#refurbished story

[imaginaryari]

Charged

The thunder is deafening as Relay5154 waits on the building’s roof for what always follows. He’s tired and soaked, been so for a while now but the sensation no longer bothers him, actually makes his purpose up here faster.

He could just go to a power plant, or siphon it from folks hoarding it. But he rather the storm, and siphoning is illegal. “It tastes better and lasts longer” is how he justifies it and as long as he’s not seen no one will know his true nature.

See, Relay5154 looks like anyone else. Average height, maybe some interesting tattoos, cropped copper hair to prevent oil and debris from clinging to him more than it needs to. No one would know he’s a battery on first or second glance.

The bolt strikes the metal pole he’s leaning on just right and he’s engulfed in burning white light. He savors the energy coursing through his veins and feels the most alive he’s been in weeks. Finally awake and alert, he stays on the roof a bit longer waiting for his body to dim. He prefers that no one knows what he is and the white light from a recent recharge is very damning.

As he waits, soaked and electrified, he surveys the rooftops again. As usual no one is around because it would be insane to leave the house in a storm this bad. Still, he can’t be too careful. The windows on the neighboring buildings are covered, the roofs remain clear, there’s barely any traffic on the roads.

And yet, he catches a flash, one he might have imagined in the wind and rain. A bird? no. something toppling in the storm? most likely. Someone hiding? he hopes not.

He doesn’t worry about it, now dimmed and ready to dry off and go back for his daily task of fixing tiny bots.

Soaked and high off the adrenaline of a successful run, Ayame trails Cannon as they seek refuge from the rain. They’re both stifling laughter after tricking the security drone on the train they’ve just hopped. Lightning catches Ayame’s attention and she looks, up towards the building it’s struck.

There’s a man on the roof, standing right where the lighting hit. She gasps as he glows bright white, confused and fascinated.

“Aya?” Cannon asks, breaking her transfixed glare.

She looks to him, “There’s a man up there!” She say pointing, but as she turns back, the glowing man is gone leaving the roof empty.

“Oh, he’s gone.”

“I would hope so,” Cannon says, “It’s crazy to be out in this weather.”

Ayame rolls her eyes at him but looks back one more time hoping for one more glance.

Thunder roars, and she follows Cannon to safety.

[sandwormb]

Do you like my creatures

[devouring-hive]

Who knows by how many years their recklessness may have cut their life short? It’s likely that they don’t know, and it’s near certain that they don’t care.

‘More’ is in what’s attainable, what’s indulged in, not what’s lost.

[bisexualmcqueen]

new tags alert

"sequel fic era" for any posts that have my yet-unnamed sequel fic (post cars 3) content

characters like lightning, tex, roger, westley, corey, takes place circa 2018-2020

and "prequel fic era" for my pre-cars 1 stuff- this one has a name and a few (in need of rewrite) chapters on ao3, titled "newly refurbished"

lightning and mack friendship. based off of a cars storybook. takes place 2004-2005

ill possibly make an "origin era" tag for mcqueen's childhood and a "midquel era" tag for shenanigans post-cars VG (pre-cars 2)

[stardustedknuckles]

My dad was being homophobic on insta so I'm counterbalancing.

[camping-with-monsters]

EVERYONE REMAIN CALM. WHY ARE THESE TWO BACK.

So I mentioned a while back wanting to completely redo everything there was to the Snapdragon Family’s story. Originally I had it where Daisy-Mae was actually an unforgivable person but as time went on (and I personally healed from my own troubles) the desire to change the narrative grew stronger.

I don’t 100% know where Rupert and Forget-Me-Not are atm but I’ve been thinking about separating their story into it’s own thing. They’re still here though. As for Daisy-Mae and Cuckoo, things have changed. Yes, Milagros did still die around Daisy’s vicinity, but Daisy-Mae didn’t actually kill Milagros. But she did freak out so bad when she found her daughter drowned in the lake seemingly by a freakish accident that in trying to wake her up, Daisy accidentally bruised her several times, losing all sense of judgement when right up to her dead daughter. She fled in extreme delirium and went missing entirely. When Rupert discovered this and reports were made, the death was ruled as a murder rather than an accident as Daisy was the only other person there and the bruises furthered that ruling.

Everyone who had relation to Daisy-Mae believes the ruling. She never showed up to prove her innocence on that department. But why? Because as she fled and freaked out, the mysterious Almighty Cuckoo, the chaotic and sporadic entity, approached the woman, taking pity on her situation. She promised to help her find solace through this and eternal safety from their false accusations. But what did Cuckoo do? He began to keep Daisy-Mae “hostage” which was what he called protection. She started to further manipulate her that she was her only saving grace, and it’s not often a godlike approaches any random human, so she best be on her best behavior. To further protect Daisy, Cuckoo even helped her fake her own death, getting her off the grid. With an identity stripped like that and all sense of what really happened distorted, and a world believing a lie… it doesn’t seem like there’s much Daisy can do on her own right now but hope there will be a sign one day.

Even besides all this obvious manipulation and obsessiveness, these two are capable of having some silly banter between each other and do try to at least treat each other as good friends, even if the power dynamic is high and the introduction is harrowing.

