#robot rhythm au

[transsweet]

you guys will never guess what game i modded onto my 3ds recently

[herosplatling-replica]

helping out the community + some bonus robo doctor au drawings! 📺

featuring @nightmun's Haniel, @lolatulips' Marie, @kittyfirest0rm's Edward, @sweetaplle's Aplle, and @pokeart123's Mal ✨

[wootzietoozee]

you know what's ironic? that i think that fandroid would actually be happier and have a better life if he was brought to qualia when he was younger

(btw the designs for melody + her sisters were made by @rainblescake! love ya rainb /p)

[aleskie-hischier]

HEY OSCAR! | Oscar Piastri x Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve shared a close friendship with Oscar Piastri since you first met during Freshman Orientation. When you join an open mic event that requires you to have an original composition, you channel your feelings into a song, hoping it can convey what you’re too scared to say. As it turns out, sometimes the heart speaks louder than words. AKA the Oscar Piastri University AU

Word Count: 8k Warnings: None :>> Just a lil Best Friends to Lovers ♫ Listen: Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift ♫

You sit cross-legged beneath the shade of an old oak tree in the open fields of the university, guitar in hand, fingers plucking strings with delicate care as you hum along. Beside you, a glitter pen rests on top of an open notebook, the pages half-filled with scrawled chords and lyrics that have been scratched out.

The air’s turned crisp and the sun dips lower, casting the sky in vibrant waves of orange, pink, and violet. But you're too absorbed in perfecting the melody, to enjoy the beauty unraveling above.

“There you are!” a familiar voice calls out, cutting through your focus. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It’s your best friend, Oscar.

He crosses the field with his usual lopsided grin, looking slightly out of breath, his backpack bouncing with each step. As he reaches you, he plops down on the grass and drops his bag with a thud beside yours, the collection of keychains clinking against each other like a small wind chime.

“I thought I’d be headed to the library by myself,” he says, still smiling, his eyes glancing over at your notebook. “Didn’t think I’d find you out here, lost in…this.” He gestures towards you hunched over your guitar, scribbling glittery musings in your notebook.

You shrug, glancing sheepishly at your notebook. “Sorry bub, you might still have to go without me. I’ve got this melody I need to finish.”

“A melody?” He echoes, raising a brow and clearly amused. “You do remember we’re engineering majors, right? Not musicians.”

“Unlike someone, I actually have a hobby,” you shoot back, grinning, though your gaze drifts back to your guitar, fingers instinctively tracing the fretboard. “We can’t all be robotics prodigies, Mr. Piastri.”

“Augh!” He clutches his chest in mock injury, grinning widely. “Low blow, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and return to strumming, catching the way he settles onto his backpack, head tilted back as he scrolls through his phone. Clearly, he isn’t going anywhere, so you continue experimenting with melodies and rhymes, though none of them feel quite right.

As the sky darkens and a chill settles in, you glance over to find Oscar still sprawled on the grass, now with his AirPods in, chuckling softly at something on his screen. Smirking, you reach over and pull one of the earbuds out.

“I thought you were heading to the library?” you tease, raising a brow.

He huffs, reaching for the earbud in your hand, though his fingers linger on yours for just a beat longer than necessary. “You weren’t going to be there, so what’s the point?”

You feel some heat rush to your face but quickly push it down. He’s your best friend—nothing more. Probably.

“So, what? You’ll just stay here until I’m done?”

“Nah,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “I’ll stay until you decide to ask for my opinion.”

“Ask for help from the guy who hasn’t even added a single song to our shared playlist?” You scoff, pouting, bringing your focus back to composing. “Yeah, no thanks.”

He hums a response and a beat passes before he gives you a knowing look. “So, why’d you even sign up for that original-submission open-mic thing anyway?”

You shrug, mumbling, “It seemed fun at the time.”

“Not so fun now, huh?” He smirks, his gaze drifting to the notebook littered with scratched-out lyrics and half-formed lines.

“Shut up,” you groan, playfully nudging him with your foot. He laughs, a sound as familiar as it is comforting, and you can’t help but smile as you return to your guitar, his presence a steady rhythm in the background, keeping you company as the stars begin to appear overhead.

“Well, let me offer some advice anyway, since you clearly don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, sitting up and rummaging through his backpack. He pulls out a hoodie and tosses it toward you, his aim landing it squarely on your face before it tumbles into your lap. “Just…focus on what you know.” 

The hoodie is your hoodie—well, his hoodie, but you’ve claimed it enough times that it might as well be yours by now. It’s the one you always reach for on cold mornings and late nights. The one that’s softer than all his other hoodies. The one that clings to his scent the longest—not that you’d ever admit you notice that.

“Write what I know, huh?” You look over at him, letting your gaze linger on his tousled hair, his bright eyes, the faint freckles sprinkled across his face. As you think about his words, you start to make a mental list of the things you do know.

You know robotics and calculus. You know the exact temperature for steeping different types of tea. You know how to sew and knit and crochet. You know chemistry and coding and…you know Oscar.

You know his quirks, his habits, the way he folds into himself when he sleeps, how he prefers his coffee, and how he schedules his day with way too many alarms. You know his class schedule by heart, the subjects he struggles with, and the way he pushes through them anyway. If nothing else, you know him. You know him in all the small, quiet ways that matter.

You slip on the hoodie, feeling its warmth wrap around you, and can’t help but give him a small, almost secret smile—a little mischievous, a little uncertain. You already know what you’re going to write about.

For better or worse, this would be a song he wouldn’t forget.

You first meet Oscar at freshman orientation. By chance, the two of you end up sitting side-by-side in one of those endless welcome sessions, the kind that packs in far too many speeches from people you’ll probably never see again. He’s quiet and a little reserved, dressed head-to-toe in school merch: a fresh university shirt and a cap with the campus logo. You’d actively avoided wearing any of it, determined not to look like the stereotypical freshman, but somehow, on him, it’s endearing. He actually seemed excited to be here, enough to wear it proudly—and, well, he was cute. That didn’t hurt either.

You, on the other hand, were exhausted. The nerves from knowing you’d be starting college had robbed you of sleep, and the stuffy room only added to the weight of your eyelids. Somewhere between the speech on campus values and the talk on student resources, your head dips forward, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep—right on his shoulder.

He’s the one who gently nudges you awake once the session finally ends, when everyone else is already getting up to leave for campus tours. Blinking in confusion, you sit up quickly, mortification settling in as you realize what happened.

“Oh my God—I am so sorry!” You say, eyes wide and filled with regret.

“It’s fine,” he says, hands slipping into his pockets, a small, slightly awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

You squint, trying to gauge if he’s serious. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He shrugs, still calm. “I mean, it could. I was close to falling asleep too,” he admits, leaning in as if it’s a secret.

You let out a laugh, nerves easing just a bit. Somehow, he makes it seem like less of a big deal, and you find yourself smiling.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, extending your hand with a tentative smile, hoping to smooth over the awkwardness of your unplanned nap on his shoulder.

“Oscar,” he replies, reaching out to grasp your hand. His shake is gentle but sure, his grip warm against your fingers.

For a brief moment, you hold his gaze, and there’s something both reassuring and easygoing in his expression. You can tell he’s someone who doesn’t mind the little quirks in people—he’s likely someone who’d find them interesting. The noise of other freshmen shuffling around to start the campus tour fills the air, but the two of you linger for just a beat longer.

“Well,” you say, letting go of his hand reluctantly, “Which group are you in for the tour?”

“Um.” He checks his phone, squinting slightly. “Group four.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and a smirk creeps onto your face. “Well, look at that! Looks like you can’t get rid of me yet.”

“Never said I wanted to get rid of you.” He chuckles, sliding his phone back into his pocket as you both fall into step together. “Especially not when you’ve made quite the first impression.”

After a shared laugh and an easy exchange of grins, you lead the way to the back of the line for Group Four. Building after building, you walk together, navigating the labyrinth of campus with a strange mixture of excitement and calm.

Sometimes you walk in comfortable silence—the kind that only comes in those first moments of meeting someone, when you want to say more but aren’t quite sure where to start. Other times, your conversation spills into heated debates that draw in other students before they drift away again, leaving you and Oscar to continue on alone. You chat about everything from the cafeteria’s rumored curfews to the quirky statues scattered around campus, and as each topic arises, Oscar surprises you. He’s reserved, but his dry humor and unexpected quips keep you laughing, his calm wit a perfect match for your own.

By the time you’ve seen most of the campus, you realize there’s something different about him. He’s easy to be around, comfortable and safe, but with a spark that keeps things interesting. You can’t explain it exactly—and maybe it’s too early to tell—but some part of you feels that this could be the beginning of a friendship that’s special—one that could last a long, long time.

By the time sophomore year rolls around, Oscar is celebrating seven months with Michelle, his girlfriend, while you’re somewhere around your millionth date—or at least, that’s what it feels like.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. Oscar’s always been the type to settle down in serious relationships, while you’ve leaned into the idea of playing the field, keeping things light before they turn into something more. But that idea lost its appeal fast when you realized most people in the dating pool were just looking for something casual, something fleeting.

And it didn’t help that every so often, you’d find yourself third-wheeling Oscar and Michelle. They’d gotten together near the end of freshman year, survived a summer apart while he went back home to Australia, and picked up in sophomore year as if they’d never left each other’s side.

You kind of like Michelle. You’ve spent enough time with her to consider her almost a friend, sometimes hanging out without Oscar around. She’s sharp, funny, and somehow manages to match Oscar’s dry humor in a way that leaves you in stitches. But sometimes…well, sometimes, she gets under your skin. Like right now.

“Do I look alright?” Oscar asks, running a hand through his hair for what has to be the hundredth time tonight, eyes fixed on the mirror as he adjusts his shirt and frowns slightly.

You’re sprawled across his roommate’s bed, a spot that’s become practically yours over the past two years.

Oscar’s roommate, Lando, is an upperclassman in your major, just a year ahead, and the three of you clicked almost instantly. He’s practically the big brother of your university life, guiding you through the maze of class schedules, professor choices, and which activities are worth your time.

He’s loud, fun, and has an impressive collection of video games that you all regularly raid. And thanks to him, you and Oscar have a standing invite to all the best parties on campus, where he dramatically introduces you both as his “prized students.” He’s a blast to be with. There’s never a dull moment with him. 

Currently, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing his Nintendo Switch with complete focus while you absentmindedly twist curls in his hair.

“You look fine, Osc,” you groan, “You looked fine thirty minutes ago when you first asked.” You give him a pointed look. “Which, by the way, was the time she was supposed to meet you here.”

Oscar shrugs, brushing it off with a small smile. “She’s probably just finalizing the details of the date. She’ll be here soon.”

Lando smirks, not glancing up from his game. “Does she know that offering to plan a special date—and then executing it—also involves showing up on time?”

You smack the back of his head lightly, and he yelps, finally looking away from his game. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t make him feel bad,” you pout, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. “Oh, so you can throw in all the little comments about her being late and flaking out, but I can’t?”

“Yes,” you say, matter-of-factly, crossing your arms, “Because I actually hang out with her. You just get the highlights.”

Lando snickers but doesn’t get a chance to reply before Oscar cuts in, his expression a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “Wait—so you gossip about my relationship now? Since when?”

Lando gives Oscar a devilish grin, leaning back with a smug look. “That’s classified info, Ozzy boy,” he says, “But we’ll let you in on the secret if you two either break up or end up getting married.”

Oscar looks at you, his expression practically pleading, as if to say, And you’re in on this too? You’re going to keep this a secret from me?

You can’t help but smirk, knowing how it’ll get under his skin. “What he said.” You and Lando share a quick high-five, laughing at Oscar’s groan.

Then, Lando gives you a sly look, leaning in with a grin. “Honestly though, Y/N, if you ever get tired of waiting on him, I’m single. We’d be campus royalty, you know? Top of the line.”

You snort, playing along. “Oh, totally. Imagine the headlines: Y/N and Lando—A Match Made in Unexpected Heaven!”

“Right?” Lando grins, winking. “We’d be a dream together, love.”

Oscar shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms as he watches you two banter. “Are you two done planning your imaginary relationship?” He mutters, trying to sound casual but giving you a sidelong glance.

You glance back at him, laughing. “Relax, Osc. Lando’s not even my type—”

“Hey now!” Lando protests, feigning offense.

“—But if he were,” you continue, ignoring Lando’s dramatics, “You’d totally be the best third wheel, bub.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of something behind the exasperation, something you can’t quite place. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember who’s actually got a date tonight.”

Lando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll let you focus on impressing your date, lover boy.” He smirks. “If she ever gets here.”

You give him another light smack on the head and he laughs as Oscar chuckles along, the three of you settling back into the easy rhythm of jokes and chatter. Oscar seems quieter than usual, but you chalk it up to nerves about the date—or lack thereof.

You’re just relieved to have the same easy vibe you’ve always had with them—after all, that’s what matters most.

When the clock strikes midnight, Michelle is still a no-show. No text, no call, no explanation. And Oscar is...silent. Even Lando, usually quick with a quip, notices the change in Oscar’s mood and dials down the teasing, trying instead to fill the silence by chattering about a game they both play. But even that doesn’t bring Oscar around; his usual lighthearted responses are replaced by quiet nods and distracted hums.

