#scifi plot

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 20

In a bustling city where the rhythm of life played out in neon lights and busy streets, there existed a haven known only to those who stumbled upon it. Hidden amidst the concrete jungle, it was a place where the energy pulsated with an intensity that could only be described as illicitly good.

As the sun dipped below the skyline, casting an orange hue over the city, a door beckoned to the curious. Behind it lay an underground club, a realm of euphoria where laughter and beats intertwined seamlessly. The atmosphere inside was a magnetic force, drawing in people from all walks of life who sought refuge from the monotony of the everyday.

The music, a fusion of genres that defied categorization, was a siren's call, luring in those hungry for an escape. The dance floor was a canvas of movement, bodies swaying with the intoxicating melodies. No judgments lingered in the air; it was a space where the weight of the world seemed to lift, and joy became the only currency.

Amidst the crowd, souls converged, connected by the shared desire to immerse themselves in this forbidden bliss. A group of friends found themselves at the heart of the revelry, strangers becoming allies in the pursuit of this elusive utopia. Conversations flowed effortlessly, tales of mundane existence left at the entrance.

The ambiance was heightened by the subtle glow of hidden lights, casting shadows that whispered tales of liberation and unity. Each moment felt like a stolen fragment of time, an indulgence in the sheer pleasure of existence. It was as if the very essence of joy had materialized and taken residence in this sanctuary.

As the night progressed, an unspoken understanding permeated the air - a collective agreement to keep this affair a well-guarded secret. The patrons, bound by an oath, departed at dawn, carrying with them the residue of an experience that defied the constraints of legality.

And so, the haven persisted, an oasis of euphoria in a world that often forgot the power of joy. In the heart of the city, where conformity reigned supreme, this hidden gem thrived.

[super-ion]

I saw that post about that one kind of barnacle that forcefemmes crabs and it may have planted a plot bunny in my head.

Human ship responds to distress call from alien ship. It's critically damaged and the crew is mostly dead. Human MC gets exposed to parasite, but their ship lacks a medical suite capable of extracting it safely and since it is technically sapient they can't legally remove it

MC has to cope as "his" body starts changing and he starts hallucinating an avatar of the very apologetic parasite

[portalmonsterrr]

Would you guys believe this is the second time I'm putting my otp in into a detroit AU, I just love it so much I'm going to change every aspect of it

also there will be a 4 page comic a bit later!!

[ethosiab]

[25] IM BACK. here is a messy team canada for beef day

The fundraiser for Gamer's Outreach is still ongoing! Don't forget to donate and get in on some of the incentives before it's too late :D

[sunlit-mess]

MURDER DRONES SPOTTED

IM GIGGLING AHAHAHAAH

[whumplicity]

The Memory Circuit [II]

The Customer Is Always Wrong

Masterpost | Previous | Next

⎉: @chaotic-orphan Let me know if you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist!

CW: sex work, intoxication, dissociation, emotional numbness, implied exploitation.

Line dividers by @sister-lucifer!!!!

The city thrums with restless energy. Rain glides off glass and metal, pooling in the cracks of neglected streets. Overhead, neon burns in artificial constellations, flickering with the air, carrying the scent of ozone, of damp pavement, of banks and smog.

Bok moves through it all, drifting and drowning.

He is warm with liquor, a heat that coils in his gut and dulls the static fuzz at the edges of his mind. The club had been suffocating—smoke and sweat, bodies pressed close, hands lingering too long. But out here, beneath the buzzing glow of a malfunctioning streetlamp, it is cold. Cold enough to bite through the feigned haze of his intoxication.

A cigarette dangles between his fingers, its ember flaring as he takes a slow drag. Smoke unfurls from his lips, curling into the damp night air.

A voice reaches him, smooth, expectantly. “Looking for company?”

Bok glances up through strands of damp blonde hair, eyes lidded and unfocused. The man before him is tall, well-dressed, an air of shrewdness about him.

He doesn't answer. Not immediately. He sways slightly, the world tilting at an odd angle.

The man chuckles, pulling out a slim card between two fingers. “I’ll make it easy.”

