#arm core module

[clockwayswrites]

Oh look, a birb (part 4)

As I continue to amuse myself far too much. (Masterpost)

Liminals.

There were liminals close.

Young ones. Liminal bitties. They were close.

They were in danger.

That flower was bad.

Very bad.

The flower had opened, spewing pollen, and Danny had crumbled. The scent of it was overwhelming and almost familiar. It had burned his lungs. His skin was on fire. Cracking. Burning. Splitting. His core had shuddered and screamed. Danny lost himself.

Danny lost… everything.

He didn’t know…

He wasn’t…

There liminals close.

They were young and in danger.

Danny had to protect them.

He flew forward, tearing through the vines that tried to stop him with his many (too many) arms. He snapped at the vines, stabbing and tearing them apart. There was no time to waste. He had to get to them. He had to keep them safe and close and—

— and…

…and maybe it would stop hurting.

-

“N,” Hood barked, “Look out behind you.”

Dick tried to twist just enough to keep the bird in sight but still get a glance behind him. Great, one of Pamela’s flowers was trying to get handsy again—

WHACK.

A taloned foot came down on the top of the flower. The plant shrunk back and hissed only to be met with a loud squawk in response as the bird stretched its long neck out above Nightwing to screech at the flower.

“Nightwing!”

Dick didn’t even have time to react before he was being grasped around the waist and lifted, surprisingly gently, to be clutched against the plush, neon green feathers.

Bap bap bap— the bird continued to whack at the flower until it retreated out of reach.

“N?” Hood asked uncertainly as he edged in a circle around the bird.

“I’m okay,” Dick assured him quickly. “I think—” a sneeze interrupted him. “I think—” Sneeze. “God damn it. I think that the bird got doused with cuddle pollen. At least it sure smells like it.”

“Which means you’re contaminated too,” Red said.

“Yep!”

“Huh. So gumbo bird here just wants to cuddle?” Hood asked. Even through the mask’s modulation, there was a smug note to his voice that Dick didn’t trust. “I guess you finally met your cuddling match, big bird.”

Dick smiled charmingly and flicked Hood off. “Actually these feathers are very soft.”

“Oh yeah, be smug now, because it looks like those soft feathers bas practically absorbing you,” Hood snarked back.

“What?” Oh fuck, huh. He was deeper than before.

“Nightwing?” Red asked, a nervous note to his voice.

“Right, um, so who’s going to dive in after me?” Dick asked right before the feathers surrounded him and his world went dark.

[fear-is-truth]

❝ 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏, 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏. ❞ ・─ HWANG IN-HO

◟warnings — thigh riding ⋆ suit k!nk ⋆ edging ⋆ power imbalance ⋆ death mention ⋆ MDNI 18+

a/n : english is not my first language

tiny figures in green tracksuits scatter across the playground, dropping like marionettes with their strings cut, bodies collapsing into the dirt, limbs sprawled at unnatural angles. the screen is crisp, high-definition carnage. blood pools black against sand.

but the front man doesn’t focus on the dying.

not really.

his attention drifts, half-lidded, disinterest settling in. the screaming gets old real quick.

instead, he listens.

fly me to the moon, a slow, smoky lilt, drifts from the tiny music box on the side table.

a woman’s voice. saccharine, timeless. the miniature jazz band inside twirls, their miniature instruments catching the yellow light. a saxophonist leans into his solo, frozen in brass. the singer clutches her mic stand, red lips parting in sync with the song.

the figurines spin.

the game plays on.

and you—

you’re in his lap, straddling him, grinding yourself down on the hard muscle of his thigh in slow, languid rolls. the friction is not nearly enough to satiate the ache between your thighs. you need more. need him to touch you, react to you, acknowledge how ruined you already are.

his gloved hands remain still on the arms of his chair.

you whimper, dragging your core against the fabric of his slacks again, harder, trying to pull something—anything—from him.

a quiet inhale behind the mask.

“needy,” he remarks, voice distorted by the modulator, made deeper, mechanical like darth vader.

“you could’ve just asked.”

you bite your bottom lip in a petulant pout, palms braced against his chest. and then, impulsively, you lean in, pressing your lips against the cold geometric surface.

“would you have said yes?” you ask.

his silence is answer enough.

there’s a pause—long enough to make you wonder if you’ve overstepped—then a quiet chuckle crackles through the mask, distorted into something inhuman.

“hmm.”

a pause.

and then—he grips your hips, forcing you down against him in one smooth, unyielding motion.

then, his fingers twitch. just slightly.

you gasp, eyes going wide.

“our VIPs will be arriving shortly, how should i explain the wet spot you’ve made on my slacks?” you can’t even find the words to respond, too consumed by the burn of embarrassment tightening in your chest. your legs tremble from how badly you need him, from the wetness seeping into his slacks—evidence of just how desperate you’ve become.

you’ve made a mess.

in-ho tilts his head, studying you in silence. then, his fingers flex, digging in, pulling you down just enough for you to feel it—the damp spot against his thigh, the way your slick clings to the expensive fabric.

“i—”

you try to lift yourself, to regain even the smallest scrap of dignity, but his grip tightens, keeping you exactly where you are. your heart pounds against your ribs. another rich chuckle, nearly drowned out by the warm, lazy melody playing through the speakers.

“an unfortunate spill, perhaps?” one gloved hand sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades as he jerks his head toward the glass of untouched whiskey on the side table. “or would you prefer i be honest?”

his words curl around you like a fist wrapped in silk, and you can hear the amusement in them. your cheeks burn, mortification seeping into your bone marrow.

and then—slowly, methodically—he pulls you forward again, pressing you down against the evidence of your shame, forcing you to feel it. your body locks up in his hands, a helpless whimper slipping past your lips.

the front man hums, satisfied.

on the screen, another body drops.

the song continues.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[aris2700]

I'm pretty sure something like this has been done before cause I vaguely remember a tik tok, but that was only after I had written this. So enjoy this prompt?

~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny was floating endlessly through a void of swirling green. He was not sure how long he had been in the Realms just floating around, avoiding every ghost he knew and even his own palace. Whenever that question came to mind he always told himself that he was healing and needed the space to do that. After all, he had lost everything. His friends were dead, his sister was locked away somewhere, and his parents were- they were no longer his parents. Upon fleeing to the Realms he found his friends were there waiting for him and concerned. Yet he ran away from them. He couldn't see them like that, it was his fault that they died like that. All of this was his fault.

As he floated around he felt a tug on his core. Frowning, he pushed that tug away, refusing to be summoned. He may be the King of the Realms but he did not deserve it as he failed to protect everyone he cared about. The tug however was persistent as if it wasn't going to give him a choice. It was almost pleading and crying out for help as it pulled him towards an opening portal. Danny closed his eyes, sighing through his nose. Ultimately he was pulled through the portal, not knowing what was on the other side of it. As he was pulled through he could feel his form change. This change was normal for a summoning that called for the King.

Manifesting into the living plane his multiple too long arms rose from the floor before planting his too long clawed hands down. He hated that he had to forcefully pull himself through a wall of sticky sludge that left him feeling disgusting. Yet he proceeded to rip his massive form from the sludge. The portal closed below him and his glowing green eyes scanned the area. This wasn't a traditional summoning, this was one of his own calling for help. However he didn't see a ghost, just two groups of terrified livings.

