#combat data spark

[toongirl007]

GET ENDLESS DIVE'D BOZO! Ok that may sound alittle too harsh but its true, Oscuri is not having a good time being dragged in there with Sfarx by his evil doppelganger, CD Sfarx, he managed to lure them in his own version of Endless Dive by tricking them into thinking there were formies & GPAs calling for help in an abandoned building but it was a set up to send them into a death trap! Times ticking down all they have is 5 minutes to clear ALL 100 FLOORS to escape feeling the pressure of trying to survive the onslaught took a toll on her physically & when she was being targeted by a replica Float clone, she is knocked down barely hanging on! Enemies from both her & Sfarx's past CD Sfarx pulls from their memories in the simulation to manipulate what they are seeing/fighting in his rigged game! Enemies have been buffed with double defense, speed, & attack power & what makes things worse is that if Oscuri & Sfarx delay any second to try to catch their breath/gain distance the enemies health that they been working hard to whittle down starts regaining quickly! (Think of The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Master Mode) Sfarx isn't struggling at all but Oscuri? She having trouble trying to keep herself alive, at most is throwing HP capsules at Sfarx when he gets damaged taking down bosses however she eventually runs out of them! At floor 30 she gets stabbed in the sides of her stomach making her start to bleed out! Sfarx is able to defeat the Float Clone however CD Sfarx takes the chance to mock her situation. Instead of making enemies spawn right there he laughs manically in the monitor screen, watching them struggle was making him very giddy! Now that he witnessed Oscuri's limit he gets extremely happy. Confident they won't make it CD Sfarx mockery echoes very loudly in the simulation. Making Sfarx very annoyed, stressed, & angry he begins to transform into Linework! Before CD Sfarx can actually notice it, Sfarx blasts the monitor screens to shut off his copy's annoying laughter. Their rage lets them power through enemies with ease as linework, when Oscuri recovers its at the 30 seconds mark grabbing her quickly when a beam of light shows up to escape CD Sfarx's twisted simulation.

Linework Sfarx design by @prismaticquartz

[sfarxuri]

Jirou doesn't sound that bad for oscuri's voice claim, why do you want to change it? Wouldn't her combat data sound the same?

No actually! want it to be a yin & yang thing going for them! see hers despite being deep it would sound friendly! with CD Oscuri its the polar opposite! like you can feel a malice in her voice at all times even when she pretends to mimic her counterpart! might as well show it off too lol since topic of combat datas heres what the CD jesters sound like as well

[toshisdecadence]

ERROR 404: Overload!

PAIRING: svarog x mechanic!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon (reader says it’s too much but svarog has a mission to collect data), rough sex, multiple rounds, dom!svarog, sub!fem reader, svarog is Massive, cervix mentions, tummy bulge descriptions, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size difference, power dynamics, size kink, fingering, unrealistic sex, robot fuckers unite!, can you tell i have a size kink?

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.

© toshisdecadence

The repair bay smelled faintly of heated metal, coolant fluid, and faint traces of alcohol; a sharp tang that clung to the sterile air. You barely noticed it anymore, accustomed to the hum of machinery and the faint vibration of tools against metal. But today, that hum was louder, and the vibrations sharper, emanating not from your usual repair work but from the massive, battle-worn war machine sitting across from you.

Svarog loomed over the room, his 8’11 frame too large for the reinforced chair you’d hastily reinforced when he arrived. His joints hissed faintly, micro-servos struggling to compensate for the damage he’d sustained during the Wardance duel against Luka earlier that day. Faint dents marred his reinforced dark blue chest plating, and faint sparks sputtered from the exposed wiring along his arm.

You reached for your tools, hyper-aware of the pinkish-red glow of his cyclopean optical sensor tracking your every movement.

“Superficial damage sustained. Functionality remains above 90%. Repairs are non-essential.” His voice rumbled, a deep, mechanical timbre that sent a shiver up your spine.

You regarded him critically. “Non-essential? Your vents are overheating, and you’re rattling like a dying starship. Sit still and let me work.”

He didn’t argue. Svarog was nothing if not logical, and logic dictated that he allow himself to be repaired. Still, there was a tension to him, a stiffness beyond the rigid design of his armor. He didn’t like being examined, didn’t like lowering his guard to anyone else other than Clara, even in the hands of someone who statistically meant him no harm or stood a chance against him.

You stepped closer, tools in hand, and gently pressed against the plating on his shoulder. His frame vibrated under your touch, a subtle hum you might have missed if you hadn’t been so close.

“Core temperature stable,” he intoned. “Subsystems fully operational.”

“Your fans tell a different story,” you muttered, running diagnostics through a handheld scanner. “You’re burning hotter than you should be.”

Svarog didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his pinkish-red optic watching your hands as they worked, tracking each movement with the precision of an apex predator. The thought sent an odd warmth through your body, and you tried to shake it off. 

You needed to focus.

The repairs took you lower, inspecting the dents along his torso plating. The main brunt of the damage he took from Luka’s mechanical arm focused around his torso. One of the seams had split, exposing a layer of reinforced polymer beneath the outer shell. Carefully, you reached for the damaged panel, fingers brushing against the edge of the pants covering his lower half. It was an unusual addition for a machine built for combat, and one that always raised questions in your mind.

You tugged lightly at the material, intending only to check the joints underneath, but your fingers brushed against something unexpected beneath the fabric.

Your breath hitched.

The surface wasn’t the cold hardness of metal or the pliable texture of synthetic padding. It was smooth, warm, and distinctly… organic in shape.

You froze, pulling your hand back as though burned.

His optic dimmed slightly in a flicker that you’d come to recognize as his equivalent of a blink.

You swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, gesturing vaguely at his lower half, struggling to form the words.

Svarog tilted his head, the motion eerily human. “This component was included in my original design for biological infiltration protocols.”

You stared at him as if he grew a second head. “Biological… infiltration?”

“My model is the third series of the Monitoring Automaton Prototype, engineered to simulate human anatomy. The purpose was strategic manipulation through intimate interactions if required by mission parameters.”

Your throat felt dryer, and the question that left your mouth sounded ridiculous even to you. “You’re telling me someone thought it’d be a good idea to put a dick on a war machine?”

“Affirmative.”

His voice remained perfectly calm, but your face was burning. A sneaky glance at his lower half rendered you speechless once again. Whoever designed Svarog certainly made his… appendage proportional to his hulking body.

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strained. “And… what? You’ve just been...” You made an awkward gesture with your hand, “carrying it around this whole time?”

“Correct. The feature has never been activated.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made it worse.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know how it works?”

Svarog paused, the glow of his optic focusing intently on you. It flickered momentarily.

“My systems include theoretical data on function and compatibility. However, no practical demonstrations have been performed.”

The room felt hotter suddenly, and you were certain that it wasn’t because of Svarog’s malfunctioning fans. Your mind raced with countless possibilities. Given Svarog’s size, you weren’t even sure how anyone was supposed to take that. Did it have a shrinking feature? Did it automatically adjust with Svarog’s… partner? 

You swallowed, trying to steer the conversation back to something technical and banish the questions swirling in your head.

“Right,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t explode first. Then we’ll worry about your…” Your traitorous gaze flickered down again, swallowing, “attachments.”

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Svarog’s optic dimmed again, and he shifted in his seat with a faint creak of metal.

“Acknowledged.”

You groaned internally and forced yourself to focus, pulling open the next panel and reaching in to check his sensor nodes. But you couldn’t help the way your mind kept wandering to the warm, flexible material hidden underneath that fabric. Whoever invented Svarog’s model was an absolute pervert and lunatic, you thought to yourself. A war machine equipped with a dick? You still could not wrap your head around it. To the way Svarog had described it so matter-of-factly, like it was just another tool in his arsenal.

And yet… the tension in his frame, the way his systems overcompensated whenever you touched him, those weren’t reactions you’d expect from a simple machine.

Your hands hovered above the exposed sensor nodes, still adjusting the connections, but your thoughts were no longer entirely focused on the task at hand.

It was impossible to ignore the strange electric tension in the air between you and Svarog. Every time your fingers brushed against his cooling panels or adjusted a wiring interface, you felt it; the subtle hum of his systems, almost like a heartbeat. Or maybe it was just the increasing proximity to his form, which felt more real with every touch, even if you knew he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense.

The heat beneath his outer plating felt too organic, too alive. The warmth spread further with each subtle shift of his hulking frame as you adjusted his internals, a mechanical symphony of soft clicks and hums that made your breath catch in your throat.

This was nothing like the Intellitrons.

You had worked with hundreds to thousands of them over the years, and each time it had been the same routine: simple diagnostics, quick fixes, nothing too complicated. They were built for efficiency, cold efficiency. Their systems were bare-bones, nothing more than a body of metal and circuits with only the basic instincts to follow commands.

But Svarog…

He was different. Complex. His systems, his body, everything about him screamed intricacy and human-like design. A part of you resigned yourself to further look into Svarog’s specific model. Perhaps it was time to take a deeper look into Belobogian technology. Even the way Svarog’s body responded to your touch felt foreign. He was more than just a machine, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just a war machine, a combat tool; there was something underneath, something untapped, a feature of his yet to be understood.

And that thought… that burning curiosity clawed at you.

You’d always prided yourself on being a mechanic. You understood machines, systems, the cold logic of how things worked. But Svarog wasn’t cold. Wasn’t simple. The way his body responded to your movements, the imperceptible shifts in his temperature, the faint, almost unnoticeable changes in his posture whenever your fingers brushed too close to certain sensitive spots—all of it made you wonder.

What if I pushed him further?

A thought you could barely even process, but it lingered, stubborn. The daring curiosity that ran deep within you as a mechanic—was this not what you lived for? To understand the unknown, to push the limits of what could be fixed, adjusted, modified? Svarog’s design wasn’t just mechanical, it felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, like a language you only understood in fragments.

