board gear

ᴍᴀᴄңɪɴᴇ

Genre: Sci-Fi, Angst
Info: Android!Jeongguk, Mechanic!OFC, Post Apocalyptic Wasteland
Warnings: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Ct: 2.658

ᴏɴе | ᴛᴡᴏ | ᴛнʀее

Is anyone there?

For years this message had been blinking across the retinal display of an android, hoping someone would find him. He was left out in the garbage, thrown away by the very people who purchased him, all because he needed a couple of new parts. He had no idea how much time had passed since then, since his family abandoned him, and he had no way to call out for help. For as long as he could remember, he couldn’t speak. So he kept displaying this one question, for 50 years he displayed the same message over and over again.

Is anyone there?

His one brown eye stared up at the sky desperately trying to find meaning to his life. Once, he was useful, once he helped a family with their business, did the hard work that they couldn’t, he loved them, and they loved him. Or at least—at least he thought they did. He didn’t mind it when they switched his modules, changed his programming, he wanted to help, he wanted to be there for them. But he learned too late that he meant nothing to them. He was just an android. And, eventually, he was just trash.

Is anyone there?

Then, it started to rain so he closed his eye. There was already enough water damage done to both his circuit boards and his joints to make him inoperable, so it wasn’t to preserve himself. He just didn’t like to see the sky cry like that. Not because it was sad, but sometimes he wished that he could cry too. He wished that he wasn’t an android, wished that he could’ve been—real. Maybe someone would love him if he was real.

Is anyone there?

Keep reading

300 words a day - fashion

300(ish) words a day challenge: fashion, part 4 (all parts)

(quick disclaimer: i know absolutely nothing about surfing except that it happens in water. i only wrote what google told me.)

~

Loki tries not to wince at the sight of Thor’s wet hair plastered against his imported olive green chenille upholstery. “Excellent. Let’s start simple - how old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“And what do you do?”

“I own a surf shop. Boards, gear, rentals - that kind of thing.”

Loki nods, typing the information into his tablet with his thumbs. “I feel like I should have guessed that,” he teases.

“Hmm?” Thor looks down at himself. “Oh, right. I was on dawn patrol – came right from that over here.”

“Dawn patrol?”

Thor chuckles; a warm, rumbling sound that seems to vibrate through everything. “Surfer speak. Means I went surfing first thing this morning.”

Loki swallows. Thor might still be damp under all that… He shakes the thought loose before it can be allowed to gain traction. “So that explains why you were dripping all over my lobby,” he says instead.

Thor’s smile slips into a distressed frown. “I did? Jesus, I am so sorry. I’ll pay for any damages, just-”

“It’s fine, really. Nothing a shop vac and a little drying time shouldn’t be able to fix.” Loki smiles. “How long have you been surfing?”

Thor strokes his thick, trimmed beard with long fingers. “As long as I can remember, honestly. My dad taught me when I was six or so, I think? I was always in the water as a kid; one day he took me out with his board and that was it. I was hooked.”

“Clearly,” Loki adds. He types a quick note - blue: ocean, slate, or cerulean - into his tablet.

“You ever take to the waves?”

Loki laughs, shaking his head. “Oh no. I’m a total urbanite - the closest I get to anything resembling ‘open water’ is the pool in my apartment building.”

“Aw, that’s a shame, especially with the beaches here. I could teach you,” Thor offers, rubbing his knuckle against his lip.