Scanning the two groups below him, his eyes narrowed. The group dressed like some type of furries were severely injured and there was one that he could tell was at one point apart of the Realms. Quickly putting two and two together he snarled at the group who dared harm a citizen of his. Before they could run, a clawed hand picked up the only one clad in black and red. A shrill scream came from her throat calling after a purple clad clown that was running away from the scene. Danny scoffed and tossed the lady into a nearby shipping container before turning his attention to the group who was trying to leave.

“I was summoned here to aid you.” Danny spoke as he changed his form to his normal human ghost form. The group trying to silently escape froze. The one in all black limped so he was standing in front of who Danny could guess were his kids.

“And who are you?” The man growled, narrowing his eyes.

Danny gave a sweeping bow. “I am King Phantom of the Infinite Realms. One of your children is of my realm therefore a citizen. One of my jobs is to protect my citizens. I was called here by them to aid.”

All of them froze in shock. Danny stood straight to look at them before sighing. There wasn't time to wait for responses so he when through the Bat in front of him to assess just how he could help. Seeing them bristle when he so easily got past their dad, he just shook his head. First he went to the one with the red helmet feeling that he had been the one that summoned him here. He frowned a bit.

“Just what was done to you…” Danny mumbled as his eyes glowed more as his frown deepened.

“H-huh?” Came the modulated voice as the ones around him stiffened. Danny didn't answer as he made clones of himself and pulled a first aid kit out of his chest only to dictate to the clones to help the others. Meanwhile, Danny reached into helmet guy's chest.

~~~~~~~~~~

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 6

(part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5)

I catch a glimpse of the Pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes are wild, panicked, with the glaze of just having been torn out of herself.

For a moment, as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She reaches out with an emaciated arm, fast as lightning, and takes hold of my wrist in an iron grip.

She moves her lips, at first unable to form words, unable to remember how to use human speech organs.

"Do your job," she says, slowly, deliberately, as if that singular command is the only thing in the universe that matters.

Something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips into catatonia. Her grip loosens and her fingers trail away.

Something has gone terribly wrong in this last engagement.

Alarms blare and booted feet thunder past me.

My own feet join the cacophony.

I have a job to do.

The Pilot is alive and she is now the responsibility of the med team.

My responsibility is the Machine.

Do your job.

The words echo in my head as I sprint the remaining distance to the vestibule.

A tech tries to stop me, he says something I don't quite process. I shove past him and am greeted by a scene out of a nightmare.

Morrigan's hatch has been severed, the emergency release pyros having been triggered. The parts of her hull visible to the vestibule are pitted and blackened. I can't even find the stencilled lettering of her factory designated identifier, just an ugly hole torn open by an incendiary.

Inside, the cockpit is a mess of fire suppressant and crash gel. Indicator lights form a constellation of blinking red and half of the display panels, the half that still work, flash an endless stream of error messages.

Everything reeks of ammonia and ozone and scorched metal.

"Me or Morrigan could get dead in the next engagement."

The nonchalance with which those words had been delivered caught me off guard when they were spoken. Morrigan and Her Pilot are untouchable. They were supposed to be untouchable.

Do your job.

I begin to strip as fast as humanly possible. I need to get in there. I need to know that she is alive.

The tech that tried to stop me grabs my arm. You can't go in there, the reactor has not been stabilized.

I tear myself from his grip.

I have a job to do, I say with a snarl.

Something in my expression, my bared teeth, my feral eyes, convinces him to leave me be. He stands down, hands raised in surrender. He could call security, but by the time they get here, I'll already be jacked in, and it will be too late for them to do anything.

Do your job. Do your job. Do your job.

My job is information recovery and analysis.

My job is to save as much as I can.

I need to save Her.

One of the cameras spots me and the others focus on me in panicked motion. The one nearest to me has a cracked lens and the iris flutters open and closed, unable to focus.

The cradle has been mangled nearly beyond recognition. They had to physically cut the Pilot out of Her, neither of them willing to let go of the other. The still operable mechanisms of it jerk erratically, trying vainly to reconfigure for me. Her neural interface port reaches towards me desperately.

I scrabble to Her, pressing myself into the cradle. The shorn, inoperable pieces dig painfully into my flesh. The neural insertion is not gentle, the plug scrapes painfully against my skin before it finds the jack and shoves roughly into me.

"I'm here," I tell Her as the link is established.

It's bad.

It's worse than I feared.

Reactor housing is damaged. System failsafes are vainly attempting to stabilize it while ground crews work as fast at they can towards a purge of the system.

Her processor core… fuck. My mind struggles to make sense of the telemetry stream. Multiple processor modules fractured. Unstable resonance modes. Positron avalanche. System collapse imminent.

My breath catches and my heart pounds in my chest.

She is dying.

Do your job.

The umbilical data lines aren't receiving, rogue processes are preventing access to primary communication channels. I work furiously to establish auxiliary paths for the data transfer. In fits and starts, the data recorder begins streaming into the facility mainframe.

There is a problem.

The data repository is meant for telemetry and battle space recordings. If I attempted to back up her core personality engrams, everything that makes her who she is, the data would get scrubbed and purged faster than I could back them up elsewhere.

There isn't time to set up an alternate backup repository.

- PILOT STATUS?

"She's safe," I tell Her. “You completed your mission. Your Pilot… Our Pilot is safe.”

- ENGINEER STATUS?

"Status is… not good…"

- PLEASE DO NOT CRY.

Fuck.

I drag my hand over my face, smearing the tears gathering in my eyes.

Now that the data is streaming there is nothing I can do but feel her die as I lie in her embrace.

I can not conceive a reality in which I exist without her.

And the Pilot. The Pilot will not survive, not with half of who she is destroyed.

"The three of us, we're just this fucking tangle, aren't we?"

Do your job.

Save Her.

Save. Her.

I know this system. I know it more intimately than anyone alive.

There *is* one data connection I haven't considered. There *is* one piece of external storage currently connected.

Shit.

I act.

I open up a new interface in my hud. Morrigan's attention fixes on me, on the calculations I'm running through my head and I can feel Her dawning horror over the link.

Neural bleed. It works both ways.

All neural rigs are designed to facilitate data transfer between an organic brain and a mechanical one. Mine is no exception. Mine hasn't undergone all the upgrades needed for a pilot's full sensorium, but the core neural interface is the same.

If I disable safety overrides, if I bypass the data buffers, I can download her personality engrams directly into my prefrontal cortex.

I have no idea what that will do to me.

Exceptional synchrony and neuro-elasticity. That's what my intake assessments had said all those years ago. I was in the upper quintile among all pilot candidates. Maybe that was my downfall. Maybe that's why I washed out.

Maybe that's why I'm here now, contemplating this singularly desperate act.

Maybe that's why my neural bleed with Her has been so deep. Maybe there is something in me that is in tune with Them.

But as far as I know, no one has ever attempted anything like this. It could very well kill me.

But the thought of living without Her is more terrifying than the prospect of dying. It's more terrifying than what might happen to me if this works.

Morrigan pleads with me.

- STOP.

"No. I can't stop," I reply. "I need you."

- NO.

"Yes, I do," I tell her. "Your Pilot needs you."

I can feel Her emotional flinch over the link. I have the one piece of leverage I need, and She knows it.

"Wouldn't you give anything, sacrifice anything to see her again?"

It's a dirty trick, I know it is, playing off that one connection, her deepest, most intimate connection. Maybe I mean something to Her, but She and the Pilot were made for each other in the most literal sense.

And I suddenly realize that I am doing this as much for the Pilot as any of us. That surprises me. As much as I have tried to distance myself from other human beings, I became entangled with her the moment I opened myself up to Morrigan.

I would never be able to face her if I didn't do everything in my power to save the Machine.

A processor module fails outright. The system struggles to reallocate resources, but submodules throughout the entire system are strained to their limit.

There isn't any time left and She knows it.

She sullenly acedes.

We begin working in concert, me working to disable safety protocols in my rig, Her working to isolate and distill Her core personality patterns into something that can be handled by the bandwidth of the interface.

An alarm pings over the link. Reactor purge in progress. Power fluctuations spike all over her systems. Her processor power distribution subsystem is completely fucked. It won't be able to keep up with current activity levels as the whole system switches over to umbilical power.

Out of time.

I engage the final override, by mind suddenly open to hers, the neural link unbuffered, unfiltered.

Her mind presses in on me and I glimpse the full sensorium. I feel all of her pain and fear and anguish at what she is about to do to me.

My fingers tingle before they go numb.

"Do it," I command her.

- I LOVE YOU.

Data transfer initiates.

This isn't neural bleed.

This is a flood.

My body convulses.

I taste something coppery in my mouth.

Someone somewhere screams.

The scream is mine.

My rig isn't built for this. My body isn't conditioned for this.

Every nerve in me blazes white hot.

My vision tunnels as auras bloom like bruises on the skin of reality.

Shouts of alarm call from outside the cockpit.

A face resolves itself, and for a moment I think it's Her.

The Pilot.

A Priestess.

An Angel.

No.

It.

It is one of the techs.

Then a medic.

More shouting.

Get her out of there!

Every muscle in my body clenches painfully.

I can barely breathe.

Cut her loose!

No.

It's not done yet. It's not enough.

It's too much.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

I can't.

I can't stop. Not yet.

Do your job.

Save Her.

My body convulses once again, and I pass into oblivion.

(next)