Your hands moved to reconnect a set of wires, but you barely felt the tools in your grip. The warmth from his frame was distracting, constantly pulling your focus away from the task at hand.

You set your tools down with a sharp click, exhaling as you leaned back from Svarog’s towering frame. The repairs were done. Functionally complete. His damaged plating had been reinforced, circuits reconnected, and his sensor nodes recalibrated. Everything checked out.

Or at least, it should have felt finished.

But you lingered.

Your gaze swept over him again, tracing the seams of his armor and the smooth lines of his construction. Svarog wasn’t like the Intellitrons. His design was deliberate. Every joint, every harsh angle of his frame, was crafted with an almost human elegance that made your brain stutter every time you tried to compare him to standard machinery. Even the sections hidden beneath his plating—the ones you briefly glimpsed while making repairs—were unnervingly realistic in their precision.

And then there were the features he’d kept covered.

You dragged your gaze back to his waist, to the reinforced plating that remained stubbornly intact throughout the repairs. That section.

You hadn’t needed to touch it, hadn’t even dared to ask about it again, but the shape and positioning had made it impossible not to notice. That, combined with the suspicious necessity of his pants, had left your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t shake.

Why go to such lengths to simulate humanity in that area?

You knew you shouldn’t care. You were a mechanic. Curiosity was natural. It came with the job. But no matter how many times you tried to frame it as a purely technical interest, your pulse told you otherwise.

It wasn’t just simple curiosity. It was a fixation.

You reached out, under the pretense of double-checking one of his sensor-nodes, but your fingers hesitated. You could feel the faint hum of his systems through the plating, steady and constant, and for reasons you didn’t want to unpack, it made the room feel smaller, like the two of you were occupying too much space at once.

“You are hesitating,” Svarog declared suddenly, his mechanical voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You froze, pulling your hand back like you’d been caught committing a crime. “No, I was just making sure everything’s—”

“False,” he interrupted. His optic seemed red as it regarded you. “Your behavior has deviated from standard patterns. Focus is inconsistent. Eye movement suggests distraction.”

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. Svarog wasn’t wrong, and worse, he wasn’t letting it go.

“Your gaze has returned to my lower half multiple times,” he continued, his tone as flat as ever. “Body temperature elevated by 15.3 percent. Heart rate increased. These patterns suggest heightened interest.”

You felt your stomach flip as he laid out your reactions like cold, hard data. And yet, his voice was so mechanical, so calm and detached, that it made the weight of your embarrassment feel even heavier.

“I can conclude the source of your distraction,” Svarog added. “You are exhibiting curiosity regarding the anatomical structure concealed beneath my armor.”

You didn’t know whether to flat out deny it or run out of the room entirely. Neither option felt viable. At least, not with him towering over you like that, unflinching, his glowing optics locked onto your every move.

“I—no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, even though you knew it was exactly like that.

“Your biological responses contradict your statement,” he said simply. “You are aware of the human-like components integrated into my design. Your fixation suggests a desire to understand their functionality.”

Your breath hitched. The words functionality and components should have grounded you. It should have made this situation feel as clinical as he seemed to think it was. But instead, they only fueled the heat already curling in your stomach.

Because Svarog was right.

You wanted to know—Aeons, you’ve been dying to know—how far his human design extended. And now that the repairs were done, now that he’d laid the truth bare, it felt impossible to stop.

“You are not the first to display interest in this feature,” Svarog continued, as though he were listing out schematics. “However, prior inquiries did not progress past verbal questioning. You are demonstrating physical tension indicative of deeper investigation.”

Your throat felt dryer than the desert.

“I propose a solution,” Svarog said, tilting his head slightly. “Controlled exploration. Further data on synthetic anatomy is limited. Your curiosity provides an opportunity for analysis and documentation.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He wasn’t joking. He couldn’t joke.

“You are suggesting we… test this?”

“Correct.”

His lack of hesitation made your pulse stutter. He saw this as a logical step, nothing more than a means to gather data, and yet, the way his frame loomed over you, the hum of his systems almost vibrating through the air, felt anything but detached.

“Decision required,” Svarog said after a beat. “Proceed with testing, or terminate this interaction?”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

“Proceed,” you said softly.

His optics flared slightly—almost imperceptibly—before he nodded.

“Acknowledged. Experiment initiated.”

Svarog wasn’t designed to rush.

He worked methodically, his plated fingers tracing along your thighs—testing, measuring, pressing into the soft flesh as though assessing the tensile strength of your muscles. Assessing how much you could take.

“Body temperature elevated by 1.8 degrees,” he noted, his optics narrowing slightly. “Pulse irregular. Predictive analysis suggests heightened arousal.”

You whimpered as his thick mechanical fingers dipped lower, sliding between your legs without hesitation. He brushed against your heat, deliberately testing the slickness already building there.

“Lubrication present,” he said. “Preliminary preparation observed. Additional stimulation required.”

You barely had any time to register his words before his thumb pressed against your clit. The motion was slow, deliberate, grinding down just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Too much.

The smoothness of his plating, the slight hum of his servos adjusting with every movement, left you aching almost instantly. He applied more pressure, adjusting the angle like he was calibrating the motion for maximum effect.

You gasped, hips jerking against him instinctively, and Svarog’s optics dimmed.

“Response strength at 63 percent,” he observed. “Testing deeper penetration.”

You bit back a cry as his fingers slipped inside. Thick, unyielding, and cool against your heat. He stretched you slowly, adding another finger almost immediately, pushing past the tight resistance with clinical focus.

“Muscle tension detected,” he said, his thumb circling the erect pearl of your clit again as his fingers curled inside of you. “Adjusting pressure.”

You whimpered as he spread his fingers, stretching you wider until the ache blurred into something hotter, sharper.

“Elasticity improving,” he noted, tilting his head as he pressed deeper. “Lubrication increased by 24 percent.”

You clenched around him, your gummy walls struggling to accommodate the deliberate stretch, and Svarog’s optics flickered.

“Resistance still measurable,” he said, slowing his movements. “Further preparation required.”

Your head was spinning by the time he added a third finger, the burn almost too much, but Svarog didn’t falter. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, pumping and curling until the tension broke, and your body melted around him.

Svarog’s mechanical fingers lingered inside you, coated in slickness as he worked them deeper—pressing, stretching, curling with deliberate precision. His thumb dragged slow, circular patterns over your clit, the rhythm steady enough to make your hips jolt against him in a helpless, uncontrollable reaction.

“Muscle tension improving,” he observed. “Current dilation at 73 percent. Additional preparation recommended.”

His tone was calm, detached, but the way his optics dimmed as he watched your thighs trembling betrayed something deeper. He pressed in further, adding another finger. Thicker. Unyielding. Enough to force a sharp gasp to tumble out of your throat.

The burn was too much and not enough all at once, your body clenching down against the stretch even as your legs fell further apart under his firm grip.

You could feel yourself dripping, already struggling to take his fingers, but Svarog didn’t falter. He spread them wider, deliberately testing your limits, and the ache left you clawing at his arm, nails scraping helplessly against smooth plating.

“Elasticity increased by 18 percent,” he said, pulling his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch that made your breath hitch and your cheeks burn. He inspected the slick coating his fingers before tilting his head slightly. “Sufficient for insertion.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Your eyes widened as he was lining up, the thick, mechanical weight of his massive cock pressing against your sopping entrance and making your stomach twist with a sharp mix of anticipation and fear. His cock contrasted the rest of his metallic body, covered by a synthetic material that seemed to emulate the sensation of skin.

“Size differential detected,” Svarog noted, palming your thigh to angle your hips upward. “Accommodating size will result in initial resistance.”

You bit back a cry as he pushed forward, the broad, blunted tip spreading you open with agonizing slowness. The pain is sharp, your walls pulsing and struggling to accommodate him even after the preparation.

Too big.

The words barely formed in your mind before the pressure stole the thought away entirely. You gasped sharply, arching as he forced himself deeper, the stretch too much. Burning, tearing, making your legs shake uncontrollably.

Svarog’s grip on your hips tightened as he paused, allowing you a brief moment of reprieve to adjust, but as his optics flickered, scanning the trembling of your muscles and the fluttering of your gummy walls around him.

“Pain response detected. Estimating threshold at 62 percent.”

You cried out as his hands tilted your hips. You were barely able to breathe as he pressed further, the new angle forcing him deeper into your cunt, and your stomach twisted as you felt it. His cock bullied its way in, the meaty girth of his shaft forcing you wider and wider until you swore you could feel it pressing against everything, imprinting his shape inside of you.

Too much. Too deep.

Tears welled in your eyes as your body struggled to take him, your hands scrabbling against his frame, fingers digging uselessly into unmoving steel.

Svarog’s hand pressed against your stomach, his thumb grazing the prominent bulge already forming there.

“Internal displacement observed,” he said, pushing down slightly to feel the way his massive cock shifted inside of you. The sensation earned a quiver of your legs, the pressure in between your legs rendering you unable to utter a coherent sentence. “Pressure response increasing. Adapting angle.”

Your head fell back with a guttural cry as he adjusted, pressing even deeper, his thumb brushing over the bulge experimentally while he thrust deeper, the bulge in your stomach shifting with him. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Your lips fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body clenched down hard, pulsing and fluttering, struggling against the size, and Svarog stilled.

“Involuntary constriction detected,” he said, his optics dimming slightly.

His free hand reached up, spreading your thighs wider, and he began to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts that forced you to feel every excruciating inch of him.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was feel. The stretch, the ache, the grinding pressure of him bottoming out inside you again and again and again. The bulge in your stomach shifted with every thrust, a visible reminder of just how deep he was, how much he was filling you.