His clothes have long since changed from his date outfit to his usual worn hoodie and sweatpants, but the frown on his face hasn’t budged.

You and Lando have swapped places now—you’re sprawled on the floor, and he’s kicked back on his bed, scrolling on his phone. Oscar lies between you two, his head resting on your lap, eyes fixed on his screen. He’s still waiting, clearly hoping for some sign from Michelle, though by now you’re almost certain that no text is coming.

Eventually, you give him a gentle pat on the cheek, signaling for him to shift so you can slide out from under him and put your shoes back on to make the trek to your own dorm.

“The third roommate moves out,” Lando jokes, leaning back with a sigh. “Always the hardest part of the night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smirk on your face as you give him a quick hug. “My presence really does brighten up the place, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grins, playfully nudging you. “Bring her back safe, Osc!” He calls out as you and Oscar step into the hallway.

You and Oscar walk in silence, a heavy quiet that neither of you rushes to fill. After a moment, he reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and you squeeze his hand back, hoping it’s some small comfort.

“What she did was shitty, you know,” you murmur, finally breaking the silence.

He lets out a laugh, though it’s empty, tired. “It’s kinda funny, isn’t it? I got all dressed up, wondering how the night would go, and then…nothing.” His voice trails off, resignation in every word.

You stop and turn to him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t on you, bub. She should’ve said something.”

He looks at you, eyes tracing the ground for a second before they finally lift, catching yours. “At least you’re here.”

“Perks of being single and unwanted,” you joke, your voice light but the words half-true. You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’ll always be here, Osc. No matter what.”

Hand in hand, you make your way to your dorm, basking in a silence that feels steady, solid. When you reach your door, you pause, turning to him with open arms. He steps into the hug, pulling you close, and you feel him cling just a little tighter, his warmth grounding you both.

After a long moment, he pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. “For the record,” he says softly, his gaze steady on yours, "You aren’t unwanted.” His voice grows quieter, serious. “I’ll always want you around.”

For a moment, his words feel loaded, almost more than platonic, and something in his eyes lingers a beat too long. But you brush the thought away, reminding yourself of the boundaries in place—he has a girlfriend, and he’s just been hurt tonight. He’s vulnerable. So you ignore any underlying meanings—ignore the rising tension—and you ruffle his hair, keeping things light.

“Me too, bub.” You smile, patting his shoulder. “I’ll always want you around too.”

With a last squeeze of his hand, you slip into your dorm, leaving Oscar standing there, both of you holding onto that quiet, unspoken promise between you.

Oscar and Michelle break up just before summer, right near the end of sophomore year. You can’t say you’re surprised—honestly, you’d been half-expecting it since that night she stood him up. But when he tells you, his voice low and resigned, you do your best to hide any hint of satisfaction. You give him a steady pat on the back, listen as he mopes through the last few weeks of school, and keep all those unspoken feelings locked away. After all, he’s your best friend, and that’s what he needs most right now.

Still, you can’t deny that a part of you is relieved. He’s spending more time with you again and his hoodies have officially returned to their rightful home—your dorm room. You feel a secret giddiness every time he hands you one to wear, relishing the way it’s soft and warm and unmistakably his. It’s as if things have gone back to how they used to be.

But you’re his best friend, and best friends don’t overthink the little things. So you keep it to yourself, even when you’re studying for finals together, living off caffeine and library vending machine snacks, or trading late-night rants about the professors who dared assign twenty-page essays. You proofread his pages with half-shut eyes at 3 a.m., he helps you organize your chaotic notes, and somehow, you make it through. After every three-hour final, you both wait outside the exam hall for each other, sharing a quiet sense of victory, collapsing into a laugh about how little you actually remembered from all those nights spent cramming.

When the semester finally ends, and it’s time for him to pack for his trip back home to Australia, you help him sort through his clothes and cram textbooks into his suitcase, doing your best to ignore the familiar ache of goodbye.

If your fingers brush a little too long while folding his favorite shirt, or if you find his face lingering a beat too close as you hand him one last book to pack, neither of you mentions it. These almost-moments hang in the air, the silence thick with words you’re not yet ready to say. But it’s enough just to know he’ll be back, that no matter how far he goes, he’s still yours. 

At least, in the way best friends belong to each other.

When he comes back after the summer, now entering into your junior year, you notice he’s different. It’s subtle, but unmistakable—a little more confidence in the way he carries himself, a bit more certainty in his steps. He’s shed some of that awkward charm, replaced by a newfound ease that almost feels strange. You find yourself watching him more closely, catching moments that feel just a little bit different.

There’s a shift between you, too, something new lingering just beneath the surface, threading itself into each conversation. It’s a tension that neither of you dares to name. The way he walks, the way he talks to you—it all feels sharper, more vivid somehow. And the way he says your name now, in that deeper tone with that familiar hint of teasing, makes your heart race a little faster, even though you tell yourself it’s silly.

One afternoon, you’re sitting side by side on the campus lawn, watching students pass by, each absorbed in their own lives. Oscar’s fingers idly pull at the grass between you, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you, lingering just a moment too long. His eyes are warm but searching, as if there’s something he’s been holding back. 

“Do you…miss me over the summer?” He asks, half-smiling but with an edge to his tone, as if he’s testing the waters.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you give his shoulder a playful shove. “Are you forgetting the reason I spend half my summer awake at the strangest hours? Making sure your calls don’t end with me passing out mid-conversation?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning back. “Trust me, bub, you’re impossible to forget.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” he says, jutting out his lower lip in a mock pout. His gaze stays steady on you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s something there—something you can’t quite place but that you feel all the way down to your bones.

You swallow, trying to keep your tone as light as his. “Oh, Oscar. No need to be dramatic. You’ve been stuck with me since orientation.” You smile, warm and reassuring. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His chuckle is warm, but the laugh doesn’t fully reach his eyes. A flicker of something vulnerable, almost haunted, crosses his face. “People have a way of leaving,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, Lando’s about to graduate, and after that…well, things change.”

His words hang between you, stark against the background noise of campus life. It’s a reality you both understand: university, with its friendships, late-night talks, and steady routines, is never as permanent as it feels in the moment. Change is inevitable, and soon, it’ll come for all of you.

You scoot a little closer, letting your shoulder brush against his, grounding him in the here and now. “Lando’s an old man at the edge of freedom, the lucky bastard.” You smirk, nudging him gently. “You and I though? We’re still the same. No one’s going anywhere.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of unspoken promises lingering between you. His gaze dips briefly to your lips before flicking back up, and there’s a spark of something that feels new, unexpected. It’s as though he’s waiting for the right words, like there’s a tune that neither of you has heard yet playing gently in the background, just waiting for one of you to finally hum along.

You rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar weight of his presence ground you. “We’ve got time, Oscar.”

He grins, a little reluctantly, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that softens his expression, something unguarded and real. You can feel the silent understanding settle between you both, an unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, some things don’t have to change.

Not yet.

And now, you’re here. Typing out the lyrics to the song you know is going to be for Oscar, while lying on his bed with his arm resting comfortably around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside you. The gentle weight of his arm keeps you grounded, but it’s more than that; it’s the warmth of him next to you, a presence you can’t shake, a feeling that lingers even when he’s not here.

You’d thought nothing had changed between you two. But now, looking back, you see it—small shifts, like puzzle pieces rearranging themselves before you even noticed they’d moved. Maybe it’s the way he’s been studying your face a little longer, or the way he’s been holding your hand more often, or how he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear without a second thought.

Then, there was that moment just a while ago. You’d been sprawled out on Lando’s bed as usual, laughing at some random meme he'd shown you. But Oscar was just watching you, a soft expression in his eyes that felt almost...territorial.

"C'mere," he’d said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent, breaking through your laughter. “Stay with me.”

Lando had raised an eyebrow at Oscar’s request, and you’d missed a small knowing smirk on his lips. But you were more focused on how Oscar’s eyes hadn’t left you, his hand reaching out in a quiet invitation.

You’d moved over to him, hesitating for only a second before settling into his arms. The way his hand had rested on your waist, his fingers drawing small circles there as you leaned against him, felt different—like he was anchoring you there, like he wanted you closer than usual. And though he’d acted like it was nothing, you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat pick up against your shoulder.

Now it’s just the two of you, the quiet of the dorm settling around you, warm and easy. Lando had left a while ago, heading to a friend’s party and leaving you and Oscar alone—though not before snapping a couple photos of you two on the same bed. The dim light from the streetlamp outside filters through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room, and you can’t help but notice how natural it all feels—like you were always meant to be here.

Oscar stretches beside you, facing you with his hazy eyes and that familiar, sleepy smile. There’s something gentle in his gaze, a kind of warmth that makes your pulse skip a little, though you try to ignore it, focusing instead on the slow rhythm of his breathing and the subtle sound of his laughter still echoing from earlier.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little drowsy. His hand, warm and steady, rests lightly on your shoulder as he draws you closer.

“Yeah,” you say, not even bothering to hide the smile in your voice. It’s almost ridiculous, the calm that fills you while you’re with him—no masks, no obligations, just the two of you in the cozy quiet.

Minutes pass in an easy silence, your head resting just close enough to his that you can feel his breath against your cheek. When you look up, he’s already watching you, eyes half-lidded, a softness in them you haven’t quite seen before. There’s a vulnerability there, something almost unguarded, as if he’s waiting for you to catch onto a feeling that he’s carried all along.

Your eyes drift closed, and soon enough, the quiet thrum of his heartbeat beside you becomes a lullaby, easing you to sleep with a sense of comfort you can’t remember feeling anywhere else.

When you wake the next morning, soft sunlight is spilling through the blinds, warming the room with a gentle glow. For a moment, you’re disoriented, blinking away sleep and adjusting to the soft, steady breathing beside you. Then you remember—you’re still here, wrapped in the blankets beside Oscar.

Oscar stirs, his eyes fluttering open just enough to catch you watching him. A lazy grin tugs at his lips, and his hand, which had somehow ended up wrapped around yours, gives the smallest, sleep-tinged squeeze.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, feeling a warmth settle over you that has nothing to do with the morning light filtering through the blinds. There’s a pause, a soft kind of stillness stretching between you, as if the world outside doesn’t exist yet and you’re suspended here, in this quiet, shared moment.

"G’moooooorning," Lando groans from across the room, his voice muffled by the covers. The two of you chuckle, knowing he’ll be facing a brutal hangover today.

Still smiling, you shift to sit up, and that’s when it hits you—just how close you and Oscar are, practically nose to nose on his twin bed. His hand is still loosely draped around yours, and you can feel his steady breaths, warm against your cheek. The familiarity of it sends a pleasant hum through you, a feeling of rightness that’s been quietly building in moments like this.

Oscar’s gaze catches yours, his eyes lingering just a bit longer than usual, and you notice the small smile playing on his lips, a little shy, a little more awake now. For a split second, something in his expression feels different—like there’s a question he hasn’t quite asked, or a confession he’s almost ready to say.

You feel a flicker of something, unexpected and thrilling, settle in your chest. And in that moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, there's something more here. 

But you shake the thoughts from your head. You’re just friends. Best friends.

Oscar’s bed is quickly becoming your new headquarters, if only because he won’t let you sit on Lando’s anymore. He insists it’s practical—Lando’s bed is too far from his side of the room, and Lando would complain about your stuff spilling over anyway—but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. And Oscar’s growing possessiveness over “his side of the room” only fuels that suspicion.

One afternoon, as you’re curled up in his bed, typing out lyrics on your laptop, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, smiles, and excuses himself to take the call, wandering to the far side of the room. You’re too focused on your song to notice right away, but something about his tone pulls you from your work.

“Hey, yeah…I know, I know,” he says, his voice soft and a little bashful. You can’t make out the other end of the conversation, but whatever they’re saying has him pacing, one hand ruffling his hair as he mutters a response.

He sighs a second later, a smile playing on his lips. “Come on, it’s not…it’s not that easy, alright?” He glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief, vulnerable moment before quickly looking away, his cheeks tinged with color. “I don’t think she’s...aware of anything like that. Not yet, at least.”

You can practically hear the teasing tone from the caller without even needing the words, and Oscar groans, running his hand over his face. “Okay, but…what if…I mean, what if it messes things up?”

You pretend to be fully absorbed in your screen, fighting back a small smile. You can’t hear the other side, but the snippets you catch send a warm flutter through your chest for some reason. 

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, conceding. “No, I get it. I do.” He steals another glance your way, a softer, unguarded look in his eyes, something unspoken. “Look, I’ll...I’ll think about it, okay?”

When he hangs up and returns to the bed, there’s a new, nervous smile on his face, like he’s holding back.

“Good talk?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light, though curiosity buzzes in your chest.

“Yeah, uh, just Hattie,” he says, still sounding casual, though his eyes are filled with something quieter, maybe even hopeful. He hesitates, as though choosing his words carefully. “She, um…thinks I should take more risks.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, leaning in, feeling the familiar, magnetic pull between you. “What kind of risks?”

He laughs, though there’s a nervous edge to it, his gaze dropping to the edge of the blanket as he fidgets with it. “Just…the ones that aren’t obvious until you actually go for them, I guess.”

You hum, shifting back to your lyrics, though your heart skips a beat. The air between you feels charged, like you’re both on the edge of something new and a little terrifying.