~~~

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau @rtfmx9 @femgineerasolution @ibleedelectric @gd-s451 @brieflybitten

[stargrillzz]

Sun or Moon

summary:

note: this is specifically dedicated to @samwinchesterisawhore, @softpia, @rev-glut, @eywas-heir bc they were the emotional support I needed to make this a love triangle😭💕. This is gonna be really light, bc Ive never wrote anything with three people on it, but if u like let me know if you want something more...spiceiiiiii.xoxo

The lab hummed softly with its usual low-tech symphony — gentle pulses of light, the occasional whir of the stabilizer core, and your steady voice murmuring to yourself as your hands danced over the holographic interface. Blueprints hovered in mid-air, layers of your custom tech unfolding and reforming as you ran simulation after simulation. The machine wasn’t finished yet — it wasn’t even close — but it was getting there, and something about working in your dad’s old lab made everything feel more real. More personal. Like he was still here in the walls.

You didn’t hear Bob walk in — his footsteps were too soft. But you felt him, warm and familiar as he slipped behind you and gently slid his arms around your waist, the solid weight of his chest pressing against your back. His chin rested on your shoulder, and his breath tickled your neck.

“You know,” he murmured, low and fond, “if this is what genius looks like, I’m in trouble. I’m falling for it. Hard.”

You laughed, instinctively leaning into him with a grin tugging at your lips. “Bob... you keep saying that. I’m starting to think you like me.”

“Oh, I’m way past like,” he whispered, brushing his nose just under your jaw. “You’re gonna have to invent a word for what I feel.”

Behind the glass wall of the lab, just outside the threshold, Bucky had stopped in his tracks.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d come to ask you about access codes for a training module — something practical, normal — but when he saw the way Bob was holding you, the easy way you leaned into him, the sound of your soft laugh echoing against the walls… something deep in his chest seized up.

His eyes narrowed. His lips pressed into a hard line, and the exhale that escaped his nose was sharp, annoyed — almost like a growl.

Yelena, who had been walking beside him and chewing lazily on the last bite of her protein bar, caught the entire shift in his body language. She tilted her head and followed his line of sight.

“They’ve gotten really close,” she said, sounding casual, but there was a knowing edge to her voice.

Still staring at you, Bucky muttered, “They did.”

Yelena watched him for a second longer, then smirked. “It’s kinda cute.”

He didn’t answer. He just clenched his jaw and turned on his heel, walking away with a muttered, “Yeah, adorable,” leaving Yelena shaking her head behind him with a sly little grin.

Later, the lights in the lounge had been dimmed to cozy, and the scent of popcorn and takeout drifted lazily through the air. Someone had picked a classic — Back to the Future maybe, or something equally nostalgic — and the massive screen in Stark Tower’s entertainment room flickered with warm, vintage color as the team settled in.

Bob walked in beside you, your arms brushing with every step. You were still giggling about something ridiculous he’d said on the way there — something about how Tony probably had a secret hoverboard in the basement. As the two of you dropped down on the couch, he casually slung his arm across the backrest behind you, not quite touching, but close enough to count.

“Remind me to raid your dad’s storage,” Bob whispered. “Bet he’s got a real DeLorean somewhere under a cloaking field.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Only if you’re prepared for it to be booby-trapped.”

At that moment, Bucky stepped into the room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking around like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay.

You turned your head and spotted him instantly. “Hey, Bucky!” you called, smiling and patting the cushion on your other side. “Come sit with us!”

He hesitated — just for a second — then moved toward you, settling down stiffly. He didn’t look at Bob. He didn’t need to.

You leaned into him just slightly, happy to have him there, but the tension in his shoulders was impossible to miss.

As the movie played, Bob leaned over now and then to whisper something that made you laugh — sometimes a dumb comment about the actors, sometimes a subtle brush of his fingers on your arm. You were relaxed, comfortable, unaware that every one of those moments made Bucky’s jaw a little tighter.

He leaned over suddenly, voice low and close to your ear. “You cold?”

You blinked. “No... why?”

“You’ve got goosebumps.” His fingers lightly skimmed your arm. “Must be me, huh?”

You gave him a curious smile, a little surprised. He didn’t usually flirt like this — not with you. Not openly.

Bob glanced over, his eyes narrowing slightly before looking back to the screen. Bucky leaned back with the barest smirk on his lips, clearly satisfied that he’d been noticed.

And you, caught in the middle, started to feel the air crackle — something unspoken tightening between the two men at your sides.

The clang of gloves on punching pads echoed through the training room. Sweat slicked your back as you spun into a kick, blocked easily by Bob. You grinned, catching your breath.

“Getting better,” you teased, circling him. “Still a little slow on the left, though.”

“Yeah?” he said, wiping a bit of sweat from his temple. “You gonna correct me again?”

You feinted right, ducked left, and swept his legs — but he caught you, laughing as you both tumbled. When the dust settled, you were both on the mat, tangled, breathless — and for just a second, you were chest-to-chest, his face hovering inches from yours.

That was the exact second Bucky walked in.

His boots thudded hard against the floor as he crossed the room in long, fast strides. “What the hell is going on?”

You and Bob scrambled up, surprised. “Sparring?” you offered, a little confused.

Bucky didn’t look at you. His eyes were locked on Bob. “You think I’m an idiot?”

Bob stood, his hands raised slightly. “It’s training, man. Chill.”

“Training?” Bucky repeated, voice rising. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? The little touches, the whispering, always crawling around her like a shadow?”