[hauntingofhouses]

stories about home and belonging. about parents and children. about friendship and community and family. about connection and understanding.

home as warmth and love and comfort and respite. home as familiarity and knowing. home as vulnerability but also shelter.

home as your own body. when it doesn't feel right you reconstruct it.

because homes are something you build, at the end of the day. and thus must be maintained, renovated, decorated. or you can start again from scratch. brick by brick.

[subsequentibis]

kicking my feet giggling plotting out a transformers au for john specifically

[gh-0-stcup]

Due to a woeful lack of content, I may or may not have started a Dangel game in the Sims lol.

[mango-shpango]

idk if yall agree or even care but IMO i dont like how the rides are so quickly changed to match new movies or popular franchises

[imaginaryari]

Intro

Batteries are strange—not humans but look and behave like them. not machines but built and need to recharge. Possibly a secret third thing from a distant satellite holding immense power. Relay5154 is one of these batteries and has come to this planet just to work.

The thunder is deafening as Relay5154 waits on the building’s roof for what always follows. He’s tired and soaked from the unrelenting rain and has been so for a while now. The sensation no longer bothers him, actually makes his purpose up here faster.

He could just go to a power plant, or siphon it from folks hoarding it. But he rather the storm (and siphoning is illegal). “It tastes better and lasts longer” is how he justifies it and as long as he’s not seen no one will know his true nature.

See, Relay5154 looks like anyone else. Average height, maybe some interesting tattoos, cropped copper hair to prevent oil and debris from clinging to him more than it needs to. No one would know he’s a battery on first or second glance.

The bolt strikes the metal pole he’s leaning on just right and he’s engulfed in burning white light. He savers the energy coursing through his veins and feels the most alive he’s been in weeks. Finally awake and alert, he stays on the roof a bit longer waiting for his body to dim. He prefers that no one know what he is and the white light from a recent recharge is very damning.

[penny-anna]

honestly kinda unfortunate that the only spooky library aesthetic is the victorian fancy bookshelves dark academia one bcos like. ok here's some library stories.

while i was at the university the library was undergoing a major refurbishment so for a little while the print journals were being stored temporarily down in the basement.

basically nobody ever consulted the print journals bcos 99% of stuff undergrads would be looking up is online these days so every time i went down there it was dead fucking silent & empty. you had to walk through what felt like several miles of empty basement to reach the collection, which was in a room w a photocopier shoved in the corner and a bunch of these:

u turn the handles to move these around (saves space) and every time you had to go and check the aisles first on the offchance that someone was in there so they wouldn't get u know. Compacted.

many years ago i did a week's work experience with the National Library of Scotland. here it is:

but that's just the tip of the iceberg. it keeps going down the side of the bridge, like so:

i got a tour of the stacks while i was there. it's floor after floor of this:

the bookshelves are made of metal & i was treated to the 'fun fact' that the shelves are, bizarrely, load bearing. for this reason they have to be constantly vigilant about fire hazards because even a relatively small fire could cause a bookcase to buckle from the heat, which in turn could cause the whole building to collapse in on itself like a house of cards.

this has haunted me ever since!! thank you.

[mariannasposts]

A Dress with a Story

I have taken up a new hobby in retirement all because of my daughter’s upcoming nuptials. She decided she wanted to wear a vintage dress, something from the 1940ies.  She found her dream dress on eBay, and I bid on it.  Without warning, I received a notice from the seller that the dress was no longer available. I sent the seller a note saying I was very interested in the dress. The seller’s…

[ahordeofwasps]

Trying to decide which wip to edit. Stuck between Mayday and Ghostwriter. I like both, but for different reasons. Ghostwriter is a cute bit of wholesome horror, while Mayday has a lot going on that works surprisingly well.

I'm leaning towards editing Ghostwriter as it's just a tiny novella, while Mayday is a script for a series of audiologs, which would be an ambitious project for me to bring to completion.

I likely won't edit Mayday this time, but I'm honestly happy with how it turned out. I'll likely return to it someday, when I've learned more and have more resources to properly tackle it.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol.  Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night. 

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that. 

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break. 

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?” 

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around. 

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five. 

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much. 

“Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding. 

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd. 

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal. 

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time. 

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia? 

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend–

Ping! 

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts – and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart. 

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address? 

Ah, just like clockwork. 

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals – for more than you’d care to admit – to boot up. 

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give – pay – for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress. 

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion. 

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain. 

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?” 

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man – what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character. 

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man itself– or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some. 

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic – the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life. 

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well. 

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin. 

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness. 

 What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.” 

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue. 

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means. 

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!” 

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game,  you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different. 

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.” 

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night. 

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face. 

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker— then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.” 

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%....... 

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez— Huh?” 

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary. 

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever. 

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock. 

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?” 

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face. 

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter. 

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S 

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.  

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” 

Helplessly, you open your inventory next. 

Your jaw drops. 

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This– this can’t be real.” 

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this– this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada. 

Holy shit. 

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes. 

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?” 

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative. 

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks. 

..

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose. 

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut. 

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk. 

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC. 

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning – or until your battery dies, whichever comes first – you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.” 

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

[eggwhiteswithspinach]

👏 Refurbish Your Writer’s Toolkit with this Indie Short Story