It’s two weeks before the open mic, and you’re sitting at your desk, carefully polishing every line, every note of the song. There’s a rhythm to it now, a familiarity as you hum the lyrics under your breath, and suddenly, it hits you—this song, this performance, everything…it’s for him.

You're in love with Oscar Piastri.

You don’t exactly know when it happened—the exact moment it shifted from comfortable friendship to something deeper. Maybe it was that quiet moment on the field when you swore he looked at your lips a little too long, or when you found yourself deciding to dedicate this song to him. Maybe it’s always been this way with you both, feelings going deeper but never having the chance to be more.

Now though, it’s glaringly obvious. And it’s stressing you the fuck out.

Lando, on the other hand, is having the time of his life.

“Oh, thank the heavens!” He snickers, barely containing his glee as you finally confess it to him, late one night while Oscar’s out with other friends. He dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye. “I was starting to think you’d never figure it out!”

“It’s not funny!” You groan, slumping back into the chair across from him, running a hand through your hair.

“It soooo is!” Lando cackles, his laughter echoing through the room. “I mean, come on, Y/N. You were acting all kinds of weird back when he had a girlfriend!”

You sit up defensively, crossing your arms. “I was being a good friend! I even hung out with her!”

“On hangouts you always had issues with!”

“She was never on time and flaked constantly!”

He rolls his eyes, his smirk widening. “Fine, fine. But what about the fact that you basically live here now, huh? You and Oscar are like a package deal.”

You stick out your tongue. “You like having me around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he admits, smirking. “But come on. It’s obvious now—you’ve liked him for ages.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping as the weight of the truth settles in. “Yeah. I guess I have.” You let out a breath, feeling both relieved and nervous now that you’ve finally said it out loud.

Lando leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You blink, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “I mean…do I have to do anything? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Lando gives you a look, the kind only a big brother can give, full of patience and a hint of frustration. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung the stars. Seriously. You could be a serial killer and he’d be wagging his tail while helping you dig a hole.” He chuckles. “He’s madly in love with you. I swear it.”

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through you at his words. But you still shake your head, hesitant. “You think so?”

“Duh,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Look, don’t overthink it. Just play your song, put it all out there, and see how he reacts. You’ll know.”

You roll your eyes, giving him a playful nudge. “When did you get so wise?”

“Probably when I had my graduation photos taken,” he grins, brushing you off.

You laugh along with him, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all you need to do—play the song, let the words say everything you’re too afraid to put out there, and hope he hears it in all the ways that matter.

Two days before the open mic, you’re practicing alone in the small rehearsal room on campus, running through the song again and again. The lyrics are practically engraved in your memory, but each time you sing them, they feel heavier, more vulnerable. You’ve poured so much of yourself, of your memories, into these words—it’s impossible not to think of him as you sing them.

The door creaks open, and you almost jump out of your skin. Oscar steps inside, an easy smile on his face as he leans against the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey,” he says, his voice low and soft, “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up as you try to act casual. "Just practicing,” you say, glancing away and strumming a few absent chords on your guitar. “You know, trying to make it sound…not terrible."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks further into the room. “Not a chance of that. I know it’s gonna be incredible." He stops just a few feet from you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this serious about something that wasn’t for our grade. It’s kind of amazing.”

You laugh, a little too nervously. "It might have turned out to be more important to me than I originally thought.”

He watches you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression, a mix of admiration and curiosity. It makes you feel exposed, as if he can see right through you, into the meaning behind what you just said, into all the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to keep under wraps since you realized.

“Since we met…” You trail off, catching yourself, unsure if you want to finish that sentence.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Since we met…what?” he asks, leaning a little closer, his gaze locked onto yours.

The words almost spill out—how you can’t help but think he looks like an angel when he smiles, or how sometimes you wonder what it would be like to kiss him in a moment like this, your mind drifting to the memory of the two of you dancing in the rain, soaked and laughing as if it’s just the two of you in the world. 

But you’re not sure you’re ready for that. Not with the performance so close, and definitely not when he’s standing here looking at you like that.

Though what that is, you can’t say. Or maybe you’re still too scared to find out.

Instead, you manage a small smile, shrugging. “I don’t know…since we met, it’s just been…magic,” you say quietly, the word barely louder than a whisper.

There’s a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, something soft and almost vulnerable, and then he smiles. “Yeah…yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. He’s close now, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a second, it feels like maybe you’re not the only one feeling this.

It takes everything in you not to lean in, not to close the distance. Instead, you look away, your heart racing. "So…you’ll be there? For the performance?"

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, his voice sincere, and the way he’s looking at you makes it feel like maybe he means more than just the performance.

When the open mic comes, you’re almost a wreck, nervous and excited all at once. When the night of the open mic finally arrives, you’re a mix of nerves and excitement, feeling each second tick by as the lights dim and the hum of the audience grows. Backstage, you tighten your grip on your guitar, casting one last look through the curtain to see if he’s there. But he isn’t.

A pang of disappointment settles into your chest. You tell yourself he’s probably just running late and that any second, he’ll slip in, giving you that half-smile he always has when he knows he’s kept you waiting. But a part of you can’t shake the small, sinking feeling that maybe…maybe you were hoping for too much.

But Oscar’s never let you down. And you don’t think he’d start now. 

When your turn comes, you take a deep breath and step onto the stage, feeling the warmth of the spotlight, and yet the crowd feels distant—none of them the person you want there the most. Settling into your seat, you scan the room one last time, but he’s still not there.

With a quiet sigh, you look down at your guitar, anchoring yourself in the familiar strings, the melody you’ve practiced countless times. You close your eyes, letting the weight of your feelings pour into the chords, filling every note with the things you’ve never been able to say.

Your voice starts soft, and as you sing, memories start playing in your mind. You think of meeting him at the Freshman orientation, the awkwardness, the fragility of the budding friendship—but you also think of the way you knew he was gonna be a part of your life, the certainty with which you realized you like having him around.

Hey darling, I know looks can be deceiving, But I know I saw a light in you And as we walked, we would talk, And I didn’t say half the things I wanted to.

You picture him beside you, the way his voice dips low when he’s teasing, the way his hand always seems to find yours in crowded spaces, like it’s second nature to him. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sing, the words becoming more and more specific to your story with him.

The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you say my name It's beautiful, wonderful—don’t you ever change.

Each word spills out, heavy and vulnerable, leaving you bare as you play. Every line is something you’ve kept close, something you’ve been afraid to say, and it’s only now, on this stage, that you’re finally able to let it out.

Hey darling, why are people always leaving? I think you and I should stay the same.

Each note, each line is a confession, a quiet vulnerability you let slip through the melody, hoping he hears it—wherever he is. 

As you near the song’s climax, your gaze sweeps over the crowd, people swaying in time with the music, and then, finally, you see him.

He’s standing near the entrance, face slightly flushed, like he’s just rushed in, but he’s there, his eyes fixed on you with a look that sends a surge of warmth straight to your chest.

When he catches you looking, he raises his hand in a small wave, a hint of that familiar grin on his lips. The weight on your chest lifts and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, like you’re the only two people in the room, your voice steadying as your gaze stays locked on his.

Hey darling, I could give you 50 reasons why I should be the one you choose.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you can’t help but imagine all those reasons, each one racing through your mind. You could probably give him more than fifty—and every one of them would be true.

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful, but would they write a song for you?

When you sing that line, he chuckles, shaking his head slightly. The sight makes you laugh, your voice softening as you step into the final chorus, feeling like every word has finally found its rightful place.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain So, come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else

The last notes hang in the air as you let the final chords fade, your fingers gently leaving the strings. The song comes full circle, wrapping up with the melody that began beneath the oak tree, when you first decided to give this song to him.

The applause swells, and you stand, bowing before making your way backstage, where you know he’ll be waiting. Heart pounding, you step through the curtain, and there he is, leaning against the wall, hands behind his back, looking at you with a combination of expressions you’ve never quite seen on him before—soft, maybe a little nervous, with a hint of pride shining in his eyes.

“You’re late,” you tease, unable to keep the grin off your face.

He smiles sheepishly and, with a slight flourish, pulls a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back. “Turns out flower shops are in high demand on nights like this.”

Your heart melts a little as you take the bouquet, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of the flowers. “You’re forgiven,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He rolls his eyes in playful relief. “Good. You get cranky when you’re mad.” He chuckles as you give him a slight nudge. “C’mon let’s get out of here. Dinner’s on me.”

You nod, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and relief, and hurry to pack up your guitar. As you walk out together, his hand finds its place gently but firmly on your hip, guiding you toward the door. And if you notice the way he pulls you just a little closer, his fingers lingering as if they belong there, you don’t say anything—you just smile and let yourself fall. 

For once, maybe things are exactly as they should be.

Dinner’s casual, nothing too fancy, but there’s a shift in the air. He’s more forward now, his fingers brushing against yours with a confidence you haven’t seen before. He holds your hand a little tighter, his gaze lingering on your lips more often than it ever has.

Lando was right. You knew it. And so did he.

The meal feels familiar—easy laughter, the same teasing banter, inside jokes that still land with ease. But beneath it all, there’s an unspoken tension, a hum in the air that keeps the silence between you both louder than it should be. It’s the quiet weight of a confession that hasn’t been made, but you both feel it there, just waiting for the right moment.

He links your fingers together as you walk back toward your dorm. The night feels like it’s stretching out, slow and deliberate, each step bringing you closer to something inevitable.

You break the silence first. 

“When did you come in?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“A little bit before you sang…” He clears his throat, his smile teasing. He sings the line with a laugh, "The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name, it's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change."

You groan, embarrassed, but can’t help smiling at how effortlessly he teases you. He laughs, full of heart, and says, “I loved every moment of it.”

“Good,” you reply, the words simple but carrying everything you want to say. You lean a little closer, just enough for him to feel the shift in the air between you.

As you reach your door, you stop, heart racing in your chest. You look at him, trying to gauge what he’s feeling, the question that’s been swirling in your mind now impossible to keep inside. 

“Did you get it then? What I meant to say?”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand gently covering yours where it rests on your guitar. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low, “I think I got the message loud and clear.”

Before you can say anything, his fingers brush your cheek, his touch so soft it sends a shiver through you. The world feels like it’s slowing down, the noise of the night receding into the background as he leans in just a little closer. “Play me the song again,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “So I can hear it in full.”

You chuckle, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I should’ve just written a song with fifty reasons why it should be me.”

He shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips as his thumb brushes against your skin. “You didn’t need fifty reasons. Just one would’ve been enough.”

“And what would that reason be?” You ask, your breath catching in your throat.

“Because I love you too.”

And then, before you can process anything more, he’s kissing you. It’s soft, tender—like the final note to a song you’ve been playing in your heart for what feels like forever. You melt into the kiss, the world around you vanishing as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in a way that feels like home.

In that quiet moment, as the sounds of the night drift into the background, you realize it was always meant to be this way. All the magic, all the feelings have been there since the day you met. 

Everything falls exactly into place.

[neverending-merry-go-round]

Japanese Ruikasa AU's: A Comprehensive (?) Guide

There are a lot of Rui/Tsukasa AU’s 類司 (派生/derivation or パロ/parody, or both sometimes) in the Japanese fandom, this is a showcase of almost all of them.

A note that the order of names in the ship matters a LOT in fandom spaces in the eastern side, you’ll often, if not always, find artists’ socials with 🎈🌟左右固定 or 🎈🌟🔄❌ in their bio or in their profile cards. All will be in Rui/Tsukasa order here. Listed in romanized alphabetical order.

Rui and Tsukasa need no introduction if you are already familiar with this game, but if you aren't, Rui and Tsukasa are characters from the rhythm game Project Sekai: Colorful Stage ft. Hatsune Miku (Brand New Your World). They’re from the Unit WonderlandsxShowtime, members of a freelance theater troupe with the goal of bringing smiles to the entire world with their performances. They’re also classmates and are often referred to by their classmates as the “Oddball 1, 2 Finish” (or “Weirdo Wombo Combo” as the official English localization goes) because they are a pair of show-passionate weirdos. They’ve also blown up a few things at their school more than once but that’s another story! We continue with the actual AU's!

DanToru・団トル

団長・トルペ Danchou/Torpe

From Rui and Tsukasa's gacha cards and play Wandasho made on Tsukasa's focus event On the Stage of Dazzling Light. In the event's play, Danchou (Rui) is a Band Leader (translation of Danchou) from an orchestra who saw potential in Torpe (Tsukasa), a pianist that had issues showcasing his piano skills in front of others.

GakuKo・学コ

学者・コック Gakusha/Kokku・Scholar/Chef

From Rui and Tsukasa's shop cards in Emu's focus event Our Happy Ending. I've seen this AU being called “RPG” or “Kirapika” on the western side.

GalaPie・ギャラピエ

ギャラクシー・ピエロ Galaxy/Piero・Galaxy/Pierrot

From Rui's trained Colorfes Endless Imagination and Challenges and Tsukasa's trained gacha card, A Phoenix Seen in Those Blurry Eyes, from his focus event Towards the Phoenix at the Sky's Edge. Using "Galaxy" to refer to Colorfes Rui comes from his card's costume name, Galaxy Dark Suit. Sometimes also called GalaKura・ギャラクラ (Galaxy/Clown).

