with energy. The hum was overwhelming, and Delphi could feel the air growing colder. She knew she had to act now, or they would all be lost.

The tech-priest flashed a light to the adepts, a series of binary code.

"FOCUS. ON. ME. WE. NEED. TO. EXIT. NOW."

The Adepts were struggling to understand the words, their minds reeling from the effects of the presence. They turned towards Delphi, their eyes wide and terrified.

Delphi grabbed the Adept closest to her and pulled him towards the exit, the others following behind. Through the way back, Delphi realized what the outpost truly was; there were old rusted Aquilas in the walls, chambers so big only those of the Adeptus Astartes would be able to use, plugs and connections fitted to store power armor and equipment, this was a Fortress-Monastery, of a Chapter, perhaps even a Legion long forgotten by time.

The Presence was gaining on them, its eyes glowing and its hum growing louder. Delphi and the Adepts fled through the halls, their feet pounding against the cold metal floors. The presence was close behind, its hum growing louder and louder. They saw the exit where they had blown that building, salvation was at their reach, but they were not alone.

A dozen servitors were waiting for them outside, their bodies twisted and malformed. Their eyes were vacant, and their mouths were open in silent screams. They were reaching out to Delphi and the Adepts, their fingers grasping and clawing. Their own servitors, by some inexplicable reason, were able to feel, just like Delphi and her adepts had experienced before the Presence made itself known,

Delphi pushed past the servitors, their bodies crumbling to the floor. The presence was close behind.

The adepts followed Delphi, their bodies trembling. The presence was nearly upon them, but the shuttle to leave was even closer. As she boarded the few servitors and adepts that weren't yet in the ground spitting oil from it's orifices and repeating binary code over and over, Delphi got to see who the Presence had been in the dim light of the night sky.

An imposing figure, who at the moment had only really been strolling to catch up rather than chasing them at full speed, completely bald, pale and with those piercing red eyes that seemed to look directly into Delphi soul. She knew it had been the cause of the malfunctions, of the disconnections, the king amongst the forgotten and abandoned Fortress-Monastery; slowly and steadily it raised it's arms forward, hands open as if it was pleading; it's mouth was closed, his eyebrows neutral, the entire face did not reflect even a sliver of emotion going through that body standing there, unmoving, silent.

As Delphi backed up to the shuttle, the humming and strange phenomenon in her body began to fade, it was as if she was out of the radius of "that presence". It was the entity who had made them feel that way just by being near, she assessed that it was more than likely the entity wasn't even aware of those reactions to its presence. As the shuttle door slid close, Delphi heard "It" speak in a rumbling voice it pierced the metal now separating it from the tech-priest cohort.

"I see the past and the future. Go, tech-priest; say what you have seen. Tell the other's, the Imperium of Man, that Neran sees and hears them once again"

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Not me reading the ask bread-ghost sent and then reading your response, only to immediately imagine FL's brain utterly short circuiting the first time you return his affections-

the post in question <3

oh my moon and stars you are so right. Legacy freezes when you begin peppering his face with tiny kisses, his chirps dying in his throat as you shower him with affection, running your hands through his thick coppery hair and cupping his cheeks. he stares at you when you finally pull away, mouth hanging slightly open, and you grin and give him one final kiss at the edge of his fanged maw. a strangled squeak slips out, Legacy's crimson mask somehow flushing an even deeper red as he hastily looks away, chitters stuttering and catching on every second syllable. you laugh joyfully and plant another kiss on his forehead, and from deep in the back of his throat comes a strong, rumbling purr, his face buried into the crook of your neck

now whenever Legacy snuggles up to you, he'll look at you hopefully, nudging your hands until you sink them into his lavender fluff, crystalline eye closing with bliss as you scritch under his chin. he utterly melts in your arms, and has accidentally almost suffocated you because he suddenly put his full weight on top of you- a very heavy, warm blanket of Abyss monster. so you settle for him resting his head on your stomach, lovingly gazing up at you as you read or sleep or even do work. just be sure to always give him headpats when he nibbles or pushes your hands, or else you'll have a pouty moth insistently nudging whatever you're working on away!

[noodleblade]

Dense but bright

Summary: Unfortunately for Perceptor, no matter how many foolish, inane attempts he made, each one had gone…unnoticed.

For Brainstorm, while an astoundingly brilliant and bright mech, was painfully, tormentingly oblivious. -- Or, Perceptor struggles to confess his affections for Brainstorm.

Ao3 Link x Enjoy!:)

The scenario had grown decidedly frustrating. Perceptor stood stiffly as he shifted from pede to pede, waiting for Brainstorm to open the small box. He could only watch with a mixture of absolutely dread and terribly, horrible, burning adoration as Brainstorm’s optics cycled wide and brightened at the small vial now cupped gently in his servos. 

