#so his chip is either damaged or removed

[decojellyfish]

hello, i like your writing and was wondering if you could write some more guard dog! (character of your choice) with a little kitten reader?

Helloooo! I am terribly sorry for how long this took! College has me very busy and worn out, leaving me little to no motivation to work on fics. I really hope this makes up for the wait, as well as the other fic requests I'm working on!

------

Kitty

Hybrid AU! TF141 Retired Guard Dog! Gaz x Kitten! GN! Reader Reader is addressed with either 'you' or 'kitty' !!No Romance for Obvious Reasons!!

SFW ~ Fluff Warnings: Kind of OOC Gaz at some points

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "fish in the pool - yeule" 0:09 ━●────────── 2:47 ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷

───♡───────────── Beginning

It had been 6 years since Kyle’s spot among one of the highest-ranking K-9s  had been replaced by another dog after his sniffer began to deteriorate due to a mission gone awry. Chemical warfare had been at play, leaving damage to his lungs, nose, and eyes. He was now left partially blind and developed asthma. After it was decided he could no longer work for the military, he was honorably discharged.

‘Honorably discharged my arse’ Kyle would find himself thinking whenever it was pouring rain, and there was no roof over his head to keep him dry and no walls to keep him warm. He was placed in a shelter when he retired, but that was short-lived as more and more hybrids were placed into the shelter, thus ending up in Kyle being one of many hybrids that were removed from the building – and kicked out onto the streets.

His dark eyes grew tired and full of hatred and disgust by the day. With each person that passed by, he could taste how his mouth grew more sour and his expression one of permanent bitterness. He had a home, warm food, a warm bed, everything. And these privileged little snotty hybrids didn’t know how not to take that for granted. He hated it, he hated them.

It was one of those evenings where the rain was heavy, and thunder was roaring somewhere far away. He found himself lurking around a petrol station for any kind of change or food. He was, yet again, unsuccessful in getting anything more than £4. But he had saved enough to get a sandwich to eat. He rested out back behind the building, hunched over his food so it wouldn’t grow soggy.

That’s when he felt a pair of small hands start tugging at his sandwich, making him let out a firm, loud growl. It was dark, and his shit-sight could only let him see silhouettes in the daytime. But he could sense the figure was small, a child probably. One that clearly hadn’t been taught manners. His chipped ears would twitch as they plucked out the sound of little sniffles and an angry churn of a hungry stomach.

“Go find your mummy, child. I ain’t sharin’.” He grunted. He was met with a small whine and felt the little hands grab at his meal again. He barked at them, “Fuck off, you greedy thing!” When he pulled back, he could feel a chunk of his sandwich missing that he hadn’t eaten, followed by the soft sounds of chewing. With a reluctant sigh, he went back to eating.

He could still feel your presence, though you were quiet. Just to make sure, he reached out and gave you a little push, confirming that you were, in fact, still standing there, probably wanting more. “Why don’t you go back to your parents? I’ve got nothing of use for you.”

He was met with silence, making him push more, “Don’t need to be scared. I’m sorry I yelled at you, I was hungry. But, you shouldn’t take people’s food like that.”

There was more silence. But he felt your presence move and sit next to him, and he felt you nearly sit on his tail. “Go, go away. I’ve nothing left for you.” He sighed, now giving up. He was tired and soaking wet from the rain. He sensed no movement; you were a stubborn little thing.

With that, he got up and began his way back to where he could sleep for the night. He used a cane that his previous shelter had provided him with, though, he mostly used it in the dark when his blurred surroundings became a cacophony of blues, greys, and blacks. Scraping it against the ground before him as he walked, he was so focused on the sound and finding a good place to sleep that he didn’t notice your small form following closely behind.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The morning was bright, and the rain had since gone away, though the grass was still wet and had gathered morning dew. Kyle woke up with a small groan, a few of his bones cracking as he stretched. However, he immediately became aware of his surroundings when he felt another sleeping body that was a bit too close for comfort. Sitting up, he looked down at you, now getting a better chance to look at you.

You were a hybrid like him, a cat hybrid. Your fur was orange, but the color had rusted due to the dust, dirt, and grime that was stuck on you. Seems like you were in the same boat as him, on the streets. But you were so little, so young, why the hell were you here and not somewhere warm?

Kyle began to nudge you awake, wanting to interrogate you. “Hey, wakie-wakie.” You grunted and stretched your legs out before curling your spine as your dusty ears folded back for a second. “I’m not your pa, why’re you still here?” You stared up at him, letting out a soft grunt in response.

“You don’t talk, huh? Why’s that?” He asked as he folded his cane up, storing it away in his bag. You grunted again in response, blinking at him. “You just gonna follow me around like a little guttersnipe? Is that it?” He chuckled, standing up which resulted in you following suit. To his surprise, you nodded.

He sighed and began to walk to a street where he could try and make some cash with you following quickly behind him. “I suppose there’s no getting rid of you. That’s fine, just make your own money. No leeching off of me.” Kyle stated firmly.

A few minutes later, he found a spot on a sidewalk where he sat down and put his sign and hat out in front of him. You stayed by him, seated and now whimpering in hunger. “I know, the hunger sucks. You’ll get used to it, kitty.”

The day passed, and at some point, you had actually left Kyle alone. He had no idea where you went, but he paid no mind. That is until you came back around noon with a smile on your face. “What’s got you so perky, kitty?” His eyes widened when you suddenly pulled out wads of cash.

“What the- you shouldn’t steal…!” He scolded you with a hushed voice, not wanting to attract the authorities if they were nearby. “That’s wrong, kitty, you’ll get in massive trouble for that kind of stuff.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. You had a guilty look on your face, your slightly matted tail hanging low on the ground in shame.

Kyle sighed before motioning you to sit by him while he looked around for any onlookers. “...just put what you have in my bag, okay…?” He whispered, pushing his bag to you before you emptied the contents of your pockets into it. He was surprised by how much you’d been able to steal, from pickpocketing he assumed. “But still, no stealing. Got it?” You nodded, unable to hold back a small grin of pride from how mildly impressed he was.

A few moments passed before Kyle turned to you, “Do you know how to talk?” His voice was curious, laced with worry. His brows raised when you shook your head no, a small sound leaving your throat. “Your parents didn’t teach you or something?” You simply shrugged in response. “I suppose I’ll take that as a no.”

There was more silence between the two of you. Just the sound of people walking by, only glimpses of their conversations could be caught, the loud engines of the cars and buses that drove by, the rare instance someone would put a few quid into Kyle’s hat. “...how long are you gonna stick around?”

You shrugged again, another small sound leaving you. “You just gonna follow me forever? Till the end of time?” He cracked a smile at you. You smiled and nodded eagerly. “I made that much of an impression last night?” Kyle laughed a little. He stared at you, slightly leaning closer to get a better look at you. You were too young to be living like this.

He ruffled your hair as he leaned back, “I suppose I’ll have to teach you some vocabulary then, huh?” You squealed and laughed, pulling his hand off of you. That sound made him feel something, something that shifted. He’d never felt a paternal instinct before, but there was something about that feeling. Something that he welcomed with open arms.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It had been a few months since you two met, and things were looking okay. You had learned a few words, memorized most of the alphabet, and were working on small sentences. Kyle had actually caught you whispering to yourself, his ears twitched as he focused on what you were saying. He had to hold back a smile when you were just repeating sentences over and over again, and trying to make up new ones.

Money was looking okay as well. Kyle had been saving before you came into his life, though he had managed to finally get close enough to having a home. Not a luxurious one, but enough for a trailer. He had more motivation than ever when you decided to stick around with him. He wanted to get you off the streets as soon as possible.

You were currently on the swings at a playground, chanting “Higher!” as Kyle pushed you. “Christ, I don’t think you can go any higher, kitty.” He chuckled. “Y’might wanna start coming down, it’s almost time for lunch.” “What’s lunch?” “Sandwiches.”

With that, you came down from the swing and went to the park benches, settling down for lunch. You munched on your lunch, a soft purr emanating from you. “Are you happy?” Kyle asked with a small smile, which grew as you nodded rapidly. “Is it the sandwich or the park that made you happy?”

“Two!” You exclaimed. “Two? You mean both of them make you happy?” Kyle smiled, “Yeah, both.” You replied. “And you.” You quickly added on. “Me? I make you happy?” He pointed to himself, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah!” You affirmed before taking another bite out of your meal.

Kyle smiled with a happy sigh, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Well, you make me happy too, kitty.”

───♡───────────── End

Thank you all so much for your patience! I hope you can forgive me for the wait :)

------ Taglist: @venavanup @draculauraspage @tf141gloryhole @obnoxiousbag @chanel-princess-world @ssc7514

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[mashiraostail]

Plleeassee 'you can sit on my lap' with Halsin PLEASEEE

ur wish is my command I did SFW bc it felt right but lemme no if u want different :3

It was always the same, which was sort of what annoyed you. It's not that your day to day fights had been particularly hard it was just the constant bumps and scrapes and bruises that weighed you down. Never enough damage to justify wasting healing magic, but just enough that you were uncomfortable in your day to day. You left some wounds to heal even once you're back at camp, preferring to let the others get fixed up before you. Today you could feel the itchy irritation of a cut healing over, right across the bridge of your nose. It was a constant bother, like a bug flying around your face, a tickle that would not subside no matter which way you scrunched your nose up.

