(You cannot see me, but you should know I am breaking the fourth wall by grinning very evilly into the camera.)
Anything and everything Sentinel didn't want his regular slaves workers to know about. Things it would be heinous to make a bot do, but not that they can voice any complaints. They aren't feral though! Just segregated from other bots.
Mainly, they harvest sparklings and remove the cogs. With such a vast amount of the mined energon going to the Quintessons, what little there is for the cybertronians has to be used for sustenance. People would begin to panic if they thought there was a shortage of food. However, this leaves little to no energon left for powering and fueling the city.
Luckily, t-cogs can be forged into rather efficient batteries, although it renders them useless as cogs. These aren't the only things harvested though. Most of a sparkling can be used to forge different parts and tools. You wouldn't be surprised to find that a non-negligible amount of bitlets don't survive the cog removal process, making them a rather reliable source of scrap metal.
Now, the reason it's so dark on the other sublevels isn't because it's a mine of some kind. Rather, those levels hold the Spark Wells, which occur naturally far below ground.
Sentinel can't risk any average worker having access to them, it'd be far too easy for somebot to witness a miner come online, and notice they still had their cog.
Perhaps the most heinous part of all of this is how the population of the Empurata Born is maintained. The first few waves of them had the procedure performed by surgeons, but it became impractical to bring bots down every couple days to do it, not to mention how the surgeons could become a liability if they decided to tattle about this heinous tasked they were hired to do.
So instead, a portion of the Empurata Born are trained to do it themselves. There's a weekly quota to be met of sparklings that must be turned into new harvesters and forgers. It's a horrible thing to have to do, but there's nowhere to hide a mech with noticeably normal features.
They can, however, rebel in one minor way. The first waves also can't speak, their voice boxes were removed as part of the procedure. But this isn't necessary, so the ones taught to do surgery don't do it on the sparklings. It's far easier to teach a mech not to speak when Sentinel is around. It's perhaps the only thing they still have for themselves, the soft tune of voices that belong to the little ones they claim as their own.
Here's a design I made a while back for one of the Empurata Born who still has her voice. She's designed around crabs, I haven't named her yet. Any suggestions?
Strange sighed deeply, and his brow furrowed. No matter how often he donned this look, it never failed to amuse Tony, and transfix him. He met Strange's sharp gaze, the corners of his lips curling imperceptibly into a lazy smile. The sun was beaming through his cheap curtains, softening the light into a hazy glow. It all made him feel at peace. He couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else. The bed was plush, he was warm, and the weight of his and Stephen's bodies on the mattress made it dip, bringing them closer together at the center where it was all the easier to stare into his eyes. He had such beautiful eyes.
How did they twinkle like that, the light warming deep shades of purple into dusky violet tones? It was like watching the sunset through his irises, tranquil and longing. And yet, he kept that look, regarding Tony with that quizzical intensity. Tony suppressed a laugh.
"There it is." Strange murmured, his gaze softening to its usual weary state.
"What?" Tony murmured. His words were thick with the beginnings of sleep. "Why do you always look at me like that?"
Strange huffed, rolling onto his side to face Tony. He reached out, and the engineer's breach hitched, watching his hand move. But it didn't land on him. Instead it waved lazily above him gesturing to the area above his head.
"Your color. Your aura."
Unbidden, a doubtful smile poured across Tony's face. He couldn't help it, his cheeks ached with it, so wide and genuine it was.
"My 'aura'?" He scoffed, though it tumbled into a bubbly chuckle.
Strange playfully swatted his arm.
"This isn't yoga class, Stark."
He was biting his lip, trying to stop his own smile. It made his face look stretched, because he smiled anyways, one corner of his lopsided grin pinched tight between his teeth. Tony cackled.
"Quit it!" Strange failed to scold him through his own rising laughter. "I'm serious!"