KClO3, otherwise known as potassium chlorate. Highly reactive, highly sensitive, highly dangerous. Innocuously packaged and neatly contained, but no less deadly. Just like Brainstorm and his maddening ingenuity; just like the quarrelsome feelings Perceptor held for the other mech. 

A soft gasp whistled through Brainstorm’s blast mask, optics darting from Perceptor to the vial and then back again. 

“Oh, Percy , it’s perfect!”

Perceptor’s spark spun rapidly in his chassis as Brainstorm beamed. Even with the mask affixed, the jet’s unbridled joy was evident, fanning out in waves across their quiet lab. Brainstorm immediately started rambling about all his plans for the white crystalline powder, wings fluttering to match his excited speech.

The swarming enthusiasm had Perceptor fighting back his own small smile, his spark threatening to nose dive directly into his tank. He’d never felt so off-kiltered, so unbalanced in the desire to simply just be around a mech, let alone Brainstorm . But, as the cycles passed, it had become ever-so-clear that Perceptor had become wholly and truly infatuated. His processor delighted in cataloging and recording Brainstorm’s reactions, already eagerly thinking up new ways to get repeated results, desperate to find a way to live in these moments a little longer without having to voice his own confession.

In truth, that really all this was: yet another poorly concealed way for Perceptor to express his affections, to confess his feelings. Not just of that as a colleague- he knew he had obtained that long before these sticky, messy feelings clung to his spark -and not just that of a friend- that territory itself was still new -but of a partner , encompassing both colleague and friend but also more . Unfortunately for Perceptor, no matter how many foolish, inane attempts he made, each one had gone…unnoticed. 

For Brainstorm, while an astoundingly brilliant and bright mech, was painfully, tormentingly oblivious.

“How’d you get this?” Brainstorm asked with optics so bright they were blinding. “I put the request in three times and Ultra Magnus vetoed it every time before it could even reach Rodimus’s desk. ‘Insufficient reason’, my aft. You must have really oiled him up.”

Warmth crawled across Perceptor’s plating, a flush of embarrassment curling in his circuits.

He had been well aware of Brainstorm’s failed attempts in trying to acquire the chemical substance. He had watched the repetitive cycle go on for weeks. Request submitted: Submittal denied: Denial complained about in length to Perceptor while pacing back and forth across the center of the lab, finding equally crude, yet impressive elaborate insults to vent his anger at Ultra Magnus before calming down to try again. Rinse and repeat. 

He highly doubted if the requests had managed to reach Rodimus’s desk that the Captain would look at them himself. Undoubtedly, the fate would remain the same as they would surely be passed right back to the Former Duly-Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord who would issue the same scathing denial. 

Perceptor, on the other hand, only needed to submit his request to Drift and within three cycles his inquiry was approved, funded and in servo. Granted, he did have to withstand the exposing humiliation of Drift wishing him “good luck!” with a cheeky wink, but that had all washed away in simply seeing the delight blossom from Brainstorm. 

“It’s all about knowing who to ask,” Perceptor said quietly, swallowing down the nervous static that tried to hang onto his words. “I hope it helps in your research.”

“It will!” Brainstorm beamed, his field wide, encompassing and warm. “Thanks, Percy! I don’t know what I would do without you.”

In his processor, he could see Drift nodding encouraging, whispering, ‘Go on! Now, tell him how you feel. This is the moment.’  

The words were on the edge of his glossa, threatening to spill from his lips. They were simple- nothing grand or extravagant -precise, and painstakingly practiced every recharge cycle he failed to utter them. They had become a horrible mantra of failure. It would be so easy to say them now and yet, the very thought brought the familiar grip of trepidation over his spark. What if his words were not well-received? 

“Just try not to blow anything up,” Perceptor muttered instead, quickly turning around to retreat to his work station as shame and disappointment pushed down on his shoulders. 

Behind him, Brainstorm let out a maniacal chuckle. “No promises!”

It shouldn’t have been endearing. It shouldn’t have made his spark strain in his chassis. It shouldn’t have been immediately recorded into his memory banks to play on repeat for the cycles to come…and yet. Perceptor bowed his helm onto his workbench, letting the cool metal sink into this plating.

Even with the swordsmech on the other side of the ship, Perceptor could still hear Drift groaning in his audials at yet another missed opportunity. It was becoming an all too familiar experience. He could already imagine yet another demoralizing walk of shame to the back corner of Swerve’s where Drift would spend the rest of the evening attempting to rally Perceptor up once more to try again. He’s surprised Drift had the emotional stamina to keep the effort going. 

Then again, this was owed. Perceptor couldn’t count the number of late night talks where Drift bemoaned his fragile and tenuous friendship with CMO. Which was saying something as Perceptor loved to count the integers of Pi as a relaxation exercise. Regardless, since the coupling of the TIC and the medic, the direction of their relationship talks shifted to that of Perceptor and Brainstorm. Drift was ever eager to find Perceptor the same happiness he finally snagged for himself. 