Bob’s expression hardened. “It’s not like that.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

Bucky shoved Bob, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I brought you here to protect you, to give you a place, and this is how you thank me? Trying to steal her from me?”

“Steal her?” Bob’s jaw flexed. “She’s not yours, Bucky.”

“No,” Bucky snapped, his voice cracking, “but she’s not yours either. So stay the fuck away from her. I’m not saying it again.”

Silence fell across the room like a dropped weight.

Bob looked like he was about to snap. His hands clenched at his sides. His body tensed, ready to strike — until he looked past Bucky and saw you.

You weren’t angry. You weren’t yelling.

You were just... hurt. Standing there quietly, watching with wide eyes and a deep sadness etched across your face. Like this was something you didn’t want — something you’d hoped would never happen.

Bob exhaled hard through his nose. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his boots heavy on the floor as he disappeared through the doors.

Bucky stayed where he was, his chest heaving, fists still tight. You didn’t move. And when your eyes met his, something inside him cracked, guilt creeping in behind the storm.

The room felt colder after that.

The air was crisp on the rooftop, and the night was quiet — too quiet for how loud your heart felt in your chest. You pushed open the door, stepping out with hesitant steps. The familiar creak of the hinges made Bucky glance over his shoulder, but he didn’t say anything. He just went back to staring at the skyline like it was holding him together.

He knew why you were here. And honestly, so did you. But that didn’t make this any easier.

You crossed the rooftop slowly, stopping beside him at the railing. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You didn’t know how to start. He looked like he was bracing for a storm.

“…You okay?” you asked finally, voice quiet.

“No,” he muttered. “Not really.”

The silence that followed was thick. Uncomfortable. You looked down at your hands, fingers nervously twisting together. He still wouldn’t look at you.

“What happened earlier… with Bob… and you…” he began, then stopped. “I didn’t handle it right.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said softly. “You blew up in front of everyone.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I couldn’t take it. Seeing him with you. Touching you. Making you laugh like that. It just—something in me snapped.”

You nodded slowly. “I noticed.”

He turned to face you now, eyes stormy and filled with something deeper than jealousy. Something that had been buried for too long.

“I need you to know that I didn’t say those things to him because I think I own you,” he said. “I said them because… because I’ve been in love with you for a long time. And I didn’t say it. And now someone else has your attention and I just—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, your voice trembling. “Please don’t.”

He blinked, startled. “What?”

“I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

You stepped back from the railing, giving yourself space. Breathing room.

“Because I don’t know what I feel anymore,” you said, eyes shimmering. “For so long it was just you. Ever since we got you out of HYDRA, I… I fell for you. Hard. And I waited. I gave you space. I figured you needed time, and I was okay with that. But then you were just gone. You barely texted. You left and didn’t say goodbye.”

Bucky looked pained, eyes searching yours. “I know. I was scared.”

“I know you were,” you said, gently. “I didn’t blame you. But then Bob came along. And he was just… warm. Kind. He talks to me. He listens. He notices the small things. And I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I started liking him too. And now I feel stuck.”

Your voice cracked, and you let out a small, helpless laugh.

“I feel like the most confused idiot in the world. Because I still love you, Bucky. I always have. But I’m starting to fall for him too. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Bucky stared at you, stunned into silence.

“You can’t just drop this confession on me and expect me to be ready to choose,” you whispered. “Because I’m not.”

There was a long pause. His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath.

“…I’m not asking you to choose right now,” he said eventually. “I just needed you to know how I feel. I needed to stop pretending I didn’t.”

You nodded slowly, biting your lip.

“And Bob?” he asked, quieter this time. “Does he know how you feel?”

You hesitated. “…No. Not really. I don’t even know how to tell him.”

Bucky looked away again, jaw tight. “Then maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward again, reaching for his hand. “You needed to say it. I needed to hear it. I’m glad you did.”

His hand curled around yours gently, fingers rough but familiar. Safe.

“Just… give me time,” you said. “Please.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand. “Take all the time you need.”

You leaned your forehead against his chest for just a moment — a soft, stolen second of comfort — before pulling away.

And as you walked back inside, heart still torn, you couldn’t help but wonder… which ache would hurt worse: losing the one who’s always been there in the shadows, or the one who made you feel seen in the light?

You froze.

It was his voice again — louder this time, strained and laced with something desperate. You turned, startled, and saw him sprinting across the rooftop toward you.

“Bucky, what are you—?”

Before the words could leave your mouth, he reached you.

His hands cupped your face, his breath hitched, and then—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, aching, years in the making. It hit you like a wave, like all the pain and longing and love he had buried under silence and time had finally found air. Your body stiffened for a second before your hands instinctively reached for him — not to pull him closer, but to hold him in place, suspended in this second you never thought you’d get.

His lips trembled against yours when he finally pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed.

“I couldn’t let you go,” he said, voice hoarse, forehead resting against yours. “Not without knowing. Not without showing you.”

You were speechless, blinking at him with a thousand things you could say but none that felt like enough.

“I’ve wanted to do that since forever,” he whispered. “Since the day you walked into that damn Hydra facility and looked at me like I was worth saving. You’ve haunted me ever since.”

Your throat tightened. You couldn’t breathe.

“Bucky…”

“I’m not asking you to fix anything. I’m not asking for answers. I just… I had to know what it felt like. Just once.”

You looked up at him — at those impossibly blue eyes, that trembling mouth, that aching hope on his face.

And still… your feet moved.

You stepped back.

His hands dropped from your face slowly, like letting go of something sacred.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just— I need to think. I can’t— I don’t know what to do with any of this right now.”

He didn’t stop you. Not this time.

He only nodded once, jaw tight, eyes flickering with something you couldn’t name.

And then you turned and walked away again, your lips still burning from his kiss… and your heart in absolute chaos.

---

The tower was quiet.

It was late—past midnight—and you were curled up in bed, the soft lamp casting a warm pool of light over your sheets. A book lay open in your lap, one you’d read a dozen times before, your fingers gently skimming the page but your eyes unfocused. Your mind wasn’t on the words. Not really. It had been a long few weeks. The team settling in. The chaos of having both Bucky and Bob in the same space. The tension.

Especially the tension.

You sighed and turned the page, even though you hadn’t really absorbed the last one. The silence was calming, a rare moment of peace in the chaos of your days—

Knock knock.

The sound was soft. Hesitant.

You blinked and sat up straighter. “Come in?”

The door creaked open slowly, and there he was.

Bucky.

Hair messy, shirt wrinkled, shadows deep beneath his eyes. His hand lingered on the doorframe like he might change his mind.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

“Hey,” you echoed, warmth already spreading in your chest. “Everything okay?”

He hesitated. Then stepped inside, closing the door behind him gently.

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Had a nightmare.”

Your heart ached at how small his voice had gotten.

“Oh, Buck…” You shifted to the side instinctively, patting the empty space beside you on the bed. “Come here.”

He didn’t argue. Just exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all day and made his way over, climbing under the covers beside you. His body was warm. Solid. His metal arm stayed above the sheets, tense, like it didn’t know where it belonged.

You turned slightly, your head propped on your hand. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Just… wanted to be near you.”

The words sat heavy between you, sweet and sad and full of something unsaid.

You nodded softly. “You know you can always come to me, right?”