At last Tony burst with unbridled giggles, his hands flying to hide his face like a tittering school girl. He snorted, and then laughed harder, because he'd always thought it was hilarious when he snorted how his mother did.
His eyes were screwed shut with tears beneath them, he felt but did not see Strange bump his head into his shoulder, shaking with quiet laughter.
"I'm s-serious!" Strange giggled against him, warming Tony with each pant and gasp to catch his breath.
For a while, nothing was said, there were only two lumps of quivering, laughing warmth pressed close against one another. They would begin to calm, then one of them would make a strangled little noise, trying to reign themselves in, and it would set them laughing anew, their sense of humor shot in the way that's typical for a sudden on-set case of the giggles.
Tony didn't know when it happened, but Strange's hand was on his chest, fingers curled tight in the fabric of his band tee while his head rested in the crook of his shoulder, rocking Tony gently with every full chested chuckle. The sun was warm and golden, painting the bed with unheard of colors only they could see. They slowly came down from their high, plateauing when they'd reached a sense of simple euphoria, and could bask in the light as though it were bliss. Tony fell quiet first, listening to the music of Strange's fading laughter.
By full golden hour, they were silent, drowsy with contentment and drunk on the day's last light. Tony felt how his lungs filled with every slow breath, pushing his ribs up, making room for the quiet needs within him, before he exhaled, letting go of something intangible, but dark. For now, he was weightless, bobbing gently on tranquil seas, anchored only by the man beside him, whose own gentle breaths served as the waves Tony surfed, guiding until they were in sync.
Tony allowed himself one action, one choice to be made without consulting the storm of thoughts in his head, for now at bay. Lifting his head, he lay it against Stephen's. The sorcerer responded with an amiable hum, nestling himself beside Tony.
It felt bothersome to break the silence, but Tony spoke nonetheless, keeping his voice at a honey soaked murmur.
"Go on then, Oz. My aura?"
He smirked, and Strange scoffed against him, the both of them too tired to laugh further. It was quiet, Tony considering each vein and tendon on Strange's unmarred hands as one drifted across his stomach, tapping at his left side.
"Right here, is your appendix." His finger drew a lazy circle on Tony's belly. "In this universe, it doesn't really do much, unless it's inflamed. But in my universe, it releases chemicals, pheromones, that show me how people feel. I can see them like clouds of color."
He lifted his hand to pantomime his words. Tony already missed the warmth.
"Usually they're very distinct depending on the emotion. You know the saying, "trust your gut"? it's because you have a physical reaction to the release of the chemicals; the appendix makes your intestines shift."
Now he patted Tony's stomach gently, his hand lingering once again.
"That doesn't happen in your universe. Maybe it used to, but now you only get those chemicals from your brain, which releases a lot less. You have to feel them pretty strongly for me to sniff them out."
He shifted, lifting his head and forcing Tony to lift his. Once more he stared into his eyes.
"You're especially hard to read. You disguise your emotions on purpose, and try to feel as little as possible." He lowered his gaze, voice softening. "When it's quiet, I can see you. When you let yourself feel, your aura turns bright pink."
"The color of hatred?" Tony murmured sarcastically.
Strange didn't react to this.
"The color of pure affection, and loyalty." He replied softly. "Brighter than every other emotion you feel, every time."
The sun was dropping lower in the sky, and the direct light had left the room. Purple shadow chased away the golden glow, and with it came a tangible horizon to their moment, an inevitable place where the sun would set on them. There were only five words needed to cement it.
"You remind me of him."
Tony felt the cozy glow fade, his heart beat slowing. Strange was still facing him, but now it seemed that he was looking through him, beyond him to where he really belonged, and to whom he belonged.
"The me from your universe." Tony clarified, his voice a dull mumble, like it was too much effort to fully spit the words out.
Strange nodded almost imperceptibly. He rolled on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling. The gap between them was now a little wider. He already seemed an ocean away to Tony. The urge to reach out, to take Stephen's hand and pull him close again, was strong. The knowledge that he would never be Him, the Tony that Strange came here trying to find....that was stronger, and it weighed on his chest, keeping him pinned in place.
