@rengineer / rengineer.tumblr.com

c'mere and let's talk
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THE ENGINEER IS ENGI-HERE.

read before interacting.

important. | about. | verses.

If you have no idea how to interact with my Texan boy, just beat him up for a starter.

#( pinned. )#( ic. ) Hoo wee! They ain't gonna know what hit 'em! Though it'll likely to be bullets. Statistically speaking.#( answered. ) That contract was all hat and no cattle!#( crack. ) Dominated! By a man in a pink wig! That is some shame right there.#( headcanon. ) Good news boys! I drafted up a blueprint of the other team's asses and it looks like all our boots are gonna fit up there!#( reblog. ) Now that is just dynamite!#( memes. ) Let's go make trouble!#( ooc. ) my 11th phd is in applied ass kicking!#( starter. ) you ready to dance pardner?
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Anonymous asked:

Happy Chinese new year Engineer !!!!

[hands you a 5 dollar bill]

sorry I dont have any of the envelopes left..

@asktheasianscouttf2

"Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but ain’t it supposed to be the older folks sendin’ money to the younger ones?" He eyed the five-dollar bill with clear reluctance, his pride keeping him from taking it. Hell, he earned more than this punk ever did—wasn't about to stoop that low for pocket change.

"No need for the money, boy," he added, shaking his head. "Reckon it'd do me a lot more good if I borrowed your muscles instead." He jerked his head toward the heap of metal that still needed loading onto the truck.

#( answered. ) that contract was all hat and no cattle!#asktheasianscouttf2#im late i dont care time is a construct and an illusion
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Anonymous asked:

[ @rengineer , don't feel pressure to answer if it doesn't go well with your storyline /nf /lh 👍👍]

Three knocks echoed against the door, followed by a brief silence. Then, a familiar voice—warm, steady—murmured through the wood.

"Helena?" His soft drawl carried through, gentle yet certain. "It's me, Dell."

Not "Engineer." Just Dell. This wasn’t a battlefield, nor was it the workplace. Here, the mask of professionalism could be set aside.

wastelandtherapist answered:

He hears something creak, presumably Helena’s couch as she slowly gets up, followed by a slow and unsure walk towards the front door of her apartment. The radio still quietly playing some melancholic tune as he hears the clinking of keys, then the door unlocking

“What are you doing in here?…”

Helena asks quietly, her voice hoarse, she looks… awful, bags under her eyes, messy hair and outfit, has she been wearing this same outfit all these days?… Not to mention her apartment, the one Dell praised for being so well organized, is now a mess of unwashed dishes, take out containers and work papers. Overall, the complete opposite of what he expected from Helena

“I’m sorry, I meant to clean up yesterday…”

She quietly apologizes, adjusting the robe she currently has on to cover her splotchy outfit

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His eyebrows lifted just a touch, not expecting the sight that met him. Lucky for him, the heavy tint of his goggles did a fine job of hiding most of the surprise in his eyes.

"Well now, I was just checkin’ in on ya, seein’ how you been holdin’ up since, uh…" His gaze flickered sideways for a moment before settling back on Helena. "…it’s been days since ya missed work, an’ that just ain’t like ya."

Not to mention, he missed having her around.

His head tilted slightly, taking in the sorry state of the room—what used to be neat as a pin, now looking just as worn down as the woman standing in it.

"Somethin’ happen, sugar?"

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“I… I don’t know….”

She meekly answers, her breath hitching as she holds in tears

“Well… I… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to be like this, I thought I would be over it by now, just been slacking off… I’m sorry”

Helena looks away, ashamed of her own pitiful appearance. If he didn’t hate her before, he probably did now… She sighs and gestures him to come inside

“Come… let me at least make you some tea or coffee”

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"No… no," Dell murmured, his voice low and steady, carrying nothing but quiet sympathy. "It’s alright."

He couldn’t claim to understand the depth of Helena’s pain, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stand by her through it.

The room around them was scattered, a stark contrast to her usual neat and tidy office. But at least it wasn't empty.

"Hol’ on, I’ll get the tea and coffee," he said, his tone firm yet gentle as he took in the layout of the apartment, making his way toward what looked like the kitchen. "You go on and sit yourself down, sugar. Let me take care of this."

And as he cast her a small, warm smile, it felt like the only bit of light in the dim, quiet space.

#( ic. ) hoo wee! they ain't gonna know what hit 'em! though it'll likely to be bullets. statistically speaking.#wastelandtherapist#( verse 001. ) default.#what kind of coffee or tea helena like?
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Anonymous asked:

[ @rengineer , don't feel pressure to answer if it doesn't go well with your storyline /nf /lh 👍👍]

Three knocks echoed against the door, followed by a brief silence. Then, a familiar voice—warm, steady—murmured through the wood.