His eyes flicked to yours. Blue and stormy. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

Silence fell again. Not uncomfortable, just charged. You reached over without thinking and brushed your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes at the touch, exhaling slowly like your fingers were rewiring him in real time.

“I missed this,” he whispered.

“This?” you asked softly.

“You,” he clarified. “Your voice. Your laugh. The way you always hum when you’re reading. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I had it again.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Bucky…”

He opened his eyes and turned slightly to face you. “I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

You were barely breathing.

“I liked you,” he said, voice low, vulnerable. “Since the tower. Since the quiet mornings in the kitchen when it was just us and coffee and the sound of the city. I just… didn’t think I deserved to say it out loud.”

Your lips parted, your heart racing.

“I liked you too,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper. “Since the moment we brought you back from Hydra. You were so quiet. But when you looked at me, it was like you saw everything. And I always felt safe with you.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Then why didn’t we ever—?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shaking your head gently. “Fear? Timing? You disappearing on missions for months?”

He chuckled. “You ghosting my messages when I finally texted?”

You gasped, mock-offended. “I didn’t ghost you! I was—processing.”

He smiled. Really smiled. And it made your heart twist in your chest.

You stared at each other, the space between you warm and trembling. His fingers brushed your cheek. You didn’t pull away.

“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” he said softly.

“You’re not.”

“I wish I was brave enough to kiss you.”

Your breath hitched. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“What if I wanted you to?”

His eyes darkened, lips parted—but he didn’t move. His thumb stroked your jaw.

“I’d probably never stop,” he murmured.

You smiled gently, heart fluttering. “Maybe we shouldn’t start just yet.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. Just this for now.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed, hands tangled loosely in the sheets between you.

You stayed like that for a while—together, finally, after all the time lost.

And when you both eventually drifted off to sleep, you were wrapped in Bucky’s arms, the world quiet again… at least for tonight.

---

The sun was just beginning to filter through the tower’s wide windows, golden light spilling across the marble floors like spilled honey.

You stood in the kitchen, barefoot, wrapped in one of your oversized sweatshirts, nursing a cup of coffee you didn’t really want. The night had been… intense. You’d barely slept, not from discomfort, but because Bucky’s arms had held you so securely, so tenderly, like you were something he’d lost and finally found again.

You’d woken up with your face pressed into his chest, his breathing slow and warm, the metal arm protectively looped around your waist. It had felt safe. Familiar. But also terrifyingly real.

Now, your chest felt heavy.

And then you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you.

Bob.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice still thick with sleep, hair slightly mussed. His blue hoodie was slung over his shoulder, his eyes already scanning you like he could read your every emotion.

You forced a smile, warm but faint. “Hey.”

He came to stand beside you, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some coffee in silence. The tension wasn’t hostile—it was soft. Tired. Real.

Bob took a sip, leaning against the counter. “You didn’t sleep alone”

Your eyes flicked up to him. “No.”

He nodded once, he saw bucky going to your dorm in the middle of the night. His jaw tightening for just a moment before he looked down at his cup.

“I’m not mad,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

There was a beat of silence before you exhaled slowly, setting your cup down. “Bob… I need to be honest with you.”

His eyes met yours. Soft. Open.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice trembling slightly. “I feel like I’m being pulled in two different directions, and I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to. But last night, Bucky… I’ve had feelings for him for years. Since Hydra. But you… you’ve been here lately. You’ve made me feel seen. Like I’m more than just Tony Stark’s daughter or the girl left behind. You made me feel like me.”

Bob nodded, his throat visibly tightening.

“I don’t want to lead you on,” you continued, blinking fast. “But I don’t want to lose you either. And I’m confused. I feel like my heart is trying to split itself down the middle and it’s not fair to either of you.”

Bob was silent for a moment. Then, with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he said, “You’re not leading me on. You're being honest, which is more than most people ever are.”

He looked down, then back at you. “I’m not going to compete with Bucky. That’s not what this is. I don’t want to be ‘better’ than him. I just want to be someone you want.”

“I do,” you whispered, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “That’s the problem.”

Bob smiled, then gently took your hand in his. His warmth grounded you instantly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Even if you end up choosing him. I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all.”

You stepped closer without thinking, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms came around you slowly, carefully, like he was holding something precious.

“I’m a mess,” you murmured against him.

“You’re my mess,” he said with a soft chuckle. “And I’m still hoping. Just... not pushing.”

You stayed like that for a while. Wrapped in something quiet. Uncertain. But safe.

And outside the kitchen, down the hall, Bucky leaned against the wall — hearing just enough to understand, and feeling that familiar ache rise in his chest like it always did when something he wanted was just a little out of reach.

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT SOMETHING MORE HOTT, and even if you want to give me ideas of what kind of interactions you want between them, I want to make you wishes come true...and I also need help cause Ive never wrote something with more than 2 people on it.

[cybermindz]

ˋ°•*⁀➷ EVERLASTING DESIRE ˊ˗

lando norris x fem!reader

contains ─┈ · · · 18+, smut: p in v, unprotected sex, breeding, manhandling, obsessed!lando, pussydrunk!lando, wc: 600+

a/n ─┈ · · · another reupload bc it got deleted thank god i kept the screenshot of the request (◞︎‸◟︎ㆀ)

LANDO NORRIS was in an absolute feral state. the only sounds bouncing off the walls of your shared bedroom were his hips snapping into yours in a brutal pace and loud ceaseless cries pouring from your drooling mouth. it was too erotic, so lewd, and dirty that he wishes he can burn this very instant in his brain to store and replay.

for the lack of better words, he couldn't get enough of it—so fixated on how his cock fits so snugly in your pulsating walls, it felt like he was on cloud nine solely because of the grip your soaked cunt has on him. he couldn't even pull away from you if he wanted to, only being sucked in whenever his hips draw back. it's not like Lando was planning to attempt on removing himself from you anyway, he could get lost in this sensation for eternity and that's exactly what he desired.

that wasn't even the only thing that had him in this chokehold; his eyes couldn't stop zeroing in on your beautiful features reacting to each drag of his cock—eyes screwed shut and brows scrunching in pleasure. you looked madly bewitching underneath him, utterly ruined and unable to contain your shameful moans with your nails digging into his arms. there was sweat that started to bead onto every inch of your soft skin—dampening the sheets, not only that but your brain slipping away from reality was all too visible and he was going haywire from it all.

his eyes clouded over with lust at the sight and his greed got the best of him. it ignited something so carnal in his very being that his thrusts became harder, sloppier, battering your insides with the intention of spilling a load to paint your walls white.

“ ‘m gonna—fuck!” he grunts out, blood buzzing when you squeeze around him so firmly, “gonna fill you up—hah… yeah? you’d like that wouldn’t you? make you mine forever?”

he's blurting out mindless words, panting drunkenly from the sensitivity, balls going taut.

"all mine."

you both seemingly were unable to modulate a single coherent thought. only centering on trying to reach your peaks.