Svarog’s optics glowed faintly as he observed you, his gaze calculating and unwavering as your body trembled beneath him. Each shallow breath you took, each gasp for air as his cock pressed deeper, he noted, analyzing the involuntary way your body gripped him, how your muscles fluttered around him with every thrust.

“Heart rate accelerating. Muscular tension increasing. Increased stimulation evident.”

He could see the way your body reacted. How your hands clenched, how your thighs shook, how the bulge in your stomach shifted with each deep push, marking the extent to which he had filled you. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils dilated with every inch of him that stretched you wider, deeper, further than you ever thought possible.

You were on the brink of breaking, the tension in your body growing unbearable as your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. Your body, desperate for more and yet unable to fully handle what was happening, was his to command, and he couldn’t help but watch in quiet fascination as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

You were becoming dumber. So much of you just couldn’t function anymore. You were speechless, unable to utter a coherent sentence, broken down by the intensity of his cock fucking its way into you, and the way you melted against him was nothing short of fascinating. Your voice was lost to you, your thoughts clouded by raw sensation, but the pleasure you felt was clear. It was painted across every quiver of your body, the sheen of beaded sweat lining your face and neck, in the strained arch of your back, the desperate shuddering of your limbs.

He could hear the soft whimpering sounds, could see the way your face twisted with both pain and pleasure, and his own systems hummed with the data flooding his internal logs. Every reaction of yours was so genuine, so untouched by reason. It was an anomaly he had never experienced.

Svarog’s mechanical frame moved with precision, his movements controlled and deliberate. His systems hummed as he observed you, his optics tracking every microexpression, every shuddering breath as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming size that filled you.

He didn’t feel pleasure. He didn’t need it, not the way you did. But the reactions you were giving him—the way your body trembled, the way your walls spasmed around him—were intriguing, data points he had yet to fully understand.

“Subject’s body reacting to size discrepancy. Estimated stretch threshold surpassed.”

Your hands were clutching at him, your fingers slipping over his cool metal plating, desperately trying to find purchase. Your tight walls clung to him as though your body was doing everything it could to resist the sensation, even though it was now obvious that you couldn’t fight it. Your body was becoming swallowed by him, opening wide to accommodate what it was never meant to handle.

Svarog’s movement’s never faltered, his thrusts measured and precise, studying you as your body began to react involuntarily. Your walls spasmed around him, tighter and tighter, almost as though your body was trying to pull him deeper despite the overwhelming stretch.

“Subject’s body is exhibiting signs of imminent climax. Response timing has been measured.”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your entire body stiffed, an involuntary shudder running through you as every nerve seemed to light up at once. Your vision blurred, the sounds of your ragged breathing filling your ears, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond belief. Your walls contracted and released rapidly, the pressure inside you finally exploding, and you cried out his name, the world barely a whisper between gasps.

The release sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and Svarog could see it. How your body trembled, how your legs locked around his waist, pulling him even deeper—if that was even possible. You were speechless, your mind blank as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your insides gripping him with a tightness that was almost painful.

“Subject has achieved climax. Response exceeds expectations.”

Your breaths came in desperate, uncoordinated gasps as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, and your body was left quivering, unable to do anything but absorb the aftershocks of your mind-numbing release. Your thighs quivered, feeling your cum trickling down your skin, staining his metal plating.

Svarog, ever the observer, did not stop. He noted the way your body reacted to each of his thrusts, the way your tummy bulged with each movement, the way your warm walls clamped down involuntarily as you tried to regain control of your senses.

Despite the fact that Svarog himself could not feel pleasure, there was something undeniably fascinating about the way you came undone beneath him, your body fighting for control even as it surrendered entirely to him.

He continued moving inside you, his mechanical precision relentless, watching as you flinched with each motion, your body too sensitive now to handle it. Your hands, still pawing weakly at his arms, combined with your whimpered protests of it being too much, were growing weaker, and the sensations were too much for you to bear, but still, he kept going, his own curiosity driving him. He wanted to see how much more you could take, how much more your body could endure before it reached its limit.

You were still trembling, still catching your breath, your mind scattered and lost in the aftereffects of your climax. He could see your skin shimmering with sweat, your breasts rising and falling, the way your hips thrusted up to meet his even though you were lost in the throes of overstimulation.

“Subject remains responsive despite signs of fatigue,” he observed. “Data indicates further analysis needed.”

You were so tight, so overstimulated, and yet your body responded again as though it couldn’t stop itself. Another surge of pleasure crashed through you, pulling another, more broken moan from your lips. It was overwhelming, too much, but your body needed it, responding in ways that only deepened his analysis of the situation.

Svarog’s focus didn’t waver. He watched as your body shook with every movement, your legs quivering with the strain of accommodating him, and still, he continued, his thrusts growing deeper, more relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave litters of bruises that resembled the shade of his metal plating, holding you in place, using your body as a tool for his data collection.

He could see the way you reacted to the sensations, your face contorting in a combination of pain and pleasure, your eyes wide and unfocused, the way your mouth parted as though you couldn’t form any coherent words. Your body had become nothing but a series of responses, unable to control the way you moved or how you moaned, each sound increasing in volume and intensity as he continued to jackhammer into you.

Your stomach bulged from the pressure, each thrust deepening the curve, showing just how much of him you were struggling to take. Your body was so small, so delicate compared to his design—a machine of war—and yet it was somehow adjusting, somehow taking him all the way in, and with each inch he could see your entire body shift, your muscles trembling, walls contracting and clenching around him.

Svarog observed with detachment, but a small part of him couldn’t ignore how your body seemed to respond, how the very tightness of your searingly hot walls seemed to tug at him, pull him deeper as though it wanted to trap him there—needed him to stay there. The way you trembled beneath him, struggling to remain grounded as your body was filled with something so vast compared to your form. He noted how your skin glistened, how you arch your back, trying to take more of him, trying your damned best to accommodate his size.

Svarog noted how you were losing coherence, your once-clear expression now a mess of uncontrollable need, your eyes glazing over as you gave in to the rhythm he set. He couldn’t deny the way your body seemed to yearn for more, even as you struggled with the sheer size of him.

The final stretch was the worst for you, and the best for him. He felt your body grip him, squeezing him impossibly tight as he buried himself to the hilt. This earned a strained sob from your lips. Your stomach bulged more than ever before, a visual testament to just how much of him you had taken, how far he had pushed you. He could see your body tremble, your limbs shaking, your quivering lips gasping for breath.

Yet, even as your body was on the edge, unraveling beneath him, Svarog did not stop. The data was still incomplete. He needed more. He needed to see how much you could endure, how much pleasure your body could take from the sheer act of him pounding into you.

And so, he continued, calculating the rhythms, watching as you came again with a scream of his name, your body seizing, the loud moan that escaped your lips barely audible over the overwhelming noise in your head. It was the most raw, vulnerable he had ever seen you—or any human—and it only fascinated him more.

With another deep thrust, you shuddered, and this time, Svarog could see your body collapse against the surface beneath you, completely undone. You were breathless, barely coherent, your limbs shaking as the final waves of pleasure raked through your senses.

Svarog paused, his cool hands steadying your trembling body, allowing you to come down from the dizzying high. He could continue for as long as he wanted, but your body was too spent for further testing. He could still see the evidence of your come, dripping down in translucent milky strings to the surface beneath you, painting your inner thighs. Svarog decided that this must be what humans described as “beautiful.”

“Conclusion: Subject’s tolerance to size discrepancy has surpassed previous estimates. Data collection complete.”

[toongirl007]

TIME FOR A BRUTAL BRAWL!! >:3

HUGE COMMISSION FOR @toongirl007 I HAD SO MUCH FUN THANK UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[alatusperegrinus]

What if Caelus, Dan Heng, and Welt Yang were equally obsessed with you at the same time— you, the new addition to the Astral Express?

Caelus/Dan Heng/Welt Yang x Reader (NSFW)

At first, Dan Heng was unsure of his feelings towards you. He knew that having an attraction to someone was a completely normal occurence, and it'll be gone with time. But he couldn't understand as to why it gets harder the longer you stayed at the express. His mind couldn't stop flashing images of you whenever he's alone in the archives. His eyes couldn't stop wandering at your features whenever you two meet at the lounge (he stops staring and looks away exactly right before your gaze lands at him).

Whenever Himeko would task you with something that requires looking at the data bank, Dan Heng would go insane (not that he would ever admit) whenever you're too near from him. He could smell the perfume you sprayed on your neck, the detergent you use for laundry, your shampoo, and the lotion you use occasionally. It's smells so... you, that he would try to inhale deeply with discreet.

That time Dan Heng knew he was in too deep was when he felt your breath touch his neck as you leaned and looked closely on the screen he was pointing at.

Dan Heng held his breath for a split second, eyes widening and fluttering in shock. He quickly regained control of his breathing, he has to. But of course, he doesn't have full control of his body as his cock started to harden.

Good thing you didn't stay at his room for too long. Dan Heng quickly locked his door after you left. Rushing to his futon, he sloppily pulled his pants down to his knees, not bothering to remove them fully. He bit a thick part of his shirt to muffle his noises as he jerked himself off with haste. With his eyes closed tightly, an image of you flashed without hesitation. How would you sound like if you were the one he's pleasuring? How would you taste on his tongue, how would you feel as he touches you all over?

He would come so quick and hard from those thoughts of you. Dan Heng sighed, it's going to be harder from now on.

Caelus knew he liked you ever since the first trailblazing expedition he had with you. You were strong, calm, and very protective of the team. Not to mention the way you presented yourself during combat (that were sometimes the subject of his wet dreams). Caelus realized that he loved hearing you laugh at his iconic responses. Sometimes his humor was forcedly executed, earning only a snicker or a face palm from you, but at least he still gets to bask in your divine attention.