"Was he brighter?" Tony asked instead. The venom in his words was lost in the fragility of them.
Strange's brow wrinkled in confusion, then smoothed out when understanding took over.
"He was like a painting. So bright it lit the future. So warm it...melted our wings."
He tilted his head, searching the ceiling with intense concern. Tony had the feeling he was staring at Strange the same way. Of course, he quickly averted his gaze when the sorcerer turned to face him again.
"You're nothing like him." He said, his tone odd and flat.
Tony kept his face blank, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat without being obvious.
"It's one of my favorite things about you." Strange added. "You both shine the same color, but I know when we speak that it's not the same man I fell in love with."
Tony felt cold suddenly. The mattress sprang up, no longer burdened by two bodies. A voice whispered from the emptiness around him.
"This is a new love all its own..."
Tony lay in the dull blue of dusk, alone in his room. The wind was cold now, billowing the curtains and seeping into him. He didn't bother with the covers. Instead, he rolled over into the little divot left behind by his nightly visitor. The sheets were warm, but with every moment he lay there, the warmth began to fade…
(Hi!! This fic is part of my Stars Crossed AU. The Stephen Strange here is from a multiverse where he grew up rich, but hidden away by his family for the magical abilities he'd possessed since childhood. Tony Stark grew up poor, with a genetic heart issue. The two meet in college, eventually fall hard for one another, and run off to build a life together. Years in the future, Tony is targeted by SHIELD for his experiments, and things fall apart when SHIELD takes a prototype that nearly shatters their universe, sending people, places, objects, hurtling into different dimensions. Despite his best effort to keep the world together, Strange is ejected into the voids between universes, where he spends years trying to piece things back together, to restore his world and find his husband. He turns to darker magics, absorbing other entities to gain enough power to find and anchor his world, becoming Strange Supreme. Eventually he gets a signal, a timeline signature that is almost exactly Tony's. Except, when he gets there, it's not his Tony. In this universe, Howard Stark was a renowned inventor, Tony grew up with wealth and built the arc reactor out of desperation to survive, not to manage a genetic heart condition. Things get tangled up as this new Tony begins to fall for Strange, who can't leave this universe without accidentally severing the connection to his home, which might not even be salvagable anymore. Together they have to face the unknown of themselves, each other, and the whole universe, all while Tony bites back the growing love he has for a married man.) Sorry this is long lol, but im sure someone is happy about it. Might put this on a03 later i dunno.
-MP100 WIP featuring Reigen and my Depersonalization!Yoshioka!-
It's seldom so quiet at the Spirits and Such office.
Even now, as Mob drifts further from the island of familiarity towards his own future, Reigen's life is hardly empty.
The quiet tap-tap-tap of Serizawa's pencil against the desk, the anxious chatter of nearly everly client to pass through the doors, even Reigen's presence, calm and contemplative as it can sometimes be, has a way of taking up the space.
Right now, it is quiet.
Serizawa at school, Mob briefly abroad to provide moral support for his brother whose been given the privilege of considering colleges years before his time. Dimple isn't even there. Reigen alone sits at his desk, swiveling back and forth as far as he can manage without having to remove his feet from where they're propped on the desk top.
It's long past noon, and shadows cast a dreary dim over an office with no one to turn on the lights for. Reigen's computer has been off for several minutes, but he hasn't noticed, staring blankly at the glare of setting sunlight preventing him from seeing his reflection in the monitor. He swivels in his chair, back and forth.
Back and forth.
It would be a good time for a nap if not for this lazy sort of restless energy; too wired to close his eyes, too tired to do more than sit here and spin. It occurs to him that it's about time to close the office for the day. That explains the sensation. His body has a habit of trying to expend that last little bit of energy around this hour, keeping him up for the commute home. His head doesn't move, but his eyes flick around the office, seeing only shadows where Mob and Serizawa normally stand.