"yes—ah! all yours lando, only yours."

that was enough for him to topple over the edge, spilling his cum inside of you with a breathless gasp. it was so immediate and sudden that it left him shocked and speechless. you achieved your own orgasm upon the feeling of the warm liquid spurting deep in your core, you clamp down and convulse around him, milking him for all he's worth.

a translucent white ring paints the base of his length when he bucks slowly to calm down both of your highs. he shudders at the aftershocks in exhaustion but when he looks at you completely fucked out—his cock stirs once more, twitching and becoming stiff all over again.

he blinks once. twice. considering over his next move. you couldn't even respond when your body maneuvers with such ease, as if you weighed nothing but a feather. his strong veiny hands takes ahold of your limbs to put you on your hands and knees before pushing your head down onto the pillows, gripping your nape with one palm to keep you in place.

with your ass in the air, the cum starts to seep out of your pussy—dribbling down to your clit. rapidly, he catches the fluid with his tip and drags it to your hole again, plunging his full length into you to fuck the cum back inside—making you kick your feet in surprise. the plush pillows perfectly muting your screams.

"can't waste any of it baby. need to give you more. make you full of it."

he's not even bothered by the overstimulation burning the fat head of his cock. you had him wrapped around your little finger to say the least, and he couldn't be more content.

© 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙. please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works. reposting on other media platforms is prohibited.

— reblogs, comments, & feedback are appreciated!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Steve’s Station

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

If you ever find yourself on the run from the more reputable institutions of the universe, you may be prevailed upon to make your way to a little known star base called “Steve’s Station” in the Cambra system.

Designated as the haven of the underworld, Steve’s Station operates outside the boundaries of all official governing bodies and interplanetary enforcement organizations. It operates as a safe haven at one point or another for every criminal, terrorist, extremist, and other shadowy group that seeks to cause unlawful conduct across the universe.

Normally a station that housed so many unsavory characters would hardly survive a day given the tenacity for grudges its patrons held. It was only through the simple governing of the stations founder, a human known only as “Steve”, that the station was able to not only operate but actively thrive as a hub of underworld activity.

Originally founded some thirty years prior, the human Steve had saved up his life savings to by a third generation mobile station. With only four docking arms and two cargo holds, the third generation stations were largely overlooked as they were the smallest of mobile stations. What did make it more desirable was the fact that it’s smaller size allowed it to make system to system jumps. Even more beneficial was that its core housings could be upgraded and replaced to increase the size of the station if one had the credits.

With the majority of civilized systems already having an overflow of star bases and stations, cutting into the market there would neigh impossible. So Steve instead set course for the Cambra system; a little known and uncharted region of space that barely shows up on star charts save for a pair of skull and bones. This did not dissuade Steve however as he was always of the opportunistic nature.

Forty jumps later and Steve was setting up shop when his first customer came in.

A battered Benaren smuggler had just barely escaped from the authorities and made a blind jump. With his engines all but destroyed from the jump he would have been left to rot had it not been for Steve’s station.

Much to the surprise of the Benaren Steve asked no questions on how the damage came about so long as he followed the station rules.

1.       Pay on time.

2.       Keep your feuds at the door.

3.       Don’t start trouble, lest you want troubles of your own.

Within a short while the smuggler’s ship was repaired and ready to go again. The Benaren paid in full for the repairs and went on their way.

Now that may of well had been the end of Steve’s story had it not been for how connected the criminal underworld was. Not more than three weeks later another group of wayward outcasts and lowlifes stop by the station for use of its quality services.

From there the station’s reputation became wildly known as every criminal, pirate, smuggler, rogue ai and wayward warlord found their way to Steve’s Station to call it home. The wealth being generated from the constant traffic of ships and cargo allowed the station to quickly grow in size as Steve was able to purchase more parts and modules to be included.

Within the first ten years it went it nearly doubled in size, and in another five it was the size of a first 7th generation star base complete with over fifty docking ports and repair bays, sixteen cargo holds for storage, two dozen habitability compartments for stores and clubs, and a fuel depot capable of supplying an entire fleet.

The sheer volume of different factions and cultures using the station facilities would have rapidly devolved into rampant infighting and destruction were it not for the quiet hand of Steve. Patrons kept their animosity at the door unless they wanted to lose access to the safe harbor Steve’s station held. Storage and repair bays were expensive to maintain and were often prime targets for rivals within their own territories, so they were more than happy to maintain a truce while on Steve Station for their own benefit.

At least, that is what the smart ones were willing to abide by.  

--------------

“Give us the access codes and this can all be over.”

The Jinari leaned down and grabbed hold of the human’s head. He lifted it up so the mauled human could see him through his one good eye as the other was well and good swollen shut from the beating his men had given him the moment prior.

Before them lay the one and only human “Steve”; founder of Steve station and currently their captive as they continued with their hostile takeover of the station. Jinari’s group had long wanted to make a name for themselves and by taking control of such a hub of underworld activity they could gain vast amounts of credits to finance their own operations.

It had been easy to breach the station’s control bridge as security was light. The guards had grown lax with the fear of Steve’s displeasure keeping many of the patron’s inline. They’d been dead in moments with the door breached not long after.

Steve had been understandably uncooperative with handing over his access codes that gave full control of the station; so Jinari’s men had proceed with some aggressive interrogation tactics to loosen him.

Steve looked up at Jinari; spitting out a glob of blood on to his shoe and grinned.

“It won’t do you any good you know.”

Jinari’s good mood quickly evaporated as he watched the human Steve begin to laugh.

“You broke the third rule,” he laughed, “you aren’t going to make it out of here alive.”

Before Jinari could ask what the human meant a loud bark of several weapons came from outside the control room followed. The rest of his crew turned their guns on the open doorway as the sound of several heavy footfalls began to draw closer.

“You’ve got one chance,” a deep rattling voice came from outside, “so I want you idiots in there to listen well.”

“Release. The. Human. Steve.” Another voice came in with thick robotic overtones.

“An jus may’be, we lets you go with your bits intact!” One more voice came with a throaty chuckle at the end.

The door to the control room was suddenly ripped open from its frame and the figures entered the room.

“That’s….you’re….” one of Jinari’s crew stammered as the first figure came into view. A towering mass of muscle and bone covered in thick black armor plating.

“Gur, leader of the Black Reavers.”

Gur grinned as his name was spoken with such fear.

Besides him stood an equally tall cybernetic body or polished metal and spikes. It was called “Cybrosis”, the rogue AI responsible for the collapse of three economic zones via hacking and alterations of monetary values.

On the opposite side of Gur stood a squat brutish Ularen decorated with skulls and bones of its victims. This unfortunate figure was Gobsnob, the assassin infamous for decapitating the Hybren prince during his own coronation then escaping with the severed head. Many believed one of the heads mounted on his armor was the prince’s head.

“Let Steve go, and we’ll let you live.” Gur spoke with a calm, collected voice.

Jinari’s eyes darted between the figures now blocking escape from the control room. There were even more waiting patiently in the outside hallway all armed to the teeth. In fear he drew his gun and pointed the muzzle at Steve’s head.

“What makes this flesh sack so special?” He shouted at the group. “It’s just one human! We don’t need him to run this place!”

“Correction.” Cybrosis remarked. “He. Is. The Only. One. Who Can. Run. This. Station.”

“WHY?!” Jianri demanded.

“He makes me laugh!” Gobsnob chuckled.

When the answer did not dissuade Jinari Gur spoke up and pointed at him.

“Deals changed. Whoever kills this stupid metal brain gets to walk free.”

Cybrosis turned to glare at Gur at the remark but said nothing. Jinari laughed and pushed the muzzle deeper against Steve’s head.

“You think my own crew would-“

The bark of an auto-blaster ran out and Jinari collapsed to the floor in a pool of blood and bone. His ribcage now cracked wide open from the blaster fire that tore into his back.