GashaKori・がしゃこり

ガシャドクロ・狐狸 Gashadokuro/Kori

From Rui and Tsukasa's trained gacha cards on Rui's focus event A Once-In-A-Lifetime Pandemonium!? Referred usually as “Yokai” on the western side.

GunHina・軍雛

軍師・雛 Gunshi/Hina

From Rui's trained gacha card Twilight's Brilliance from his focus event Heat Up! Kamiyama High Cheering Squad! and Tsukasa's trained gacha card Big Brother's Agony from Saki's focus event The Tenma Household's Hinamatsuri. Referred usually as “Tactihina” on the western side.

GunRyuu・軍龍

軍師・龍神 Gunshi/Ryuujin

From Rui's trained gacha card Twilight's Brilliance from his focus event Heat Up! Kamiyama High Cheering Squad! and Tsukasa's trained gacha card Man of the Joyous New Year from his focus event A Brand New Year! Lion Dance Robot's New Year's Show!. Referred usually as “Tactiqilin” on the western side.

HakaPega・博ペガ

博士・ペガサス Hakase/Pegasus

From Rui and Tsukasa's characters on Petit SEKAI #2 "Fight! Neneger V". Rui plays as Ruidouji Hakase (類道寺博士・Professor Ruidouji) and Tsukasa plays as Pegasus The Shining (ペガサス・ザ・シャイ��ング). Despite its silly beginnings, most works I've seen regarding this AU are filled with angst.

JohnWen・ジョンウェン

ジョン・ウェンディ John/Wendy

From Rui's trained gacha card and Tsukasa's shop card in Emu's focus event Amidst a Dream, Towards the Shining Stars. Their names come from the famous fanon interpretations about the characters they're representing from "Peter Pan" in their trained cards.

KaiHami・海ハミ

海賊・ハミングバード Kaizoku/Hummingbird・Pirate/Hummingbird

One of the original AU's that I still see sometimes. Both of these come from outfits, Rui comes from April 2021 Mission Pass Men's Outfit titled “Elegant Pirates” and Tsukasa comes from 2021 Half-Anniversary Limited Outfit titled “Hummingbird”.

KaiRomi・怪ロミ

怪盗・ロミオ Kaitou/Romeo・Phantom Thief/Romeo

Another OG. Rui comes from a July 2021 Mission Pass Men's Outfit titled “Phantom Thief” and Tsukasa comes from his trained gacha card I'm the Leading Actor! from Mizuki's focus event KAMIKOU FESTIVAL!. He's called ‘Romeo’ because he plays the role of Romeo in a Romeo and Juliet inspired battle royale play. I've seen it called PhantomRomi on the western side like. once.

KemoKemo・ケモケモ

ケモ・ケモ Kemo/Kemo

Can also just be called ケモ (Kemo). From Rui and Tsukasa's shop cards in Shiho's focus event Resounding Twilight Parade.

KuroShiro Yuri・黒白百合

黒百合・白百合 Kuroyuri/Shirayuri・Black Lily/White Lily

From Rui's trained gacha card The Words Thrown at Me from Mafuyu's focus event At This Festival Tinged With Twilight and Tsukasa's trained gacha card Backstage Encouragement from Minori's focus event Scramble Fan FESTA!

A tiny note: 黒白 is read as "kuroshiro", but 白百合 is read as "shirayuri".

MadoShuva・マドシュヴァ

マッド ソーサラー・シュヴァリエ Mad Sorcerer/Chevalier

From Rui's trained gacha card An Abrupt Ordeal from Touya's focus event Never Give Up Cooking! and Tsukasa's trained gacha card **A **Sudden Trouble Meeting!? from his focus event The Gentleman Thief's Thrilling White Day!? Referred usually as “Sorcevalier” on the western side, an interesting switch up from the Japanese version.

Mahou Gakuen・魔法学園

Magic Academy.

Sometimes called 魔法学校 (Mahou Gakou) Magic School. Both come from 2023 2.5 Anniversary Limited Outfit titled “Magic Academy of Sekai”.

NikoEri・にこエリ

にこやかな悪魔・エリート悪魔 Nikoyaka na Akuma/Elite Akuma・Smiling Devil/Elite Devil

This is very specific. The names come from the characters Rui and Tsukasa play in their performance in At This Festival Tinged With Twilight's event. Rui plays the "Smiling Devil" and Tsukasa plays the "Elite Devil". Rui here is using the March 2023 Mission Pass Men's Outfit titled "Devil move heart" and Tsukasa uses November 2021 Mission Pass Men's Outfit titled “EVIL ONE” because I've seen them represented with both outfits. Mostly “EVIL ONE”.

RozeOu・ロゼ王

ロゼ・王 Roze/Ou・Rose/King

From Rui's trained gacha card Fantastic Planner from Touya's focus event A Song of Vows for You, Dressed in Pure White! and Tsukasa's trained gacha card The Outcome of a Choice from his focus event Wonder Magical Showtime!

Cyber・サイバー

From Rui's trained gacha card and Tsukasa's shop card in Rui's focus event Backlight Lens Flare. The name is a short form of the event's commisioned song, サイバーパンクデッドボーイ (CYBERPUNK DEAD BOY)

SanShou・参将

参謀・将校 Sanbou/Shoukou・Staff Officer/Officer

From Rui's trained gacha card and Tsukasa's shop card in Rui's focus event Revival my dream. 将校 (Shoukou) can be Officer or General, no official translation.

ShiraNaka・白中

白藤・中山 Shirafuji/Nakayama

I'm using Rui and Tsukasa's trained gacha cards on Tsukasa's focus event A Story Where You Are The Star, since this AU came from there. In the event's play, Nakayama (Tsukasa) is interpreted as a cynical and spiteful editor, Shirafuji (Rui) just works at a bookstore.

I can't find the fanart that started it all, but this one by HIA portrays the most used fanon rendition of them.

ShoKoma・書狛

書生・狛犬 Shosei/Komainu・Scholar/Guardian Lion-Dog.

Both of these, again, come from outfits. Rui comes from September 2022 Mission Pass Men's Outfit titled “Kaisetan” and Tsukasa comes from November 2022 Mission Pass Men's Outfit titled “Divine Messenger”.

Uchuujin・宇宙人

Aliens.

From Rui's shop card and Tsukasa's trained gacha card in Emu's focus event perspective for smile.

Zozo1・ゾゾ1

From Rui's and Tsukasa's illustration from the collaboration between ZOZOTOWN and Project Sekai. Illustrated by Akakura. Sometimes the hiragana ぞ1 is used. Abbreviated even more as ゾ1.

Zozo2・ゾゾ2

From Rui's and Tsukasa's illustration from the second collaboration between ZOZOTOWN and Project Sekai. Illustrated by fuzichoco. Sometimes the hiragana ぞ2 is used. Abbreviated even more as ゾ2.

[copaline]

WIP Wednesday is here!

It's that time again! WIP Wednesday is upon us!

@man--eater (Yeah I know you don't go here but you did it to me!)

@i-prefer-base-twelve (I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THAT KIDS AU)

@punedrr (Girl I know you got something!)

@ancharan (Loved your fic and your art!)

Besties, you have been tagged!

No pressure to share but I'd love to see what you have! And as always, if you see this and want to join in, please do! Consider yourself tagged by me! The banner is free to use!

Anyway! As you may or may not know, @punedrr and @mask-knife-is-scarecrows-girl straight up failed as my impulse control and I started a little one-shot spinoff of Horror Vacui called The Dealer and the Oracle!

It's a fix it fic that answers the question "what if someone had rescued a young 1982 Model Ford as he was being tortured by Bill"! Here's a little snippet of the upcoming Final Chapter:

It was surprisingly easy to get into a daily rhythm.  Fiddleford took to Jheselbraum just as Leaf knew he would.  Peace, calm, stability, that was the gift of the Axolotl. The Oracle was an extension of his will, a universal constant, a healer, a seeker of order, in a word: Unswerving. If Bill was a raging inferno, Jheselbraum was the ancient forest sheltering the lost and watching the centuries drift by. Her very presence was soothing, and the longer Fiddleford remained in the cabin, the more his mind healed and his real personality shone through. He was brilliant in his own right, but also thoughtful and given to manic creative bursts. Leaf often came back from her excursions to a new robot or mechanical creation built in the spur of the moment. Leaf now understood why he and Ford were friends. If someone could fix the toaster by making a tiny clockwork welder, and smile at you while presenting his creation like a little piece of sunshine, how could anyone resist?  Leaf had fully expected Fiddleford to hate Ford, or at the very least resent him. However, all the anger he had melted away when he saw the bruises under the bandages. Although Leaf did her best to keep to herself, she saw the worried looks and the softness with which he held Ford’s bandaged hand. There was something in those moments that felt familiar. It was the ache of a person mourning an echo of what could have been.  She was sure he was blind to it and didn’t have the words to describe it, but Leaf knew what it was. He was mourning a dead path, a possible future that no longer existed and would never come to pass. Leaf paused for a moment to observe them from the doorway, before walking away.  Possibility beckoned and they all had their part to play. Leaf had, of course, introduced herself to Ford during one of the few times he had been awake. He had looked at her blankly, without a hint of recognition in his blue eyes. Their effervescent dreams were truly forgotten. Moreover, he stared straight through her and locked eyes with Jheselbraum. His paths shimmered in the Oracle’s presence and Leaf had merely smiled before excusing herself without him noticing.  His attention was elsewhere. His muse now had a rounder face and seven eyes. Good.  It made it easier to fade into the background. And so every morning, Leaf woke up, walked by Ford’s doorway without disturbing him and fled down the hallway as though there were still a Neverwere snapping at her heels. The world was far more bearable once she put some distance between herself and that bedroom. The promise of a fresh cup of coffee certainly didn’t hurt. She poured herself a mug and breathed in the scent.

[capricoopla]

OC rambles but like Y'know how my "off the string au" for iterators has them bound to a sorta structure for mobility? Literally not Elusive Whir's problem That iterator got disconnected from his entire superstructure, exists purely as a puppet and functions just fine Why? Because he's an iterator built to dance alongside the rhythm of his people, ofc he could walk Imagine this settlement of tall, giraffe like structures hosting various iterator puppets, a strange but stable body built from a dream of a mind who wished for life outside captivity, a product of genetic biomechanical ingenuity and then there's just this one little robot on the ground, breakdancing with minimal adjustments made to his anatomy cause the ancients that designed him an endless amount of cycles ago thought it would be funny

[doodlesdreaming]

Late night self indulgent drabble incoming. (Heavely inspired by @zoanluen 's Dance with the Dead AU)

************************************

The boy couldn't believe it actually worked. He thought he'd get caught for sure, but here was Theo, experiencing his first live-in concert, while practically hanging from the rafters of the ceiling. His tail wrapped tightly around the steel beam to keep his balance.

The show was everything he imagined it would be. The band members themselves were just as spectacular in person. The lead guitarist, energetic and as wild as his massive mane of hot pink hair, almost seemed on fire thanks to the spotlights. The pianist, hyper focused and mysterious, his blue skin giving him an ethereal glow on stage. And there's the drummer, keeping the beat in robotic sense that made it very clear how much they rehearsed for the act.

Their music was as enchanting as it was heart-pounding. Rhythms of a time, of a world, long dead and buried. A ghost that refused to be laid to rest. It stirred an unexplainable longing in Theo's chest. A fire wanting to take wing and burn the night sky until the stars are as bright as the sun itself.

Watching the performance, Theo’s eyes burned its ember glow. The Firebird desperately yearning to rise her song, and to dance with the dead....

[goodolddumbbanana]

BE A MIRROR [3]

An Au when Sun is dead (by Nexus), Dark Sun pretends to be Sun while trying to find some way to revive him in secret. Nexus is having a mental breakdown, maybe get some redemption later. Everyone is not having a good time except Sun, that poor boy only when he is dead (temporarily) can get some rest.

Summary: In this AU, This is the time when Sun and Dark Sun start gradually becoming quite closer. They were still very wary of each other, but more or less, it was less tense than before.

What is the value of a life? If a human life is priceless, then how much pain and suffering does Sun have to pay for his sins so he can wash all the blood off his hands?

Technically, he has never killed anyone. It's always Moon, or Eclipse, or Bloodmoon or someone else. Sun was always the 'innocent' one in everything.

And isn't it ironic that Sun, after everything, is still at the center of all the destruction, like a curse that brings death?

The reason why he used so much detergent to clean himself and everything in daycare. Or how sometimes Sun would see a red color at the edges of his eyes that wasn't there, or feel a sickly dirt like mud stuck to his metal shell.

It feels like a sign that his subconscious is trying to say something is wrong that Sun actively ignores.

"Are you always this dazed when playing games or do I myself always have a special honor to experience it?"

An annoying voice rang in Sun's ear, something Sun had been trying to ignore for the past 15 minutes or so but failing miserably.

Sun never thought hearing his own voice could be so unpleasant. He always felt a little bit self conscious about his voice because his voice was quite high, but being the one to hear it directly, made him feel sorry for his listeners because he used to speak very loudly in the past.

A face identical to his, with a bland smile that never reached the bottom of their eyes and empty red eyes that seemed to have given up on the world, this annoying visitor often appeared at random times and only left when they wanted.

"Why did you keep breaking into my house here? Do you have anything to do? Moon is busy in his lab, just go and put your cryptid show on him." Sun asked weakly. He didn't really expect an answer, knowing that it would only lead to a metaphorical can of worms that he never wanted to open.