Caelus would gain confidence as time goes on. He would drop flirtatious comments whenever you two were the only ones in the room. You would giggle and flirt back with him, but it only stays there.

Caelus would be the type to jerk off more than 3x a week at the thought of you. Yes, without shame he fucks his fist during his shower time. Good thing his shower's placed a bit far from the entrance of his room, so no one could hear his pathetic whines and moans of your name.

Mr. Welt Yang, the express' most reliable guide, who couldn't help but fancy you as well.

There was just something about you that sparks curiousity in him, something that he had never felt before.

You two would spend time playing competitive games, read books from your personal library, and watch old animations from his planet. But Welt enjoys conversations with you the most. Whenever you two talk, time flies so quickly that the both of you were suprised that it's been two hours or so. During those conversations, he was able to get to know you deeper. Your values, your philosophies, your train of thoughts— Welt could list hundreds of things he likes about you. But he loves the way you make him feel.

You make him feel alive. As if you were an adventure he has always longed for. You make Welt feel so young. Especially during vulnerable talks between you and him felt natural and most importantly, safe.

But Welt, even with his age, is inexperienced. He's fully aware of his feelings for you, yet he's struggling to act on it. So he resorts to underhanded methods to satisfy his yearning for you.

You know Welt Yang is a nerd, adorably so. But did you even know he's a downright pervert? Don't blame him— it was because of you he's like this.

Welt hopes you don't keep count of your undies. He just took one with him, promise, only one. He'll bring it back after, along with your clean laundry.

[solar4seekstron]

New Beginnings: Old Yet New

IDW!MTMTE!Drift/Deadlock x Cybertronian!GN!Reader x IDW!MTMTE!Ratchet Part One

Solars Indie Series

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Introduction Indie Series

Content: SFW, Deadlock and Reader were together, but then he dipped. Ratchet an Drift are together. But Ratchet wants that reader booty to now lol. Lore is changed a lot sorry.

TW/Tags: Angst, Lots of angst, sparkling is so god damn cute, Ratchet wants that reader booty near the end, wholesome moments including sparkling, sparkling with a fever, more angst.

You were Deadlocks Conjunx once. You both becoming one after both joining the Decepticons. Him being the very bot who won your spark when so many couldn’t.

Something most would've expected anyway thanks to the swords and both similar combat skills. It wasn’t always easy though. Him being in an aggressive mood most times. There was a point where you didn’t believe in the cause as much.

But stayed for Deadlock. After speaking to him of his current views.

And so as time went by. You and Deadlcok continued to be used to fight in many missions and execute bots for Lord Megatron.

Something you didn’t enjoy as much as Deadlock did.

On one special night you went to one of your available doctors. Having felt sick for days and so on.

Deadlock was busy with a mission. And….well.

You were with sparkling. This could be bad for not only you. But for Deadlock as well with his status. Usually when Cons have sparklings they can leave but can’t be protected.

As you made it to your shared berth room you grew ever so nervous. Sitting on the berth.

Waiting for him to return. But you’d then notice a data pad with his writing on it. You picked it up. And soon was hit with tears falling down your cheeks as you read.

“My dearest. My Sweetspark. I’m sorry….I know you have your opinions and thought of the clash of bots and cons. But I couldn’t bring myself to come to you with this choice. I was a terrible partner. And I only hope you will find another who can treat you better then I ever could…..Best of wishes…….Deadlock.”

”………………………………………………ah crap.”

———————————————————————————

A couple years went by since then. You left the decepticons after breaking the bond between you both. To live in the city with neutrals. You and your sparkling. Who was born a few months after Deadlocks leave. Were accepted in and from then on you were able to live a safe life with your little one.

You named him Rubble. He looked like the perfect mix of you and Deadlock.

Eventually you were able to join a crew during the war at the time. The Autobots who accepted you. Allowing you to take your sparkling with them and promise to protect him.

Your sparkling grew a little. Being very small. Defiantly from you.

One day, time after the war ended. You and your sparkling were asked to join the Autobots by an old friend of your. Cyclonus. You and him were close. And he loved your sparkling Rubble.

Already wanting to teach him how to use swords when he was old enough to crawl and hold things in his small cervos.

You agreed to join knowing your sparkling will probably be the safest sparkling there.

And so you came along. Staying close to Cyclonus.

Luckily being a big and scary bot no one dared to come near you and your little one. Your sparkling in your arms. At times reaching for your helm as his other cervo clawed at the top of your chest.

Letting out small coos as you gently shhhd him.

Rubble getting happy whenever he sees Cyclonus standing there. Rodimus would start his speech with two bots next to him. Speaking about his plan of the lost light and the future path for them since the end of the war.

You could swear the white bot on his right looked familiar. But you weren’t sure. So you just ignored the feeling. When boarding onto the ship you were greeted by Skids.

He was polite. Charming. And he honestly just wanted to meet the little one and ask where the Sire was. You were walking around to your room next to Cyclonus. You both chatted and got along. Having some things in common with each other. And so you both walked together and talked.

Little Rubble in your arms slowly falling asleep with his helm rested against the top of your chest.

You didn’t notice hw you two past three certain bots going over some news and messages from Optimus prime. As they past.

The white bot was the one to notice you. You didn’t change your look much and he also took note that you had a sparkling in your arms.

He couldn’t build up the courage to stop you until he got a comm from Ratchet…His Conjunx.

After a few days you descided to see Serve. He already knew you have a sparkling and always made sure there was energon goo enough for you to drink. But nothing strong. Since you don’t have a babysitter. You had to take your sparkling with you everywhere.

That didn’t stop the stares and small flirts by some mechs and even femmes.

Something you didn’t understand very well. And so you sat at the bar with your sparkling on your lap as he nibbled on his cervo. He would reach for you and Swerve every now and then.

Swerve at times smiling at finding little ways like doing tricks with the drinks to make him laugh.

He is pretty good at that. The others seem to enjoy hearing your sparkling laugh as Rubble placed his small cervo on the table. Standing on your lap as your cervo gently held and rested on his small belly. The other holding your drink.

You didn’t pay much mind as a mech sat next to you. It was that white one again.

Swerve already knew to give him the drink he wanted and went to serve others drinks as you and the bot were alone. Rubble kept gently slamming his tiny cervos on the counter.

Drift looked at you as you drank and watched the Cybertron news. Your frame and paint still the same as ever.

You had an autobot logo on your chest and shoulders now. You had that damn same warm smile and bright yellow optics. Your sparkling having the same optics as he had a large grin on his dermas. You’d let out a few chuckles because of your sparkling.

”Is Uncle Swerve making jokes little one?” He cooed as he looked back at you then back at Swerve.

Drift also noticed you still have your swords. Just brighter now then when he left. He’s sure you still didn’t recognize him. He honestly wasn’t that sure why he came her. He just knows he must talk to you. And so with a gulp. He spoke.

”Hey….Y/N.” His voice catching you off guard.

No it can’t be. Your helm slowly turned towards him as Rubble did the same as he let out a small sound. Looking at the bot as drift looked at him as well.

“Do I know you?” He let out a soft chuckle as your cervo gently pressed Rubble a bit closer to your chest. Your optics narrowed as drift turned his frame a bit to face you as he tried to find his words.

”I’d…sure hope so. It’s…it’s me. Deadlock.” Your optics widened a bit as you stared at him. He can tell you didn’t know what to say.

Rubble looking at you then him as he sat down on you lap. His little cervos gently holding your larger one.

Drift finally spoke after a moment of silence. “Is he….”

You soon had a small frown. Your optic ridges a little furrowed as you stared at him and tried to not break the cup in your cervo.

You then drink the last of your energon and sets it down. Standing up as you pick your sparkling up to have him against your chest. Soon out of your seat and walking out of the bar. No one seems to notice. Even as Drift chases after you.

“Y/N Wait.”

As you walked down the hall Drift continued to come for you. “Please. Look I’m sorry I never should’ve left. I should’ve came to you as we promised and-“

You were fast to turn around making him stop. Both cervo holding Rubble so he wont look back and stays close to your chest as he cooed for you.

“I don’t need your empty apology Deadlock. What I need if you to stay away from me and my sparkling!”

Drift was panicking. You’re finally here and this could be his only chance. “He’s mine. Isn’t he?….Please I just wish to know.”

You stay still for a moment. Your back toawrds him as your sparkling looks up at you.

He gently cooed at you and reached up at you. You swear he’s trying to tell you something. And so you turned to almost face him. He can tell you’re holding in tears as Rubble looked at him as well.

Unsure as Rubbles cervos gripped at your top chest.

”Yes. He’s yours. Was a month pregnent with him when you chose to leave us.”

Drift stood there in silence for a moment longer. His sparkling. The same sparkling that was just staring at him. Probably not realizing who he was. And what his sire has done years before his birth. All the bad an horrible things he did…

Drift slowly then spoke. “Can I-“

”No.” You said firmly. Turning away as you return to your habsuit. Rubble looking over your shoulder as he stared at Drift.

Drift trying to not cry as he stood there.

After a few months, you have gone on a few dates with Skids. Cyclonus being nice enough to watch Rubble as you went to the other side of the ship. Eventually you both realized it was a small fling in a way. The emotions there then gone.

But you both remained friends and he always loved seeing Rubble when you would cross paths.

Drift stayed away. Understanding his boundaries. ratchet was well aware of who you were and Drift sure got a scolding.

———————————————————————————

One day as you slept on your berth. Rubble next to you in your arms as you both were sound asleep. That is until your sparkling stared to cough. You woke up when you felt a small cervo on your cheek.

His large yellow optics looking down at you as he had a frown. “Hey. What’s the matter my little one.”

