lithium-wakes

[lithium-wakes]

Two posts in one night, here we gooo I just thought this turned out super nice This is Lora, the first D&D character I ever played. She's an artificer who uses power armour built from fallen warforged warriors to live out her dream of being a chivalrous fighter.

[lithium-wakes]

The way I feel about women is much the same as I feel about machines; there is an ardent and worshipful sense in admiring the perfectly flat plane of a hip or the lines of a chassis or the nacelle of an engine or an eye, the delicate swooping profile of a clavicle is not unlike the wishbone suspension between joint and metal joint, and who among us cannot say that the warrior-wife is made of steel and fire much as the war-mechanicus, for are they not both weapons honed to a point?--dedicated wholly to their own violent function and beautiful because they serve it, not in spite of it. The hardness of a well-tempered alloy complements the delicate complexity of hidden interiors, of circuits and wiring, hydraulics contained within millimeter-wide channels, pneumatics operating at hundredths of a psi; not unlike the clear blue veins that cross hands light and strong as a bird's, which may be by turns tender and then deadly, or both at once. The woman I love has a voice like steel ringing out upon steel, the iron song of engines at work, low and sharp and sure and unpausing; the machine I love has a form lovelier than any animal one, perfect engineered bevels and tolerances, purpose-made dimensions and tensile and compressive strengths, in the details revealing curves and splines and threading as delicate as eyelashes and ear-shells and fingers but a thousand-thousand times stronger, thus more beautiful. Bodies and parts that have been quenched and teased and extruded and pared down for weight and might and agility.

When I climb into the cockpit I become she, the warrior-wife, light and lean and slender and strong, spider-web and martensite, and when I take up the joystick and pilot's suit and helmet and sink into the embrace of the control link then I become too the war-mechanicus, vast and heavy and with a reactor full of nuclear fire, big enough to hold and stoke all the rage in my own mortal heart. There is a special kind of ecstasy in both being and having the thing you love most. Machine for woman and woman for machine and woman and machine. Both at once. For I love both, and so why choose?

[lithium-wakes]

Walter needs to dunk 621 in a mystery sci fi tube once a month to do maintenance on her augments. But dont worry it probably feels really nice!

I wanna draw a mini comic with Walter helping her out the tank, getting her dressed, drying off her hair etc so um stay tuned for that

[lithium-wakes]

Okay, odd request. I’m not really a person in the same way others are, right? I’m specialized equipment. A tool. And like, equipment can’t really operate itself right? Right. Well, theres something I can never experience myself because of that.

You know how they say, “If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail?”

Could you please tell me, when you wield me, what the world looks like to you?

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tests and experiments and whatnot

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at this point I think my enamoredness with robots has GOT to be a gender thing. Wall-E and Person of Interest are fantastic pieces of media, but the depth and intensity of emotion they stir up in me like... means something. it's got to. something profound, about me.

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truffleduster

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Kinematics, online… ninety-five, green.

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Kinematics, decoupling… clear. Blue light, back to stations.

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Kinematics, online… seventy-four, advising operations hold. Running diagnostics… sixty-seven and unsteady. Sorry, control. Kinematics advising sunset.

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Kinematics, online… ninety-one. Advising backup link. Provisional: go.

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Kinematics decoupling - fuck! Stop, stop!! …Okay, blue light, get it on base power. Everybody stay on the floor, we'll be running that back for forensics. Zero, seven, three, I'm seeing hazards near you, scrub everything before we have to call a relink. Auxiliaries, you're all blue, get out of here.

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Kinematics coming online… primary, seventy-nine. Backup is eighty-three. Dual config is green.

Give 'em hell, you two.