“You deserve to be happy and in love too,” Drift has insisted with soft, quiet words. “We both do. We’ve all been through too much.”

They had tried everything from gifts to friendly, affectionate touches to outings of not-quite dates that fell under the painfully flimsy label of “shop talk” . Each attempt had been eagerly, warmly accepted. Each time, hope bobbed up Perceptor’s intake, only for Brainstorm to smash it with a beaming grin of how Perceptor was such “a good friend” or “ the best lab partner a mech could ask for.” All horribly, pitifully platonic. Perceptor couldn’t remember a time that such simple friendship felt like an agonizing punishment. 

“You know there is a simple way to remedy this,” Drift had pressed one cycle, optics cast in a knowing light. “If you just tell him, I’m sure he’ll be more than receptive. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, how he talks to you, about you-”

Perceptor, aim true as always, narrowed his gaze at Drift pointedly. Drift had little room to be suggesting a verbal confession when for months Perceptor had given him the exact same advice only for the swordsmech to hem and haw and ultimately avoid it just as he was doing now. 

Still, it didn’t stop the TIC from being correct nor did it stop Perceptor’s simulations showing him the repeated evidence supporting the claim. It had worked for Cyclonus and Tailgate and for Drift and Ratchet eventually ; it even worked for their not-so illustrious Captain and his staunch Second despite neither of them being genuinely forthcoming with their feelings or emotions.

Perceptor just…wasn’t ready to verbalize his feelings. Not yet. Not when the very idea of having to stand before Brainstorm and utter such words sent his processor into a tizzy. Scrap, just trying to pass over a small gift as a token of affection, nearly crashed his neural net under the mounting anxiety. 

Perceptor lifted his helm with a heavy exvent and looked down at his datapad of research notes. He needed to clear his mind, have a moment of peace and focus on his work for a few blissful hours before he attempted to confront his feelings again. 

He flicked on the datapad and started to review his notes. Distantly, he could hear Brainstorm humming from his side of the lab, the soft clinking of glass as he fiddled with his newly procured chemical. It was…distracting. Perceptor’s processor drifted away from his own words to attempt visualizing what Brainstorm was doing. 

Were his wings fluttering to the rhythm of his hums? Was he scrawling his incomprehensible doodles and notes across the messy scattered datapads that littered his work station? Did his optics hold the brilliant glow of focus and excitement so unique to Brainstorm that Perceptor could only ever picture his lab partner with such a look in his optics and hope one day it may be aimed towards him?

A frustrated groan bubbled up his intake as he pushed the datapad away. The glyphs of his own notes were suddenly unintelligible, not that he could focus on anything with his processor so tied up in everything that was Brainstorm. He brought his servo to his helm, digit lightly rubbing his crest to help sooth the mounting helmache. He just needed to concentrate and forget about Brainstorm for just one klik-

“Uh, Perc?”

Perceptor jumped, startled despite his mind being laser focused on the only other mech in the room. He stumbled to his pedes, spinning around to find Brainstorm leaning towards him, their faces just a scant few inches apart. Brainstorm’s optics were soft and concerned. Perceptor felt like his spark was going to fall out of his mouth. 

“You okay? You’ve been staring at the table for a while.”

Embarrassment locked his intake shut, keeping any fumbling words lodged tight behind his denta. The proximity was hindering his fine motor-functions, leaving Perceptor to jerkily nod his helm. Embarrassment crawled across his plating. Primus.

Brainstorm didn’t seem convinced, his field lightly poking Perceptor’s retracted one. “Want me to walk you down to Ratchet? You’ve been acting so strange lately. Maybe you got a virus or something.”

The last place he wanted to go was the medbay. Undoubtedly, unless he was on shift, Drift would be there and see yet another example of his failure in doing such a simple task of just stating how he feels and-

Perceptor wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or scream. He’d been under far more stressful situations than this. He’d survived a war, lost an optic, watched mechs die and perish around him and yet, the simple act of telling a mech he liked that he may adore them, set his systems into an emergency lockdown. He needed space, he needed to think, he needed to recenter himself because there was no scavenging a meaningful conversation out of this.

He took a step back and instantly collided with his workbench, the various instruments and datapads rattling loudly against the metal. Before him, Brainstorm’s wings dropped and the jet quickly stepped away, field retracting in so quickly it left the room blisteringly cold. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” Brainstorm continued to back off, helm bowed and optics locked on the ground. “Probably spooked you. My mistake. I’ll just leave you alone for a bit.”

Perceptor’s HUD flashed warning lights. This was not his intended response. He had not meant to snub the other mech or push him away. Seeing Brainstorm dejected and down by Perceptor’s doing, was enough to spur his movement, hydraulics hissing as he stumbled forward and clumsily landed his servo on Brainstorm’s shoulder pauldron.