After the appearance of M–Nexus… Dark Sun became Moon's lower threat enemy. The priority one is Nexus. His brother was busy in the lab with Ruin and Puppet, tracking Nexus's whereabouts. 

Moon invited him to go, but honestly, he couldn't help, with all the complicated AI and quantum physics theories that both Ruin and Moon knew so well… It would be better for Sun if he just stayed home. And practice magic.

It is really weird that both Moon and Puppet's machines can rarely see the Dark Sun. He is like a ghost in the eyes of the “All-Seeing One” and these geniuses. And everytime, Dark Sun shows up, there is something troubling, again.

"Can't I come see what I'm doing?" Dark Sun hummed, he looked at Sun and up at the television screen playing "Cult of the Lamb" in what, if Sun didn't know better, he would have considered a look of disgust but nostalgia.

"Don't make me laugh, you always want something, mister 'I don't care about anything unless it benefits me somehow'.”

Sun focused on the final boss, his hoarse voice box echoing a dull rhythm. There was no response, just a slight movement that shook the soft sofa he was sitting on. A bright yellow body chose a comfortable position right in the center of the chair, blatantly, something Sun himself would never be comfortable enough to do so. Too much open space, too few grip points. There is a feeling of being exposed and naked shaking Sun’s inexistent skin, causing Sun's system to always flash an unpleasant red warning.

Why even though the Creator hates them so much, he's still so invested in a delicate area like emotions?

What does a robot need emotions for?

Just to feel dead in the feet and hope tomorrow will not be worse than today?

There was a brief moment of depression as he thought about his hated father, before hearing a solid sound with a slight accent, almost like that British Ruin loved to show off himself with.

Is it self-awareness because Dark Sun feels like he shouldn't be too similar to Sun so he behaves more like Ruin?

Sun's AI brain weaves its way through logical thoughts, morphing and dancing in the form of 1s and 0s.

The bright light on the screen was almost a hypnotic drug, making Sun reduce the stress he felt that had been present since Dark Sun arrived.

“I've played this game before too… Too much management and responsibility, not really my taste.”

Sun suppressed his bites. 'If that's the case, why don't you just leave me alone?', but he was too tired, he no longer had the strength to care or even respond.

The space sank into silence again, with bustling electronic noise, almost like white noise, lulling Sun into a feeling of sleepiness.

“Orange juice?”

"Right?" Sun nodded confusedly. On the table top of them are just a glass of orange juice, and it's always been orange juice for the past few weeks, nothing has changed. Why does Dark Sun act like it's odd?

“Hmm.” Dark Sun hummed. “No more wine?”

"I do not drink alcohol anymore." Sun replied defensively, feeling as if he was ruffling feathers. He was so tired of these jokes from Monty and Puppet or those concerns from Earth that he is drinking too much or he is an alcoholic, he didn't need any more words from that guy.

“The other day it seemed like it was a lie.”

Things start to become awkward.

No one said anything next, neither Sun nor Dark Sun wanted to rekindle the event that caused the annual stormy evenings where Dark Sun appeared unusually with lies like this, just to hang out with Sun.

Something about Dark Sun always comes on cloudy days.

It wasn't exactly raining, as it seemed stormy and the water here almost never reached the island.

No, it was the kind of weather where the stifling oppressive heat of the sun turned everything gray, of the wind being quiet and the sunset melting on the edge of sand crumbs torn apart by the tide.

Perhaps it was dramatic, as the nature of every Sun and Moon had always been inherited from their 'dear father' in every line of code. To choose to always appear in those moments when gray shards as smooth as egg whites are whipped to the edge of the sky, like a novice chef's masterpiece blend with a child trying to beat the paper with paint. Sun just hides it better than Moon, and at the same time he has too much anxiety and lacks energy to be able to continue that ‘dramatic role’ for long.

Dark Sun appears, it's almost like looking into a distorted mirror, that never allows you to see your true self form but always in some deformed variation.

Sun's stupid thought was that Dark Sun always appeared at this time because he wanted to match the name they gave him.

“I don't really care if you drink or not.” Dark Sun hummed, stood up and casually walked into the kitchen as if he owned the place, taking out two shiny bottles of wine. Dark Sun's rays of light twisted and moved with each step of Dark Sun like the way a cat wags its tail when something stimulates its curiosity.

“Isn't it tiring trying to please everyone?”

The reddish brown color ripples in the glass bottle, like the enticement of the snake in the Garden of Eden. Annoyed at the way he was being read so clearly, Sun grabbed the bottle from Dark Sun's hand and gulped it down.

Then one sip.

One more sip.

Another sip…

One more… and one more…

The smell of alcohol spread in the air and rippled in Sun's hands. The bell clanged against the side of the jar, perhaps a few drops of wine got on the red cloth wrapped around Sun's wrist.

“Hmm… How long has it been since you drank? And I'm not talking about 'last time'.” Dark Sun took a sip.

The person in front of him was indifferent, calmly took the controller in Sun's hand and chose to sacrifice instead of killing the boss like Sun was trying to do. That fucker even killed Sun's first apostle without hesitation.

“Weeks… Months? Before that Moo–n… Nexus… They, Earth didn't like me doing this very much. So I switched to soda.”

“But soda is horrible.”

“Yeah… It tastes really bad.” The alcohol made Sun chuckles.

“I don't understand why they are so worried. Aren't we all robots?”

“That's exactly what I said, and the bottle, it's just this small…”

“It's not enough to make me dizzy…”

Sun's voice sounded like he was shouting, he leaned back in his chair, wondering why everything seemed so normal.

Why did he let Dark Sun in, why did he only warn Moon about Dark Sun's appearance, but never about the moments when they sat down to play games and drink together.

A song and dance Sun and Dark Sun, forcefully have played with each other so damn countless times, with Dark Sun’s words always lurking menace behind them, and his clichés about tentative plans for an uncertain future, entangled in the webs of lies like the strings of a puppeteer, that Sun cannot understand and does not want to understand.

As always, Dark Sun will appear suddenly when Sun is alone, asking random questions about someone who is not there as if hoping that Sun has the answer before they both sit down and play games or just drink together.

How did their relationship become like this? Sun really didn't know.

About how it started or why it continued, even though he knew Dark Sun had a hidden agenda and was only taking advantage of him, even though both of them know they can never be friends, when Dark Sun is still actively a threat to Sun's family.

Perhaps it was the feeling of being understood without being wanted that drew them together. Both are like two sides of the same coin, over time they have been destroyed in different ways that cannot be repaired or came back.

Like trying to pour water into a broken vase, a meaningless action that only crazy people and idiots would continue to do.

If Sun fills that void in his chest with family, with cleaning, with giving himself a purpose to live for. Then Dark Sun just tries to destroy everything by himself to escape from reality. He surrounds himself with a layer of armor full of spikes, blocking anyone who wants to enter, numbing all his feelings until the days they become too hard to crack.

It was a strange thing that Sun wanted to say he understood that feeling, and sometimes, sometimes, he longed for it.

Not like M-New Old Moon, Nexus tearing down and throwing away everything, heading down a path of destruction without even caring how much it affects everyone. A liar, a liar, a liar. Words mumbling in Sun’s head like there is still someone in there. A bitter and sick to his stomach whenever Sun thinks about this... brother.

No, what Sun wants to talk about here is about just being alone and normal, where you just live and don’t have to care or need to care about anyone.

Why did Sun say that? Such ungrateful things about his family, who care deeply about him?

Maybe because that love and care that his family gave Sun sometimes felt like a burning fire, that made him burn when he touched.

Maybe because he just wants to look and care from afar, but doesn't want to touch or be close to them?

Sun loved Earth, she was the best sister he could ask for.

Sun also cherishes Lunar, his mischievous, sometimes crazy younger brother, who acts innocent and childish but actually a stone cold brat from the inside due to the trauma and manipulation that Eclipse caused, sometimes make Sun feels like looking at a twisted combination of him and Moon with sharp words and intelligence hidden in Lunar’s starry eyes.

Despite all the miserable things his brothers put him through and even now, despite the smoldering bitterness still gnawing at his heart, Sun also loves Moon with all his heart, both old and new.

But sometimes, Sun just wants to stay away. It's confusing to say, but Sun is fine with the occasional game together and these terrible jokes, but when stepping into the boundary of care and love, Sun just wants to stay away or cower like a maggot.

It is not worth it.

Sun is not worth it.

Sun doesn't deserve that love and attention.

Why are people always so close, so demanding, so caring to him?

Why does the way Moon tries to make amends, or Earth visits him more and more often, or Lunar gives him a touch or a knowing look, make him sicker than this evil version of himself sitting here? .

Dark Sun doesn't care. Dark Sun never cared. He was just using Sun as a distraction. Or a backup of a backup of a backup of some… he doesn't know, maybe some of his evil plans.

But strangely, Sun feels so comfortable. It's like breathing fresh air. A collar that has been taken out, making Sun easy to breathe. They are not even the same, with totally completely different personalities and intelligence. Heck, even Dark Sun doesn't like “Cult of the Lamb” or he is being too manipulative and indifferent to Sun's liking.

But their essence was still Sun, and even though Sun was stupid, he could still see the core features still there, behind the worn and distorted exterior of a person named Dark Sun. And isn't it disgusting, to feel more comfortable with a version so different and so similar to yourself than with your loved one?

Self-destruction is a curse. A realization lit up in Sun's head, realizing how in the way Eclipses all hated Moon but still wanted his approval, how Solar was scared of Moon but still supported him like a workaholic, how Ruin hated Moon’s guts so much but he still appreciated Moon’s intelligence.

Something about them all have things in common. They all hate, if not hate, then blatantly looking down at Sun, or consider Sun to be too dumb to consist as a threat.

Once may be a coincidence, but two or three people agree on the same opinion, then it’s not their fault, but him. Perhaps, it's just the truth that Sun hates himself so much that his code is passed on to others that are embedded in their subconscious hatred for Sun.

That's the hard truth. Sun just despises himself.

And Dark Sun even hated Sun, and his hatred and critics caused Sun more discomfort than others.

But surprisingly, it's also more comfortable…

Maybe it's because Dark Sun hates him, not because he's stupid or helpless.

Dark Sun hates him because he was once Sun, because he knows Sun can do better...

And because this hate is as familiar as an old blanket. A phantom pain, like the way his body twitched slightly and his fan ran a little too fast when he was in a closed space or he saw something red in the corner of Sun’s eyes.

Though, this hatred goes both in the same places.

Sun hates how Dark Sun can look straight in Sun’s soul to determine how much he is worth. He also hates how Dark Sun shows how bad Sun can become.

He also hated Dark Sun because actually he was just Sun, it was just circumstances that made that person change, that makes Dark Sun different. 

This is sick, disgusting even..

There must be something wrong that happened with Sun, which could cause Sun to have thoughts of sympathizing with this person's actions and thoughts, like Dark Sun deserves sympathy.

Their hate draws each other closer like a fragile chain, an unhealthy relationship, a deceitful friendship of one side covering their eyes and the other covering their ears.

“I wish if you hated me so much, you could just kill me instead of approaching me like this.”

It was dark outside. With only the buzzing sound of the game console and his cats in the basement.

“You… You guys… are all the same… Why can't I have a normal day…”

Sun didn't know if it was him talking or the bottle of wine talking. That's strange... Sun shouldn't be drunk, the bottle is really too small.

“Maybe if I close my eyes and then open them again, all this… crazy stuff will go away… I'll just be me, a regular Sun…”

“And you would accept that? Instead of taking charge of your own destiny, you just want to lie there like a snail waiting to die, right?”

A silence responded. Sun raised his eyes... Red electronic light flashed behind the milky white shell seemingly annoyed.

“Just keep chewing like that day after day. Crying and moaning like that, Sun, do you think it would solve anything?"

“I just don't know what to do…” Sun mumbled, his hand wrapped tightly around the bottle of wine, hugging it to his chest as if he wanted it to protect him.

“You will die soon in the future if you stay like this.”

The words were indifferent and cold, as if reflecting a truth, a truth that Sun had witnessed many times in different dimensions, and in the dimensions that Dark Sun showed Sun.

“ Like I don't know. ” Sun's shadow shines in front of the piece of glass, revealing a sad and exhausted face. The eyes, once bright blue, had turned white since the day Sun used magic to expel Eclipse from Sun's head.

A silence, nearly peaceful silence, between their two, like hands in hand in the drawing sea.

“Oh… Hmm… By the way, I accidentally killed Narinder.”

There was silence. And then the scream that followed almost alarmed the other side of the island.

“YOU SON OF B%TCH!!! WHY DID YOU KILL MY WIFE!!!”

[radix-outpost]

Suddenly, Ruby-Spears Megaman. This started with me getting yet another idea for RS-Kalinka, which in turn snowballed into other ideas.

Up top, we've got the Light siblings, accompanied by an OC, Rhythm; she's an abrasive jerk who attaches herself to the Lights because they're fighting the same enemies. Ends up becoming Protoman's partner, much to everyone's (and each others') consternation.

That idea I had for Kalinka is that in this continuity, she's an aspiring mad scientist (shades of her debut in Novas Aventuras de Megaman) and a temporary secondary antagonist. In contrast to Wily, who had years to build up his forces, Kalinka only really has her faithful robot bodyguard/sister, Nastenka, who's not really into this whole "world domination" thing and just focuses on keeping Kalinka alive.