"This city air isn't doing anything for me either." You feel Halsin's hand come down on your shoulder, heavy and warm. For a moment you were confused, you'd not complained at all since setting off for the day, then you realized your discomfort may be less subtle than you thought.

"Oh..." You wave, "who am I to complain?" You did enjoy Halsin, well perhaps more than enjoy.... given your late night trysts. Though he was still unfamiliar to you in some ways, and lacking a formal name for what the two of you shared often left you uncertain in your day to day with him.

"Please, I think this city would benefit from some complaining." He looks down at you, "I thought I was the only one."

"No..no.." You resist the urge to peel the scab over the bridge of your nose away, you were certain you'd start gushing blood all over, which given your current location made no sense at all. It had actually been a rather tame day so far, and it was already almost over.

"I think even the most dedicated Baldurians have it in them to complain about the smell from time to time." You give in, and start to chip away at the corner of the scab closest to your tear duct.

Halsin just laughs, "I see, well I suppose it's good to know I'm not alone..." He removes his hand from your shoulder and looks around a bit as you walk, though he stays close to you.

You can't help but hiss at the feeling of your skin peeling back, beyond the first wound, you supposed that was karma for picking it.

"Are you alright?" Halsin turns over his shoulder at you, "I heard you-" He looks down at your hand by your nose, "leave that alone." He bats your hand away, "you should have let me clean it up days ago, see now? You've made it worse."

"It's itchy." You rub the bridge of your nose for emphasis, "and I can't help it. I've always picked at my scabs, where do you think all these cool scars came from?"

"I can't say I doubt that. But still, this city is dirty, it's best to not bare an open wound to this kind of air." He procures a small cloth and dabs at the blood as it appears, "it's good you didn't peel open this whole thing, and it's a wonder you've not complained till now."

You can't help but flush at the attention, if anyone with you notices they spare you, "I'm alright, I've dealt with much worse."

"I'm sure you have, but there's no need with me around.... To tell you the truth," He dabs the small cloth with his tongue and wipes the dirt and grime away from the edges of the newly opened flesh, "I enjoy doting on you."

You look down at your boots to avoid looking at him, you can feel your ears burning.

"It's hard to see the damage out here, do you think you can hold out till we set up camp for the day?"

"Of course-" You swallow your embarrassment, "I'm okay like this, I'll live."

"Oh I hope so." Halsin is smiling at you, "who knows what I would do otherwise." He hands you the cloth, "keep this, incase it bleeds anymore."

"Thank you." You look up at him, "you've been a big help."

"Don't thank me, just.." He guides your hand holding the cloth up to your nose, and uses it to cover the wound, "keep it clean until we settle in for the night." You can only nod up at him.

True to your word you do keep your wound covered in the cloth for the rest of your journey that day. It was a long one, boring too. As much as the little battles left you irate, a boring day of gathering information and talking to every no name on the street was equally irksome.

When you get back to camp Halsin seems busy with Gale, who despite his best efforts is always the most banged up by the end of the day. You almost feel bad for him, until you see him bright and pristine every morning. So you sit by the fire, content on sharpening a stick into some sort of miniature spear, humming to yourself.

When Halsin finds you all of the dark bark has been scraped off the stick leaving it white and brittle looking.

"You hide in plain sight you know?" He offers you a hand and you take it, allowing him to hoist you up to your feet.

"It's one of my many talents." You toss the sharpened stick down, "how's Gale?"

"He's fine, I apologize, I should have come to you first."

"No," You laugh, "I'm sure he needed it more than me. You're here now."

"I am." He smiles at that, wider than you'd ever previously given yourself credit for, "come, let me see." He waves you closer and leans down toward you.

Once you've closed most of the gap you feel his eyes wander beyond the gash over your nose, down to your neck and collarbones, all to way to your wrists.

"Now that we're close like this...when was the last time you've been healed? Has Jaheria been taking up the job in my stead?" He seems almost offended at the thought.

"No-" You shake your head, "No, I've been mostly alright."

"Alright? You're practically covered in cuts and bruises- let's go someplace more private, you should have a once over." He guides you with a hand sprawled out between your shoulder blades, not leaving room for protest.

"You should have come to me sooner." He breaks the silence once you're away from camp, surrounded by trees and brush.

"You're always helping the others, I'm used to this, I'd rather they get what they need." You insist, gesturing vaguely to yourself.

"You can all have what you need." Halsin seems perplexed, "there's more than enough healing magic to go around, you don't have to worry about that."

"well it must be exhausting, constantly casting spells, you're always taking care of the others, what about you?"

"What about me?" Halsin tilts his head at you quizzically, "I'm alright too."

"Well who takes care of you?"

"When you live as long as I have," He starts tending to some of the smaller cuts on your arms, "you learn to take care of yourself. It comes with time."

"That's not fair." You frown, "everyone relies on you. It must be a heavy weight, especially with no one to lean on, or to rely on to care for you."

"You." Halsin sits on an old stump, "I have you. We care for each other....unless I'm mistaken."

"You're not." You allow him to turn you around, inspect you every which way for any major damage left untended.

"Good. Come here." He waves you into him but you stand, flushed and confused before him.

"Here." He gestures again, "you can sit in my lap."

Nervously you do, slotting yourself against him. It hadn't been many times but you'd sought his company before, and the feeling of his large hand cupped around you thigh was welcome, almost calming. It doesn't take very much magic at all to get you right again, and you're glad to accept it, at this point the constant discomfort was bordering on pain.

"You must be exhausted, they were small injuries but they were plenty, it must have worn on you." His hand spreads over the small of your back, "I meant what I said before." On his lap it's much easier for him to rest his head against your chest, you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck as he does.

"I enjoy caring for you, perhaps it's self serving, but please allow me the pleasure of it more often."

"I wasn't sure-" You flush at the sudden tenderness, it wasn't brand new, nor was it unwelcome, but it was still fresh, still took getting used to. "I didn't want to burden you."

"Be sure now." He picks his head up, "you're more than asset to hinder or help me me.... and certainly more than a friend." He spares a glance down to your hand, where it has wrapped around his bicep. "Don't be modest, when you ask for me, I'm happy to go to you. If I can bring you any comfort on the road ahead, then I'd be honored to."

"Thank you, Halsin." You rest your hand on the side of his neck and he hums at the feeling, glancing between your bodies then back to your face.

"You don't need to thank me," His hand slides along the divot of your spine, a soft touch made firm by the rough skin of his palms, "just come to me, whenever you need, even when you don't need to, but only want to. I do miss you after our nights together. I'd take comfort in knowing you feel the same."

"I do.." You nod, "I just hate to steal you away when the others-"

"Steal me away all you like," He laughs, "Gods, that sounds heavenly. I'm sure the others can manage a few hours." He kisses you for the first time that day. Which wasn't unusual, often he waited for more private moments to voice and show his affections, it was welcome and warm and you were glad to be on the receiving end of his affections.

"And knowing you feel the same is all the better." He wraps his arms around you in a bear hug perfectly fitting of the man giving it.

"I'm grateful to have spent this time enjoying you." He takes a deep breath, like he's trying to get as much of your scent as possible.

"Can we stay for a bit? Like this?" You pull back and pin away a stray strand of his hair, his chest huffs with a light airy chuckle as he nods.

"Of course, but you'll have to tear me away when you're done. I fear I won't want to go anywhere once I've settled down with you on me like this."

He resumes his bear hugging and despite the tightness of the hug, and the closeness of your bodies you don't feel cramped at all.

[iamespecter]

I know you probably gave up on the Glamrock Chica AU as Gregory's guardian, but I personally think you should continue. Many people prefer to do it with Roxy or Monty, and there are very few with Chica as the guardian. I think this AU of yours has the potential to be very good.

sigh.... I still love Glamrock Chica...

but I feel like the whole universe is against me at this point for being a Chica fan and I just know that either 1.) no one's gonna pay attention to a Chica-based AU, or 2.) just shit on it because it doesn't match the popular headcanons.

So unfortunately, My Guardian Chica AU is cancelled.

If you would like to know the rough concept of it that I've written down because you're curious, then click "keep reading" to read below the cut.

The Guardian Chica AU is actually a simple morality test.

Beginning:

It starts off with the normal SB route: Freddy is the child's starting guardian, and he is helping the child escape. Chica is under Vanny's control, and is actively fighting against this, but is too powerless to break free from the virus' hold.

... Until Fazer Blast. Freddy and the kid find themselves on the catwalks, where a glitching Chica with an axe has them cornered. Freddy, not knowing how to end this peacefully, decides to bring Chica down with him while removing the chip that's causing her to be controlled in the first place.