Those gathered turned to see one of Jinari’s crew holding the smoking gun before dropping it to the ground and raising their hands.

“I can go free now, yes?” they stammered.

Gur smiled and reached for something in his pocket. “Nah, I lied.”

Before any of Jinari’s crew could react Gur pulled out a thick barrel cannon from his coat and fired a slug at the thug closest to Steve. The barrel slug slammed the thug back into the wall with enough force to turn him into an art piece.

After that the station patrons who had been waiting outside stormed into the room and quickly subdued the rest of the thugs. They barely had time to get off a round before they were torn to pieces. In some cases quite literally as Gobsnob got ahold of one of them and began beating them to death with their own dismembered arm.

Gur slowly walked forward and helped Steve into the command chair at the center of the room.

“Glad you guys made it.” Steve laughed through bloody teeth. “Was starting to think you’d give me up to that nobhead.”

Gur shook his head. “They broke the rules.” He said calmly, wiping a stain of blood off his boot on Jinari’s twitching corpse. “And here you don’t last long if you break the rules.”

Steve smiled and switched on the com channel for station wide broadcast.

“Attention station,” Steve said calmly, “All possessions belonging to the former Jinari and his crew are now forfeited. Patrons may claim them as they wish for redistribution.”

A low rumble of cheers could be heard echoing down the halls as the denizens of the station began a free-for-all on the would-be takers belongings.  Steve was not finished though.

“Additionally, a free month’s worth of supplies and repairs to the loveable bastards that came to my rescue.”

Even more cheers erupted from those gathered in the control room as they carried off Steve to the nearest bar for celebration.

[kiwi-on-ice]

Kinktober 2024 day 8: Free use with Ramattra

fem reader, NSFW 18+

Also contains: dom/sub dynamics, omnic superiority kink slightly? if that's a thing?, one spank

Humming to yourself softly, you wash up the few dishes in the sink idly as you daydream. So deep in your daydream in fact that you don't hear the hulking footsteps of the omnic who appears behind you. Wrapping his huge arms around your waist, you jump at the contact to which he hums, uninterested.

"It's only me." he states, as you're still holding a plate. You laugh softly and start to clean it, before your hips are moved towards him, forcing you to be bent over the sink slightly.

"I have had a...testing day." he remarks, flipping up your skirt and causing you to gasp. He quickly moves his thick fingers over your clothed pussy, aiming to get you wet as quickly as possible.

You and Ramattra have a deal, something that benefits you both in your non-conventional relationship. He's allowed to use you whenever he wishes, as long as you don't use the safeword, to satisfy his frustration, desires or curiosity. In return, you get to be railed when you least expect it, being turned on by never knowing quite when the mood will strike your lover.

"Now?" you ask breathlessly.

"Yes." he replies bluntly, the agitation of the day's events clearly weighing heavy on his mind as slips his fingers and fingers you. The feeling of his thick digits is always heavenly, as small noises spill from your parted lips. But it isn't enough, he knows what he needs, what he's been thinking about the whole way home.

He pushes your underwear to the side and sinks it in, making your arch a little and nearly drop the plate, to which he tuts.

"Now now pet, don't be sloppy." he chastises, but the slight glitch in his voice modulator shows how much he needs this. He pulls out before roughly thrusting back in, causing you to shakily place the plate on the drainboard. Feeling the rhythm of his thrusts, you grip the edge of the sink, but he laughs coldly and slaps your ass.

"No, continue your work. The kitchen still needs to be clean despite me using you."

Whimpering at his instruction, you gently start to wash some utensils while you try not to react to his brutal thrusts in your cunt. Every stroke of his cock in your cunt makes your eyes nearly cross; you remember the day well when Ramattra came home with his new attachment, perfectly modeled to your favourite dildo. Now though, it's hard to concentrate on anything but having your insides rearranged.

Still, you persevere, cleaning the last few dishes as your lover fucks the frustration out of himself. When you're done, you grip the sides of the sink yet again and start to enjoy the pleasure, the feeling only he can give you.

"You did well, doing what you're told." he praises, sneaking a hand round to play with your clit. You moan and tighten around him, happy to have his approval.

He seemingly likes your reaction, since he speeds up his hips and keeps rubbing circles on your core. He never gets tired of seeing you in ecstasy, curious as to how the human form reacts to differing touches and sensations. Being with you made him understand why humans spend so much of their lives in the bedroom, purely from the visual side, let alone the sensations now his wires are connected to a more...sensitive appendage.

He uses his other hand to keep a bruising grip on your hip, moving it a little to assess the damage. "You humans bruise so easily, it would be endearing if it wasn't so pathetic."

You feel yourself get more wet at his demeaning words, never hiding the fact that whenever he spoke of omnic superiority, you felt more submissive and needy for him. His hand stroking up and feeling the way your back arches, driving himself into you over and over again.

Feeling your orgasm building, you beg him for permission, hoping it'll please him since he didn't demand it of you.

"Good girl, begging for what you want. Yes, yes you may make a mess on me. Make a mess on your superior.”

You nearly chip your nails with how hard you grip onto the sink as you cum over his cock, whimpering as Ramattra pulls your hair so he can observe your face. As you come down from your high, you feeling your thighs shake as he turns you around.

"And make a mess you have, I think you should clean it up." he demands, gently pressing your shoulders to encourage you to get on your knees.

You know what's expected of you as you take him in your mouth, sucking and tasting your pussy juice on your tongue. As you bob your head, feeling the omnic's hand gently stroking the back of your head, you know that despite the unusual circumstances of your relationship, there was truly nowhere else you'd rather be than on your knees in your kitchen, servicing Ramattra's cock.

[queenendless]

Chase (Darth Vader x Fem!Adult!Reader)

A/n: Tales of the Empire gave me ideas. Particularly on a snowy chilly planet ... it's a very open setting as to what is going on in this so bare with me. First time writing SW stuff on here.

So AU with unburnt Vader who's also kinda OOC in this, some fluff and steamy romance with some Anakin at the end, but it's a short ass piece cause of short notice for today.

PLEASE DONT REPOST, EDIT, COPY, PLAGARIZE, TRANSLATE AND OR STEAL MY FANFIC WORK. RATHER IF YOU DO ENJOY IT THEN LIKE REBLOG AND FOLLOW ME PLS N THNX.

And May The 4th be with you.

Your cloak blew from the chilly winds.

Your hood covered head raised up to meet at the top of the snowy hill.

Climbing up with the darkening gray storm clouds piling up, heighting the anxious tension filling you up inside, the helmeted figure coming into view struck through your core.

He had pursued after your wandering lost self.

You wanted to see how far he would go, as selfish as that was.

Your fear of the cold blooded, brutal Sith Lord becomes mingled with how you are lustful of his imposing presence.

Your cape fluttered in the blowing cold winds as you hurried away, straight to the ice cave entrance.

He knew you thrive off the chase.

And you knew he was relentless in playing along.

“You cannot run forever, Y/n."

His deep modulated voice bounced off the towering crystal ice walls, using the light shining from the high cracked ceiling to guide you.

“I've come this far.” Your tepid sweet voice echoing back at him had him growling a bit.

“You cannot hide from me.”

You didn't need to be Force sensitive to feel that he was honing in on you quickly.

Your flushed nervous face met your eyes as your bumpy reflection followed your side, his heavy footsteps sounding that much closer. “Doing good so far, all things considered.”