A number. More than most.

Bok blinks slowly, then takes it.

¶¶¶¶

Bok falters after the figure, credits heavy in his pocket, though his body feels lighter than ever. The neon haze outside the bar stains his skin in shifting colours: red, blue, green.

The stranger leads him through a narrow corridor, past flickering signs and the hum of electrified advertisements. Their breath fogs together in the cool night air. Bok doesn’t ask where they’re going.

Inside the chartered room, the lights are dim, and the bed is clean. The stranger—tall, dark-eyed—shrugs off his coat. Bok sways, catching himself against the wall, blinking at his own reflection in a cracked mirror. He looks different here, distorted, his hair a mess of damp strands, lips parted.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” the man murmurs, stepping closer. A hand grazes Bok’s jaw, tilting his chin up. His pupils contract automatically at the proximity. The stranger’s grip is firm, assessing. “You’re more pleasing than I expected.”

Bok exhales a soft laugh, tilting his head to expose more skin. “I know.”

It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Just the press of hands, the exchange of money, the contract that follows.

¶¶¶¶

Hal Hawkins sits in a cold metal chair, wrists bound, the sting of the restraints biting into his skin every time he moves. Across from him, Agent Ricky watches, expression unreadable, hands clasped on the steel table between them.

The room is sterile, suffocating in its stillness. The kind of place where time distorts, where confessions are extracted like rotting teeth.

“I am going to ask this once more, Hawkins.” Ricky’s voice is calm, deliberate. “Did your charge exhibit these characteristics?”

A flick of fingers. A projection hums to life, casting eerie blue light against the dull walls.

Photographs, sketches. Rows of servants, their smooth heads imprinted with the signature navy star, and a smaller star at their commissure; their bodies identical in stance.

Hal grits his teeth. “No, because I didn’t fucking know—”

Ricky barely reacts. He studies Hal as if dissecting something small and predictable. “And yet you harboured him. A freestyle automaton, even, of sorts. A security threat.”

Hal exhales sharply through his nose. “I harboured a person.”

Ricky tilts his head slightly. “Is that what you told yourself?”

Silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating.

Ricky leans forward, eyes narrowing. “You had relations with this servant, Hawkins.”

The words land like a blow. Hal stiffens, fists clenching against the cuffs. The motion tugs at the wound beneath his ribs—a sharp, lancing pain that flares outward.

He feels the slow dampness under his shirt. Every breath pulls at the stitches, raw and unhealed. The wound is still a weakness, a liability—a reminder of Bok, standing above him—eyes wide with something that might have been horror. Or grief. Or nothing at all. The memory presses against his ribs like a phantom limb.

Ricky notices.

A slow, knowing smile creeps onto his face. “No, he wasn’t. But you didn’t know that, did you?”

Hal says nothing.

Ricky watches him for a long moment, then stands, smoothing down his vest. The projection flickers, then vanishes.

The door slides open. A second officer enters, leans in to whisper something into Ricky’s ear. Hal can’t make out the words, but he catches the way Ricky's lips curl at the edges, the amusement in his eyes when he turns back.

“Your nomadroid is still active.”

Hal doesn’t move.

“We’ll find him,” Ricky says, voice light. “And when we do, he’ll be dismantled. Piece by piece.”

Hal’s nails dig into his palms. The restraints bite into his wrists, the sharp sting cutting through the dull ache in his side.

Ricky leans in, voice dropping. “For your sake, Hawkins, you better hope he doesn’t remember you.”

¶¶¶¶

Bok wakes in a bed that isn’t his. The room is dim, quiet save for the distant hum of city life beyond the window.

The stranger is gone. The money remains.

Bok exhales, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if to scrub something away. His fingers linger against his temples, then drop. He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, feet meeting the cold floor.

The air smells of cologne and sweat. He stretches, listening to the hum of the city outside. His fingers ghost over his skin, over the places where hands had been, and he wonders if Hal would have looked at him differently if he knew.

Hal.

His chest tightens. He pushes the thought away.

There is work to do. There are more nights to survive.