Speaking of NAdMM: Princess is here, too, as a mercenary from "another world". She's a lot less bloodthirsty than in the comic, simply wanting to test herself and rake in some extra cash.

(Ran isn't formally in my AU musings; she's a fan character created by someone I knew on dA who has long since vanished.)

Finally, we've got X, Dr. Light, and two mystery girls. Copy-Mega is an excuse to utilize an old Rule 63 design as a separate character, and Trance is [REDACTED]

[fizhingtrawl]

au where all the guys in spooky town are robots and its like. a rhythm game. john is the only one "aware" that they're in a game and is FREAKING OUT because he realizes if he dies outside of the view of the "players" (Skid (P1) and Pump (P2)) He can come back without consequence

[transsweet]

DOODLE DUMP BEAM GO‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

mn - r0b0-writes

fishcakes/oceanrune - charliedzilla

[gala-xyzz]

ALL THE STUFF ME AND FROG CAME UP WITH FOR THE CEO CHAI AU (there's a lot)

since the entire vandelay campus is synced up to chai he can feel when ANYTHING off-beat is on the campus, making it hard for unwanted visitors (cough cough PEPPERMINT) to sneak in

cnmn figured that chai was Up To No Good but when he tried to tell peppermint she didn't believe him

chai is insanely aggressive. he enjoys beating both people and robots up. my son is CACKLING during a fight. he is FREE. he is INVESTED and WILL NOT STOP until his target is OBLITERATED

also beats people/robots up when he's pissed. there's an entire group of (mind-controlled) people and robots on standby for this very reason. he gives them a shitty weapons, makes them "fight" back, and goes fuckall wild

wears 808's tag on his tie as a tie clasp. the tie is made from his scarf

roquefort also figured chai out. chai kept him on bc he's actually competent

he also kept the rest of the staff (except rekka and zanzo bc he just MURDERED them) for the sole purpose of firing them

ai kale AND ai chai! in fact, ai EVERYONE. fucked up ai everyone. peppermint and the gang will be FREAKED OUT by what they see (if they ever see it)

doesn't regret what he did but has nightmares that he passes off as nothing

the most unproffessional ceo on the planet

throws office parties just to feed his ego

all the department heads are especially under chai's influence. you can tell when he's using that influence when their eyes turn glassy

korsica is spectra compatible since she was head of security under kale. as such, chai threaters to sync her up to his mp3 player if peppermint or macaron try to do anything

chai changed his last name to vandelay JUST to piss peppermint off

the only way to stop chai is to kill him

has a total breakdown if he leaves the campus since it's not synced to his rythm. he will act like the most insane mental patient

to remedy this he has an eyepiece to make things look like they're in sync. there is also an earpiece that makes noise appear to be in rhythm

general public is just happy that he's not as bad as kale (or so they've been lead to believe). anyone who thinks he sucks and tries to dig deeper WILL get arrested. chai will find a way to get you legitimately arrested for some unrelated reason

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU TO @frog-with-a-knife FOR HELPING ME COME UP WITH ALL OF THIS

i've also made an ao3 account! once it gets approved or whatever i'm gonna start trying to write stuff for this au. it's totally overtaken my brain heehee <3

[sincerelycetacea]

An introduction to my Chonny Jash loop role swap AU!! 💜💙♥️🧡

In each loop, there is infinite possibilities for interchange between each sections of the Whole, shifting the roles of them, but sometimes some faint {memories} of the writing is still visible even if the chalk on the board was wiped

More of my insane ramblings + some of the designs down below! ⬇️

“The Only Constant.”

The Whole, the living embodiment and host of the harmony, the time loop itself and the physical body, overseeing things from a distance

In a newly created time loop or in the rare case, harmony, the horns are the perfect shape of a halo but with each fight and argument, it dulls down with major incidents, shattering it and when the horns are no more, the loop shall restart.

The (Emotions)

- Most likely to have wings

- A birthmark-like spot on their cheek of their symbol

- Self-inflicted scars and broken horns due to the agonizing pain due to the emotional blast from the [Mentality]

- Projectile weapons

The [Mentality]

- Has a impulse to gain robotic parts, to become better than the flesh

- Holds their emotions deep down, when they finally snap, they’re fated to cause to catastrophic catalytic self-destructive overloads [think of an overheated transformer blowing up, literally that]. It can destroy most of their body, leading them to need prosthetics and reconstructed limbs, the blast also hurts others around them.

Often happens after major incidents [Ruler of Everything for instance].

- Sharp bladed weapons

The {Core}

- Fated to scar {A part of them turns into a scarred section, like Soul’s glitched half} due to the pressure of trying to stay in harmony and supporting the whole

- The first one to remember the whole, and often times, they’re haunted by partial memories of their old selves

- Wields a trident as their weapon and motive

For all of the three sections, the horns formed out of strong and painful emotions, and acts as a scar

(The Heart Acoustic), The love, The hate, the emotional side, the cardiac system

The Pacemaker Wave [Heart]

- The Cardiac Conduction System [Electrical Pathway of the Heart]

- Head of an EKG machine [his head is still there, not fully decapitated, the machine is there to help him recover. Still no signs of complete recovery, the machine is susceptible to leaks]

- Can see via heat and light sensors, has some vision however there’s lots of static

- Metal wings for cooling

Weapon: Sickles

The Plasma Fantasia {Heart}

- The Blood Plasma {contains proteins, nutrients, and other constituents of Whole blood}

{design/idea still in process!}

Weapon: Short curved trident/Trishula

[The Mind Electric], The logic, The nervous system

The Limbic Strings (Mind)

- The Limbic system and Midbrain (behavioral and emotional responses)

- Dragonfly themed, also has a seahorse hoodie (hippocampus!)

- Large ram-like horns with crown like horns (Reference to Computer RAM as the hippocampus deals with memory)

- Wears a cloth mask

Weapon: Chakram

The Astrocyte Étude {Mind}

- The Brain stem, the spinal cord, and the blood brain barrier {responsible for vital bodily functions, sends commands, and protects and serve the central nervous system of the Whole}

- Star themed

- scarred on the right side, shaped like an astrocyte

Weapon: techno Star trident

{Design/idea still in progress!}

{The Soul Eclectic}, The vessel, The musculoskeletal system

The Myosin Tempo (Soul)

- The Muscles

- Overworked muscles, shown as torn jacket (muscles break down and repair themselves all the time)

- Myosin structures, ATP, and cells shown on jacket

- Wears earmuffs to block out noise

Weapon: hand-held Harpoon cannon

The Myeloid Synth [Soul]

- The Bone Marrow/Skeleton

- Skeleton-like robotic prosthetic

[design/idea still in process!]

Weapon: Axe

[ladyhoneydee]

Icebreakers

Zelink | Modern BotW AU | 5.5k

“It’s…Zelda, right?” he asked hesitantly. “Zelda Bos…Bosso…” He couldn’t remember her last name. He’d only heard it once before, at the summer neighborhood cookout, when the older lady two doors down warned him to steer clear of the eccentric robotics engineer who lived at the end of the cul-de-sac. At the time, Link—never a social butterfly with new people anyway—had shrugged and taken the neighbor’s advice. “Bosphoramus,” she supplied. “You’re Link Firly, yes?” “Yes,” he breathed, and shook her hand. It was warm. …He tried not to think too hard about that.

Or, Link is terrible at shoveling his driveway in the winter, and Zelda invites herself over to give him a hand. Or many hands. Guardians have a lot of limbs, after all!

Written for Day 18 of @zelinktines24, "Ice"! Read it on AO3 or under the cut!

Link jammed the ice pick down into the same lump of frozen sludge for what felt like the thousandth time and sighed.

He liked winter. The trees snow-dusted, as if the goddesses had visited with a bag of powdered sugar; the ice on the creeks and lakes thick enough that he could frolic on their frozen surfaces or even drill down to fish for a chillfin trout or hearty salmon for supper; the skiing and snowshoeing trips through the woods with an eye out for any squirrels, white pigeons, or trilling red sparrows accompanying him in the underbrush. 

The winter chores? Not so much. 

He’d put off shoveling the day before. A thick blanket of snow had come down overnight, settling on his car’s hood and the expanse of his driveway, but the way it sparkled under the late morning sunlight had been so inviting…Link couldn’t bring himself to shovel on such a beautiful day. Instead, he’d escaped to the hoarfrosted forest in the morning and spent the evening grinding through a few levels of his most recent video game purchase. He’d fallen asleep on the couch and woke up with a dry, gummy mouth, and an inexplicable feeling of weighty dread, like a grizzlemaw bear had hunkered down in his stomach. 

The dread explained itself when he glanced up from the screen of his half-dead sheikah slate and caught a bleary-eyed glance at his front walk while waiting for the kettle: yesterday’s snow had turned into today’s ice.

He had spilled his tea slipping on a patch of ice on his front step, gotten snow down his boots while clearing his car, and had to shovel around the car twice after realizing he hadn’t cleaned off its roof beforehand. And from there, it only got worse: shoveling was hard, irritating work that only got colder the longer he suffered. He had tried his best with the driveway—really!—but it was difficult to shovel in the long, efficient lines a friend had once suggested. He’d take what seemed like a decently-sized stripe, only for the snow to overflow off his shovel and muck up the lines he’d so painstakingly cleared. He’d do a teeny little stripe and look despairingly at the expanse of driveway he had remaining. He’d carry along for a nice little stretch, only for his rhythm to be messed up by his shovel stuttering over a patch of ice. 

A few passes across the driveway found the shovel standing upright in a snowbank and Link examining a particularly jagged icicle dangling from the roof. When he finally tore himself away from the icicle, his tongue stinging fiercer than a courser honey bee, he gave ice picking a try…only to find it even more tedious.

A big chop against a pesky chunk of ice would go smash. A series of quick downwards thrusts to break lines into the ice, making it easier to remove, sounded like chnkchnkchnk. Scraaaape went the metal head of his pick against the asphalt when he tried to push along pulverized ice. And skk was the worst noise of all, the skitter of his pick along the ground when he missed a direct hit. The lack of resistance made him lose his balance every time.

Smash. Smash. Scrape. Chnkchnkchnk. Grunt. Scraaape. Toss head to get hair out of face. Smash. Smash. Toss head. Consider chopping off hair with kitchen scissors. Smash-scraaape. Repeat.

Skk-chnk. “Argh!” He thrust the offending pick away, and it clattered onto a patch of ice he hadn’t yet gotten to. 

…One of the many patches of ice he hadn’t yet gotten to.

Surely anyone would agree this was hopeless. Surely his nosy neighbors wouldn’t judge him for throwing up his hands in defeat and hibernating in his warm cozy house until spring came and cleared the ice for him.

He stared blankly at the nicely-plowed road just beyond his driveway as he tied his hair back in a messy ponytail. It looked so peaceful. So reasonable. The snow a mere whisper on the salt-bleached pavement. Would his driveway look like that if he’d been responsible the day before?

Then the apocalypse began skittering up the street, and Link wasn’t so envious of it anymore.

It came with a metallic scraping against asphalt, and the rhythmic clunking of a hatch left open somewhere, and a mechanical whirring he swore he’d heard in his nightmares. It came with white and brown paneling, and a single eye lit with an unnatural blue that reflected off the snowbank and into his retinas. It came with far too many legs—he did not even want to count how many legs the thing had. And it came with a fluffy bundle, shaded in white and gold, perched atop its overturned-flowerpot-shaped head.

Please keep going. Please keep going. Please keep going. 

The thing skittered treacherously into his driveway. 

Turn around. Turn around!

It settled to a lurching, clanking halt only feet before him. 

Link took an automatic step back, his eyes darting anxiously over its shining bulk. The thing was far too large for comfort. Its central body was compact, its diameter comparable to his old beloved MasterCycle, but its—leg span? arm span?—turned the thing into a hulking monstrosity. With it so close, Link couldn’t tear his stare from that glowing eye: surely it was the center of all malevolence. 

“Hello, neighbor!”

In his nervousness, he’d forgotten all about the bundle of white and gold. Their—for now he knew it was a person—voice was clear, and seemed very self-possessed. Still, he could not raise his gaze. 

“Oh, is the eye bothering you? It doesn’t shoot lasers, I promise.” 

Link wasn’t sure if he should be reassured by this comment, or be concerned about its specificity. This inner conflict was immediately concluded when the voice followed up, very quietly, with something that he was fairly sure they hadn’t meant for them to hear: “Since I don’t have that functionality up yet…”

“H-heh, why would it bother me…” Link managed. “I’ve never seen anything look more friendly and harmless.”

“I agree!” the voice said perkily. “...wait. That was sarcasm, wasn’t it.” They sounded disappointed. 

“It’s my defense mechanism.”

“Fair enough.” Link’s ears perked up at a new noise—the slide of fabric over metal. Then the thump of boots hitting the snow. The glaring eye of the apocalypse went dark a moment later.

A hand thrust itself into his field of vision: gloved in dark brown, accented in gold, fingers outstretched confidently. At last, Link looked up. 

The gold and white bundle was indeed a person, and indeed even more gold and white than he had glimpsed from afar, with long blond hair and fair skin painted rosy by the cold. And, to his surprise, he knew her. 