Chica then wakes up, and Freddy is HEAVILY damaged because he (mostly) cushioned her fall. Chica, still not fully herself, hallucinates Freddy as Vanny; and she begins tearing him apart out of frustration and fear, ripping his head off because she wanted to see who was underneath the Vanny mask.

THIS is where the story begins. You take control of Chica (instead of a kid protagonist), where Chica must ensure the child's survival, and get them out in time for 6 AM. But there is a catch.

The more you use brute force, the more Chica's morality goes south. And you'll always have two choices, either which you:

Kill the Day and Nightcare Attendants to gain access to the Daycare, or use their environmental weaknesses (the light, and the darkness) to refrain them from catching the kid.

Eliminate the PARTY PASS BOTS to get into a venue much easier, or find PARTY PASSES, while avoiding the kid's hunters.

Destroy SECURITY BOTs to lessen chances of the kid getting spotted, or use the BOTs' blind spots strategically to prevent them from alerting anyone.

Refrain from attacking Roxanne Wolf and let her take one of the chicken's eyes, or defend yourself and damage Roxanne Wolf enough to send her running back.

You will then encounter Montgomery Gator, who is now guarding Gator Golf with an iron fist. Monty will taunt Chica for the remainder of the boss fight:

either telling her how WEAK and COWARDLY she is because she isn't fighting back (Peaceful route);

being confused about her methods because it feels like she's constantly changing her mind (neutral route);

or praising her for finally, FINALLY using her features for something "worthwhile" (morally numb route).

But regardless of what path Chica has chosen, Monty will end up revealing a morbid truth as yet another taunt: that he killed Bonnie, because he wanted his spot in the band. And that he'd kill Bonnie over and over again, if it meant he would remain popular. That now Freddy has been reduced to nothing but a head, HE'LL be the number ONE.

And regardless of what path Chica has chosen, Monty will ALWAYS end up dead.

and depending on how much you've been using brute force, Freddy's head will either:

Be BEYOND mortified by Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, but believes she can still refrain from doing this in the future (peaceful route)

is taken aback by Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, and is starting to doubt Chica's capacity of ensuring the kid's safety (neutral route)

Gets angry at Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, and refrains from speaking to her. (morally numb route)

Roxanne Wolf is then up next, and depending on how you reacted to earlier choices, you can either:

Convince Roxanne that she doesn't have to do this, that she doesn't have to keep living under Vanny's shadow out of fear and don't strike her (peaceful, only possible if you let Roxanne take Chica's eyes)

Fight and defeat Roxanne but spare her, making her go rogue and not choosing any side between Vanny or Chica (neutral)

Kill Roxanne emotionally and physically, taking her eyes as revenge (morally numb, only possible if you defend yourself)

ENDINGS/POSSIBLE ROUTES

The "MORALLY NUMB" ending (bad):

You chose the easier path and ignored Freddy’s plea, let Chica kill Security Bots to keep the kid safer in the plex, kill Roxy as well out of pure anger for taking out her eye, and take her upgrades for yourself.

Freddy begins to be distrustful of Chica, and soon even resent her and her actions at the end.

This leads to Vanny getting killed, but not without consequence.

Freddy will ask Chica to leave him behind instead of following her any longer. He can’t bear to see the monster that has become of his friend, and Chica will comply with his request, leaving Chica numb.

Chica’s objective becomes less and less of keeping the kid safe, and more of the desire to get revenge after what happened to her and Bonnie.

Semi-open ending.

"You were no better than them. Better to leave me here to rot, than to accompany you on your bloodlust." - Freddy

The "GUITAR HERO" ending (neutral):

You chose to listen to Freddy’s plea, Chica retains her moral codes, and keep the kid safe the harder way.

Vanny is turned in to the authorities to be helped with her mind control situation, and her plans are thwarted until a new "Vanny" shows up.

Chica DOES NOT manage to get Roxy in your side, and Roxy will act rogue, picking no sides this time.

The Pizzaplex does not burn down. Instead, Monty, Chica and Freddy are replaced by Mr. Hippo, Happy Frog, and Nedd Bear.

Chica, Freddy and the kid runs away from the plex to live on their own, but still end up dying via energy depletion.

"You promised to stay with me... why did you lie instead?" - the kid

The "SUPER POPSTAR" ending (good):

You chose to listen to Freddy’s plea, Chica retains her moral codes, and keep the kid safe the harder way.

Uncover the shady past of Fazbear Entertainment, uploading their dirty secrets onto the internet, shutting them off for good. (this guarantees this ending)

Vanny is turned in to the authorities to be helped with her mind control situation, and her plans are thwarted for good this time, no Vanny comes replacing the old one.

Chica progressively gets more and more damaged as time goes on.

Chica manages to get Roxy on your side.

The Pizzaplex burns down.

Chica deactivates amidst the flames, with Freddy by her side at the very, very end.

The route ends with Roxy and the kid finding Chica’s body after the fire, and she takes her head along with Freddy’s.

The most ambiguous ending out of the three.

"Don't blame yourself kid. It's not what they would've wanted you to think. Not what she would want you to think. (...) We'll find a way. That's a promise." - Roxy

....Yeah, the Guardian Chica AU has no happily-ever-after ending. Sorry.

[sillyandquest]

So I had an idea

To be completely honest, I mostly drew this as a treat for me. We don't see a lot of Roll outside of a cutscene or manning the shops and it just makes sense for her to be the player 2 in-game. Yeah we got Protoman and Bass, but c'mon!

I wanna see this lady charging in, full throttle, wooden chair in hand, and smack Wily's newest machine around like a piñata.

So yeah, player 2 au I guess? There's more info below the cut if you wanna read. Be warned, it's a long one.

First I had to ask myself why would Roll even want to fight when Rock does just fine on his own.

Roll's a coward canonically, but she also has a big heart and is willing to fight if she has to. Maybe after the first Megaman game, Rock came back far more damaged than Dr. Light expected. While this does convince him to build Rush, Roll also volunteers to join Rock in this fight.

Dr. Light was super hesitant, but Roll's reasoning was that if Wily was willing to kidnap the Light Numbers to one up Light, who knows what else he would do? Rock already had a hard time fighting them by himself and the Numbers weren't even built to fight. If Wily was smart enough to reprogram civil servant robots, why wouldn't he reprogram robots built to fight?

Eventually, Dr. Light relented and built Roll her own set of armor and a durable broom. She has a shorter attack range, but in exchange she deals way more damage. She doesn't have the copy chip Rock does, so her armor doesn't change color, but her broom does and can change shape/color depending on which weapon is equipped.

Now onto my thought process during the drawing.

When I was drawing the armor, I wanted to keep a couple things in mind. Specifically, what makes Roll so iconic by herself. She has her hair, the green bow, her dress, and her broom/cleaning products.

One other thing I kept in mind was the various depictions of Roll in combat armor. Many fans have made their own and they all look amazing, but I always thought Roll was more of a heavy hitter up close. Most equip Roll with a buster like Rock, which is a good direction to go in, but it wasn't what I wanted to do. Then I looked at Roll's"official" armors, specifically the armor she wore during the Upon a Star movie and the armor she dreamed of from Megaman 11.

I basically put a chest piece and shoulder armor over the Megaman 11 armor, I removed the buttons on it, both of them had a heart motif on the chest which I thought suited Roll very well so I added that. I also used her hat from the Megaman Fangame Perfect Blue. You may notice her arms don't have the bulky arm guards most robot masters have... Yeah, I have no excuse for that, but Splash Woman doesn't have the guards either sooooo.....happy accident?

They're sisters so they matching!!!

I think the colors were the hardest part. I colored the dress to be more red with a pinker red for the heart and middle of the dress. Originally I had the skirt be a solid pink color and the rest of the armor be red and white, but it looked off to me. I knew I had to add her bow which meant adding green and I think that's what threw off the whole thing. The first draft only had a green bow, and I felt I had to add it somewhere else to make it look more appealing and I immediately went to color the buttons on the heart green. A small callback to Zero that doubles as a parallel.

That kinda makes me wonder if Zero was modeled after Roll and Protoman in this au. Also, what would the Megaman timeline even be like with Roll as a fighter alongside Rock? It's always better when someone has your back and Rock and Roll were always meant to be a pair.

They're twins in this au, not a couple. Just had to set the record straight.

Anyway, speaking of Blues. It makes sense why Protoman wouldn't show up as much in this context. Roll is right there, why would Rock need Protoman's help? I imagine he usually shows up only in situations where Rock and Roll are forcibly separated or shows up to both of them individually. Whether it's because he wants to help them be more independent or test the strength of their bond remains to be seen.

I have more to say about this au, I'll try drawing some expressions and go into more detail regarding Rock and Roll's personalities in the au.

[the-apocrypha]

DVD Bonus Features: Fanfic Edition!

I have like 6k of cut scenes from my last fic (the fourth dimension) and many of them were not cut because they were bad, but because they weren't working with the overall story. Seems a shame to let them languish on Google docs. So, for anyone who might be interested - here's two scenes that didn't make the final cut!