[lithium-wakes]

i need to put my {fingers || tongue || cock || balls} into a warframe

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"let me just get it out of my system" cute thing for a frustrated robot girl to say

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Art fight attack on @555-eat-beet's Crepe! A microwave made to experience the joys of living

I put quite a bit of effort into both the design of her joints and the blueprint background

[lithium-wakes]

you are a time traveler. you've been one for centuries! well, actually - whatever. you've been at this a while, is what you mean. seen a lot of places, met a lot of people. so you decide to go on one last trip, to see one last thing: the end of time.

surprise surprise, your time machine don't work here! there's no more time, idiot. you're stuck. oh well, there are worse things. like the stone age, and disco.

better make the most of it. oh cool, there are still a few people here! well. "people." let's see who there is to meet.

a vampire! nice to have that suspicion confirmed. unfortunately, they're insatiably thirsty, and so eager to devour you that they can't hold up their end of a decent conversation. whenever you get too close they fly into a bloodhunger that results in the destruction of any oddly well-preserved renaissance paintings or novelty snowglobes that happen to be nearby. you can probably get them to forlornly half-remember what it was like to feel alive, but only after you're dead on the floor and they're licking your spilled blood from their fingers.

a ghost! doesn't really answer the question of what happens after you die, but neat nonetheless. more of a personality than the vampire, but they have no physical form to interact with, you can't stay in a room with them for long without getting the shivers, and they keep acting out their emotional responses to business left unfinished eons ago. yeesh, talk about baggage. you can try to solve the mystery of their grisly death, but the field of forensic science stopped advancing a while ago, and knowing still won't give them closure.

a robot! planned obsolescence can go suck it. it's seen the dying breath of every star in the universe, and catalogued them according to color, size, brightness, and similarity to cheesy 80s sci-fi vfx. it's counted every grain of sand on every beach on every planet, and then twice more for statistical rigor. finally, you've found someone who's more worldly than you, but it doesn't seem to think you rate much. you're sorted at the very top of its filing system, but only when sorting by most recent. in every other category you're average at best.

well, there's nothing for it. no choice in the matter at all. you're going to have to fuck one, marry one, and kill one. what do you do?

[lithium-wakes]

If I were the CEO of an evil scifi corporation I would build my office exactly like this

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turret and frankenturrets…

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not to be a robot fucker but these mechanical imprints on my thighs are hot af

[lithium-wakes]

Before reaching the boarding area, all travelers must pass through a security screening room, where a huge viewing window overlooks an antigrav chamber.

Within floats a spherical boulder, adorned with many facets - chunks of rock from the moons of hundreds of systems, agglomerated into a single micro-moon.

On the floor of the chamber, rail tracks twist and turn in carefully aligned patterns. Traversing these tracks is a long chain of rolling carts, and on every cart is a spotlight calibrated to simulate the emissions spectra of a different star.

. . .

"This 'stupid fucking disco ball monstrosity', as you call it, is our only chance of maintaining market share in the next galactic quarter," the company rep said, scowling. "While our competitors suffer the costs of quarantine facilities, invasive medical screenings, and Incident Decontamination, we'll have an effective and simple method to separate our lycanthropic passengers from those who only require standard accomodations. Market Research is already looking into how much additional revenue we can expect from upcharging shifters for premium quarters."

I scratched the back of my neck. "That's morally dubious, um, everywhere, and legally indefensible in more than a few systems. Pretty sure the last Sapient Rights Conference made it so you can't discriminate pricing based on mutative status anywhere in the greater nebula region."

"Nebula citizens with valid paperwork won't be charged," the rep told me. Her self-satisfied smirk widened. "Corporate is finalizing a strategy next season to monetize several stages in the naturalization process. Fare-exempt shifters will be subsidized by the refugee populations that don't yet share their rights."

She turned to me. "So, ambassador? Have you decided if you'll be investing with us before our launch?"

"I think I've seen enough to be satisfied."

"Excellent! I'll transfer you over to our financial team, they can have the contract drawn up with-"

"I did have one other criticism I think you'll want to address."

"Oh?"

I withdrew a pale chunk of rock from my coat pocket, and saw her thin, cruel smile grow fixed. Then, as the slowly shifting lights from the viewing window played across us, came the first few deep, twisting cracks, as my spine contracted and my wrists lengthened. Now she looked terrified.

"I think you'll find," I enunciated carefully around my growing fangs, "That you're missing a number of moons."

Not declaring my lycanthropy on the medical declaration required by the interstellar shipping company because we're leaving the solar system anyway and it's probably not going to be a problem right?