“It’s…Zelda, right?” he asked hesitantly. “Zelda Bos…Bosso…” He couldn’t remember her last name. He’d only heard it once before, at the summer neighborhood cookout, when the older lady two doors down warned him to steer clear of the eccentric robotics engineer who lived at the end of the cul-de-sac. At the time, Link—never a social butterfly with new people anyway—had shrugged and taken the neighbor’s advice.

“Bosphoramus,” she supplied. “You’re Link Firly, yes?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and shook her hand. 

It was warm.

…He tried not to think too hard about that.

“You can put your pick down now, Link Firly.”

Link glanced down to see that he was, in fact, clutching his ice pick in his left hand, as if ready to fend off Zelda’s mechanical monstrosity. He flushed and let the pick drop onto the ice beside him once again.

“We met at the neighborhood barbeque, didn’t we? On the summer solstice?” 

“We did indeed,” Zelda confirmed. “You brought that delicious soup.” 

“Huh. I hadn’t thought anyone liked the soup.” It had disappointed him at the time, honestly; the recipe was his grandmother’s and a nostalgic favorite he’d been positive would be a hit, but the pot he brought back home at the end of the night was almost as full as it had been when he’d left. 

“No one likes soup.” When Link’s face fell, Zelda lost her cool for a moment, waving her hands in the air. “Ah, I mean, no one likes soup in the summer! It’s too warming, you know? And there’s just no comparison when Daruk’s brisket was right there. You have to admit that the guy knows how to roast—even if he originally learned for rocks rather than meat.”

“True enough,” he said, a little sulkily. 

“If…if it helps, your soup was the best I’ve ever tasted.” Zelda bit her lip, and Link realized she was nervous. He couldn’t help but smile reassuringly. 

“That does help, actually. I’m glad you liked it.”

Although he certainly couldn’t make out tension in her shoulders under her heavy woolen coat, Link thought he saw her relax. He breathed his own little sigh of relief.

Neither spoke for a moment. Zelda’s gaze drifted back along his mess of a driveway, and Link kicked embarrassedly at a patch of snow. Eventually, when the silence had stretched to an unbearable length—thirty whole seconds! That was way too long, right?—he took the plunge.

“So…what’s with the spider?”

Zelda’s brows creased. “Spider? What spider?” When he gestured towards the thing behind her, he could practically see the lightbulb flicker on over her head. “Ah! That would be Terrako. I call him a Guardian.”

“Does he…guard…you?” Link could just picture that portable apocalypse patrolling around Zelda’s little one-story, shooting off the aforementioned lasers at attempted robbers and neighborhood pranksters. 

“Of course not! He’d hardly have any use if that were the case.”

“Ahaha…right, of course not,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that the machine wasn’t intended for violence, or slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to see something like that in action. 

“Terrako’s use is far more practical,” she continued, as if Link hadn’t spoken. “He is a guardian against bodily wear and tear.”

“Like…repetitive motion?”

“Exactly!” Zelda’s face lit up just from that slight engagement with her work, and Link had to wonder if she was this passionate at all times, or if she just didn’t get much of a chance to talk about it. Given the neighbor’s warning, he guessed it might be the latter, which was…a little sad. Zelda did seem a bit eccentric, but harmless, and certainly very interesting.

“So you and Terrako are here because…?” Link trailed off expectantly. He certainly didn’t mind conversing with her—especially now that he knew Terrako wasn’t going to eviscerate him—but he was curious why she had taken the Guardian for a walk to his house, of all places. 

“To put it bluntly—”

Well, that was a bit worrisome, if her demeanor to this point wasn’t considered blunt.

“—I noticed that yours was the only property on our street who had yet to clear their driveway, and when I observed you doing so this morning, I saw that you are quite awful at it.”

Link’s jaw dropped and hung stupidly for a moment, before he snapped it shut with teeth-clicking velocity.

“Basically, I came to help you.”

Emotions whirled within Link like a winter storm. Embarrassment at being rightfully called out for his lack of skill warred with his gratitude to a neighbor who—despite doing so in a vaguely insulting manner—had gone out of her way to help him out. 

“I…don’t know what to say,” he replied honestly. “I only have the one shovel and ice pick. I guess we could trade off tasks…”

Zelda wrinkled her nose immediately. “No, no. I will not be manually shoveling your driveway.”

“Then…?”

“Terrako will do it, of course. I’ll just need a moment to program him for this task.”

“Wait, what?”

“It would be helpful if he could borrow your shovel and pick, of course, although he should be capable without the use of additional tools.”

“Borrow my—huh?”

Zelda fixed him with a contemplative stare, as if reevaluating her decision to help her confused mess of a neighbor. “Do I need to rephrase anything for you to understand me better?”

“I, ah, I mean…no.” He understood her words all right, just didn’t understand why. But he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth…or gift Guardian in the eye. “I’ll go grab my shovel, I guess!”

“Excellent!” Zelda looked both pleased and almost surprised, as if she hadn’t truly expected him to agree. The gleam in her green eyes was…well, honestly, a bit suspicious. Link’s mouth curled up into an uncertain grin in reply before he ambled over to his abandoned shovel.

When he returned, shovel and pick in hand, he found Zelda crouched down in the snow beside Terrako. A sheet of the brown-and-ivory siding of the main body gaped open, exposing the control panel within. Link peeked over Zelda’s shoulder curiously. Even with the neat, careful labeling of each wire, circuit board, chip, lever, and button that he could see, his head still spun trying to comprehend the sheer complexity of the machine. Of just this part of the machine!

“You must be a genius or something!” he blurted out. “To build a robot like this, and it actually work, and everything, I mean.” 

Zelda continued flipping switches and typing commands into the slate-sized screen embedded into the center of the control panel. “Hardly. I think anyone could accomplish such a thing if they had the proper training.”

“Really…? I mean, some people just have a head for different skills, right? Different intelligences?” 

“Perhaps,” she allowed, and gave a final, decisive press to a command in the top-right corner of the slate screen: Go. The dull indigo of the icon immediately blinked bright blue, the same shade Terrako’s eye had glowed. She shut the panel with gentle hands before turning back towards Link. “Although I think almost anyone can follow a list of directions.”

Link held out a hand, and to his surprise, she took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. “Surely it’s more than a list of directions, though?”

“I suppose there is some independent design work and troubleshooting involved,” Zelda surrendered with an amused smile. 

Link realized, suddenly, that he was still holding her hand—or was she holding his? Regardless, the worn chocolate leather of her glove rested atop his heavy-duty black ski mitten with a weight he found to be alarmingly comfortable. He felt his cheeks flush in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. 

Perhaps Zelda had noticed it too, or felt the instinctive twitch his hand had given at his realization, for she pulled her hand back to let it dangle casually at her side. His lingered in the air for a moment longer before he hurriedly retracted it as well. 

“So, ah, what happens next?” Link looked past her at Terrako. The Guardian had awoken, its form straightening up and its eye burning blue once more. He stifled a shudder.

“Now you give him your pick and shovel,” she stated baldly, as if it were obvious.

“Just—just like that?”

“Indeed. Just like that.”

Brow furrowed with consternation and a bit of disbelief, Link tentatively held out the two handles. The tools seemed tiny in comparison to the Guardian’s massive size. He almost leapt back in shock when two of its (many, many) legs jolted to life, shooting out and grasping the tools in the prehensile clamps of its feet. 

“Whoa!”

The gleam had returned to Zelda’s eyes, and this time he could see it was tempered with pride. “Good boy,” she told Terrako. 

“Can…can he understand you?” Link almost wouldn’t be surprised if the Guardian could, after what he’d just experienced. 

“Of course not,” she said dismissively. “He’s just following the directions I programmed.”

“Oh. That makes sense—”

“I just like to tell him that he’s a good boy.” She sounded like someone talking about a beloved dog, and Link fought off an amused grin. “Anyway, you should probably get out of the way now.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“You’re in the way of his sensors, and he’s programmed to complete a task. There’s a slight chance of, ah, bodily removal.”

Link had never moved so fast in his life. 

By the time Zelda joined him at his front step, she was snorting with laughter. “You should see your face! I don’t think even Terrako could run so quickly!”

“I’m just not a fan of bodily removal,” Link said, pouting despite himself. “Anyway, do you…want to come in? He won’t be done right away, will he?”

“No, by the size of your driveway…” Zelda pursed her lips in thought. “I estimate he’ll need at least fifteen minutes. Perhaps twenty-five. So…yes, I’d be glad to come in out of the cold for that time.” She grinned toothily for the first time, and Link felt his heart skip a beat. “I’d say a hot chocolate would be a fair payment for my and Terrako’s service.”

“S-sure! I’d be happy to get you one.” Link fumbled for the doorknob and swung it open wide. Warmth—blessed warmth—spilled out of the open doorway. “After you, Zelda.”

--

“So what is it that you do, Link?”

Link projected his voice a little louder than normal so that Zelda, seated at his kitchen table, could hear his words without him having to turn his gaze away from the stove. “I work at Howl.”

“Haven’t heard of it.”

“Oh, it’s an outdoor outfitter. I’m basically, heh, glorified retail.” 

Zelda hummed sympathetically. 

“It’s definitely not all bad, though! I really like outdoorsy stuff, and I get to lead people on skiing and snowshoeing expeditions about once a day.” 

“Does that mean that you have to know how to not die while using skis?” 

Link laughed. “Yeah, or at least, no one has told me yet that I have died while using them, so I’m a convincing ghost if nothing else.”

“I would probably die if I tried,” Zelda said. Intriguingly, it seemed like she was seriously contemplating the scenario and its outcome, rather than her comment being the kind of lighthearted, self-deprecating ones he heard all the time at work and from acquaintances. 

“Aw, come on, even if I was your guide?” he joked.

“Especially if you were my guide.”

Link waited for an elaboration. None was forthcoming.

He realized, suddenly, that the milk had gone over its intended mild simmer and was approaching a boil. Snatching up the handle of the saucepan to hold it up off the heat, he scrambled for the burner dial with his other hand. After a moment, he set the saucepan back down on the lowered flame, only to lift it up again when the milk surged back to its near-boil. 

Zelda must have seen the expression on his face, because he heard her giggle off to the side. “This is a rather, ah, demanding hot chocolate method.”

“Why yes, the secret ingredient is despair.”

“How experimental! Remind me why you’re not a professional chef?”

“The culinary schools just wouldn’t accept me because they knew I was advanced beyond their curricula, but alas, the fine dining institutions won’t hire me without a culinary degree. I am a victim of bureaucracy.”

Zelda wheezed with laughter, and Link risked a glance away from the milk in order to peek. The way her nose scrunched up and her eyes squinched almost completely closed when she laughed was... 

He turned back to the burner and unceremoniously dumped in his favorite dark chocolate cocoa mix, feeling heat in his cheeks that had little to do with the steam rising from the stovetop. Under his watchful eye and careful whisk, the milk and mix combined into a gloriously warm, rich, and mouthwatering brown, and he poured the contents of the saucepan into two large mugs. 

“And you?” he asked. “What do you do?”

“Robotics.” 

Link laughed at the bluntness of her answer before he realized that she wouldn’t be following up this answer with additional explanations, either. “I mean, yeah, I can tell! But do you have a degree, are you getting one…?” He took the seat opposite her at the kitchen table and slid her mug across. 

“Oh! Indeed, I just began my final semester of my Robotics PhD program at the Hateno Institute of Technology. Terrako is my thesis, as it were.” She lowered her voice, and Link instinctively leaned closer across the table. “To be honest, I began him as a personal project long before the thesis stage, but fortunately the proposal committee didn’t know that when they approved me.”

“Smart and sneaky!” Link teased. “Is Terrako ‘that terrible, noisy project she’s been working on in her garage for four years and is definitely against the law and we’ll be blessed if it doesn’t burn the entire neighborhood down one of these days’ that I’ve heard about from various members of the Homeowners Association, then?”

Zelda grimaced. “The HOA never wants anyone to have nice things. Can’t paint your front door turquoise, can’t put your trash out more than 24 hours before the collectors come, can’t build an eight foot tall fully automated and intelligent robot in your garage…” 

“They’ve nailed me for the trash thing, too. And not having proper landscaping. Why is it not acceptable to reseed the lawn with native grasses and let it grow to its proper length? I’m doing the neighborhood a service, given how pollination has improved around here.” 

“Funny, they reached out to me about improper landscaping as well. That was…” She trailed off, remembering, then scrunched up her eyebrows. “Well, I was still developing Terrako’s skill set at that time, after all,” she sniffed. “They shouldn’t have expected perfection from him.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate, and her eyes went wide. “Nayru, this is fantastic! What did you do?”

“Nothing really,” Link replied bashfully. “Real milk and doing it on the stovetop goes a long way. And I use a really good mix, straight from a small producer in Faron.”

“Please text me a link to it, because this is delicious.” Zelda took another sip and closed her eyes appreciatively.

Link blinked. “I, um…I don’t have your number.”

Eyes still closed, Zelda waved nonchalantly in the direction of her slate, which she’d set beside her on the table. “Passcode is 16643. Go ahead and add yourself to my compendium.” 

Obediently, he picked up her slate and navigated to her compendium, although he shot her a hesitant look. “You sure? I could just pull up their website in your browser for you.”

“Thank you, but no. I’ll need your contact information in order to reach out about doing this again regardless, so we might as well maximize efficiency and do it now.”