<<<>>>

The hourglass is broken. 

The glass is intact, of course, as is the intricate brass housing Dream had spent so many hours bending and curving into symmetrical spirals. It is the spring plate that forms one of the bases—designed to depress slowly as the weight of sand gathers, thereby stretching a miniature steel coil beneath such that it begins to draw back a tiny gilt hammer. When the full weight of sand is upon it, the catch releases, and the hammer strikes the chime. 

Dream had left the mechanism skeletonized, proud of both the ingenuity and the beauty of the gears he had crafted. This is what allows him to see, today, that even though the sand piles upon the spring plate, the hammer remains stationary. The plate is not depressing.

He has migrated to the window for better light and turned the hourglass every which way. The symmetry of the hourglass means that an identical mechanism exists on the other side, for convenient comparison, and it is from this that Dream is hypothesizing that the issue is perhaps with the pinion gear. 

He will not know for certain until he attempts correction. 

And herein lies the problem, for in a masterful stroke of arrogance on his own part: 

The glass is intact. 

His only options now to access the mechanism are to melt the glass, or strategically break it apart, and in either case hope for both minimal damage to the contents and an aesthetically pleasing repair following the—

“What’s wrong, dove?” 

Or rather, what Hob actually says is hǒu is th' problem, culver?, because Dream is standing in the kitchen next to an abandoned bowl of muesli, because it is breakfast, because during breakfast they speak Middle English. Hob is before him, coffee in one hand, breakfast sandwich in the other. 

“It’s broken,” Dream replies. Is brokæ.

“It’s nearly eight,” Hob replies, eyebrows up. 

Dream abruptly sets the hourglass down. 

“So you noticed the Astrid Alarm was broken,” Hob says, as Dream swings the freezer door open and starts shifting ice packs and frozen pizzas about. “And then you didn’t set a different alarm. You didn’t eat your breakfast. You didn’t pack your bag.” 

“This is unhelpful.”

Hob goes quiet as Dream frantically stuffs notebooks into his backpack, then a water bottle (too light, probably empty), the peas, headphones, and a sweater from the back of a chair that is likely not his own. Three binder clips go into his pocket. All he needs is—

He turns to find Hob waiting, Dream’s wallet in one hand, sandwich in the other, meat now removed. 

Dream accepts both, and heads for the windowsill. 

“No kiss?” Hob complains.

The broken hourglass, too, goes into his bag. 

Dream doubles back, cups the side of Hob’s face more for the sake of injury prevention than tenderness, and presses a quick kiss of gratitude where it belongs. 

The hand on his wrist stays him. 

Hob’s fingers fall comfortably between the three watch bands that lie there, his thumb over Dream’s pulse point. 

“Tonight, five o’clock,” Hob reminds him. 

Dream holds up his other arm in reply, where a fourth watch glints golden. 

“Ah, perfect,” Hob says, beaming. “Hob Fob to the rescue.” 

It is one of the many great failures of Dream’s life, that this nickname has persisted. 

“Five,” Dream agrees, and pulls his hand free. “You will be wonderful.” 

“Best in my age group,” Hob agrees proudly, and raises his coffee mug just as Dream turns around to make for the door. The mug is a custom job from the internet a few years ago, chipped in both paint and porcelain, but the original black with white lettering can still be read: 

It does not belong to Hob. 

WORLD’S 

LEAST 

PUNCTUAL 

WATCHMAKER 

<<<>>>

(Originally there was an OC named Astrid that Dream would birdwatch with every morning, and Hob had a piano recital in the evening. Obviously these plot points went, and so the breakfast scene had to be rewritten.)

<<<>>>

A watch does not know the time it tells. 

It cannot feel the sun moving across the sky. It does not know the axis of the Earth, nor the ellipsis of its orbit. It does not reach into the fabric of the universe and pluck divine truth from the red-shift coefficient of the galaxies that hurtle through space as afterthought projectiles of the origin of existence. 

A watch begins with a mainspring—or perhaps a quartz crystal, or microscopic solar panels—but traditionally, a mainspring. This is where the potential energy is stored, to be released as the kinetic energy that will drive the gears to turn the escapement, which is what moves the hands of the watch forward, and would do so without rhythm or reason were it not for the staying hands of the balance wheel. 

The balance wheel is the best part of a watch. The most precise. The most expensive, for the precious gems encrusted upon it that almost entirely eliminate the enemy of constancy: friction. It is what decides the length of a second, for it is what checks the urgency of the marching army of gears that say go go go go go and instead says no. It says, stop. For one thousand milliseconds or one million microseconds or one trillion picoseconds, it holds the entire watch in perfect stillness. 

Then the second hand ticks over. The next interval begins. 

On, and on, and on, and on, it goes. 

<<<>>>

A watch does not know the time it tells. It is a mindless contraption, a work of metal and stone and glass, and it grinds inexorably forward with a steady tick, tick, tick, tick, tick that may at first listen sound like the drumbeats of progress. But listen closer. Listen carefully. 

It is not a ticking that you hear. It is one small gear, striking back against the machine, protesting, crying out again and again: wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

(I liked this little meditation on the nature of watches, but it's a few shades off from my central thesis, and in the end was not needed.)

And that's it! Alas, sometimes good pieces must be sacrificed in the name of a greater project.

[silvershadow1711]

🌧 If I were in charge of NAHA's project to create super soldiers, I would implement a certain security measure. Implanting a chip/tracker, or special bracelets, that would block abilities, inflict severe pain, or even causes death if warnings were disregarded in case of a "riot of objects". It seems interesting to me that there is nothing like this on Ray. Although he was made insensitive to heavy damage, with the available resources, it would have been possible to find a way around it. In fact, there are no levers of pressure on BS. I don't think he has a thirst for life, he is capable of enduring terrible pain and may well annihilate himself, taking the board of directors with him. These fools have lit a fire that they won't be able to put out.

One has to wonder if these kinds of things even exist in the BSH universe. I don't think they would. It doesn't seem any more advanced than our world, so magical anti-ability tech is out. Tracking chips can be removed. Shock collars seem viable until you see a MFer shrug off a taser. And killing Ray is super antithetical to the point of creating him in the first place. He is, for all intents and purposes, a nuke. Not just in terms of destructive capabilities, but as a trump card, as a giant neon sign warning every other country on Earth, "step out of line and see what happens". When the first nuclear bomb was tested, they were worried it might set the earth's atmosphere on fire and they did it anyway. Look upon the field in which the US government grows its fucks, and see that it is baren.

The way NAHA made Ray into what he is reminds me of the stupid-ass war machines the nazis kept making in WW2. So desperate to make the biggest, baddest, coolest weapons ever that nobody stopped to think "hey, even if this could work (which it can't), is it really a good idea to make a giant death laser?"

While I'm sure someone in NAHA once thought "hey, maybe it isn't a good idea to let the traumatized laser-child we've been abusing hear everyone's thoughts and move shit with his mind", they were probably either ignored or smart enough to keep that thought to themselves lest they be accused of being anti american.

In an article about stupid nazi weapons, the author said this:

An old saying dictates that “necessity is the mother of invention.” But in the case of the Nazis, it wasn’t necessity driving them but madness and hubris. 

And if that doesn't describe the creation of Binary Star, I don't know what does. Ray is the most realistic depiction of what would happen if the US got its hands on super heroes:

-Turn them into weapons

-Profit

-???

Oh, he's going crazy and killing everyone? All the rich people have left the country on their private jets. Sucks to be you, brokey.

[kurt-xiii]

Just some ideas that I really need to flush out of my head so I can continue my life. I know close to nothing about computer, and I didn’t really think this through so I hope it makes sense.

This is a sci-fi AU, which the crowns function as servers governing every aspect of their people’s lives, while the bishops serve as administrators overseeing these servers.

Narinder makes a discovery: the ability to upload a person’s mind onto his server. Recognizing the potential threat of Narinder gaining ultimate control by plundering minds and recreating reality in virtual form, the rest of the bishop lock Narinder’s mind in his server with his own method.

The bishops disconnect everyone’s neural chips from the red server. However, they find that the connection between the red server and the neural chips designed for lambs cannot be fully severed. So they decide to kill them all.

Due to the unstable connection, the last lamb is the only one with enough uploaded information to function properly.

Ratau becomes a former vessel by accidentally connecting himself to the red server while looting the abandoned server building.

Servers and their domains:

Red server- data storage, information technology

Green server- eco system, bio engineering

Yellow server- resource, transportation

Blue server- security system

Purple server- social media, communication, television

Resurrection- making backups of memories and personalities

Death for lamb= current body damaged, upload save to new body back in the cult

Relics- chips that allow lamb to access some functions from abandoned servers

Curses- Access into either enemy or environment’s system to trigger certain actions.

