Hello :D this is my blog for the arts and crafts I make (Main - @technologyvoid)
I won't be posting that much, but will appear time to time
I now have a Ko-fi here!
Requests? - Rules here!
Commissions? - not yet! But I'm planning to open them some time soon, hopefully
Tag explanation under readmore
art.void, craft.void, and write.void — pretty self-explanatory, it's the things I make!
oc.looks and oc.lore — also exactly what it says on the tin! For oc.looks, be aware that I often use Gacha Club and picrews since I can't really draw humans too well
yelling.voices — asks!
requests.to.the.void — what it says on the tin
lovely.moots — interactions with mutuals, including stuff I make for them, or what they make for me
progress.report — WIPs
not.mine — reblogs
void.speaks — unrelated updates and everything else
HI!!!! I'm making simple G3 inspired pony adopts, if you guys have any fun theme ideas let me know in the comments :3
here's the base I'm using!! if anyone also wants to use it, feel free!! I'd love to see the finished product and I'd also appreciate credit if you use it!
Day 2! Hey guys, you know Mike? That OC I've barely talked about? How about an au of him. This one is a bit late because This Fucker (my brain) refused to give me the words I was looking for. Once again, not proofread
Trigger warnings: self-depricating thoughts, vague references to past trauma, more may be added
Prompts: trust issues
"What do you want?"
Her voice comes out rough, scraping past her throat painfully. The crude metal mask covering the right side of her face makes it hard to place exactly how far away the mercenary is standing, but she knows it's far too close for comfort. If he decides to attack, she's not sure her improvised flail will help much. Especially not in her current state.
Hank grunts, jerking his head as if to say "come with me". Flare bristles, practically snarling at him.
"What, so you can kill me off in some dark alley, out of the way of everyone? Since when did you care about that?"
Her aggressive tone just makes Hank groan. She can tell he's rolling his eyes behind his red-tinted goggles, which makes her all the more angry. How dare he. After that fight, after what he did, after she left the team-
The anger vanishes in a flash, replaced with bone-chilling dread as he takes a step forward, grunting something. Flare doesn't pay much attention to what's being said, too focused on stepping back without tripping over rubble and winding up with her weapon, watching his hands intensely.
She sees Hank pause, almost as if worried, and raise his hands slightly to show that they're empty. The movement does little to comfort her as she steps back even more, finally finding her voice.
"Stay the fuck away from me. Don't you dare come closer"
A beat.
Two.
Hank lowers his hands, stepping back. Surprisingly enough, he doesn't seem to be looking for a fight. At least, not yet.
"Just... Just tell me why you're here. No funny business. None of that mission stuff. I know damn well there aren't any agency buildings to raid around here"
Hank lifts his hands again, and it takes Mike all he has to not flinch
"The team wants you back"
Mike almost drops the sack he's holding. Why? Why would anyone want him back? He wasn't providing that much to anyone. Not as much as he could have. Not as much as he should have, given the inconvenience he brought. It's why the argument happened. It's why the fight broke out. It's why she's been surviving in the wastelands on her own for months now.
Who would want her back? Her? The defective agent who couldn't even follow simple orders?
She doesn't realise she spaced out until a gunshot brings her back.
She throws herself to the side, towards an alley, ignoring the cracking noise her right arm makes as she pushes herself up and runs, trying to remember where she is.
Right. City. Street. Supply run. Hank. Hank?
Hank is beside her, cursing under his breath. It takes a minute to register that he wasn't the one shooting. But if not him, then who-?
Another shot hits the box in front of her face, forcing her to scramble backwards. A sniper, then. Great.
Another moment goes by before she realises how cramped their hiding spot is. Between the wall and all the crates, there's just barely enough space for both Hank and her. Provided, of course, they don't mind having to squeeze in
And yet...
He still hasn't reached for her throat. Why isn't he attacking? She can't help but flinch when he lifts a hand to shield his eyes and search the buildings for where the sniper is. Flare allows Hank to take over doing that while she tries to find a way to escape this situation before Hank changes his mind about killing her.
After all, they're no longer on the same team. Who's to say how long their little truce will last?
Not proofread, I just want to post this before midnight. Bonus points if you can guess the fandom Mike is based in
Trigger warnings: to be added, proceed at your own risk
Prompts: race against the clock / search party
Mike thew himself behind a toppled table as gunshots echoed elsewhere in the building, pressing a hand to where his head got slammed into the wall minutes ago.
Great. Just what he needed. As if the day wasn't going badly enough as is.
Not only has he woken up with a killer headache, still sore from his last mission, he also managed to get into an argument with Hank before even arriving to whatever agency building they were sacking this time.
And now he's gotten himself injured, and managed to split up with Hank. Not to mention that the gun he's picked up from some agent's corpse is jamming.
Just great.
He bites back a groan, sitting up and peeking from behind his makeshift cover.
No agents in sight. Good. That's... something.
Mike probably has a few minutes before the agency realises that he and Hank split up. He just has to pray that by then he finds a decent weapon and some bandages. And maybe a way out, since he has no idea where he currently is. He starts heading to the closest door, holding his gun like a bat, ready to swing if the need arises.
Unfortunately, that's the moment it decides to unjam and, for some god forsaken reason, shoot.
Mike curses, throwing the gun across the room and trying to not think too hard about how much worse that could have been if his arm was angled just a little bit lower. Great. Now all the agents nearby have been alerted to his location. Fucking perfect. He wouldn't be surprised if there were soldiers in this building too. Hell, maybe even a few MAGs. Why not? At this rate the Auditor himself could materialize in front of Mike and he wouldn't be surprised.
Loud footsteps jolt him from his thoughts. Right. More pressing matters. Of course. Mike quickly glances around again, ignoring the way his vision blurs with the motion. Spotting a door, and only taking a moment to make sure there weren't any sounds behind it, he tears it open and slips inside.
It's... A broom closet. Shit. There was a different door not far from this one. Maybe if he's fast enough, he can-
"Clear the perimeter. Search every nook. We can't have it escaping to rejoin with him again"
Ugh. Well, there goes that plan. He can hear the agents spread out to search the room he was just in. Judging by the footsteps, at least a full squad of agents, probably with a soldier leading them.
Mike takes note of the equipment at his disposal. Buckets, brooms, rubber gloves... What sort of agency broom closet doesn't have any weapons?! Well, at least none of the agents have bothered with checking this broom closet. Yet.
Mike moves, silently, climbing onto the boxes in the corner of the room. It's getting harder to think, and the ringing in his ears is telling him he needs to sit down. He pulls himself inside some box, shoving aside the mops already in there as quietly as possible, and pulls a different box partway onto the lid.
With any luck, the agents won't notice the bloody prints he's left while hiding. Or the bottle of soap he's spilled when shifting the other box. Not like he can do anything but hope, now. His body is already going limp, passing out without his permission.