"Time to pack up, everyone." He murmurs with dry humor and a wry smile. "No sense keeping you all here on a day this slow."
He shakes his head, dragging his feet from the desk so he can stand up on them, arms up over his head and back arched in a gentle stretch as he takes a deep breath.
Reigen smells cigarette smoke.
Instinctively his eyes drop to the corner of his desk, to the handmade ashtray sloppily carved with Mob's name, a little clay dish that once would have held burning cigarette butts he'd meant to extinguish.
There is only a handful of hard candies sitting in it now.
Reigen drops his arms and frowns, sniffing the air deeply.
It's certainly there, a smell too potent and new for the thin yellow grime of tobacco coating the walls to be the problem. His brow furrows, and he turns, squinting through the blinds to the balcony.
There's someone there.
Tall and thin, short black hair, standing with their back to the building, and a plume of smoke rising from the cigarette tucked in the corner of their mouth, angled just enough that Reigen can see it. Frame too wiry to be Serizawa, so it must be Dimple, except, when he's using that vessel, he never stands so stiffly. So it can only be that Dimple isn't here.
"I guess his vessel smokes." Reigen says to no one.
Keeping his eyes on the man, he reaches down and rifles through the pockets of his suit jacket, finding a stale cigarette and a match. Just in case.
He tucks both between his teeth, and deftly throws his jacket on, crossing to the door, and creaking it open to step out onto the balcony.
If at all possible, Dimple's vessel straightens more, a tense energy apparent even with his back turned.
It's the most Reigen has ever heard from the guy.
He hardly speaks, he doesn't chat. If he's present, chances are it isn't without the rosy spots on his cheeks indicating Dimple is the one behind the wheel, leaving the body's true owner completely out of the picture. Reigen doesn't even know his name.
Strolling casually to the man's right side, Reigen leans against the railing, taking the match and striking it against the rough metal. It sparks, and ignites, a dim flicker of light against the strong blaze of the sunset illuminating them both in peachy golden light. Reigen cups his hand around the match, guarding the flame from a non-existent breeze as he holds it to the cigarette's end, puffing air through it until it burns red at the tip.
He snubs out the match.
"I don't know your name."
His tone is not apologetic, nor intrigued. It's an acknowledgement, an excuse for not inviting further conversation. He watches the man calmly, and the man seems to search around himself, expression almost paranoid in its expectance to find something there.
Dimple, Reigen presumes. He's looking for Dimple to take over, both the body and the responsibility for replying.
Nodding to himself, Reigen turns away, taking a long drag from his cigarette and slowly releasing the smoke to watch it obscure the sunset.
Beside him, the man exhales too, a nervous shakiness to the sound.
He turns minutely, hardly any inch, and offers out his hand to Reigen.
"Yoshioka." He says, the familiar firm brassiness of his tone remaining, though lacking the husky grovel of Dimple's influence. "Yoshioka Mamoru."
Reigen raises his eyebrows, taking the proffered hand.
Yoshioka's handshake, like his voice, is firm and confident, utterly lacking the anxious dissonance of their average interaction. Reigen realizes that in his mind he'd been comparing this man with Serizawa, this realization dawning if only because he now sees them as hardly being alike. Serizawa's nervousness is an impairment, a result of his lackluster social skills and inexperience with formal relationships and public speech. This Yoshioka, though high strung, displays capability that Serizawa distinctly lacks; he simply dislikes to use it.
"You've got a good grip." Reigen muses aloud, extracting his hand.
Yoshioka turns to fully face him, but their eyes never meet.
"Likewise." He says politely, nibbling on his cigarette. "Dimple undersells the effectivity of your persona."
Reigen blinks. He can only think of that response as profoundly odd, and strangely formal.
"Thanks." He says, sort of drawing out the hiss at the tail end of the word.