Birds (Clauneck, Kudaai, Chemach)- first generation sentient AI

Wounds on bishops- data got permanently corrupted? Or the code Narinder uploaded onto them can’t be removed by the knowledge they have? So even when they change the damaged parts it’s still not working?

[thehousealllwaysswins]

[it takes her a few minutes to get the anchor back on the deck, obviously tying the ship to the dock so it doesn’t drift off, then a few More minutes to try and dry off Daice and pick off barnacles or whatever might’ve gotten on him]

[after making sure at least the amount of water damage done he snaps his fingers around a sensor trying to wake him up]

[if that doesn’t do anything she’ll try to fix what he can]

(Igotta 17 on perception or whatever lets gooo)

[Daice looks in really bad shape, his body wasn't made that well but now? Holy shit it's bad. Parts of him is rusted away and a hermit crab crawls out of his chest, SeaWeed is covering one of his legs and it looks like his chip had been removed, when Alphonze checks him she can see its been put into a water proof container inside another waterproof container to stay safe. Sparks of electricity occasionally shock out from his body but it looks to have been shut down.]

[There is also a hole inside his chest, his body had been stabbed into the anchor either by falling or doing it to himself, maybe even another reason.]

[vodika-vibes]

The idea of a surgeon accidentally removing the inhibitor chip is interesting because, like, we know the Kaminoans had hospitals where clones were treated (the Separatists even tried to blow one up and destroyed several escape shuttles which is definitely a war crime). I imagine the Jedi had something to do with there even being clone hospitals in the first place.

But if a clone ever gets a bad head injury and maybe gets admitted to a hospital on the planet he's serving on (listen, medics are great but even they can only do so much), there's a chance that the injury could have destroyed the functional capacity of the chip with no longnecks to repair it, or that the surgeon saw it as an anomaly that needed extraction.

But we also know that clones are physically very durable. They can bounce back rather easily from things that would take more time for nat borns. So, there could be thousands of clones readmitted back into service whose inhibitor chips either don't work or are entirely absent.

Bad Batch does a great job of exploring those themes, but I think Filoni could have expanded the notion a bit further to regs who'd joined the rebellion and didn't even need the surgery.

Oh, yeah. I love playing around with the idea.

For example, Misfit's chip didn't activate even though he was on Coruscant, because he was too drunk and high for it to activate. And once he came down from his bender, he was already in the care of some of his brothers.

And then I have Dusk, a Corrie OC. His chip never activated, because he was shot in the head by some jackass with a slugthrower in his first year on Coruscant. While the bullet didn't pierce his helmet, it did do enough damage to Dusk that the chip essentially broke in his head. So when the order went out, Dusk had to pretend he knew what was going on.

But, yeah. It's just a fun idea I love to play with.

[anomaly-hivemind]

Hospital Visits || Hanahaki Recovery w/ Hyoma Chigiri x Mute!Reader

Masterlist

Notes: this takes place sometime in October

Word Count: 910

You sat in bed reading a badly written SasuNaru omegaverse fanfiction on Wattpad when the door slid open. You looked up to see Chigiri at the door, you smiled wordlessly and waited for him to come in.

You had basically lost your entire voice from all the damage hanahaki had done to your throat. You had been told by the doctors that it’ll be a miracle if you gain your voice back. But even if you did recover your voice it would take months to heal.

So in the meantime, you've taken up learning sign language but with Chigiri you just use text-to-speech.

“I hope you’re feeling better, I brought you some ice cream, your favorite, mint chocolate. Also before you ask, yes I brought chocolate chip cookies.” Chigiri said, holding up the convenience store bag.

You smiled, accepted the bag happily, and set it on the bed table. You pulled the small cup of ice cream and the box of cookies out of the bag before folding it up and placing it to the side.

If only this happiness could’ve happened before you contracted hanahaki. You were one of Chigiri’s only real friends; you didn’t look at him like the prodigy soccer player everyone worshiped him as, you didn’t look down on either.

He was just Hyoma Chigiri; because of that, you couldn’t help falling for him. Unfortunately, your friendship didn’t make spilling your feelings any easier, in fact, it just made things harder.

Friend. Friend. Friend…

You hated that word.

It seemed every time that you thought your feelings might’ve been reciprocated you were forced into the friendzone. So instead you buried them deep down. That would end with you getting hanahaki, for weeks you were coughing up Camelia petals, and then he left for Blue Lock.

That day we were supposed to hang out and had worked up the courage to confess your feelings. But when he didn’t come back you didn't know what to do. It was like the universe was telling you to give up,

You tried to forget about him, but as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder, So you grew sicker and sicker. You had resigned to finally giving up and getting the surgery when you learned it was too late. Your last wish was just to see Chigiri, you didn’t even care if he didn’t love you or he was still your best friend.

He got special permission to go outside bluelock to visit her on her deathbed and you admitted you love. If you were going to die you at least wanted the one boy you loved that he was loved.

What surprised you was when you found your feelings reciprocated. It was a weight off your chest, or from in your chest.

After that the growth in your lungs stopped, you were able to get a removal surgery and though you would have to stay in the hospital a while longer as the doctors monitored your recovery you weren’t going to die an unloved loser anymore.

“So how was this week at Blue Lock been?” The robotic monotone voice said. Chigiri looked up from where he was replacing flowers in a vase as he paused for a moment before speaking.

“It’s been intense, Ego works us to the bone, but it’s not bad I can really feel myself improving,”

The two of you went on and on talking, Chigri mostly telling you about his week at Blue Lock. Before you knew it the sun was setting and it was time for Chigiri to go back to Blue Lock.

You smiled and waved as he got up to head out the door. He gave you the routine kiss on the forehead but he seemed like he wanted to say something.

“Is there something you want to say?”

“I’m sorry, for giving you hanahaki I mean,” Chigiri said, running his fingers through his hair.

A nervous smile came to your face as you looked up at your boyfriend. Has that been what he’s been thinking this whole time? That your near death was entirely his fault?

You sure hope not.

“Chigiri, it’s not your fault I decided to keep my feelings a secret, and it certainly isn’t your fault that you got sucked into some experimental soccer program. I was prepared to die because I was stubborn. You don’t have to blame yourself because I afflicted myself, If I never talk again it’ll only serve as an inconvenience. I mean you always seem to know what I’m thinking,”

Chigiri smiled, the weight of the guilt off his chest. You gave him a peck on the lips before pushing him through the door.

“Before you go I have a gift for you, here,” You said, pulling a small gift bag from seemingly nowhere. Chigiri looked at you and you nodded. Inside was a headband (or a sweatband depending on how you looked at it) with Camelia’s embroidered on it.

He didn’t really need an explanation behind the girt, he just knew.

