The Exact Type Of Guy That Would Fall For A Automaton

The exact type of guy that would fall for a automaton

After eight months and nearly 15k words, it is done.

Enjoy.

coughs weakly... perhaps some wxson fluff for the requests..........

“AS I SAID, THE ODDS OF US MAKING IT OUT UNSCATHED WERE LESS THAN FIVE PERCENT,” grumbles WX-78, seething from where they lay against the wall of the cave.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry,” Wilson says, fumbling through his backpack for what little first aid he'd brought.

The pair had gone to the Ruins of an old, ancient civilization to get a better look at the broken clockworks that reside there.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the broken clockworks had wanted to do the same.

Wilson pulls out a roll of silk and a healing salve from his backpack.

They continue. “IF YOU JUST WOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME- ”

“I know!” Shouts Wilson, angrily, but he immediately recoils at his own hostility and takes a deep breath.

“Sorry, sorry. You know how the darkness gets to me,” he mumbles. “It's just.. I know it's my fault that we're in this predicament, but all we can do from this point on is move forward.”

He takes a moment to take a bite out of a cooked green mushroom, placing it back in his backpack to finish later.

“I'll patch you up so we can safely get you back to the surface and have Winona make sure your internals aren't damaged. Alright?”

WX-78 stays silent, still fuming.

They'd had to rush in to save him, as usual, when he didn't see a broken Rook charging his way.

WX-78 had insisted he look from afar, but he didn't listen.

They pointedly avoid Wilson’s gaze as he gives them a once-over. There's a jagged cut through the exterior of their chassis where the damaged Rook had gored them head-on, just below the burn marks left by a projectile shot by a damaged Bishop.

He applies the thick, pastel paste to the wounds, thankful that they're not subject to the same stinging feeling that fleshy bodies are when the salve is applied. 

His stomach drops when he realizes he can see the gears inside of their body turn through the gash in their midsection.

He tries not to think about the fact that he's just seen their organs as he puts away the mortar and pestle.

“That should do it. Is there anything else?”

“...”

“Come on, you have to at least tell me if you're further injured so I can- ”

“MY LEFT ELBOW JOINT IS NOT RESPONDING,” they interrupt, reluctantly, and make a show of trying and failing to move their arm.

From all of the time Wilson had spent living alone in the Constant, he is certainly quite familiar with how to make a sling.

He ties one with practiced ease while WX-78 simply watches.

“Alright, so I'm going to slide it over your head..,” Wilson says quietly, and walks them through the process of properly positioning their arm in the sling.

He sits down next to them against the wall and runs a hand through his hair.

“Based on the lack of light poking through to that bunnyman village over there, I'd say it's still night up on the surface. We'd best wait until day to go back up. It would be unpleasant to be caught unawares,” he says, mostly to himself.

WX-78 shifts next to him, giving a small nod of confirmation.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a bag of trail mix. He offers some to them, and they swipe the whole bag from his hands.

“THAT'S FOR IGNORING MY ADVICE, FLESHLING,” they spit, voice still laced with irritation. They begin to eat and he just chuckles, grabbing another bag from his backpack.

“WHAT? WHAT'S SO FUNNY?” they ask, leaning forward to get in his face.

“Nothing, nothing. It's just, you get so.. grumpy sometimes, and it's entertaining to watch you fume. It reminds me of an angry kitten,” he says, neutrally, as if he hadn’t just compared them to a defenseless animal. 

“That's all,” he adds, eating his own trail mix and grinning at them smugly.

WX-78 punches him on the arm, hard enough to bruise, and that certainly wipes the look off of his face. He clears his throat and looks off to the side somewhere.

The two eat in silence. Eventually, the exhaustion of the trip falls onto the both of them. 

Wilson yawns, and they scoff at him.

“REALLY? I'M THE CRITICALLY INJURED ONE HERE, AND YOU'RE SLEEPY?”

“‘S’not something I can control, WX,” he says. “I’m going to sleep. You should, too. Maybe it'll help your critical injuries heal faster,” he says mockingly.

They look down to see that the Constant’s magic has already started to seal their wounds. They're not fixed, but they're hardly ‘critically injured’ by this point. 

In all honesty, they'd just wanted Wilson to feel bad about his mistake.

“By the way,” he says, voice groggy, “I got some things for you while you were busy getting pummeled. Catch,” he says humorously, tossing them a cloth sack full of something that he pulled out of seemingly nowhere.

It lands with a clink on their lap, due to their current inability to use their left arm.

They shoot him a death glare, but he's already leaning against the wall of the cave with his eyes closed.

They open the bag, and inside are handfuls of gears, purple gems, and Thulcelite chunks.

They wonder when Wilson had gotten the time to collect these things, considering they were fighting together. Now that they think about it, he'd never stopped to tend to his own injuries. And by the sound of the fight, there’s probably plenty of them. They look up at him.

His nose and right eye are swollen and purple from taking a direct headbutt from a damaged Knight. There's some blood smeared under his nose and upper lip, and if his crooked nose is anything to go by, it's probably broken.

There are plenty of blackened lacerations from the nightmare creatures they'd faced sprawled across his arms. A few bite marks, too, from when he'd gotten too close to a Splumonkey.

They even see a bite mark on his shoulder, shirt torn by the teeth of a Bunnyman who smelled the jerky stashed deep in his backpack.

Huh. All things considered.. They look down at the bag on their lap.

Perhaps they'll go a bit easier on him once they both wake up.

WX-78 leans against the cave wall, but finds themself sagging to the left due to their injured arm. They eventually lean against Wilson’s shoulder. 

Flesh is much more comfortable than a wall, their worn-out processor supplies, and it's not like he cares. He's in a deep enough sleep to be snoring.

When the morning comes and they find themself with an arm wrapped securely around their shoulders, they pretend they're still powered down.

Don’t Starve Dump

Fandom jumping for the win!! Charlie girl 🥀

I may have a favorite, also I’ll have to work out how her face works blah blah. Also she is the only reason I am surviving I’m my DST server, as I got it on my switch and was an idiot because I don’t have Nintendo online so I am alone. Her catapults are carrying

Canadians, am I right.

Monster children and their trauma

Moleworm, Winona’s quote when holding one is just “I love it”. She’s so real for that :)

Unrelated sketches as a bonus

Hey guys! Um, someone on AO3 (I'm assuming this is all one person who really doesn't like me or my work) is accusing me of using AI for my work. (Or maybe it's a chain of bots. I'm not sure.)

But I wanted to clarify that I don't use AI for any of my writing; I actually didn't know some of those writing AI bots existed. I actively hate AI, actually, and I would sooner quit writing than use one for my fanfictions.

I'm going to delete these comments, not because I am "hiding" it, but because they're just hateful, unconstructive criticism that makes an entirely false claim about something that I do as a hobby.

Thanks for reading.

NEW L4D POST!??!?!

FURRY 4 DEAD