Yoshioka nods. His hand comes up to cover his eyes, and stays there as he continues to speak.
"He bad mouths you a lot, in this weird way that makes me think he intends it as a compliment. Typical Dimple really, but you of all people would know that."
"Mm. He doesn't talk about you much." Reigen prompts.
Talk about yourself now, he's thinking.
Yoshioka turns out towards the railing again, dropping his hand and taking hold of his diminished cigarette instead. He snubs it against the railing, and shoves it in his pocket. His hand emerges with a fresh one, which he absently lights, and tucks in the corner of his mouth. He takes a long, slow breath, completely filling his lungs before expelling the smoke from his nostrils.
"Dimple doesn't talk about much of anything that doesn't make him look better compared to someone else."
"And you?" Reigen urges once more.
Yoshioka looks distinctly uncomfortable. His hands stray to his pockets, his shoulders hunch, and he further averts his gaze.
"He makes it work." Is the curt reply.
Reigen has no idea what this is in response to, what he's trying to say. He sighs and shakes his head, spitting away the butt of his own cigarette. Turning to lean back against the railing with his elbows propped up, he gestures vaguely with his hand, advice bubbling up in his chest the way it often does when conversations reach a stalemate with Mob or Serizawa.
"You should talk about yourself more. The best way to leave a good impression is to-"
"No."
Reigen stops, the beginning of a smile that was pulling at his lips fading away.
"Pardon?"
Yoshioka shakes his head, leveling his gaze with Reigen's for the first time. His eyes are blank, blanker than Mob's.
"You don't let a ghost possess you because you're keen to get out and chat." He says frankly. "Perfectly comfortable being present in this body as little as possible. Dimple can have it for all I care."
Though offput by the response, Reigen composes himself seamlessly, offering an indifferent nod.
"Good to know." He says, his voice intertwining with another speaking the same words.
He casts his eyes out past the balcony, searching the air just over their heads. His attention is recalled by a short gasp from Yoshioka, followed by a calm sigh.
Reigen turns back with a frown to find Yoshioka leaning on the railing at an uncomfortably close distance, elbow propped up and chin in his hand, a sneering grin contorting his features as disturbingly as the bright red spots on his cheeks.
"Making friends?" He drawls condescendingly.
"Dimple." Reigen sighs, rolling his eyes.
The spirit ignores his disinterested response.
"I thought you two might get along." He muses, face scrunching with disgust as he takes the cigarette from his mouth and tosses it away, smacking his lips to rid himself of the flavor. "Same nasty habit."
"Casper has a problem with vices suddenly?" Reigen replies smoothly.
Dimple shrugs, arching his back with a sickening pop. When he rolls his shoulders forward again, there is little sign of the tension Yoshioka carries in them. It's typical Dimple to make a body seem strange, the way he wears such nervous people and practically turns them inside out trying to push the limits of what he can do in their skin. This sort of strangeness however, is new to Reigen. Dimple wears Yoshioka well.
Somehow, his presence seems to make the man feel more human than less.
-Ahh, I still have so much more to write before this is done! Please tell me if you like it or have any criticisms, I'm very much open to feedback in the comments or asks!-
-Snippet from a fic I'm writing where Phoenix has to defend Lupin after he's accused of murdering a young girl.-
There's no one at the front desk to greet the pair when they enter the Detention Center, but they've hardly had time to notice the absence before a guard comes to take them to the Visitor's Room.
Phoenix and Maya sit, offering shaky smiles to the guard. The man looks them over, arms crossed.
"Don't give him anything he can use against you. This man is dangerous, and unlike all the little sheep you have walk through here who've been framed, this man really did it, he's done it before, and if you give him the opportunity he will do it again."
Phoenix's mouth opens, then shuts, not sure what to say. The guard nods to another guard on the opposite side of the glass, and leaves.