“Thanks,” Chigiri said as he got up. he gave you a quick peck in the lips that left you stunned as he walked to the door waved once more and disappered from your sight.

~~~~~~

Later at bluelock.

“Dude Chigiri where’d you get the headband?

“None of your business,”

[elontid]

I've been running this for Ren for over a year now, and I've gotten real curious if the patterns I've seen among donations are common ones.

I don't think I've seen this talked about, maybe ever, which isn't that surprising given the fraughtness involved. Like these are typically someone's life and basic well-being on the line. But I'm gonna take a stab at it, from my one-step-removed position.

(I'm super curious, if anyone else wants to share, whether y'all's experiences with fundraisers have been like this or not.)

Probably the most striking thing is that most donations seem to come from the same pool of repeatedly-donating queers-- plus a few straight people in mostly-queer social circles. It's not like everyone gives every time, but I've probably seen names come up more often than not, especially after the first time I shared.

It's not all people with fancy tech jobs either. Like, yeah, maybe more are than not, but plenty of repeated "what I can spare" small donations too. (And if any of you are reading this, I appreciate you extra hard. <3)

But I've also observed a complete absence support (donations or even shares) from family members, old colleagues, and other straight-in-straight-land people (his and mine). It's been pretty disheartening!

I get where it comes from in terms of human behavior-- this sort of situation makes them uncomfortable so they just scroll by and tell themselves whatever story as to why-- but I still expected better? Like, I didn't expect the silence to be so unanimous?

I guess I'd always imagined GoFundMes serving as a social apparatus for making older colleagues, retired relatives, etc. comfortable donating. And maybe subjecting them to a bit of peer pressure. Great-uncle Arthur won't just write $1000 checks, but if sees lots of people your age making small donations he'll chip in, right, so he can feel magnanimous about it and not out-generosity'd by a bunch of kids?

And maybe that's true for respectable straight people with surprise medical bills / who've taken severe property damage after a natural disaster! But it sure doesn't seem to be the case for a sweet queer trans boy who's been mistreated by life.

(Of course the other, very different sad pattern I've seen: very clear notification chains showing that a post has been shared through a whole network of queers, resulting in... zero donations. We all know what that's like, right? Entire social groups with no money to spare who want to help but can't. Gotta stare into the middle distance for a bit just from bringing it up.)

Anyway, that's what I've noticed over the past thirteen months of asking people to pitch in. I dunno, I don't have a conclusion or anything. I just wanted to get this written down.

[wellthebardsdead]

Evalien: *staring at the masks of the tribunal they’d collected, along with the severely damaged mask of dagoth Ur* the cult of the tribunals been busy, either that or nerevar simply pawned them all off to run away from their past.

Vivienne: you, knew nerevar?

Evalien: sort of… it’s hard to explain, it’s how I knew about you, all of you… *looks at the group quietly before looking back at the masks, tracing her hands over each one then stopping at vivecs* this one’s… the real one. It still has all the power he’d imbued into it.

Vivienne: the real one??

Evalien: *picks it up carefully, the ash chipping away a little from the lacquer* When dagoth ur first rose, he bathed the land in ash, burying Vivec and the refugees he was caring for. When vivec woke he was encased within hardened ash, and he sensed all the others around him he’d sworn to protect had perished. Weeping in rage he broke free and brought life back to them all, thankfully saving them before the corprus could take hold, but his tears touched the ash still clinging to his skin, anyone who touched it would be cured of aliments, supposedly even the corprus himself. So he trusted the temple would follow his orders and allow anyone and everyone to receive healing from it for free… but instead they made a cheap replica and hid the real one away. And yes, they charged a fee too. *sighs*

Vivienne: you sound like you admire him…

Evalien: Not admire, no, but… something like it… he had a hard life, and even after obtaining chim, despite all his wrong doings he still cared greatly for his people, and in the end, when Ayem went mad and Seht hid himself away. It was vivec who was left to govern the country on his own, I think he was relieved when nerevar returned. *looks at vivienne and smiles sadly, gently tucking his hair back behind his ear* …hm… *looks back at the mask before putting it on and tapping into the magic tied to it* …

Vivienne: Alma?…

Evalien: … *removes the mask showing her skin split down the middle, one side purple, and the other a deep blue mottled with gold like stars, one eye hers, and the other vivecs* … *turns and looks at vivienne with a soft surprised gasp* Vivienne?…

Vivienne: v-vivec?…

Vivec: *pauses for a moment, internally asking for permission to move Eva’s body as his own before nodding as tears well up in his eye* it’s me.

Wyrm: … *picks up sotha sils mask* my trauma source next please.

[0zzysaurus]

Oh my god did I ever talk about my father/son dynamic AU that I think G1 Wreck and TFA Wreck should have?

For this to work, you gotta adhere to my headcanon on the origins of the Junkion race, but essentially, as a quick introduction to what you need to know first — I hc that the entire planet is basically a Cybertronian war crime. Every single spark on that planet belonged to a bot who went “missing” during the first few waves of war on Cybertron. To link it to some of the TF book lore, the Junk planet only exists as a result of a failed Cybertronian space bridge project to dump a colossal amount of scrap waste into space — as a result, that space bridge became a convenient way to dump bodies of political prisoners without drawing too much attention. I also hc that the whole planet was basically embargoed and removed from maps for years and years until the events of ‘86 where it was rediscovered by accident and the planet eventually had to be acknowledged by the High Council. Awkward. I wonder if either side of the war will ever admit what they did. I sure hope that Cybertron doesn’t have any top secret documents detailing the entire dual-sided, long-term, systemic massacre against prisoners of conscience that, if released to the public, could start another catastrophic war. I’ll tell you about all that some other time.

For the Junkions themselves, all the damage from, well, the attempted murders have screwed up a lot of their processors, and those that were dumped with sober processors eventually had to replace those parts or offer functioning components to those who needed them more. They subsequently split up, shared, and lost fragments of their memories until they eventually Theseus’s Ship’d themselves into different bots. The spark is the only thing that remains. Most, if not all Junkions have little to no memory of what was done to them. It’s been so long that they’d much rather consider themselves native to planet Junk than dwell on frightening flashbacks or momentary flashes of lucidity in their processors.

I imagine that some bodies crash onto the planet in such a damaged state that you’ve essentially got a spark in a spark-chamber surrounded by shrapnel. The Junkions, of course, then take it upon themselves to hunt out sparks and build new frames for them so they can have more clanmates. This probably started as a very legitimate rescue protocol for recovering other survivors, but eventually, the practice became nothing more than an ingrained ritual. A lot of what they did for survival (I.e. extremely efficient repair, grouping together into large, cooperative tribes, and salvaging sparks) ended up becoming instinct over a few more millennia.

Does this mean every Junkion on the planet once had a totally different life on Cybertron with their own history, memories, and connection to the war? Yes. I’ll elaborate on that whenever I get around to it.

BUT, with all that cleared up, I think G1 Wreck-Gar gets a little broody watching TV and seeing sitcoms with families in them. He kind of likes the idea of having a smaller version of himself walking around who he can teach his culture to from the ground up and perhaps raise to be the next leader. The next time a body crashes into the planet, it’s while he’s out alone in the badlands. There’s another spark that needs housing, and he fixes up the frame the best he can, but the processor is absolutely fried. He remembers that he has a blank processor chip in his collection, and he’s been saving it for a moment like this. He swaps out the chips and starts to build up a frame that looks exactly like how he’d imagine his own “son” to look. He’d give it some of his features, like matching faceplate decals, but he wouldn’t make the new bot identical. He’d choose similar coloured scrap to his own frame, and perhaps even add a helm casing that reminded him of his favourite thing in the world — TV.

And BAM, you got a overly complicated father/son AU. He built his little boy outta garbage (just like he did with the rest of his kin) and he loves him sooooo much. Big Wreck and Little Wreck watchin’ telly together… out catchin’ distiller drakes in the dust bowl, stargazing, combat-training, and all the rest — I love the image of him helping TFA Wreck take his first steps in his new frame. BONUS POINTS if the sparks that inhabit both of their frames actually knew each other millions of years ago on Cybertron and the connection runs much deeper.

[ejfurbish]

hi, i adore your customs so much! ^^ i've been having trouble finding clear eye chips that fit 1998 furbies properly (14mm ones weren't thick enough and fell off even with glue). i was wondering where you got your eye chips from, or if you have a different process

Hello! Thank you so much! That means a lot ❤️!

Unfortunately almost every glass eye chips I have found online have had some issues. 🫠🫠🫠 So there isn't a "perfect" purchase out there. They are either over priced, came broken, or were too thick where the eyelids couldn't shut.

However, these were the best and closest options on Amazon I could find, they are the closest size (they're a little small but it's not noticeable) and most weren't too thick, but it only is for about 20 of them/purchase and that's if all of them are the right height;

With glass bead replacements I always make sure to place the glass beads into the sockets before gluing just to make sure that they fit and aren't too thick. Typically though you can tell just by looking at them and I recommend always doing this even with the above link, because each piece is a different size and some may be a lil' too big!

But honestly? Sometimes I don't want to bother using glass ones because like you had said they are hard to stay glued in. So what you can also do is soak the original eyecaps in some acetone! I soak mine for a few hours, take them out, and with a Qtip I lightly brush off the paint. Once the Qtip isn't releasing anymore of the paint you put it back in the acetone and wait. It takes some time and I learned there's about 4 layers of paint to go through. Then once it's all clear you just wash it with soap and water and let air dry. They should be clear and have some of the line engravings in them still which can make a cool eye texture for the furby! This also will reduce waste! So I highly recommend doing this method as well if the eyes weren't damaged by removal!