He gently patted at his own chest and keeps coughing. He seemed to try too not cry as he stared at you. You soon sat up and gently held him as you got off the berth. He was burning up and kept trying to not cry.

“It’s alright my little one. Lets get you checked out.” You’d then transform around him.

He was in the passenger seat as he couldn’t stop crying. You drove in the middle of the night. There being only guards who all knew you. Sparkling of course. You drove as fast as you could to the med bay.

Rubble keeps crying as you tried to calm him down.

“I know you’re hurting my little one. Hang in there and stay strong for me. Can you do that for carrier sweetspark?”

You can hear him gently trying to hold in a sniffle. His cheeks puffed up as he try’s to not cry but his tears won’t stop falling down. You panick. “No no little one it’s ok to let it out. You’re already being so strong!”

He’d continued to cry as you got closer. Luckily the best medic was pulling an old nighter in the med bay.

You rushed in speaking as you transformed and held Rubble. He continues to cry which annoys Ratchet a little, causing him to turn around. “Please I don’t know if my Sparkling has a high fever or something!”

Ratchet looked at Rubble. Rubble having tears in his optics as he tries to hold back from crying. Ratchet just sighed as he gently took him.

“Alright you little sparkling you don’t have to hold back just to impress me.”

He gently held him in his arm as his other cervo rests on Rubbles chest. Rubble gently grabbing his digits having a firm grip. You stand there with cervos together worried as Ratchet feels his spark beat and all. Then felt his forhelm. Rubble still grabbing at that as well.

”He defiantly has a high fever. He’ll have to just try sleeping and give him some medican. He wont like it but it’ll help. Would you mind sitting?”

You’d nod and sit at the patience spot. He gently sets Rubble on his lap.

Rubble turned his frame so his side is facing you. Gently grabbing your arm as he keeps trying to hold in his tears.

Ratchet then grabs a medican to help with heavy fever and colds. “He wont like it but it’ll help him sooner then most would think.”

He presents you with it. You gently took it and looked at it. Rubble of course curious tried reaching for it as he cooed. Still crying. Still sniffling as tears come down his cheeks.

”Thank you Dr. Ratchet.”

”You both take care now.” You’d nod and walk out with Rubble. He watched you as the door then closes behind you. Ratchet stood there for a moment in silence.

”…………….Damn.” Ratchet said with a blush.

———————————————————————————

“Come on Rubble you have to take your medican. It’ll make the fever go away.”

Rubble only made more baby noises as you try to put the spoon of medican in his mouth. His cervo pushing at yours as he turns his helm away.

“mmmmBA!!” He keeps crying since his fever was still high.

You both were in your berth room. Trying to get him from crying was the hardest part. You’re sure your neighbors aren’t too happy.

You’d then hear a knock on the door. You’d then look back at Rubble who looked at you. “Stay here you little gremlin.” He smiled even through his tears as he watch you leave.

You click the button to open the door and it was Ratchet. He had a small smile on his dermas. “How’s fever sparkling doing?”

”I’m sorry. I know he can be loud when he wants to be.”

”BA!” Rubble yelled. You’re guessing his way of saying hey in baby language as he sat on the bed.

”Would you mind me giving it a try?” You let out a soft sigh and nodded. Stepping out of his way so he walks in. Closing the door behind him once he was fully in.

Rubble continues to cry as Ratchet sat next to him on the berth.

A few minutes went by. Ratchet spoke to Rubble. Not sure if Rubble understood him but his large optics just stared up at him like as if he’s his sire.

You watched the two. Rubble slowly stopped crying and Ratchet was able to get Rubble to take the medican before Rubble realized it. Instantly closing his mouth once he tasted it. Struggling to swallow.

Eventually he does as ratchet comforted him.

Rubble saying BLA many times. “Wow you actually got him to take it.” Ratchet just chuckled as he got off the berth. Rubbing laying back as ratchet makes his way to you. His cervos on his hips.

“That should help him. Um do you mind if I ask you something?”

”Of course not. What’s your question?” he seemed a bit nervous as he trys to speak.

“Well would you like to um hang out at times with me and my partner. I don’t have a shift in a couple days.” You were taken aback but let out a soft chuckle. “I’d love to.”

Ratchet let out a chuckle before speaking once more. “At 4. In a couple days I’ll come by.” He said with a smile as he looked down at you. You’d nod as he then walks out to the hall. The door closing behind him.

You’d look over at Rubble. Who was fast asleep. His little cervos and arms over his belly. You’d then walk over, gently holding the side of his helm as his dermas have a small smile. Leaning into your cervo.

Thank primus he was born healthy. Although it’s awkward for you being on the same ship with his Sire.

But as long as your sparkling can grow with the ones closest around him. You know you can handle anything. So now it’s time to get to know some new bots! Rubble needs a Sire figure after all.

And your carrier instincts are telling you to not disappoint!

Hey guys! Sorry this one took all day I could not for the life of me figure out the ending. So sorry that it’s a the weakest part of the story. I was gonna do a full fic but I realized there’s more depth so I’ll make a part 2.

I hope you guys liked this one it was going to be just Drift but honestly looking at that medic booty by “total accident” I swear guys. I have to add Ratchet but also being for angst too. I swear I’ll make a scene of reader kicking aft at some point in part 2. Might get spicy a few times.

Am I good at doing sparkling scenes? I hope they came out good and still enjoyable. As always I hope you guys enjoyed this and a repost is always appreciated. I hope you all have a good rest of your day and see y’all in the next one!

[hummingbird24220]

The Ace Effect (Part 1)

One Piece x Reader

I cant stop thinking about this man, the fanart i keep seeing doesn't help. I need a cold shower. I ship him with too many people (mostly myself tho ;)) (((I feel like Robin would understand)))

You’ve never been one to believe in fate or prophecy. Science is your thing—data, hypotheses, conclusions. So, when you stumbled face-first into the inexplicable, you reacted like any reasonable, well-educated person would:

You made a presentation.

"—and here," you said, tapping your pointer on the next slide, "we see Exhibit C: Ace and Mihawk. You’ll notice the contrast. It's the scar-tattoo-brood combo. Delicious. Balanced."

Robin sat across from you at the library table, sipping tea like this was a TED Talk she had paid to attend. “Hmm. You’ve done your research.”

“I had to, Robin.” You turned dramatically to face her. “I had questions. Big ones. Existential. Why is Ace so stupid hot? Why would he look good with anyone? Anyone at all? Why do I feel betrayed and like he's emotionally cheating on me with everyone else?”

She smiled. “And your conclusion?”

You clicked to the final slide, which was simply a photo you’d drawn of Ace shirtless, lounging next to Nami, Sanji, Vivi, Smoker, that one sexy fishman guy, and a sword. Not a swordsman. A literal sword.

The title: “Ace: A Versatile Flame. A Study in Universal Compatibility.”

“…I think it’s the freckles,” you whispered.

Robin leaned in slightly. “You may be onto something. They’re quite… whimsical.”

“I know, right?” you hissed.

-

Sanji had passed by earlier, caught a glimpse, and walked away muttering “What the actual hell” with a bleeding nose. Usopp asked if you’d consider putting him in a hypothetical ship chart with Ace, to “test the aesthetic,” and you did—he looked great. You added him to Slide 12.

Zoro saw the chart and left the room in silence. You think he was internally screaming. Good.

Luffy just said, “Cool drawing! I like the one where Ace is holding the cow,” and then left to go fight a cloud.

-

Robin leaned back, satisfied. “You’ve built a compelling case. Though you may have overlooked one important pairing.”

You blinked. “Which?”

She gave you a small smile. “You and Ace.”

Your brain did a full reboot. “I—what—I’m sorry, what?"

Robin pointed calmly to Slide 8, where you had accidentally drawn yourself next to Ace for a height comparison chart. He had his arm slung around your shoulders. You’d given yourself really nice eyelashes.

“…that was for scale,” you said weakly.

“Of course.” Robin sipped her tea. “And scale is important.”

Later that night, you sat on the deck with a sketchbook in your lap, muttering curses as you started a new drawing.

Ace, smiling at you.

Just you.

No Smoker, no fishmen, no sword.

Just you and him and those damn freckles.

And maybe… that wasn't such a mystery after all.

-

You were in full David Attenborough mode.

Hidden behind a barrel (for science), your notebook was open, pen poised, watching Portgas D. Ace interact with the crew like a charismatic apex predator in his natural habitat.

“He’s approaching the chef,” you whispered to yourself, eyes narrowed. “Posture relaxed. Smile: crooked, dumb, and weaponized.”

Sanji laughed at something Ace said.

“Interaction: Positive. Sanji is blushing. Is he blushing?? He’s blushing. Dear god.”

You scribbled frantically:

Sanji + Ace = Flame + Cigarette = FLIRTING?!?!?! (Possibly romantic tension? Check for more encounters. Monitor closely.)

Ace tilted his head back, laughing at one of Sanji’s quips, and Sanji offered him a lighter. Ace, ever the showman, lit his own finger and sparked the cigarette with a wink.

You dropped your pen.

“…That’s seduction. That’s actual seduction.”

Later, he moved on to spar with Zoro.

You ducked behind a barrel again, dramatically flipping the page.

“Subject has shifted zones. New environment: Combat flirtation???”

Zoro was annoyed, Ace was grinning, and there was so much tension you were practically melting. Or maybe that was just the heat. Or your soul leaving your body through your ears.

Zoro + Ace = SWORDS + FIRE = ENEMIES TO LOVERS? (The heat, the sweat, the shared aggression… it’s all there.)

You added an asterisk.

Note: Explore fanart potential. Maybe rain scene. No shirts. Very cinematic.

At some point, Ace caught your eye across the deck and waved. Big smile. Bright eyes. Pure sunshine energy.

You waved back, totally chill.

Totally normal.

Then ducked behind your notebook and started sketching.