Link’s fingers froze over the screen where he’d been typing Link Firly (shovel/soup guy) into the new compendium entry. “You want to do this again?”

“Well, obviously.” 

Obviously? 

“You clearly need assistance with your driveway—”

Ouch. 

“—the task itself is perfect for training Terrako, which will dramatically improve his performance and my eventual committee review—”

Well, that was fair enough, and he would be more than happy to help—

“—and I find I quite enjoy your company, Link Firly. I would certainly not be opposed to engaging with you more often.”

Sweet Din, did she just say that?!

Link’s mind fritzed out, staticky with pleased surprise. He wondered absently if Zelda’s skill with technology could transfer to the error message in his brain.

“Assuming, that is, that you feel the same?” 

The tone of Zelda’s voice hadn’t changed—still posh and friendly and commanding all at once—but he noticed with a start that her knuckles had paled where they wrapped around her mug. Was she…nervous?

He rushed to assuage her worries. “Yes! Sorry, yes. I was just…thinking. But I would love to hang out!”

The same pleased, surprised smile she’d given him earlier when he agreed to let Terrako clear his driveway leapt to her face. His heart beat faster at the sight.

“Zelda, I think you’re really—”

SCCRREEEECHKKNKNHNHNNHHH!!

Link just about jumped out of his skin. The horrendous scraping of metal on cement had come from outside—from his driveway. Alarmed, he turned to Zelda, and found her eyes just as wide as his own. 

Abruptly, she sprang to her feet. “Terrako!”

Link stood up quickly, but she was a blur, impossible to keep pace with as she dashed to the door with the speed and grace of a mountain doe. “Wait, you forgot your—”

The door slammed. 

“Coat,” he finished weakly. He stared down at the white and gold bundle in his outstretched arms, then at Zelda’s nearly-empty mug of hot chocolate. 

And smiled.

--

When he made it outside, still clutching Zelda’s coat, he found that the driveway had undergone an utter transformation. Every inch was clear of snow, and even the most stubborn patches of ice had been chopped and swept cleanly off into the yard on either side. There was also a mildly deep gouge marring its exact center, right where the worst patch of ice had once been. The ice pick and shovel laid discarded in the yard.

He blinked. First at the gravelly wound in his driveway, and then at Zelda, although all he could see of her were her knee-high boots sticking out from beneath Terrako’s lifeless form. The white shearling and caramel leather stood out against the spotless grey pavement. 

“Everything okay over here?” He approached the Guardian cautiously, ducking beneath an errant leg frozen in midair. Sure, Terrako was off right now, but if he had the power to do that to his driveway…

“Certainly.” Zelda’s muffled voice echoed from beneath Terrako’s chassis. One boot began to waggle in a way Link automatically registered as anxiety.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

A metallic sigh. “Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” Zelda began to shimmy her way back out from under Terrako, and he watched her black leggings, turquoise thermal shirt, tangled golden hair, and finally her face slowly inch into view. “There’s nothing wrong with his physical mechanisms, fortunately. It seems that I left one of his ventilation hatches open, and the cold air made his internal fluids heat up dramatically to compensate, which of course led to the wires near them overheating as well.”

“Of course,” Link echoed. “And that made him malfunction…?”

“Indeed.” She tapped a bare, cold-reddened finger against the opposite palm along with her words. “The high internal temperatures resulted in errors in the thermal, visual, and tactile sensors in his feet and body.” Two fingers. “They reported incorrect readings, therefore, to the central operational mechanism.” Three fingers. “Acting in occurrence with the false readings, the command center, which had been programmed to clear all ice using force proportional to its thickness, gave the command to scrape very hard.” She gave Link a tight, chagrined smile. “And thus your driveway became his victim.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you figured all that out so quickly.” His gaze settled again on her rosy fingers, and immediately he thrust out the white and gold bundle. “Ah, here. Looks like you might need this.”

“Oh!” Her expression softened into something more genuine. “Thank you very much.” She had her coat on in short order, buttoning up the center and the collar piece with fingers that were nimble despite the cold, and securely tying the brown leather belt around her waist. 

He watched until she had pulled both chocolate leather gloves over her hands, and then, satisfied, continued. “It’s okay, also! I don’t mind that he messed up my driveway—it’s just asphalt.”

Zelda blinked for a moment, her eyebrows pushing together like kissing caterpillars. Then green eyes lit up with recognition—followed, strangely, with an almost bashful pouting of her lips that made Link want to—

Nothing. He wanted to nothing. 

Yet, anyway. 

“Erm,” she said eloquently. “I wasn’t. Actually. Thinking about your driveway when I said I was disappointed. I was. Um. Irritated at what this meant for Terrako’s performance records.”

She was taller than him. How was she able to look up through her eyelashes like that when she was taller than him? That was downright unfair. 

“Oh.” It was all he could think to say, distracted as he was by dark feathery ferns framing emerald pools. 

“I certainly do apologize for the damage done to your driveway!” she burst out, clearly misinterpreting the cause of his wordlessness. “It was unintentional, but I am the party at fault, and I will take responsibility for my actions.” 

“It’s alright,” he replied. “The rut isn’t that deep. Won’t mess with Epona any.”

“Epona?”

“Um. My car.”

She grinned. “No wonder you didn’t bat an eye at my naming Terrako. We would seem to be two peas in a pod, Link Firly.”

“I’m shocked that you used a nature metaphor rather than a mechanical one,” he replied, surprised by his own boldness. “Not two screws in a…” He didn’t know any machine words. Dammit. “Gear?”

Her laugh rang out over the snow. “Two loose screws, maybe.” Her expression sobered. “I certainly could have been more attentive. That ventilation hatch was open when I arrived regardless of my focus, but honestly—” The pout returned full force. “—I was too distracted by you to do my full checks!”

“M-me?”

“Yes, you! With that scraggly ponytail and smile and that thing you do when you’re embarrassed and you scratch the back of your head—yes, that! No one with such helpless puppy energy should be that cute!”

Link’s hand froze in his hair. “You think I’m cute?”

“Obviously,” Zelda sniffed. “Much like Terrako, I do have visual sensors that are quite adept at taking readings.”

Link tried not to think about the potential of her thermal and tactile sensors taking readings as well. It was a valiant battle. He lost.

Zelda looked at him, and he looked back, meeting her gaze dead-on. There was the slightest of flushes blooming in her cheeks and the tips of her ears, but her face was set with determination and self-assurance. Darkness streaked the right side of her jaw.

“You have a little…” He reached out, at once ginger and intrepid, his hand moving towards her slowly enough that she could see it coming and move out of his way or stop him if she didn’t want him to touch her. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, but she stayed utterly still as his fingers grazed, pressed, traced firmly up her jaw. They lingered for a breathless moment right beneath where her jaw ended and ear began. Then, slowly, he pulled away.

Only the slightest smear of black remained on her cheek, with most of the gummy substance safely collected on his fingers. He flashed them towards Zelda for her to see.

“Ah, grease. Mechanic’s contouring.” Despite her nonchalant words, Zelda’s voice was light and wispy, like dandelion puffs blowing in the wind. Her hand rose to her jawline and hovered there.

He could’ve told her she was smart and confident and beautiful, and that he liked her bluntness and her preoccupation with her robot and also just her. But there was something else he could say to her that, if his hunch about her personality was correct, would do a far better job of conveying his feelings.

“Don’t worry, Zelda.” He smiled. Her name on his tongue was lemon zest and the whole sweetness of honey. “There will be plenty more snow and ice this winter for Terrako to improve his performance on. Plus, you’ll be able to teach him how to repair asphalt come spring, for portfolio diversity.”

Zelda’s eyes glowed, and he knew he’d gotten it right. “I’ll see you next time it snows, then.”

“Or before that.” He flushed despite himself.

“Or before that.” Her smiling eyes held his for a moment that shimmered like freshly-fallen snow under the light of the sun, before she turned to Terrako and the gaping control hatch on his side. Those expert fingers danced once more across the keypad and screen, and the robot straightened, its singular blue eye flashing back on to full power.

Link didn’t think he’d ever get used to that…but he was certainly willing to try.

“You know, now that I think about it,” he said, the tiniest lilting hint of teasing entering his voice, “I thought I’d heard something like a hatch clanking around when you came up the street.”

Zelda paused halfway up Terrako’s side, hanging from well-camouflaged ladder rungs he never would have noticed were he not so close and so attentive to the woman climbing them. “You ruffian! You should have told me!”

He stuck his tongue out. “Hey, I’m just a simple retail guy, what do I know about big fancy robots and the noises they make?”

“About robots? Not much, I imagine.” Zelda settled in upon Terrako’s head, and beamed down at him. “But you’re going to.”

The apocalypse with its waving white and gold bundle scuttled back down the street towards the cul-de-sac it called home, and Link watched it go, heart pounding in his throat for a completely new reason. 

How strange and lovely it was to hope for its swift return.

[ao3cynocism]

cynocism's m.list

one-shots

HSR. . .

spin cycle | 5k words | rated: e

“Say. . . why don’t you just sit down? Wouldn’t that make it easier to keep the machine from rattling around so much?”

Dan Heng swallows. He’s been hoping to avoid that question altogether. He shifts awkwardly, trying to shrug with his hands still at his sides, pressed to the edge of the washing machine. It’s true that his arms are starting to strain a little under the force he’s using to keep the machine in place, but he can’t possibly risk sitting down and. . . having his body react the way it normally does.

“Dan Heng,” he calls, voice quiet but resoundingly deep, an unmistakable teasing lilt to his tone. “Why are you blushing?”

tags; pwp, college au, public bjs

lightbringer | 2k words | rated: g

Now, he is nothing but a man returning home.

He almost smiles at the palpable relief that sentiment brings, but it doesn’t quite take shape. The day is plagued by gloom, the ship’s artificial sky veiled by grey clouds. The air around him hangs heavy with the promise of rain.

Dan Heng looks out at the harbour for any trace of a familiar silhouette, heart foolishly clinging to a feeble hope he can’t seem to extinguish. His throat clicks as he swallows, his next breath weighted.

tags; mcd, hurt/no comfort, grief

save a horse, ride a what!? | 4k words | rated: e

The Luofu's Arbiter-General and a Galaxy Ranger walk into a bar. . .

Or;

Jing Yuan's looking for an escape from his responsibilities as General, a reprieve from the knowledge of his own end that hangs above his head like an executioner's blade. He hides away at the Reverie Hotel to do just that, but he doesn't expect to have company when he does. Much less that of a famed Ranger.

tags; pwp, robot sex, cowgirl position

come rest your weary bones | 8k words | rated: e

Dan Heng doesn't mean anything by it when he tucks the sun-yellow flower behind Jing Yuan's ear, doesn't think twice before he cuts Jing Yuan off by calling him 'pretty'. But as he watches Jing Yuan flounder before him, cheeks rosy and eyes dazed, he suddenly feels he's had a revelation.

Of course, being the analyst that he is, he has to investigate.

tags; smut and fluff, shibari, kink exploration

wilted flower, bloom for me | 21k words | rated: e

Forced to retire early from the military after a bullet to the hip leaves him unfit for duty, Jing Yuan has to relearn his way around civilian life. Along with the change in rhythm, he finds himself thinking about things he'd long since thought dead and buried; like having a family, kids of his own. . .

But all this seems a distant dream, meant for someone younger, softer, someone who isn't battle-worn and weary like him. That is, until a familiar face from his past returns to shine a kinder light on Jing Yuan's future.

tags; omegaverse, pining, mpreg

a fight of feathers | 4k words | rated: e

Aventurine knows what it’s like to be broken. He’s been shattered, split apart into a million shards. But a broken gem still glitters under the light, and Aventurine had known his value even then, when Jade had picked him, nails sharpened like claws as she welcomed him into her clutches. His saviour.

Sunday, however, is no precious stone.

tags; non-con, dubious morality, dark themes

GI. . .

golden hour | 2k words | rated: t

Al-Haitham recieves a research proposal that plunges him into the depths of the Akademiya's most guarded files and, driven by the scholarly impulse to know, finds out more than he meant to. It leaves him shaken, tipped off his usually steady balance. Luckily, Cyno is there to assuage his worries.

tags; established relationship, light angst, past abuse

all hands on deck | 6k words | rated: e

Kaveh has a series of bad days that leave him feeling down in the dumps. His partners take care of him.

tags; polyamory, 4ggravate, omegaverse, smut and fluff

gay panic: hot delivery girl edition! | 5k words | rated: e

When Kaveh orders them pizza for their weekly "girls' night", Al-Haitham opens the door expecting one of the typical acne-prone, shaggy haired, weed smoking delivery guys that usually come. Instead, she finds a girl. A very pretty, very hot girl at that.

Her subsequent desire to keep ordering pizza every week is in no way correlated to this instance of course. In no way whatsoever.

tags; fem!haino, college au, gay panic

bumpin' that | 10k words | rated: e

Al-Haitham doesn't much care for his summer vacation to a beachfront resort. It's too hot and too loud, sand clinging to every crevice of his body with a nasty vengeance. He'd much rather be back at home where he can read his books in peace without suffering the sun's glare and the shriek of rowdy children.

That is, until an attractive lifeguard catches his eye, and his holiday suddenly gets a lot more interesting.

tags; beach holidays, lifeguard cyno, one-night stands