The jet flinched, optics darting up to stare at Perceptor. He quickly retracted his servo, letting it simply hover between them uncertainly. This was not how Perceptor wanted this to go. Not at all. 

“I’m sorry about my behavior,” Perceptor forced out, the words stilted and not at all what he should be saying. The haunting vision of Drift stood behind Brainstorm, nodding his helm encouragingly, desperately so. “I didn’t mean to react so...You startled me.” Hesitantly, he added, “You are never bothersome.”

Giddy warmth bloomed across Brainstorm’s field. If his mask was off, Perceptor was sure the jet would be smiling. His processor was delighted in procuring images of such an instance. 

“Never caught you unawares before,” Brainstorm hummed happily, optics flashing up and down Perceptor’s frame like he could find the irregularity that had his coworker in such a tizzy. Woefully unaware of his effects on the microscope entirely. “Usually you are too observant.”

I can’t keep my optics off of you.

Perceptor quickly discarded that speech suggestion. It was from one of Drift’s many lent datapads on romance and courtship. It was cheesy, un-Perceptor in every way possible, but the urge to say it was right there, on the edge of his glossa. Along with hundreds of others.

Come on, do it now, Percy.

Perceptor looked away from Brainstorm and took a safe step back towards his station. He turned to his workbench, optics affixed to the clean top. 

“Perceptor?”

He could hear Drift’s quiet, exasperated exvent. The swordsmech didn’t need to be there to point out that opportunity had presented itself and Perceptor was wasting it. Again . 

Just be honest.

“You…” Perceptor started softly. His back was still turned to Brainstorm and his helm ducked down to stare at his incomprehensible notes. They looked like gibberish now, foreign and not by his own hand. “You mean a lot to me. I will always aid you in your endeavors. As convoluted and anine as they may be. I want to support you anyway I can, and be by your side to watch you succeed.”

There. He said it. Finally.

Horrible, haunting silence greeted him. He waited a klik, then two, hoping perhaps the other scientist just needed a moment. His words were sudden after all, and maybe he just needed the moment to process it. But all he got was quiet stillness. 

Perceptor twitched, servos clenching into tight fists as he let out a steadying exvent. Perhaps he had miscalculated. 

Peeking over his shoulder, Perceptor found Brainstorm in a similar state, back facing Perceptor, helm bowed, servos resting over his helm and wings trembling-

“Brainstorm?” Worry seeped into his words.

The jet withered, wings tucked low and protectively over his form.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor tried again, slowly approaching the other. “Are you okay?”

“Excellent,” came the muffled reply, words spoken into his servos rather than to Perceptor. “I need a moment.”

“Was it something I said?”

“No, no,” Brainstorm was quick to wave off before returning his servo to cover his helm. “You’re perfect as always. It’s just me. I’ll get over it. Promise. I don’t want to make this weird.”

Perceptor frowned. If anyone was making this weird it was him and his inability to properly handle his feelings. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

A small groan left Brainstorm, digits digging into the seams of his helm. “I have a tendency to misread a mech’s kindness.” The voice was Brainstorm’s, sad and longing and bitter, but the words were not his own. Immediately, the bitterness dropped from his field, leaving only melancholy. “I just- you mean a lot to me too and I don’t want to ruin our partnership.”

Ruin it? 

“I don’t believe you can ruin it,” Perceptor spoke softly, hoping to comfort and soothe despite his nerves clinging to his plating. 

“Don’t jinx me, Percy,” Brainstorm taunted bitterly. “I have a knack for it. I let my emotions get the better of me. 

“Emotions,” Perceptor repeated quietly, hope blooming in his chassis as the edges of anxieties pulled at his wires. 

“I mean, I’m not exactly subtle,” Brainstorm spoke quietly, as if hoping Perceptor would not hear him. They still made their way to Perceptor’s audials, sinking into his processor as understanding stabbed him through the spark.

“Oh,” he said weakly. “I see.”

“Told you I could ruin it.” Brainstorm curled in on himself, his field coiled tightly to his frame. “Um, maybe I should leave. Give you some space. We can just forget today ever happened all together. Yeah, actually, let’s do that. If I bother Chromedome enough, maybe he can wipe it from both our processors-”

“Brainstorm-” Perceptor interrupted. The jet was spiraling. While Perceptor could more than relate, he much rather make some imperative corrections. “It appears I may have misrepresented myself these past few weeks.” Perceptor winced at his next words. “I thought my advances were also quite…obvious?” 

“ Advances ,” Brainstorm repeated the word. He whipped his helm around to look at Perceptor, optics cycling wide as the word registered. “Romantic advances?”

Perceptor averted his gaze, tank threatening to flip. “Yes.”