"I think that's the first time that guard has ever bothered to talk to us." Maya moped. Nodding tersely, the guard opened the door, ushering in a very tall, buff man...who was not their client. And then another guy comes in. And then two more. Finally, the small room already brimming with tough guys decked out in armored vests, the client is led in.
"Oh, there's no way he did it." Maya gasps.
Honestly, Phoenix can't object to that. Tall and lithe, with a charming smile and a well tailored red suit, the man looks like he kisses babies and courts women for a living.
Its not an aura of innocence, but of elegant cheer, like a graceful little cat you can't believe would ever use its claws. Of course this image is dampened somewhat by the three pairs of cuffs holding his arms behind his back, and the wary looks from all the guards crowded around him.
His eyes calmly sweep the room, and when they land on Phoenix and Maya, he gives them a toothy grin edged with something more sultry.
"Well, looks like the cavalry's here!" He drawls, voice smooth, sweet, and a little high pitched. He practically floats to the chair, seating himself easily. He gives a kind nod, but his eyes are mostly on Maya's chest.
Before this has a chance to sour their opinion of him, his suddenly free hand raises to point at the red paper she's holding tucked against her.
"May I have that?"
Phoenix and Maya freeze as every gun in the room clicks, trained on this nonchalant man as he reaches and plucks a piece of paper from Maya.
"How...?" She murmurs, staring numbly at the cuffs hanging off the back of the chair.
The man smiles again. Now that he has what he wants he seemingly has no further interest in eyeing up Maya, instead looking Phoenix up and down like he wants to devour him whole.
"Phoenix Wright, correct? You're a lawyer."
His hands work deftly, folding the paper this way and that and carefully creasing it at certain angles. His lustful gaze does not leave Phoenix. Maya elbows her friend in the side.
"Lawyer!" Phoenix squeaks out. "Yep, lawyer, that I am!"
He keeps glancing between the cuffs and the guards. They keep their weapons trained on the client, but it's clear in their expressions that they're all too scared to get close enough to do something.
"Aw, don't worry about them. They won't do anything."
"It's not them I'm worried about!" Phoenix utters, face pale.
Oh, why did he just say that...Maya looks at him likes he's just asked someone to throw them both off a cliff.
Thankfully all they get in response is a soft chuckle
"Cute..."
Phoenix is trying desperately to force himself to pass out, looking at Maya for help.
Rising to her feet and slamming her hands on the table, she shouts,
"Your friend is mean! He- he wouldn't help us, or even tell us your name!"
She swallows hard.
The man looks up at her, eyes wide in bafflement.
"Oh, Jigen?" His expression softens into a cheery smile. "What a goose! He's just overprotective."
With one last expert fold, the man slips his creation beneath the glass to Maya.Its a little 3D origami heart.
"Give that to him, and he'll talk. Tell him it's from Lupin."
"So that's your name?" Phoenix murmurs.
Lupin nods.
"Arséne Lupin III. Good boy." He coos.
Phoenix's face goes bright red with embarrassment. Its about time he got this case back on track.
"So, about the trial-"
"Ah." Lupin sits back, eyeing the door behind him. "Time's up, cutie pie. I'm in trouble."
Within seconds the door slams open, and a tall man in a trenchcoat storms in. For a second, Phoenix thinks Gumshoe, but this guy is a little more square shaped, and a lot angrier, if that's possible.
"Lupin!" He yells, his voice shaking the room. "We had a deal damn it!"
Lupin pouts, his voice a flirty whine.
"Aw, but Pops~!"
This new player stomps forward, lifting Lupin by the collar as easily as one would a kitten by the scruff. He fixes Phoenix and Maya in his firm gaze.
"You can come back later. He's mine right now."
"Ooh, I love it when you get all possessive..."
"God damn it, Lupin!"
Unceremoniously, Lupin is dragged out of the room, followed by the conga line of guards. The door shuts behind them all and Phoenix sits, moping.