I did this method for my Succubus Furby Aggie and I absolutely love the line engravings;

And as for glue I am still figuring out the best method! I know that either glue you use you should always seal the eye design with something. Either clear spray paint finish or mod podge just to make sure that the design won't be damaged by the glue from the eyechip (Because no air can go between it so this sometimes causes the eye design to bleed and it makes for a mess under the eyechips).

Modpodge works great to attach the eyechip to the eye sockets however I have had better luck with either Super Glue GEL or Hot Glue for gluing the eye chips to the eye pattern! Hot glue it just hard to not make a mess with and you have to be fast or it'll dry and be too thick. I always place a small drop in the center of the eye design and then quickly put the eye chip ontop and push it down. This spreads the glue across the pattern for a clearer look. But be careful to not burn yourself and if you are using glass chips they also can get really hot. Also air bubbles can be your enemy so make sure there are enough glue sticks that won't cause it to sputter out and make air bubbles!

But realistically. My fav is still Super Glue Gel. It just gives a smoother look and dries quickly without moisture. So for me personally I do the following method;

Mod podge to seal the design -> Let Dry -> Super Glue Gel drop on design and then press eye chip onto it -> Let it dry over night -> Mod podge/Super Glue whole eye chip w/ design into sockets. -> Let cure for a day -> Use alcohol to clean off any clouding on top of eyechip that may occur from the super glue.

I hope this helps!!!!

[elfdragon12]

I'll get the episode, but there's a moment where someone, I believe Silverbolt, thinks Tarantulas is dead and takes a brief moment to show respect for the dead.

And yes Rattrap is definitely one to mock his dead enemies, not denying that.

Optimus Primal also continually tries to reason with Megaton even in Beast Machines, is angered when Dinobot kills his evil clone, mentions putting a large timer on a bomb and a warnign he put in Megatron's ship so they could escape peacefully and even when he kills Megatron in Beast Machines, Optimus does so somberly.

Inferno was not only reprogrammed to be a Predacon, but because Tarantulas rushed the reprogramming and interrupted Inferno's pod was already scanning a fire-Ant, his beast mode "overwrote his logic circuits" in the show's words. Tarantulas did more reprogramming on Inferno after he was damaged to make him loyal to them, but the Predacon shell program had already been placed in Inferno before he thought was an ant. Effectively making Inferno both brainwashed and brain damaged.

Quickstrike was amnesiac and immediately told he was one of Megatron's minions and to get to work, I'd call that indoctrination, particularly as he never learned he was a Maximal and that erasing Autobots would erase him too.

True, Quickstrike was stupid and belligerent to begin with before being indoctrinated into Predacons, but does that really make him irredeemable?

And I believe you're correct about the writers dismissing Waspinator, Inferno and Quickstrike as comic relief baddies, but I disagree that children wouldn't care about the villains being killed. If anything seeing Megatron's minions act like the three stooges makes the deaths or fate worse than death (in Waspinator's case) hit harder?

Is it one of the episodes leading up to the season 2 finale? Tarantulas doesn't play dead that often. I'm guessing it's only one or two passing lines before the story moves on and from the character whose defining traits are "noble" and "bleeding heart". Literally no one liked Tarantulas or would have said anything good about him after his death. He traumatized Cheetor two different times.

None of those things really indicate mercy specifically for Megatron. Optimus Primal was a scientist more invested in peace than being a soldier (a major reason I don't like the 2021 IDW retelling). It's major point in the episode "Gorilla Warfare". Also, if I remember that episode right, Optimus just says "you're disgusting" after Dinobot revealed the fate of the clone and flicked a piece at Optimus, hitting him. (Also, the way he was written in Beast Machines was very much criticized.)

You may not be remembering the episode "Spider's Game" quite right. Tarantulas gets a pod to land, removes the Maximal chip and replaces it with a Predacon chip, the DNA scanner finds the ants before the spider Tarantulas brought, and, while Blackarachnia tries to manipulate Inferno while Tarantulas goes for the pod--his true intention. Tarantulas didn't reprogram him two different times. After he gets shot to pieces, Tarantulas disappears and Megatron takes Inferno to get him repaired. That's it. Next episode, he's imprinted on Megatron. The Predacons brainwashed him about as much as they brainwashed Blackarachnia. The ant brain did way more work than the Predacon programming.

I don't think you're remembering "Coming of the Fuzors" quite right either. Megatron got his computer to change their activation codes. Quickstrike didn't believe Megatron's claim until after he went "Quickstrike, terrorize" and changed. Meanwhile, Silverbolt immediately believed Megatron coming in after Inferno attacked saying "oopsie! Our mistake!" Megatron a little while later says "yes, excellent, teamwork and cooperation. Those are the Predacon watch words". Quickstrike replies "how about backstabbing and treachery?" He was 100% already like that. Let's not forget that he does betray Megatron at one point. He really wasn't all that brainwashed or indoctrinated if he was perfectly fine betraying Megatron.

Silverbolt, on the other hand, questions Megatron's ruthlessness before ever learning he started out as a Maximal protoform. He fully becomes a Maximal after the Maximals show him kindness.

What makes a character redeemable is choice. Dinobot was redeemable because he made the choice. Blackarachnia was redeemable because she made the choice. Quickstrike was not redeemable because he did not make the choice.

It didn't bother me as a kid when I was watching it on TV in the 90s. I was fully a "root for the good guys" and "like the yellow kid appeal character" type of kid. It depends on the child. The slapstick was a major part of their comedic role, so it's only a short step further.

[ultravioletlightwaves]

Ao3 is up and down for me right, so for everyone else in the same boat, here's a chapter out of one of my current WIPs: 30,000+ words and counting of MCU/616 mismash Avengers team ensemble and IronBat (Tony Stark/Bruce Wayne).

This chapter is from right around the middle (so far). Enjoy!

-----

There wasn’t much to see on the first three blocks. Rather, there was plenty to see, but it was all business as usual for Gotham: gargoyles leering from the upper reaches of buildings, broken glass where someone had chucked what looked like a crate of bottles, limestone-clad walls with gothic flourishes, shredded cardboard where someone had discarded the outside of a package, addicts nodding out against light poles, unhoused people huddled in the doorways of buildings, where there was a little shelter against the drizzle that fell from the sky. Steve’s face got grimmer and grimmer as they went.

The fourth block started out much the same, only devoid of humans, even the addicts. The rain came down harder, washing little clumps of god-knew-what into the already half-clogged storm drains. Jan was the only one who had thought to bring an umbrella, but she tagged it with Pym particles until it was big enough for most of them to crowd under together.

“What are we even looking for,” Clint muttered. He had flipped up the collar on his SHIELD jacket and was trying to hunch down into it like a turtle.

“Any evidence that the weapon’s been used recently,” Steve said.

“Which would look like what?”

“It disintegrates matter,” Natasha said. “So holes where there shouldn’t be, things falling apart that shouldn’t be.”

Clint grunted. “Most of Gotham already looks like that, though.”

“I think more on the lines of that,” Jan said, pointing ahead with the hand that wasn’t holding the oversized umbrella aloft.

The building in front of them was a neo-Gothic revival like most of the structures in this part of the city, every window in the tall skyscraper framed with ornate detailing, the doorway positively frothing with carved embellishments. It had clearly been nice when it first opened, built with a kind of artistry that wasn’t often evident in newer urban architecture. But it had just as clearly fallen into disrepair since then. A quarter of the windows were boarded up, and there were chips and stains all over the façade, including round spalling that looked like bullet damage. Graffiti crept out of the alleyways to either side of the building and spilled across its front, encroaching on the door.

More to the point, there was an enormous gaping hole in the nearer side of the building, about 30 feet across and almost a full story high. Big pieces of the sidewalk in front of it were missing, all the way down to dirt. Through the hole the interior of the building was dimly visible. There were vast, unnaturally empty areas inside, as though the speilhund had taken big chunks out of the building’s innards as well.

“OK, I can see how that’s different,” Clint said.

“Recon,” Natasha said, stepping out from under the umbrella and immediately getting soaked. “Careful. We know it was here, it might still be here.”

Steve stepped up next to her, his hair slicked down to his head with rain. He pushed it backwards off his forehead with an innocent, artless gesture that nonetheless looked like something out of a men’s fashion magazine, or an extremely classy porno. “Look around for anything that might indicate why this building in particular. If someone’s controlling it, they might not be using it randomly.”

Inside it was drier, at least. It was obvious that the building had been stripped and gutted long before the speilhund came through. They picked their way through dark, cavernous shells of rooms with only the most stubborn remnants of built-in light fixtures or furnishings left attached to the walls. Anything that could be removed was so long gone that there weren’t even cleaner spots to show where furniture had been; the floors were covered with an even layer of fine dust and debris. Almost every room had a wall or two that had been opened so copper wiring could be stripped out.

Five rooms in the light from their flashlights disappeared into a massive hole in the floor. Tony crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet to get his flashlight closer to the edge. “Foot-thick metal, insulating air layer. Some remnants of what was probably a piston system. There was a big vault here under the floor. Looks like they took out most of its door.” He played the beam of the flashlight around the edge a little. “Thing makes clean cuts.”

“Could it be simple robbery?” Steve came up to stand next to Tony, peering into the hole. “Going to the trouble of sourcing and mastering an Asgardian artifact just to steal things from vaults seems like overkill.”

Tony stood, wincing as his knees popped. “Yeah, it’s a little much, but that level of unnecessary drama is par for the course in Gotham, to be honest.”

“Might be test runs for something bigger or more dangerous,” Natasha said. “Or someone who doesn’t really know what they have. Lots of possibilities.”

“Can you tell how long ago this was done?” Steve looked from the hole to Tony and back again.