“So the gifts…and meet ups at Swerve’s…and-” Brainstorm let out a harsh exvent, optics blindingly bright. “ We were going on dates. ”

“That had been my intention, yes.”

A high pitched whine echoed from Brainstorm intake, the jet looked flustered. His wings fluttered nervously. Perceptor broached the remaining distance and watched Brainstorm seize up. He brought his hand up between them and in a moment of true boldness, cupped Brainstorm’s cheek. His touch was light, easy for either of them to back away. After an agonizing klik, Brainstorm pressed into it. 

“I see,” the jet murmured, the edges of warmth in his voice. “Oops.”

Perceptor couldn’t help the small chuckle that left him. 

“Primus,” he whispered, digit gently brushing just beneath Brainstorm’s optic housing; a heavy intake of air whistling through the gaps in the jet’s mask. “For such a brilliant mech, you are so, so dense.”

Perceptor was not much better, but he was willing to ignore that little fact.

“I’m not…” Brainstorm struggled to speak, optics too bright and too wide. “I’m not dense . You're dense.” A moment passed as Brainstorm hesitantly leaned back into Perceptor’s touch. “Brilliant?”

Perceptor couldn’t help but smile. “Focus.”

“I am,” Brainstorm let out with a sigh, wings fluttering happily. “You called me brilliant.” Turning into Perceptor’s palm, Brainstorm nuzzled it affectionately. “You’re amazing too. Not as amazing as me, but a close second. Like, a micron behind me.”

“Charming.” Perceptor couldn’t even try for any sarcasm, his spark spinning around utterly smitten.

“It should be, not many come anywhere close to us. We’re amazing.” Brainstorm cautiously raised his servo to rest over Perceptor’s, locking it to his cheek. “So, that means…you like me?”

Perceptor swallowed the static in his intake and nodded. “I do.”

“Fantastic,” Brainstorm beamed, optics casted in a soft, focused glow. “So…um, do I get a retry for a drink at Swerve’s?”

“A date,” Perceptor corrected, hesitant for only a moment before a warm chuckle whistled through Brainstorm’s mask.

“A date. Oh, and for the record, I like you too.”

Perceptor’s processor wasted no kliks in recorded that.

[heliopauseentertainments]

Denied Repose

For Rare Pairing Fest 2023 - @tfrarepairing

Prompt Day 1 - Underworld

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Ratchet

Characters: Megatron & Ratchet Warnings: Major character death, mild gore, necromancy, one-sided relationship

Summary: In which Megatron decides death is also his to control.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

“Good doctor,” Megatron started, strapping Ratchet’s limp limbs to the medical slab, not that Ratchet seemed to be in much of a mood to struggle at the moment. He wasn’t in the mood for much of anything, if Megatron were being honest. “This is one of those situations where I’ll be, in theory, asking you for your forgiveness, rather than for your permission.”

The room thrummed with high voltage electricity as it coursed through the wires and circuits of the machinery lining the walls and ceiling. Megatron did not fully grasp the physics behind it, but that didn’t matter. He had read enough of Scorponok’s notes.

The Autobots had made the mistake of leaving their fallen behind in the chaotic aftermath of battle. Megatron had never been one to let an opportunity go to waste.

Ugly welds made by inexperienced hands crossed Ratchet’s cold chest, windshield glass lingering only as shards still stuck inside of the frame. With guidance from Flatline over their commlinks, Megatron had already patched the worst of the damage to Ratchet’s body, leaving only cosmetic injuries that could be repaired. These were not vital, not yet to a functioning body.

Of all the mechs misguided enough to join the Autobots, Ratchet had always held Megatron’s personal respect. One day, he had always reasoned, perhaps Ratchet could have been convinced to see the world from the Decepticons’ perspective. He had seen the worst of what Functionism had done to the people. Megatron had even put out a standing order early on to leave the handsome medic to do his work, to not target him in battle.

This was not how he had anticipated swaying Ratchet to his cause. He had hoped to use words, wielding the powerful weapon of rhetoric. Though, perhaps, in time he could yet do that, but Ratchet would need function sensors to receive the anything that Megatron had to say.

Megatron checked the straps again, running the back of his hand along Ratchet’s forearm as though soothing an ailing friend, rather than a deceased enemy. He avoided looking at the medic’s dark, unseeing optics.

Cables, still powered down, hung from the ceiling. Megatron reached into Ratchet’s chest through the gap where the windshield had once been, clipping the cables onto his spark chamber.

He stared for a few moments at the gray, crystalline orb nestled inside. Once it had held all that Ratchet was, powering both his frame and his thoughts. Perhaps soon it would again.

Thankfully the spark itself had not sustained damage or shattered, otherwise even this last hope would have been out of reach.

Scorponok had pioneered this gargantuan machine in his quest to both understand the spark and boost Decepticon numbers. His research had been intended to both keep their strength up and pursue techniques they could leverage when Phase 7 finally arrived.