Bok lights another cigarette. Inhales. Holds it. Lets the smoke pool in his lungs before exhaling slow, watching it coil toward the ceiling.

There is work to do. There are more nights to survive.

Masterpost | Previous | Next

[andreai04]

"But I think you're emotionally compromised right now."

That was... that was so completely not true. Stupid humans. Sure, I'd had an emotional breakdown with the whole evisceration thing, but I was fine now, despite the drop in performance reliability. Absolutely fine. And I had to kill the rest of the Targets in the extremely painful ways I'd been visualizing…. I said, "I am not. You're emotionally compromised."

(I know, but at the time it seemed like a relevant comeback.)

This was incredibly weird and awkward. "I don't want to not see you again."

She took a moment to sort out my verbs. "I don't want to not see you again, either."

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Riot Kings, page 196

first // prev // next

[monkiinart]

double dog dare you to draw brad dourif in his outfit and hairstyle from dune '84

you almost make it sound as something i wouldnt like to draw but how can i say no to those brows

[dredgen-dumbass]

If there's anything that star trek has taught me it's that doing something like making the excuse for a shirtless character be "the entire fucking ship's AC isn't working" isn't actually that out there in terms of scifi. I didn't make up a virus that gives them the inexplicable urge to strip, lmao. I'm being reasonable.

[mwagneto]

HAAANK DON'T GET MAD AT SCIFI FOR NOT MAKING SENSE HAAAAANK !!! IT'S A METAPHOR FOR REAL LIFE THAT'S MEANT TO MAKE YOU ASK QUESTIONS HANK YOU DON'T NECESSARILY HAVE TO UNDERSTAND THE EXACT MECHANICS!!!! HAAAANK

[kabr0ztrousers]

Can I see the chitnids taken down a notch and the two humans from Disciplinary Action escape? I wanna see the reader and that guy get a happy ending in more ways than one 😘

Kabr0z Writes episode 65: Escape Attempt

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: oral sex; drugs mentioned; slavery mentioned; pregnancy; space flight; suffocation mentioned;

A/N: Well, I have a feeling this is going to be another one of those stories that instead of being straight porn winds up being a completely different genre before the plot, the timeframe, and the demands of the format start grinding against one another and people start to fuck.

Ah, well, let's watch two people escape from some aliens then fuck each other's brains out.

########################################

You touched the module, buried in the flesh at the base of your skull. Your master didn't activate it often, preferring to use the threat of it to force your compliance rather than actually reducing you to a heap of inert limbs and drooling flesh. It was a gilded cage in which you lived, but the bars held you even if they weren't visible. At least you had company.

"How are you, sweetheart?" Zane looked over to you. The scars on his skin never really faded from his previous owner's attentions, but his clothes were at least more pleasant for him now. Leather straps and gag replaced with flowing silks and bracelets. You'd started calling each other pet names almost exclusively, your owner read a few schlocky romance novels when he bought Zane and took them as though they were textbooks. He knew how humans fucked though, and made sure you did at least three or four times a week, dosing you both with the Chitinid aphrodisiac drugs and turning you loose on one another to rut until they wore off.

"I'm fine," you lied "Just need to get out of here" You weren't fine. Your period was late. Hell, it was AWOL last month, and you definitely should be feeling the start of this month's by now. There's no doubt, you were carrying Zane's child

He sighed "I know. Me too. Not that I don't like spending time together, I could've been in for much worse, but the thought of having a family for that... That bug."

You stroked his arm, cuddling into the crook of his neck. You held one another close, feeling each other's skin.

He looked at you "I have a plan. It's a bad one, and it's super risky, but it's a plan."

"Go on"

He nodded "We're headed to a jump gate. Thing is, this one comes out outside of Chitinid space. With any luck, we'll be able to drop an escape pod mid-flight, come out before the mothership and claim political asylum"

He wasn't kidding, that was an awful plan. If you failed... Well, best case scenario if you failed was the collar. Worst case would probably also involve the collar, come to think of it.

"I'm in. What's the play?"