"Helena?" His soft drawl carried through, gentle yet certain. "It's me, Dell."

Not "Engineer." Just Dell. This wasn’t a battlefield, nor was it the workplace. Here, the mask of professionalism could be set aside.

wastelandtherapist answered:

He hears something creak, presumably Helena’s couch as she slowly gets up, followed by a slow and unsure walk towards the front door of her apartment. The radio still quietly playing some melancholic tune as he hears the clinking of keys, then the door unlocking

“What are you doing in here?…”

Helena asks quietly, her voice hoarse, she looks… awful, bags under her eyes, messy hair and outfit, has she been wearing this same outfit all these days?… Not to mention her apartment, the one Dell praised for being so well organized, is now a mess of unwashed dishes, take out containers and work papers. Overall, the complete opposite of what he expected from Helena

“I’m sorry, I meant to clean up yesterday…”

She quietly apologizes, adjusting the robe she currently has on to cover her splotchy outfit

Avatar
Avatar

His eyebrows lifted just a touch, not expecting the sight that met him. Lucky for him, the heavy tint of his goggles did a fine job of hiding most of the surprise in his eyes.

"Well now, I was just checkin’ in on ya, seein’ how you been holdin’ up since, uh…" His gaze flickered sideways for a moment before settling back on Helena. "…it’s been days since ya missed work, an’ that just ain’t like ya."

Not to mention, he missed having her around.

His head tilted slightly, taking in the sorry state of the room—what used to be neat as a pin, now looking just as worn down as the woman standing in it.

"Somethin’ happen, sugar?"

#( ic. ) hoo wee! they ain't gonna know what hit 'em! though it'll likely to be bullets. statistically speaking.#wastelandtherapist#( verse 001. ) default.
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averagebioweaponslover asked:

The Gravel Wars had ended, the teams disbanded. With the Mann brothers dead and the Administrator vanishing soon after, the chaos finally subsided. Though Mann Co. was still operational, their primary customers no longer needed weapons, their stocks briefly tanked.

Dr. Quincy Norman couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet relief. The war was over. People weren’t getting hurt anymore, at least not in New Mexico. But that relief was tempered by a deep sense of loss. Team Ajax was gone—his friends, his teammates, the people who had been his family for so many years. Along with that was the loss of time and effort. How many years of life wasted on this forever war?

Quincy sighed deeply, adjusting the thin medical mask over his face as he knocked on the door of the Conagher household. Gently rocking back and fourth on his feet with a nervous energy. He had gotten the address from the return label on a letter Dell had sent him weeks ago.

Quincy winced at the thought of the promise he had made. He’d told Dell he’d let him see the blueprints when the war was behind them, when Dell retired from Mann Co. Now, that day had come. It was only right that Dell finally see his father’s handiwork. The war stole Fred’s time and Dell had to grow up without a father. The least Quincy could do for Fred is try to give Dell a more complete picture. Perhaps it would be easier to sleep at night.

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rengineer answered:

"Comin'!" The sound of his boots echoing faintly as he made his way to the gray wooden door. The footsteps slowed, his hand twisting the doorknob to reveal a familiar face — a friendly one, at that.

His smile widened, the crinkles and wrinkles around his eyes deepening with genuine warmth. Even after seven years, Quinn didn't seem to age a day. God bless that man's genetics, he mused.

"Howdy, Quinn," he greeted warmly, his voice carrying the easy cadence of someone glad to see an old friend. "C'mon in," he added, stepping aside to make room.

After the war, he'd bought a piece of land back in his old hometown to settle down. He spent his days helping out folks around the neighborhood — fixing up broken things like fridges, lights, and even children's toys. In between lending a hand, he finally found time to work on some of his own projects, as well as his predecessors — those half-finished ideas and prototypes that had been gathering dust for years; the owners that had died and never see them through. One of which was the EMP grenades he'd never quite managed to perfect, still a stubborn thorn in his side.

Blueprints covered one entire wall of the living room, their edges curled and surfaces layered with dust, as though they'd been unearthed from someone's grave. Some of the drawings were faded to the point of illegibility, the result of years spent forgotten. The sofas and coffee table in the room looked almost untouched — clearly meant for guests — while Dell's real workspace was in plain view. His well-worn worktable sat nearby, cluttered with tools, gears, and sketches in various stages of completion. It was clear where he spent most of his time.

"Make yourself at home. I'll rustle up somethin' for ya," Dell said as he ambled off to the kitchen.

Baking had become a regular pastime for him after the war. It scratched the same itch as engineering, with all the measuring, mixing, and precise steps. He liked the rhythm of it, and folks around town didn't seem to mind him bringin' over batches of cookies or pies now and again. Pyro, bless their heart, was his biggest fan — couldn't keep their hands off his pastries if they tried.