This resurrection machine, however, had been only sparsely tested due to its unsustainable energy requirements.

Should Megatron have been doing this?

Absolutely not. This was selfish, pure and simple.

What would Ratchet say when he discovered that Megatron had sidestepped the natural order of the universe for him? That was hard to say, but he would be alive to say whatever it was.

If it worked.

Reluctantly leaving Ratchet’s side, Megatron walked over to the control console to begin entering the commands to prepare the machine. Its sole task was to jump start the cold spark in Ratchet’s chest.

The console ready, Megatron initiated the sequence.

Power surged down from the ceiling through the cables and into Ratchet’s empty spark.

“I hope one day you’ll understand.”

[definitelynotshouting]

HEY SHOUTING ITS DEVELOPER CRYSTAL TIME!!!!

this has such "randy your sticks" energy. TJ YOUR DEV CRYSTALS smash cut to me binging lotr with my friends for two days straight

Alright guys lets talk about:

~ Developer Crystals ~

So developer crystals-- or dev crystals for short (and devs if you want to get even shorter)-- are one of THE most important objects in the universe. This is because they are, structurally speaking, the literal pillars keeping said universe intact

Dev crystals are massive crystalline structures that resemble end crystals, but are much larger and much more stable. They act as a sort of recycling centrifuge: strings of unraveled code get sucked up, swirled around, and spat back out to become something new. At the center of each server cluster in the universe (and there are SO many of them) is always a single dev crystal, and that dev crystal maintains the structural balance of everything within its specific radius

The benefit of these constant strings of code running back and forth through them is that they emit a hertz frequency just about equal to the regeneration effect in beacons. Which is to say: dev crystals have a low level healing radius around them that can affect Players and potentially some other entities (mobs, for example, although it wouldn't be the best idea to take a cow out into the in-between.) Watchers, unfortunately, cant take advantage of this frequency since it lies outside what they can actually feed off of, but a Listener fused to a Player can.

On a slightly different note, while dev crystals aren't sentient, per se, they aren't not sentient either. Think of it as a sort of quasi-sentience: dev crystals are so large and such an integral part of the universe that they aren't going to notice anything but the biggest of pictures. They dont talk, but there is an awareness there, and they can defend themselves if they truly need to. That being said, dev crystals are so insanely massive that destroying one is... very, very unlikely.

About the only thing that can are viruses, which are corrupted strings of code that haven't gone through a dev crystal. In the dark spaces where no dev crystals reside (or where one has been rarely destroyed), viruses can develop freely, and usually end up on the outskirts of server clusters, devouring old servers to make room for new ones to grow within the cluster.

Some fun extra lore tidbits pertaining to dev crystals:

The colony of Watchers that Grian escaped from have made their home within the inner rings of their server cluster's dev crystal

The hermits typically stay on the outer ring of the same server cluster, and install firewalls to protect their server of choice before eventually dismantling them and leaving it behind to be devoured by a virus, and ultimately recycled back into the universe (bonus trivia: s8's ending was fully the work of a virus slipping through their firewalls)

The server that Grian and co are on as of now is located clear on the other side of the server cluster from where Hermitcraft is, and is closer to the middle's edge rather than the very outer edge of the cluster. Grian was taking a circuitous path around the dev crystal in order to avoid its inhabitants

[tinycoded360]

Jojo's Big Adventure- Final Chapter

Spock's fingers danced over the device. A group of scientists, tricorders at the ready, leaned in, their expressions a blend of curiosity and concern.

"Spock, just make sure whatever you do, you don't accidentally shrink yourself. I don't need a pocket-sized Vulcan running around."McCoy couldn't resist the jab.

"Your concern is touching, Doctor, but misplaced," Spock replied without missing a beat, his attention undiverted. "I am merely conducting a preliminary analysis."

Bones snorted, watching Spock extract a series of crystalline circuits, each emitting a soft glow.

"Any idea how this monstrosity works?" McCoy asked, his impatience evident. The thought of Joanna, so small and vulnerable, gnawed at him like a persistent itch.

"Initial scans suggest a form of molecular compression. Fascinating," Spock mused, the hint of enthusiasm in his tone belying his stoic facade. "It appears to utilize a targeted subspace field to reduce the space between atomic structures."

"English, Spock."

"Imagine an accordion, Doctor. When compressed, it occupies less space. This technology seems to function similarly, on a subatomic level."

"Terrific," McCoy said dryly, rubbing his temple as if the explanation did little to ease the tension headache forming there. "Now, figure out how to uncompress my daughter before I lose my mind."

"Rest assured, Doctor McCoy, we are making every effort to understand the process fully. Reversing it is our utmost priority."

"Good," Bones said, his voice softer now. "Because she's all I've got, Spock. We have to fix this."