Y/N + Ace = ????????????????? (Unstable variable. Dangerous. Possibly terminal.)

You drew little fire emojis and hearts and one tiny gravestone labeled "RIP Me (Death by freckles)."

You didn't even realize Robin was standing behind you until she placed a calm hand on your shoulder.

“You’re spiraling,” she said gently.

You screamed and nearly hurled the notebook into the sea.

“I—I wasn’t—Robin, I can explain.”

She looked at the notes. “Hmm. These equations are getting suspiciously self-incriminating.”

“…I’m a researcher.”

“You’re a simp.”

“…touché.”

[quasarwake]

Something Old, Something You

Starscream x Cadet for @radioactiverats , with their permission consider this a direct follow-up to their chapter 18! Seriously take a look at their stuff if you like Starscream x Reader, and they've been so cool about talking with me about my Seeker headcanons. Hope you like it all fluffed up! Part 19 of their fic can be read here!

Featuring: Original Character Echo and mentions of trining instincts, 800+ words

Really, it had started out as any regular report- meeting with the Decepticon Second-in-Command had become a regular event on turning in data-pads on scouted energon hotspots and other areas of interest, and Echo was at least glad for the work to keep his processor occupied.

But today had been... well, interesting.

Starscream hardly seemed to look over the datapad Echo had handed over, red optics instead trailing over the other Seeker's wings appraisingly. And there had been such a thrill to that, Echo flaring his wings out, his EM field buzzing with returned interest. Why not show off a little? He hadn’t felt this looked at since his trine-

Starscream had always been a hotly spoken of flier back on Vos- Echo had completed his flight training vorns before the war, but he could still remember the excitement back home when the highly-regarded flier had taken his place amongst the instructors in the academy.

He hadn't seemed thrilled about it at the time. But when the war started, there was always that little final student of his- you, his 'Cadet', hovering around him like you were bound by energy fields. It had been almost annoying to see, like some kind of pet the wing-commander had taken to dragging around with him, or maybe the last vestigial reminder of the glory of those spires they all once flew around.

Until you came back with those wings. It was murmured about, where those wings came from, somebody lower in the ranks but so vicious that nobody truly questioned when he disappeared-

Not even his Amica, so much more silent than he had been before the war, before the freedom that active combat gave to them for bloodshed and violence.

Not even his trine-mates- Echo remembering with some relief when their third had gently parted from him, unable and unwilling to hold their bond after the disappearance of the bloodthirsty one they had tried to placate for all those centuries. After this long, Echo was nearly forgetting his face-

But he'd never forget those wings, broad and powerful and, in old, pre-war memory banks? Safe. Safe to press into, to gently touch, to trail claw-tips over in preening or in those gentle moments that their friendship had shifted into the ease of something more intimate.

It would be easier to distract himself with a dalliance with another flier- and at the very least, Starscream seemed interested. Wings flicking, EM field more than a little hot brushing against Echo's.

It was nice. He let his optics lower, lift, his wings twitching in their own appraisal, the sharp rolling of the SIC’s wings, the crooked smile, that rasping voice that had started to hold some soft whistles of flirtatious Vosian in the undertones- he could almost forget that Starscream had murdered his trine leader. Ripped off his wings.

Could almost forget the cool, guilty feeling of relief in his spark when he felt the connection finally cut.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Starscream purred, handing his data-pad back. “No errors. Good work~”

Praise.

Rare in the Decepticon cause, rarer still from the high-command. He hated how it made his wings twitch over his spine, wished, for a moment, to see those darker wings-

And maybe, for a moment, he could let himself forget-

There. 

Another brushing of energy, loud, and Echo almost felt like he had been snapped at.

Distracted, over Starscream's shoulder, he felt that aggression, that claim, resounding from the hall, through the doorway that Starscream had so casually leaned against. Both of their wings twitched with it, the SIC looking over his shoulder in surprise-

You.

The Cadet.

That blue was a rarer colour post-peace, something one might see on an Autobot or a Neutral- those optics not quite so red as others. Your frame was smaller than the average Seeker's, which only made those dark wings stand out even more-

And there in the shadowed hall, Echo could see the way those wings flared, wider, wider, the unique silhouette a strange parody of his former trine-mate.

Trine-leader.

He felt his fans stall. He saw those optics vaguely hold him and Starscream in their field of view, as if they could burn heat right through Echo's own wings, and there was something about that, the truth, the edge to that sharpness, that felt-

Felt ever so-

Familiar.

The days back on Vos, before the war, before the malice, before the slaking of bloodthirst and the knowledge of how energon could glow on derma-

Black denta set into a wide, mischievous smile. Wings spread as if he could hold his trine together, the world together-

Echo remembered his trine-mate and saw new eyes beating into him, stating their claim in a way he hadn't felt stated since the war began.

"Cadet!"

Both you and Echo snapped out of it with Starscream's shout, and Echo shook himself, wings trembling from the flaring of EM fields, the buzz still reaching into his chassis.

"...nevermind," he muttered, turning on his pede and stepping away, steady as his shaking frame could allow.

Blue.

Blue on those dark wings, something new.

Previous/Next

[thesparkinthefire]

Some more notes about the Inside Look footage of Murderbot

I can't stop thinking about this. I also love seeing everyone react to my theories with their own because it make me rethink my theories. Soooo, here we go.

1) PresAux being besties

I love them so so so so so much!!! Look at them! Their little painted habitat. Their colorful clothes. My little space hippies that I need to put in my pocket and keep them save.

Rattih playing his little space-ukulele. Pin-Lee on the drum block thing. I love them! Mensa and Bharadwaj going all out on their dance break. And Gurathin doing his little shimmy in the background - god, he is so awkward I deeply love him. I just know Murderbot is watching this thinking "humans are so fucking weird".

2) Free agent Murderbot

This is probably not a deep cut and kinda obvious but this seems to be the scene after Mensa buys Murderbot and it gets to join the Preservation team in the hotel!!

I loooove that this has been made into a team scene where they all sit together. Look at them all being happy!!! Look at sweet angel Arada bringing Murderbot its own set of Preservation clothes! God, I love them. I love them SO MUCH. Plus their style is chefs kiss!! The costume and concept department deserves the biggest raise. Also love Murderbots look here.

3) 'I sure hope a combat override module isnt making me feel this weird'

Okay, back to the more grim scenes:

Murderbot, it's not looking good. I think this is in the DeltFall habitat after Murderbot gets taken down by the evil SecUnits and Mense saved it. Mense is pulling Murderbot back to the hopper. Poor babygirl (gn) isn't looking too good here. Are those sparks coming from you, Murderbot? I am obsessed with this clip. Osessed with the lighting; Obsessed with Murderbots look; Obsessed with how overwhelming it looks. It seems they perfectly captured how the combar override module and shut-down make it feel.

4) Dr Mensa this is against...

We all know Mensa is a badass girlboss. At first look I thought it was Mensa helping Murderbot at DeltFall - it's in the book, it would make sense. But the more I look at it, especially the background, the more I feel like that's the Preservation habitat or hopper. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the lighting that's throwing me off (DF is cool tones and dark and blue. This shot is bright and warm thanks to the weapon fire). I'm curious what it ends up being 👀

5) Evil SecUnits!!

Look at these evil SecUnits and their black and blue armor and tell me that's not the sexiest thing you have ever seen! (I'm using sexy very loosely here. To me even a F1 qualifying lap can be sexy.) Incredible design. So so cool!!! And if you have seen my trailer breakdown, I theorized that they might make the evil survey units black as a visual contrast and I am so happy to see I was right!!! I love this design so much. So so much. Once again: The design & costume departments deserve a BIG raise!

Also looking at these screenshots, it seems they take place after this one👇, which means it could be the final confrontation between Evil Survey and Preservation!

6) More of murderbots systems

I love that we get to see some of Murderbots analysis and feed alerts. Attack detacted? Slay. That is so cool I love this visual representation of the data it's getting. So cool. I love this show. I can't wait to watch it. And I can't believe it's already May!!! It's Murderbot May!!! We are so close to getting this. Aaahhh!!!

[melishade]

Sometime later, When its finally Optimus' turn to want to reincarnate, Despite being a Prime, would he want to stay Cybertronian or become human?

Though I personally think his greatest reward would be having a life where he's friends with Megatron again, having a second chance with Eren and being with AOP and TFP cast again, regardless if he's under a new name and face and without memories of his past life. What the mind forgets, the heart/spark remembers, at least in my opinion.

I think Optimus would jump at the opportunity to reincarnate as a human. Not just to have the human experience, but to also get away from the Primacy as much as possible.

Optimus: Frag you points to Prima Frag you! points to Vector Frag you! points to Liege Maximo You’re cool!

Solus: Raises her energon in approval

Optimus: And frag you I’m out! Throws a data pad at Alpha Trion

Amalgamous: Wow he really wants to be as far away from us as possible.

Onyx: It is very understandable

Optimus is only thinking about his own health and well being from now on. No more reincarnation as a Cybertronian and waiting to be called upon for combat.

And yeah, I have canonically established that reincarnated souls don’t remember their previous lives but they do have an instinct in their bodies directing them on where they need to go. So Optimus might be drawn to the Survey Corps if he chooses. And if possible maybe even TFP Megatron if that other hypothetical is true.

That being said I have made situations where everyone does remember their previous lives and the shenanigans are great.

[toongirl007]

some doodles featuring CD Sfarx, Linework Sfarx & Oscuri made last year that I forgot to post sksksk Linework Sfarx design by @prismaticquartz !