Zane explained his plan. It was remarkably simple but relied on some assumptions. Firstly, it assumed this ship worked like his old master's. On that one, when it was in Witchspace it lost most of its peripheral systems as processing power diverted to navigation. Secondly, it assumed the collar modules in both of your spines would be considered peripheral systems, or at least low enough priority to take offline. Thirdly, that the idea of political asylum existed outside Earth history books.

Finally, and this is the kicker, it relied on an escape pod jettisoned at superluminal velocity into Witchspace both not immediately shredding into stardust and actually winding up in the vicinity of where you hoped to be.

"That's damn risky, Zane" Skeptical wasn't the word

He grinned, "What's the other option? That baby you're trying to hide not knowing a single day of freedom?" He smiled at you, taking your hand "I know enough, you haven't used any pads for almost two months."

You couldn't argue with that. You started to plan.

Step 1 was to wait, and watch. The PA system was punctual, as ever, so you knew exactly when the jump would be upon you. The trick was making sure you could find a pod bay where a janitor wouldn't be there. Thankfully, there's only two. One spilled glass of wine and a bug with a mop will be there.

Two minutes to the gate. The portside pods were unguarded. You waited together there, the wave of sickness coming over both of you at once as you entered Witchspace, normalising back down as causality fields erected within the hull of the ship.

Now's the time.

Zane grabbed the hatch wheel of a pod and turned heartily.

You waited for the collar.

It didn't happen. Your limbs remained yours, even as the pod door swung open. You climbed in with Zane, the close confines designed for the short Chitinid frame squeezing you close to one another.

The hatch swung closed, you looked at each other. You hit the button.

Acceleration. The pod hurtled on rails. G-force gave way to weightlessness. The pod left the causality field. You gained speed, the ship lagging behind you.

It's working.

No causality field means you travel faster, but your computer doesn't work, nor does anything it controls. Both of you held your breath. Pods don't hold much air, and with no computer the circulation wasn't running.

The pod was still accelerating. The ship lagged behind as you reached dizzying speed. The pod stretched across the altered spacetime, elongating as it sped up faster at the front than the back.

You hit the opposing gate like a train hitting a hill. Space crumpled and you slammed into yourself as regular spacetime causality reasserted itself. The computer bleeped to life, fresh air replacing stale as you hammered the SOS call button.

A ship answered your hail, a grey bulbous-headed alien on the screen, looking for all the world like a stereotypical Roswell martian. The alien spoke

"Greetings, you look like humans, is that correct?"

You stared, open-mouthed. The alien repeated itself, you assume in Spanish, before Zane spoke

"Humans! Yes! We request political asylum from the Chitinids!"

"Acknowledged, Chitinid vessel is expected in 90 Terran minutes, we'll have a dropship to you in 60. Welcome to the Vezzik Star League"

You'd made it.

You'd actually fucking made it!

You kissed Zane, holding his face to yours as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Wanna celebrate?"

"We've got time"

The silks did nothing to cover either of you. His cock was already starting to stand to attention as you grabbed it, jerking it as he stuck a pair of fingers between your thighs to stroke your moistening folds. You hit the gravity control, you started to float up as you repositioned, his head between your thighs and yours between his.

You licked and sucked on each other, your tongue teasing the end of his cock as he sucked your clit, fingers pressing into you as you rolled his balls in your hand. Your moans and grunts mingled, filling the capsule with the sounds of your pleasure.

His hands gripped your waist as he rotated you, swinging you around to put his cock at your entrance.

"Nice to do this sober for a change"

You gasped as he entered you, fingers still working your clit as his hips thrust again and again. You held your tits, still swollen and plump from the party when you met. Drops of milk leaked from you as you kneaded your soft flesh. Your orgasm rolled over you, gentle waves of sensation building as hos fingers worked over you, the delicious friction of his cock inside you adding to the feelings which overwhelmed your mind.

He pushed in harder, feeling your orgasm around him as he sprayed his seed at your already-occupied womb, the warmth filling you with a need to be held, to be loved by this man whom fate gave you, and who gave you your freedom in kind.

You stayed in each other's arms, the climate controlled pod keeping you safe and warm until the Vezzik ship scooped you up out of the blackness and into a hangar bay.