"Understood, Doctor." Spock's eyes met Bones's for a fleeting moment.

The door to Kirk's quarters hissed open, admitting Dr. McCoy. Kirk sat at his desk.

"Evening, Jim," McCoy grunted, his voice tinged with weariness.

"Evening, Bones." Kirk gestured toward the bottle and the extra glass he had already set out in anticipation. "I figured you'd show up sooner or later. Drink?"

"Wouldn't turn it down," McCoy replied, easing himself into the chair opposite Kirk. The doctor's fingers wrapped around the glass.

"Something on your mind?" Kirk asked.

"Jocelyn," McCoy began, his eyes not meeting Kirk's as he took a measured sip, letting the brandy burn a trail down his throat. "She refuses to see the danger Joanna's in. It's as if... as if she thinks I'm making it all up. I mean she's finally willing to see that Joanna ran away but she's demanding that I send her back, she's not even listening to the fact that our daughter is the size of a mouse!"

His hand tightened imperceptibly around the glass, the knuckles whitening.

"Joanna's situation is unprecedented, Bones. But you know what's best for her," Kirk said confidently.

McCoy scoffed, the sound short and humorless. "Try telling Jocelyn that. She insists that Joanna's better off with her, back on Earth, regardless of.......of everything that's happened." The doctor's voice was laced with anger, a father's desperation simmering beneath the surface. "It's like talking to a brick wall, Jim."

"Have you thought about legal custody?" Kirk ventured, his tone careful.

"Every damn day but last time, she took everything in the divorce," McCoy confessed, finally locking eyes with Kirk.

Kirk nodded, understanding the depth of McCoy's resolve. "Then you'll fight for her, Bones. And I'll be damned if I let you do it alone."

"Thanks, Jim," McCoy murmured, his gratitude mingling with renewed determination.

"Let's finish this drink," Kirk said, raising his glass in a silent toast to the trials ahead. "And then we'll start planning our next move."

"Agreed," McCoy replied.

***

McCoy stood, his uniform crisp and his resolve ironclad. Captain Kirk's supportive presence at his side.

"Your honor," McCoy began, his voice steady as he addressed the judge, "I present evidence of Joanna's endangerment due to Jocelyn's negligence." He handed over PADDs filled with medical records, incident reports, and logs of missed communications—each one a damning testament to a mother's indifference.

"Furthermore," he continued, "Starfleet's mandate is to explore and protect. As an officer, I've upheld that mandate, even now, when the one needing protection is my own flesh and blood."

Kirk stepped forward, adding his voice to the argument. "Doctor McCoy has consistently demonstrated his commitment to his crew and Starfleet. I have every confidence in his ability to provide for his daughter."

"Your honor," McCoy finished, "I ask not just as a Starfleet officer but as a father: grant me custody of Joanna. She deserves a safe, stable environment. With me, she will have that."

Jocelyn's legal team gave their defense, but in the end, Jacelyn willingly gave up custody, especially after seeing the evidence of their shrunken daughter. She didn't want to deal with taking care of her needs if the shrinkage could not be undone.

Mccoy felt a rush of relief at the final verdict. He was granted sole custody of his daughter.

As Mccoy passed his ex, she turned to him and said, "You know you have it easy. All you have to do is stick her in a hamster cage and call it a day. You don't really have to deal with a rebellious teen."

Mccoy felt a rush of anger at Jocelyn. He had all the intention to give her a piece of his mind, but Kirk's hand on his shoulder grounded him. "Bones, let it go; you won; Joanna will be safe; you won," Kirk calmly mumbled to his dear friend.

******

After multiple tests and examinations of the shrinking machine, Spock and his fellow scientists finally made a breakthrough.

"There seems to be a reversal frequency embedded within the device. We can try to recalibrate the matrix to match it exactly." Spock theorized.

After multiple tests on objects and a successful round of shrinking and growth on office supplies, the science team moved on to organic material. First, they tested it on plants and then tribbles, and after multiple rounds of safe shrinking and regrowing, they were ready for the shrunken victims.

"Doctor McCoy." Spock's voice is calm. "We are prepared to commence the reversal process."

"Already? You sure it's ready?" McCoy asked, turning to face Spock with a look of hopeful desperation.

"Affirmative. The device has been calibrated to precisely counteract the shrinking effect," Spock explained, his hands clasped behind his back.

With great care. Doctor Mccoy held the three shrunken teens cupped between his two hands. He felt nervous, but he had faith that Spock and his crew wouldn't authorize anything that would harm them, especially his daughter.

****

As the peculiar hum of the resizing device faded, Joanna felt her body stretch and swell back to its natural form. The world around her grew smaller—or rather, she grew larger—until she stood at her full height once again. Without a moment's hesitation, she darted across the sterile medical bay.

"Da-ad!" she cried, her voice cracking with emotion as she launched herself into Dr. McCoy's waiting arms.