[sfarxuri]

Someone's copy is up to no good, CD Sfarx learned how to shapeshift using some leftover data in the simulation to make himself look identical to Sfarx Neo. Having his fur shaped like devil horns & the star logo reversed are the only small differences but GPAS & formies are tricked by this, this is what they see when he out on a rampage around Luna. Ruining Sfarx's reputation in the process, whenever he goes around trying to help others they do not trust him at all! Some try to defend themselves, so all Sfarx Neo can do is run while trying to figure out how to reveal that it's his clone that's causing so much destruction. Unfortunately, whenever he does appear trying to make formies & GPAs understand that CD Sfarx is purple/looks way different from him, all they can see is the faker's disguise.

What makes his case worse is that CD Sfarx uses this confusion to his advantage saying he's the real Sfarx, the ones that are able to see the real form are Osarx & Oscuri using reflections from the water & mirrors during their brawls, however its already too late since the masses have been fooled making their attempts at gaining trust/recusing others in danger much harder.

[mariacallous]

Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency has gained access to a U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development system containing confidential personal information about hundreds of thousands of alleged victims of housing discrimination, including victims of domestic violence.

Access to the system, called the HUD Enforcement Management System, or HEMS, is typically strictly limited because it contains medical records, financial files, documents that may list Social Security numbers and other private information. DOGE sought access, and HUD granted it last week, according to information reviewed by ProPublica and two officials familiar with the matter.

This is just the latest collection of sensitive personal information that DOGE has tried to access in recent weeks. It has also sought personal taxpayer data kept by the IRS and information on Social Security benefit recipients, and it attempted to enter the Treasury Department’s payment systems. DOGE’s stated mission is to modernize government technology and cut excessive or improper spending. The administration of President Donald Trump has argued that DOGE needs “direct access” to such systems to eliminate “waste, fraud and abuse.”

DOGE’s data-gathering moves at some agencies have sparked forceful pushback, including lawsuits over alleged privacy violations and opposition from career officials who have resigned or retired following access requests. Judges have temporarily blocked DOGE from gaining access to records at the Department of Education, the Office of Personnel Management and the Treasury Department. And, faced with resistance, DOGE agreed to view only anonymized taxpayer data at the IRS.

Few records in the HUD system are redacted or anonymized, and many contain deeply personal material about those who have alleged or been accused of housing discrimination. Domestic violence case files can list addresses to which survivors have relocated for their safety. Harassment cases can include detailed descriptions of sexual assaults. Disability cases can include detailed medical records. Lending discrimination files could feature credit reports and bank statements. The names of witnesses who offered information — in some cases anonymously — about landlords accused of discrimination are among the files as well.

HUD enforces numerous civil rights laws, including the Fair Housing Act and aspects of the Violence Against Women Act and the Americans With Disabilities Act. Such statutes collectively prohibit housing discrimination on the basis of race, sex, national origin, disability and other characteristics.

HUD officials, who spoke on the condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation, voiced concern that DOGE’s access to HEMS could violate the privacy rights of discrimination victims and potentially put them at risk if their information is mishandled or leaked.

The episode is one of many roiling HUD, where the Trump administration is reportedly considering a 50% cut to the nearly 10,000-person workforce. The Office of Fair Housing and Equal Opportunity, which combats housing discrimination, may see its roughly 500-person staff cut by as much as 76%, according to an unconfirmed projection circulating widely among HUD employees and viewed by ProPublica.

Civil liberties advocates expressed alarm about DOGE’s access to the HUD data, saying it may violate the Privacy Act. “It’s difficult to see why a system dedicated to civil rights complaints would have any impact whatsoever on a department looking for inefficiencies in governmental spending,” said Cody Venzke, senior policy counsel at the American Civil Liberties Union.

Venzke suggested DOGE may use HEMS data as a basis for scaling back housing discrimination enforcement. “There is deep concern that DOGE is not there to identify government inefficiencies, but rather to shutter programs that the administration disagrees with,” he said.

John Davisson, director of litigation at the Electronic Privacy Information Center, which is suing DOGE and other federal agencies and officials over DOGE’s access, contended that the department had gained access to HEMS and systems like it “under the false pretenses of identifying fraud and abuse, when what’s really going on is DOGE is trying to gain control over these databases to direct the activities of federal agencies.”

Spokespeople for HUD, the White House and DOGE did not respond to requests for comment (including a question to DOGE about what it plans to do with HEMS). After this article was published, Kasey Lovett, HUD’s head of public affairs, emailed ProPublica and stated, “to be clear, DOGE does not have access to HEMS.” Lovett declined to provide on-the-record evidence for her assertion.

HUD’s Fair Housing office receives tens of thousands of housing discrimination allegations or inquiries annually and investigates — or assigns to state or local agencies — around 8,000 of them each year. Those investigations can last months or years and lead to financial settlements, compliance monitoring and policy reforms by landlords, mortgage lenders, local zoning officials and homeowners associations.

Access to HEMS is usually limited to Fair Housing staffers, HUD attorneys and auditors, and state and local investigators. However, DOGE requested entry, and HUD granted read-only access last week to Michael Mirski, who has a HUD email address and whom officials at the housing agency have identified in internal discussions as being affiliated with DOGE. Mirski did not respond to a request for comment.

[saphronethaleph]

Hit and Fade

“Hmm…”

Ton Lee Sama looked through her electrobinoculars, focusing them in a little, then nodded to herself.

There was no mistaking it. That was a Star Destroyer, in high orbit over Cabarria, along with a pair of smaller escort ships.

There wasn’t any news on the HoloNet that suggested there was going to be a crackdown, or anything like that… which was fortunate… but Ton Lee wasn’t a Rebel, anyway.

She didn’t do that kind of thing.

Instead, she went back inside, then picked up a comm system.

Ton Lee didn’t take part in any forbidden activities. She just watched the sky, and told others what she could see.

“Someone please tell me the caff machine is fixed,” Commander Harkon requested, entering the bridge.

“It’s been fixed for two watches,” Lt. Dax informed him.

“Thank goodness,” Harkon muttered. “All right – I have the conn.”

“You have the conn, sir,” one of the other officers said.

“Now tell me if anything’s wrong,” Harkon added. “And someone get me some caff.”

A rating went to go and fetch the commander’s coffee, and the woman who’d been watch-standing before him shook her head.

“Nothing of any significance,” she replied. “We’re in medium orbit, same as before.”

“Good, good,” Harkon said, hands clasped behind his back, and looked out the window. “I see there’s a patrol out.”

“Of course, Sir,” the woman told him. “Regulations.”

“Quite,” Harkon agreed. “Quite.”

He accepted his cup of caff from the rating, nodding his thanks, and took a sip.

Then another.

“This actually tastes slightly better,” he said. “That or I’ve had so long without a caff machine that I didn’t realize quite how much I was missing it.”

That got a few desultory chuckles, and Harkon paced around the bridge for another minute or so, sipping his drink occasionally.

“Lieutenant,” he said, looking down at Dax. “Your assessment is tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Dax agreed. “I’m nervous.”

“As you should be, it’s an important moment,” the higher-ranked officer said. “But you’re quite competent enough to advance – you just need to make sure that the Captain sees that.”

Dax nodded, thinking about that, and the background murmur of operations of the ISD Galaxion flowed back and forth around them.

Then a raised voice cut the calm.

“Sir!” someone in the bridge pit said. “Enemy fighters!”

“Where?” Harkon demanded, practically dropping his half-empty cup as he looked around for clarification. The alert sirens began to wail, and one of the nearby displays flashed.

“Behind us!” the rating answered. “Patrol is vectoring-”

“What kind of fighters, I need data-”

“Prepare the ready squadron for launch-”

The quiet calm of an evening shift turned into focused cacophony, men and women struggling to do their jobs in a way that had suddenly become urgent, then Harkon saw two three-flights of X-wings slash past either side of the bridge. One of them was just finishing the job of picking apart a two-flight of TIE fighters from the combat space patrol, then they corkscrewed and turned towards another element of the patrol.

Defensive laser turrets began to open up, a few at a time as the systems came online from crews dashing through abbreviated start up sequences, and Harkon’s head swung back and forth as he tried to keep track of everything.

“Someone wake the captain!” he snapped. “Tell Outrage and Kismet to move in closer! We need their guns-”

The whole of the Galaxion shook, and electrical discharges snapped and crackled around the nearest consoles. One of them exploded, sending the rating operating it sprawling, and someone shouted for a corpsman.

Harkon tried to ignore it, but a moment later lights began to shut down and the defensive gunfire stopped.

“Report!” he shouted, spotting half a dozen Y-wings banking around with their turrets flaring – a single skilled TIE pilot trying to interfere with their bombing run, but ion cannon bolts disabled the fighter and a moment later an X-wing downed it in a shower of sparks.

“Ion bombs, sir!” Dax reported, from his post in the engineering section. “At least a dozen, we don’t have the exact numbers – the reactor’s gone into shutdown, I don’t know when we’ll get it restarted!”

Half a dozen other conversations were going on, shouted reports about what little information they had with the whole of the Galaxion running on emergency power only, and Harkon winced as an X-wing flew right past the bridge.

“Lieutenant Dax,” he said. “Personal comlinks should still work – get me a report from engineering!”

“Yes, sir!” Dax replied, then listened to a comlink for a moment.

Harkon made himself wait, looking out the armoured bridge windows as he watched the fighting. One of the X-wing flights seemed to be focused on the hull guns of the Galaxion, clearing away turrets while they were unpowered and the shields were down, but the Y-wings were going for their escorting Acclamators – and there were X-wings following them.

How had they… the strike must have been made with some kind of interim rendezvous. With current enough data you could jump in close to a target point…

“Sir!” Dax called, getting his attention. “Commander Keres in engineering says he’s going to try a hot restart. If he can catch it before it’s fully cold then we’ll have power in less than two minutes – otherwise it’ll show him where the damage is!”

“Tell him to be as quick as possible,” Harkon said, then there was a crackle from his own comlink.