You're free at last

####################################

Yeah, I liked that one, but was it hot? I don't know.

As always, requests go to my ask box, there's only 3 definite "no" categories so if you're unsure if I'll write something please do ask, it'll probably be a yes

[ethosiab]

I’m. So normal about the team Canada au. So normal and definitely not about to combust. Really just the most normal a person could possibly be. Perfectly still and certainly not vibrating out of my skin. I am. Calm.

Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please say more I must know about the little dudes I will not survive the winter

i believe you . you're soooo normal.

i, however, am not. long rambles + art under the cut

plot-wise, the AU is predominantly centered around the two Ethos—the 'original', who works for the Script Foundation and donated his DNA to their clone research for a little extra cash, and 404, an escaped clone and one of the more successful results of said research. The Script Foundation is a scientific/medical corporation, among the many in the system looking for a cure to death. To get around their inability to experiment on human subjects, they developed the cloning program, to develop realistic human bodies without the consciousness that brings in ethical issues (spoiler alert this does not happen).

When 404 escapes, of course the Script Foundation wants them back. A bounty is put out for them, and the Etho's put on a team to help bring them back. Etho, Tango (ship mechanic, Etho's only friend), and Joel (bounty hunter, does not want to be here) spend their time hunting down 404, and running into many issues along the way.

On the other side of things, 404 spends only about 3 hours on the run before they run into Pause and Beef. There's a lot of weirdness here, 404 doesn't recognize Pause and Beef beyond a sense of deja vu, and Pause and Beef think 404 is Etho (who they have not seen in years and have presumed is dead). I'm writing a fic for this scene, actually. long story short team canada takes 404 in, and agree they can stay with them for a bit.

From this point on, there's a lot going on for both sides.

Etho's face is plastered all over the city, it's a pretty high bounty, and he probably gets mistaken for 404 multiple times before the information gets updated with a photo of 404 with the scar. Joel and Tango have to work together to rescue him after he gets captured by rival bounty hunters

404 gets beef and pause to call them that, because they don't want to be etho (and the confusion that would come from using that name is immense). they aren't etho. they're not entirely satisfied with going by their number designation though, but they've got nothing better

pause and beef continue to grapple with the fact that A: etho is not dead, B: the guy that looks like Etho, who is currently sleeping on their couch, is not actually Etho, and C: they're helping a wanted criminal

The two of them do briefly consider handing 404 over, with the logic that they shouldn't have any attachment to them since they're just a clone, not actually their friend. They can't bring themselves to, though.

404's scar is from a knife to the face- when they first met beef and pause, 404 had no idea who they were. they were scared, and intimidated, and those two were acting way too familiar with them. they attacked pause, and he retaliated. it just so happened that pause was armed, and trained how to fight, and 404 was...not.

luckily, 404 heals quickly. a cut to the face that should have taken minimum of a month to heal, and should have been fatal without medical attention, resolves itself in a few days. ...that's probably why the script foundation wants him back, huh.

Team canada are able to keep the knowledge that theyre harboring a fugitive on the downlow by being known bounty hunters- they've generally got good standing with people.

in fact, 404 just helps them with bounty hunting. They have the time of their life doing this shit. pause and beef love having them around too (it makes them wish Etho had agreed to join them doing this, all those years ago).

team canada are having a lighthearted and fun time, things go wrong but they escape trouble and everything ends alright. that's their vibe.

for etho though, everything keeps going wrong it's almost comical. everytime they've got a lead and almost catch 404, something gets in the way. in my head this au really is just a space opera anime in a similar vein to cowboy bebop, so etho and the gang are like the very unlucky villains.

tango and joel are constantly bickering. a big point of contention between them is that joel wants to fly the ship, because this is his mission and he was hired to do this, but Tango won't let him because its his ship and he's not going to let some bounty hunter drive it. Etho is so tired.

404 does not wear a facemask like etho. in fact its just a generally stressful time for etho to have his face well known everywhere. he doesn't like people seeing his face, and while mostly its an anxiety thing during social interaction, after so long of keeping it private, its really unsettling having to see it everywhere.