McCoy caught her with a grunt, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of him. But he didn't care; he tightened his grip, encasing Joanna in his strong embrace.

He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It's okay, Jo-Jo. Everything is ok now."

They stayed locked in an embrace for a long moment, Joanna's shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Bones had to blink back his own tears. It had been so long since he held his little girl like this.

Finally, Joanna pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Bones cupped her face in his hands. "Let me get a good look at you," he said gruffly.

She gave a watery laugh. He took in every detail—the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, her bright hazel eyes, and the dimple in her chin that matched his own. His heart swelled. His baby was really okay.

He pulled her close again and whispered, "You're still grounded, though, kiddo."

Joanna groaned dramatically. "Aww, I was hoping you forgot about that part."

"Fat chance," he shot back, but his eyes crinkled at the corners, and the smallest of smiles played on his lips.

While there was still much to do, the other teens, Corrin and June, needed to be shuttled back to a star base to be reunited with their parents, the culprit needed to be put away for good, and this shrinking technology needed to be under lock and key. Those tasks were fair from the front of Mccoy's mind. For now, he enjoyed having his daughter back to normal.

*****

The sun of Cerberus cast a warm, golden glow on the sprawling grounds of the boarding school.

They approached the headmaster's office. McCoy's signature on the enrollment forms felt like etching a promise into reality. He and Joanna had talked about this in detail. It was the best option to keep up with her education as he finished up his five-year mission. He had reassured his daughter that she had options. This was the school they had both agreed on.

"Joanna, I've checked every data bank, talked to every educator I could pin down—this is the best place for you." He paused, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. "But it's your call, pumpkin. If you have any reservations, we'll find somewhere else. No pressure."

"No... I want to be here. It's just... a lot to take in." Her gaze flicked upwards, meeting his. "You promise to visit; you won't forget about me?"

"Never, darling. I'll visit every shore leave." He squeezed her hand reassuringly as they stood to leave the office.

Joanna scrolled through a tablet, looking through the listing for classes.

"Hey, look, they have a botany lab!" Joanna pointed excitedly.

"Botany, eh? Just don't go bringing home any man-eating flowers," McCoy teased, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The image of her here, safe and thriving, eased the tight knot of worry that had lodged in his chest ever since the custody trial.

"Promise me you'll give it your all?" he asked as they sat on a bench, sharing replicated sandwiches that tasted surprisingly like the real thing.

"Always do," Joanna replied with a conviction that reminded him so much of himself. "I'm going to make you proud, Dad."

"Jo, you already have," McCoy said, his voice thick with emotion. "Every single day."

[delphiniumarchangelmoon]

So I never technically beat tears of the kingdom

It started as me wanting to get prepared for it, make sure I do it in one go. Max my hearts, max my inventory slots, upgrade my favorite armor sets in case I wanna swap em around during the fight, commit war crimes against the Lynel population to get a bunch of multishot bows, yanno the usual stuff.

And then THAT turned into “ah shit upgrading armor costs MONEY” and “how do I easily make money? Selling gems to that nice lady in Goron City!” And “easy way to get gems? Fighting Taluses!”

And THEN I remembered that you get medals for defeating all instances of a boss type and, well, since I’m already going to be mass-murdering taluses for money I might as well just blitz through all of them in one go and get the medal since fighting them is so easy.

(And while I was doing this I started mapping and mass-solving korok puzzles cause it turns out the full inventory upgrades took more than I expected and I actually wasn’t very good at finding koroks on my own…)

And then I finished the Taluses. And I went to collect my reward.

And it said I have one left.

So I did it again. I went online to one of those interactive map pages, filtered for Taluses, and marked each one before doing a circuit of the entire map. Not only did I CHECK every talus for the “defeated” notification, I re-fought every single one just in case it was some kind of glitch.

And it still says I have one left.

So now here I am on my THIRD attempt of finding the last Talus I need to kill to get my medal because goddamnit I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS

And of course between fighting the Taluses and Uber-ing koroks around I was EMPTY HANDED. No bomb flowers, no zonaite, no bitches

So I had to do a depths tour. And re-did all the depths talus fights seperate from my other runs. Just because I can. Ended up buying like 45 bomb flowers with all the poes I got and have over 1000 crystalline charges so I’ve bought out every construct shop like three times.

Anyway I’m at like. 400 something Koroks cause if I’m doing several world tours I figured I’d get those while I’m at it (and it helps when I get sick of chasing these dumb rocks) and I’m fairly certain I’m going to get all the other boss medals before I find this last fucking talus just from me needing to kill them to restock on materials.

On the bright side Ganondorf is gonna get his shit absolutely WRECKED when I eventually get there. Master sword who? All I need is my collection of 5 shot savage lynel bows and an inventory full of rocket shields. Eat bullet time you raggedy old bitch!