There was almost no flash rust on the cut surfaces of the hole. With Gotham’s humidity levels, that was telling. He looked at the way the debris was disturbed around the edges of the hole, the amount of debris that had fallen in. “Very recently. Within a day or two for sure. Maybe even earlier today.”

“Any tracking we can do?”

“Not without the suit.”

“All right. Suit up.”

Tony sighed. He tapped the little button on his wristband that called the armor, held his arms out to let it snap into place around him, picking up each foot as the boots closed over his dress shoes. The helmet wrapped around the back of his head, holding him familiarly for a moment before the faceplate snapped down and everything came online. The scene in front of him lit up in several different ways at once: a lime green wireframe of structural and topographical features, an infrared heatmap, an air current map, moisture mapping, electrical and magnetic field mapping—

“Whoa, is that new?” Steve blinked at him. The armor automatically tracked the rate and force of his blinks.

“Not that new, it just doesn’t get out to play all that often. It’s the most natively modular model I had available.” Tony crouched back down again to look into the hole; this time the armor supported the pose, exoskeleton-style, and his knees barely felt it. “I’ve got some add-ons specially tuned for Asgardian tech, needed a mod-compatible suit to use ‘em. Figured it was better safe than sorry.”

“Love the color scheme,” Jan said from somewhere behind him. Tony smiled inside the helmet. The Mark 42 armor was mostly black with gold detailing. Jan would be a fan.

“Iron Man,” Natasha called softly. He went over to her and focused on the area of floor illuminated by the oval of her flashlight. The dust was more unevenly distributed here, with patches of floor scraped almost bare. He flipped rapidly through scans until the HUD showed him something useful.

“Boot prints. Three—no, four people, likely men, plus something with six smaller feet, surprise surprise.”

“Can you follow where they went?” Steve was right behind him, out of visual sight but bright and obvious on the armor’s heatmapping; he ran hotter than the average, and glowed in infrared. Tony scanned the area, looking for residual heat signatures. Natasha was a red-yellow blob to Tony’s right. Jan and Clint were reddish blobs just behind Steve. There was a bluish blob above, behind, and to the left of them, high enough up that it had to be clinging to the ceiling somehow. Tony switched to the structural overlay briefly to confirm the presence of exposed ceiling beams. Back in the heatmap he watched the bluish blob cool even further, congealing into the background ambient temp. Almost like it was deliberately matching its radiant temperature to the environment.

Always with the fucking drama. He aimed a hand over his shoulder and fired a short repulsor blast at the ceiling beam behind him without looking. The beam exploded in a cloud of wood shards and dust.

Credit to his team: they all spun around and had their weapons out before he even finished turning around himself. A tall black shadow rose up from the floor, shaking itself free of debris.

“The new thermal masking is nice,” Tony called out.

There was a pause. “Not nice enough, evidently,” the shadow growled.

“Oh wow,” Clint said as the shadow approached, picking its way across the floor. “The ears are real. I always kind of thought that was a joke people made.”

Jan tilted her head thoughtfully. “I thought they’d be shorter, like Daredevil’s horns.”

“No, it makes sense,” Clint said sagely. “Bats have big ears, on account of the whole echolocation thing—"

“They aren’t thin and pointy, though,” Natasha noted. “Echolocating bat ears are all surface area, like satellite dishes.”

“Sorry about—literally all of them.” Steve strode out to meet the shadow in the middle of the floor. He stuck out a hand. “Hi. I��m Captain America. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The Batman dipped his chin to look at Steve’s hand. He slowly raised his head to look at Steve’s face. The lenses were up, making his eyes blank white voids, but Tony could read the barely restrained disbelief on his face just fine. Steve kept his hand out for a couple of beats. Freshly disturbed dust continued to swirl down from the ceiling, settling on the floor and everyone’s heads and shoulders.

Steve lowered his hand. “All right. Well. Nice to meet you regardless. Do you know anything about the whereabouts of an Asgardian weapon, kind of looks like a six-legged metal dog, unusual optical properties? It wouldn’t hurt to work with someone who knows more about the local landscape while we try to clear this one up.”

Tony sighed. Bruce stared at Steve like he had never seen such a creature in all his life. “No.”

“No, as in, you don’t know anything about its whereabouts? Or no, as in, you don’t want to work with us?” Steve’s voice was taking on the same exaggeratedly patient tone he’d used in the police station. “We’re here to help.”

“Get out of my city.”

And here was one of the many things that Tony adored about Steve: he may have been an idealistic optimist with an unrealistically moral stick up his ass, but he also had a spine of steel, and he didn’t so much as twitch at the Batman glowering at him. “We’re here to help,” he repeated, like he was explaining something to a stubborn child. “We’re better equipped to deal with this thing than you are, and we have been assigned to bring it in. We’re going to do that with or without your help. I’d prefer to do it with you, but we don’t need you to complete this mission. And you certainly don’t have the authority to eject us from this city.”

Bruce drew his cape around himself, seeming to stand even taller. “You come into Gotham, and you speak to me about authority—”

“The Captain is correct. You don’t actually have jurisdiction here,” Natasha said. It wasn’t a rebuke, just flat statement, but he could see Bruce’s jaw clench anyway. The nerve of him sent a hot lance of annoyance through Tony. Nope, not today.

“You don’t have jurisdiction anywhere, buddy.” He swept both arms wide, encompassing the city, the country, the planet. “I know you like to think of yourself as the unelected lord and savior of this urban hell hole, but fact is, you don’t have any actual authority here.”

“If you think you have the right—”

“Actually, yeah, we do have the right.” Tony glared him down, knowing damn well that the impassive helmet was infuriating him, making it impossible to read Tony’s face. “We do have the right, because we’re Avengers, and like it or not the Avengers are a SHIELD-affiliated organization, and SHIELD is a federal agency. Federal as in a service of the American government. Gotham, last I checked, was in fact within the United States of America. Federal agencies have jurisdiction within federal borders, and more to the point, we literally and legally have the right to walk into Gotham and tell you and your people what to do, because you’re vigilantes, which is—that’s the opposite of legal enforcement. All you people traffic in illegal enforcement. Actually.”

“This isn’t productive,” Steve said, cutting right through whatever response Bruce was working himself up to. “Iron Man, tracking, please.”

“You got it, Cap,” Tony said, turning away to scan the scene again, in part because he knew it would drive Bruce insane to see him taking orders without complaint. He’d scan all fucking day to make it clear where his team was now. Scan scan scan.

Walking through the room, following the traces thrown up on his overlays, felt satisfying in a way that dealing with people never did. The tech would show him the truth of the scene. It would bear him out where he was right, and where he was wrong? It would show him that too, without drama or judgement. Everything was there, it was just a matter of having the right tools to see it. Clean. Simple.

“Federal intervention is unwarranted,” Bruce said quietly, just over Tony’s shoulder. Tony didn’t startle, because it was very difficult to sneak up on armor that had 360º sensor arrays. Bruce had always hated that.

“Agree to disagree.”

“I have it handled. Gotham PD will work with me where necessary. The matter is not nearly so dire as to require a hands-on SHIELD intercession.”

Tony muted all the scans, turned his full attention to Bruce. From the outside it wouldn’t look like anything had changed except for the fact that he’d turned his body slightly. “I don’t think you really understand the larger context here. This is an Asgardian artifact.” Bruce stared back at him with that eminently punch-able neutral non-expression on his face. “Imagine it was a priceless Amazonian artifact that was meant to serve Amazonian soldiers, and some dumb fucks boosted it and were using it to, I don’t know, steal candy from 7-11. Imagine Diana’s reaction. Imagine what kind of international incident that might shape up to be.”

“Hmm.”

“Now imagine that instead of a very touchy isolationist sovereign nation with a powerful but scale-limited military, the artifact belonged to a literally god-tier-powerful nation with super advanced tech, a much, much less scale-limited military, and a long history of direct, bloody intervention instead of isolationism?”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, hmm. We’re here for several reasons, actually, and one of them is the fact that if anyone in Asgard’s ruling family asks, we can say with no hesitation and full honesty that we put the mightiest Earth warriors known to Asgard on the job. Asgard doesn’t know your ass from a hole in the ground. You think we can tell Asgard that we just left you to it, sorry it’s in the hands of that guy over there, nothing to worry about? You think that would go over well? You think we should lie and say we’re looking into it directly while we let you do whatever you want? Have you ever tried to lie to Frigga? Spoiler alert: you can’t, unless maybe you’re a frost giant.”

Bruce looked away. That was the closest he would get to admitting that Tony had shared a piece of information that did actually alter his opinion of a situation. It made Tony angry. The fact that he could read that intention in the gesture of Bruce looking away also made him angry.

“But god fucking forbid anyone try to help out in your city.” He snorted, switching the scans back on and turning away. “Next time maybe we’ll just let the Asgardians come down and vaporize a few city blocks for you. It’ll clear the way for some serious urban renewal, maybe it’d be doing Gotham a favor.”

“Iron Man. Are you—” Steve approached warily, gaze snapping between Tony and Bruce. “What’s our status?”

“We’re fine. I have tracking. I don’t think there’s much more to gain here, we should get moving.”

“Are you helping us, or is this where we part ways?” Steve asked, addressing himself to Bruce. He said it very calmly, like those were the only two conceivable options, like he was presenting them to any run-of-the-mill person off the street. Tony would have maybe gone to war for him, in that moment.

Bruce visibly failed to appreciate it-- there was a small narrowing of the lenses, a twitch of the jaw, all of it signaling loud and clear to Tony. He thought back, briefly, to Dick asking him to not actively antagonize Bruce, immediately followed by a quick recap of everything he’d said to Bruce since they got to this building. Ah, shit. Well, it was Bruce’s fault anyway. It wasn’t like Tony had sought him out.

“Perhaps it would be for the best that I assist you,” Bruce said, opening his mouth the absolute bare minimum needed to get the words out.

Steve beamed at him. “Great! Glad to have you on board.”