Joel's mostly in it for the money to pay off his debt, Tango's there because he's worried about Etho, and Etho's doing it because he thinks he has to. He hasn't really had a life seperate from the Script Foundation in years, it's all he knows. for him, this is about finding out what he's being made to do it fucked up, and the choice to do something about it.

It's about seeing this happier and more free version of himself, and choosing to help them instead of feeling the resentment he wants to. (Look at this person who is meant to be you. they are experiencing the joy you never got with the people you turned your back on. you realise you've never gotten that, you've been hiding from yourself for your entire life because you've been scared of upsetting the quota. you've been settling for mediocrity when you could've had so much more. Are you going to allow them that?)

also 404 might figure out theyre trans so that's a really fun thing for etho to find out about himself through his clone.

yeah i think the genres here are very different depending on whether you're looking at it from 404 or from Etho's pov lmao

and this isn't even getting into the shit about genetically enhanced humans, or cyborgs.

okay you've made it this far, have some sketches of the ethos as reward. these are from probably a mid point in the plot, i was playing with the idea of 404 being able to grow their hair our for a few months after escaping.

[lazycranberrydoodles]

portrait practice with SILO characters rahhhh (for each i tried to work from reference as much as i could and then switched to tracing so that they Looked Right.)

[unknown-lifeformthatdraws]

@possibly-eli hey here's the pink chunk of something you ordered ya want fries with it?

Also Marilyn! I need to draw her relaxed (ish) more often she- hey how'd that get here?

(Image Description and Taglist under the cut)

[ID: Three traditional drawings, all in black and white except for part of the first image. The first image shows two containers sitting on a table. One is a small, simple bottle. The other is a larger glass container holding a pink chunk of flesh floating in a green preservative substance. The flesh container is the only colored part of the image. Around it dialogue reads:

Lydia: Do I wanna know what that is?

Marilyn: No.

Lydia: Okay then.

The second image is of Marilyn holding a clipboard. She is a young woman with long dark hair and a white streak in the front. She has round glasses, an artificial left eye and a scar running down the left side of her face. Her right arm was amputated at the elbow and she wears a cover over the stump. The third image is of Marilyn and Lydia kissing aggressively. Marilyn is in a lab coat with her glasses resting on her head. Lydia has dark skin, long curly black hair, a pale t-shirt and overalls with a utility belt. Marilyn is dipping Lydia slightly as one hand runs through Lydia's hair. Lydia is gripping Marilyn's arm with one hand and holding the back of her head with the other. End ID.]

@abluehappyface @the-cinnamon-snail @pinelohearts @katherann227

@meltedfuckingmarshmallow @clockmuse

[tadc-harlequin-au]

So, this may sound dumb, but what is the premise behind this AU? I’m obsessed with your redesigns, but I’m confused on what it all means :’D

Pomni fights bosses.

Pomni gets killed.

Pomni gets brought back to life by Caine,

Pomni fights bosses.

Repeat until successful.

Okay all jokes aside, If you're talking about the overarching plot of Harlequin AU, it's about Pomni, a Combat Harlequin Puppet who's taken it up to herself to destroy the physical shells of the overburdened Puppets who are scattered all over the City, so that they may get some momentary peace and regain their lost sanity, and humanity. Caine builds them a newer Puppet body after that, and then the process of rehabilitation begins.

Some bosses become allies, some are still too dangerous to be brought back and need more time, but some unfortunate ones can be lost forever.

Something I never explained fully is the fact that these "Puppets", are manufactured robots, powered by the souls of "volunteers" (more on that later), and they were tasked with helping humanity's workload. Unfortunately, in true human nature, something went wrong down the lines and now, the "City of Circuits" is in near shambles.

Pomni is given the locations of each Puppets and sent out to missions by Caine, who dubs himself as the "Puppetmaster", and had never really had the chance to start this project until Pomni came along and insisted she fights for this cause, because this project was never a one-man job.

However... Pomni soon realizes that there may be more to her story than just being a machine brought to life to fight, and that the Puppetmaster she's known for years as her friend may be holding some secrets behind her back, too.