Moments later, Dell returned with a plate of freshly baked cookies and two steaming cups of coffee. He set them down on the coffee table and gestured to the cookies.

"Made these this mornin’. Chocolate chip, mama's recipe," he said with a touch of pride, settling into a couch near Quinn. "Help yourself."

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Quinn settled on the couch with nervous energy, his rigid posture a testament to the tension that seemed to define him. Relaxation was a foreign concept to the old war veteran. His hands fidgeted idly, thumbs brushing against one another as he eyed the cookies. After a moment of hesitation, he reached for one.

“Thank you, Dell,” he said, his voice measured, though tinged with the awkwardness of a man constantly under self scrutiny. He dipped the cookie into his coffee, letting bitter brew temper its sweetness.

“It’s been a while since we talked in person,” he began, pausing to gather his thoughts. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. You and everyone else always seemed so busy…” His words trailed off as he considered how best to approach the reason for his visit. He bit into the cookie to buy time.

“I mentioned before that I’d be willing to hand over the blueprints for the medkit once you retired. And now, with the war over and you cutting ties with MannCo...” He hesitated, breaking his train of thought again. His lip twitching slightly.

“I brought everything, All of our notes, Every scrap of paper with your father’s handwriting on it, and, of course, the blueprints.” He exhaled slowly, and placed the suitcase he had carried with him on the coffee table with an almost dramatic flair. Gently rattling the plate with cookies “I’ve held onto them all these years, maybe longer than I should have. Your father probably would have had some words for me if he knew. But... I think Fred would have wanted you to have them. I am willing to answer any questions about the desighn, about Fred’s process, about our friendship, about why we stalked talking… nothing is off the table. ”

There was a flicker of guilt in his expression, but also relief. Six years of therapy and reflection had taught him to confront the past, even when it hurt. For the first time Quinn felt like he could be honest with Dell. No more omitting facts, no more topic avoidance. He would be honest, it will hurt and maybe Dell might not ever want to see him again.

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When Quinn mentioned it, Dell's ears perked up like an eager pup, his face lighting up with the kind of childlike wonder that was rare to see. A spark of innocent excitement flickered in his eyes. "Really?" he asked again, almost like he couldn't believe it. It was like he needed to double-check he wasn't dreaming, even though he knew full well he was rooted in reality.

And then, there was that gratitude — deep and genuine. The kind that made him pause for a second. "I'd be honored, Do— Quinn," he said, catching himself mid-sentence. This wasn't just some acquaintance or a man who'd worked with his father. No, Quinn was a friend, and always has been.

Dell glanced at the blueprints pinned to his wall, then back at the suitcase sitting on the table. He fidgeted with his fingers, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Been tinkerin’ on some stuff," he said, his voice tinged with pride. "You’d be surprised at what I’ve been up to — Radigan was a brilliant man" He chuckled, that familiar twinkle of mischief in his eye, as he opened the suitcase with excitement.

He lifted the documents and blueprints with the care of a man holding something sacred, his eyes taking in every detail. Journals, sketches of prototypes — each page a glimpse into his father’s mind. The doodles scattered across the papers caught his attention: silly sharks, skulls, and random scribbles that seemed so outta place yet so perfectly Fred.

"Didn’t know the ol’ man had such a knack for drawin'," Dell remarked, holding up an early medkit design. The thing looked downright punk, with a massive skull on the back and sharp teeth drawn across the button. "Reckon he was into heavy metal?" he joked, setting the paper back down with a playful chuckle.

#( verse 004. ) post war#averagebioweaponslover#( ic. ) hoo wee! they ain't gonna know what hit 'em! though it'll likely to be bullets. statistically speaking.
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lampinspectingmoth asked:

Hey, you should try our new prescription medication. Side effects include:

Sneezing, wheezing labored breathing, touble speaking, sleeping, eating, hemorrhages, internal bleeding, feeling short of breath, nausea, dry mouth, cough, and fever, blockages of the ureter, choking, bloating, tremors, seizures, coma, stroke, or death, mood swings, muscle aches, weight gain, fugue states, osteoporosis, sudden phycosis, supercalifragilisticexpialidosis, masochism, vampirism, sudden necromanticism, phantom limbs, fanaticism, chronic deja vu, transient telepathy, changes in your destiny, ancient forms of leprosy, chronic deja vu, loss of: hair, weight, smell, taste, balance, vision, hearing, strength, loss of memory, will to live, sense of self, fucks to give.

Do not take this medication if you are pregnant, breastfeeding, or a human person.

Ask your doctor if its right for you :]

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" I don't see any reason to take it; I'm fine without it, thanks. "

#( answered. ) that contract was all hat and no cattle!#lampinspectingmoth
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