He snatched it up to his ear. “Bridge here.”

“Bridge, this is the flight deck,” Commander Perrin reported. “We’re trying to get our fighters in space, there’s problems with the handling gear and the armoured hatch is locked in place. Permission to deal with that problem?”

Harkon froze, thinking hard.

The flight deck hatch was armoured for a reason.

“Can’t you launch through the landing bay?” he asked.

“Transfer from landing to launch and vice versa is by an automated system, and I’m using all the emergency power I have to start up TIE engines!” Perrin said. “Do you want fighters in space ASAP or not?”

“Be ready for it, but don’t do it just yet,” Harkon said. “Reactor restart is going to be attempted-”

The Galaxion shook slightly.

“Engine flare and shutdown!” Dax called. “Commander Keres says there’s serious ion scarring on the control lines – we won’t get the main reactor back until that’s sorted!”

Harkon winced.

“Do it, Perrin,” he said.

“That’s all I needed, bridge,” Perrin replied, then the line went dead.

Scowling, Harkon looked out the window again, seeing laser blasts and explosions going on around the Outrage. Several TIEs exploded as he watched, shield scatter blazing off the Rebel fighters, then at least one shielded Rebel snubfighter went down as well – but a moment later there was a much brighter explosion, as Outrage exploded from a sequenced barrage of at least a dozen torpedoes.

At least it looked like Kismet was cycling her hangar launches quickly, as there was now a second flight of TIEs coming out of the hangar. That was probably it for how many fighters he was going to get.

“TIEs launched!” someone called, then their tone changed. “Enemy space patrol around the ventral side of the ship – they’re being shot down as they come out!”

“What in blazes is going on?” Captain Jered demanded, striding onto the bridge.

Harkon turned, ready to answer, then someone shouted.

“TORPEDOES-”

The whole of the Galaxion heaved upwards, like she’d just been hit by an asteroid, and everyone on the bridge who wasn’t already seated ended up sprawling.

“Report!” Captain Jered said, picking himself up from the floor. “Torpedoes where?”

“Ventral side, X-wings,” someone said, sounding shaken. “I don’t have any reports from the flight deck…”

“Engineering reports serious damage to the spaceframe, sir,” Dax added. “I think…”

“Continue, lieutenant,” Harkon instructed him.

“I think their torpedoes blew the bomber magazine,” Dax said. “If that’s happened… the spaceframe is a wreck. Commander Keres says the frame shift has warped the reactor as well – he doesn’t think he can fire it up at all.”

The engineer swallowed, suddenly sounding very young. “Atmospheric integrity is compromised across most of the ship, the blast doors won’t seal.”

“Damn,” Jered said, very softly.

He was silent for perhaps ten seconds, watching out the window as the Rebel starfighters downed the last few TIEs in the battlespace. Kismet was gone, Harkon noticed – destroyed while he’d been focused elsewhere – and the Rebel starfighters recohered into three-flights and then squadrons, before vanishing in a flare of pseudovelocity as they jumped to hyperspace.

“There’s nothing for it,” he said. “Abandon ship. And make sure to preserve the data recorders… we’ll need them for the court-martial.”

[lets-try-some-writing]

In the Pretender AU, the "issues" that Pretender!Ratchet has for Bumblebee is maybe this jealousy between him and his relationship with Optimus?

Despite his apathetic attitude it's clear in familiarity Bumblebee has more of a bond with the Pretender Patriarch given their early time together and him being the first generation. Which makes Pretender!Ratchet jealous.

With maybe his jealousy eventually morphing into brief anger after Bumblebee had his voice modulator torn out by Megatron and Ratchet was unable to fix it.

Once again, making him look like a "failure" in the eyes of his Patriarch.

You got it spot on! Pretender Ratchet is SO jealous of Bumblebee and Optimus's connection and it drives him up the wall. Bumblebee is one of Optimus's direct offspring which he molded with purpose. Ratchet is a host born, a being intended to serve as an advisor. He must fulfill his design and that means that he is not granted nearly as much room for error as his fellow Pretender. Optimus needs useful advisors, and if Ratchet fails to be useful, there are other Doctors for the Pretender Patriarch to take instead.

Pretender Ratchet is VERY aware of how precarious his situation is. Optimus does care for all his creations, but he is above all else, logical when it comes to the usefulness of those around him. If one of his advisors becomes more trouble than they are worth, he is not opposed to taking the biological data of the advisor in question and creating natural born Pretenders from them instead. Would they have the memory and skill? No. But Optimus abhors waste.

Bumblebee losing his voice evened out the playing field a degree for Ratchet. But it also left Ratchet in incredibly hot water for a while. Failure to repair Optimus's eldest creation had the Prime prowling around threateningly for a while. Ratchet took that as his sign to self exile for a time to claw his way back into Optimus's good graces.

This is how he gained his combat prowess.

If he could not be as great a Doctor as his host, Pretender Ratchet was determined to prove his worth in other ways. There is a reason that Decepticons are now incredibly paranoid around rafters and high ceilings. The good doctor of the Autobots may be lurking nearby.

Megatron is both terrified of and holds a unique hated for Pretender Ratchet. He holds a certain degree of pity for all of Optimus's creations since they did not ask to be formed the way they were. Ratchet is no different for him in this regard. But the hatred and fear stems from the simple fact that Ratchet, in his exile, managed to slaughter his way to one of the largest Decepticon encampments in Tarn. It was his slaughter that led to Damus being infected alongside dozens of other far less fortunate sparks.

Megatron only met Pretender Ratchet once on the field, and he received one of many facial scars from the Pretender before he managed to tear off several of the Doctor's additional limbs. Ratchet dragged himself away unable to serve as a solider any longer. But he got what he wanted. Optimus allowed him to return in light of his offerings and Ratchet has since become incredibly cunning to the point of sabotaging other host born if they threaten his position.

Brutal and desperate to remain useful, Pretender Ratchet is a force to be reckoned with.

[jadegretz]

In the neon-lit underbelly of a sprawling urban dystopia, shadows danced among the crumbling edifices, and whispers threaded through the alleys like smoke. Juri Han sauntered through this labyrinthine expanse, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint, as though the night held secrets solely for her to uncover. Her reputation preceded her, a fearsome fighter known for her unyielding spirit and the jagged thrill of chaos that seemed to pulse in her very veins. An outcast, a gladiator of the dark, the city was her playground, and she thrived in its squalor.

Tonight bore an unusual tension, a whisper of uncertainty brushing against her skin like a breath on cold glass. She drew nearer to a makeshift arena that had surfaced in the rumors of discarded data. There was word of a cyborg fighter—a creation of a twisted experiment gone awry—whose lust for battle rivaled even her own. Enhanced with an intricate network of cybernetic impants, the fighter was said to possess speed that blurred the boundaries of reality and strength that could crumble concrete. Curiosity, alongside a sense of danger, lured Juri closer, igniting the flickering flame of her bloodlust.

The arena lay beneath a dilapidated overpass, encircled by an audience eager for carnage. They gathered like ravenous vultures, their eyes bright with anticipation, each breath quickening at the thought of violence unfolding. A screen flickered to life, and there it was—the cyborg. Tall, angular, its metallic frame glinted dully beneath the flickering lights, eyes pulsing ominously with a crimson glow. It emitted a low hum, a sound that vibrated the very ground beneath Juri’s feet. The creature twitched involuntarily, evidence of the technology forced upon it, the melding of flesh and machine.

Adrenaline surged within her as she approached the battleground, an electric thrill igniting her senses. “What’s the matter? Is this all they could muster?” she taunted, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. With a sardonic smile, she slipped into her fighting stance, eyes focused like a hawk on its prey. The cyborg's mechanical joints creaked as it turned towards her, the challenge flickering like a tangible spark in the dense air around them.

A bell tolled. The crowd erupted, a chorus of cheers and shrieks, drowning in absolute chaos. In that instant, the cyborg lunged forward, a blur of chrome and menace, propelled by servos whirring in uncanny harmony. Juri barely evaded the strike, her instincts instantaneous. The punch tore through the air where she had just stood, inches becoming an eternity.

Grinning, she replied with alacrity, her leg sweeping low in an arc meant to trip her metallic adversary. But the cyborg countered with fluidity, its enhanced reflexes matching her every move. They danced a chaotic ballet of strikes and evasions, a clash of limbs that echoed in the hollow expanse, resonating with the crowd’s ecstatic roars. Juri felt exhilaration electrify her veins; each exchanged blow intensified the flames of competition within her.

Yet beneath the surface, unease rippled. This cyborg was not merely a fighter; it was a highly calculated machine, its mind an intricate algorithm designed to process movement and intent in real-time. As they circled one another, Juri caught glimpses of something beyond the machinery, a flicker of human desperation tethered within the cyborg's mechanical core. The glint of its crimson eyes flickered with something unsettling—a memory perhaps, a whisper of a lost identity. A realization washed over her, unleashing an inkling of empathy even within her chaotic heart.

Dismissing the thought like a discarded piece of trash, Juri pressed on, unleashing a series of rapid kicks, aiming to break the cyborg’s defenses. The combat escalated, turning rhythmic, a frenetic dance of life and death. Their movements cast shadows among the flickering strobe lights, painting grotesque stories on the concrete canvas below. With every powerful strike, sparks flew, creating a visceral choreography of brutality, the scent of sweat and metal hanging thick in the humid air.

Amidst the clamor, a sinister energy began to coil in Juri’s gut, warning her of something lurking beneath the surface—a darkness that gestated in the shadows. It was fleeting, but in its wake, whispers began to curl through the crowd. Faces lit by the glow of screens began to contort in fear as the atmosphere shifted. Murmurs rippled like a tide of unease, an unnameable horror creeping over the audienc …(more at https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)