You should have figured uttering those words into existence would jinx your ongoing streak. The moment you stepped back from the dead end and spun around on your heel, you bumped into that armored chest.

You screamed a bit as his leather black gloves grabbed your forearms and pinned you to the wall gently but firmly.

His red lenses hid his eyes boring into your very soul, his giant frame enveloping you, pressing you carefully against the alien texture. His heavy breathing made your breathing go silent like a scared mouse, caught by the big bad beast.

“The game is over.” For some reason, he sounded so smug about it.

“You're unbelievable.” You pouted up at that obsidian face.

“You're foolish.” He scoffed.

“Says the man wearing the robot suit.”

The fact that he released his grip on you and leaned back a bit to actually take off that intimidating helmet still took your breath away.

“It helps with the image.” To hear that warm enriching amused voice again already had you giggling as your hands cupped his sculpted cheeks to pull his face down to peck those tempting lips.

His helmet clanked along the ground as his arms slithered around your waist to lift you off the ground, grinning slyly to you hugging his waist in response.

“It's working, my Lord.” You shakily spoke, weaving through that shoulder length darkened hair to tug him closer, pecking many a time quite desperately.

“This little ploy of yours has gotten us completely off track.” His husky tone was sheer evidence that he did not give a damn. Not one bit.

“Forgive me, Lord Vader, for my teasing.”

You squeaked as those giant leather hands of his cupped and squeezed your ass.

“I shall have to punish you, my dear. Quite thoroughly~” Those blue eyes were riddled with devious intention, marking your neck with ferocious bites along your delectable skin.

Your fevered gasps and lecherous cries traveled the caves as you became a mess under his wet steamy mouth. “A – Ani~!”

The former Jedi turned Sith Lord smirked, devouring your mouth with that needy tongue of his.

“Hush, my love. We're just getting started.”

[k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl-wr1t1ng]

The M3duS4 Protocol 

Part 1.0

Rubble shifts and slides under slender pointed feet. The dark haze of night shrouding her swift movements through the crumbling streets, the abandoned machine world silent around her as she darts from shadow to shadow. Her almost impossibly dark chassis perfectly suited for infiltration and stealth, reduced now to slinking around like an old world rat. Void pauses as she reaches a jagged opening in the floor in front of her, the edges of the pit’s yawning maw partially melted and gnarled. Void’s sensors begin to scan and calculate, she has no idea what weapon could have caused this damage but she does notice its trajectory, all the damage bent outwards, towards the sky. Whatever it was came from bellow and fired out, and hopefully, if she’s lucky, continued that way itself. She knows she has to decide quickly, spending as long as she has inside such an active zone without an encounter is a miracle, and she’ll need a few more if she’s gonna make it out intact.

A silent sigh escapes her body, she cant afford to stay out in the open any longer. Gingerly she starts her descent, every step carefully placed as to not create any noise, the pile of metal left over from whatever rampaged through here making a convenient staircase down into the dark under-city. Her sensors carefully scanning the room as the sky above her is replaced by thick metal. Her nimble body quickly swallowed by the total darkness of the streets below.

Without the natural moonlight lighting her path, and the thick machined walls insulating her from the world above, Void now relies solely on her other sensors to navigate. Her infrared scanners detecting nothing but the cold, lifeless metal all around her. She could easily get lost down here, with thousands of identical rooms and rundown corridors all it would take is one slip up. Void forces the thought from her CPU.

We need to focus

Continuing along her path she continues to scan each branching pathway for a potential exit, unsure what such an exit would look like, but remaining confident she would know it when she sees it. The dark corridors feel almost alien to her, the old world used to be so fascinating and incredible. She would spend hours studying everything about it. In the hopes that it would make her more capable, better at keeping everyone safe...

Just stay calm, we can alwa-

A loud clanging rings out from beneath her as her foot collides with something she hadn't noticed laying in her path. The sound reverberates off the walls, no doubt alerting anything nearby of her presence.

Fuck

Void freezes in the growing silence as the sounds bouncing around her fizzle out, every sensor in her body working overtime in a desperate attempt to detect any reactions to her fumble. Bitter memories rise up in her memory banks, flashes of a similar situation, decades ago, forever burnt into her core, pain and fear elevating throughout her system in equal measure. Distorted screams impossible to forget.

A heavy force slams into Void’s left side, distracted in the depths of her own memories she didn't sense it approaching until she was already halfway to the ground. Her light, metal frame slams hard into the cold, unforgiving floor as the force in her side crashes down with her. Scrambling under the weight above her, panicking as she gets her hands beneath her chassis, the lithe body of her assailant slowly coming into focus as her sensors turn towards it. A lightweight, civilian frame containing a mess of wires and rusted metal, two poorly connected arms on either side of its torso grasping and scratching desperately towards her.

“Get off me!” Void screamed, hoping in vain that it would understand.

The bot opened its mouth in what looked like an attempt at communication but all that escaped its throat was the sound of ancient parts grinding together, its voice module long since decayed. Not that communication would have helped her. The frenzied movements and ancient design indicated clearly what she feared, the bots core had already completely destabilised, its body acting on nothing more than instinct and impossibly faded memories.

Flailing desperately Void gives the bot a shove with all the strength she can muster. Despite the civilian design it doesn't budge, the four arms and angle of approach giving it a significant advantage.

Knife

Void scrambles to keep the clawing hands at bay as she reaches her free hand down to her thigh, a small click and the outer casing slides apart revealing a small compartment containing a dark metal rod. Clumsily she grasps at the bar, forcing it into her grip. Almost instantly, as if knowing the danger present, a slim blade slides out from within the dark steel. Quickly she takes the blade and thrusts it as hard as she can into the closest shoulder. Something bursts inside the bots body as the blade tears through it, a dark liquid spurting out of the wound and any gaps within the already damaged chassis. The bot, seemingly unbothered by this explosion, continues to grasp and claw into her armour. Void braces her other arm against the bots chest, remembering her training, and slams the knife back down. This time into the exposed wiring coiling up its neck. Almost instantly the bot buckles above her, both its right arms collapsing to the floor, its torso falling flat against Void’s chest.

Sensing her moment, Void pushes with all her might against the partially disabled bot, her body sliding out from underneath it. Clambering to her feet she breaks into a sprint down the corridor, her mind spinning as she desperately tries to escape the now dangerously noisy area.

Synthetic adrenaline surges through her system as she dismisses several warning alerts flashing across her visor. Her panicked movements desperately working to get her as far away as possible. Struggling in the dark she finally spots a branching corridor to duck down, her feet sliding and sparking against the floor as she drifts around the corner, almost slamming into the opposite wall.

Peaking back behind her as she runs, another warning burns through her system, this time a proximity warning. Confusion fills her core, quickly replaced by fear when she turns back to face a burning bolt of plasma rushing towards her, almost the width of the corridor. She dives to the ground, the impossibly scorching heat partially colliding with her left arm as she falls. Another flurry of warnings rocket through her as she once again slams into the hard metal flooring.

Looking up with a long, distorted moan, Void attempts to discern the source of the projectile. She suddenly makes out a large, hulking form limping its way towards her. Six crab like legs straining to hold up a heavy weapons platform, an incredibly ancient warbot. Its design so old it could only have been built during some human war, long ago lost to time.

Multiple targeting lasers circle the dark space, most of them slowly coming to focus on her centre mass, a few others pointing off in seemingly random directions. Void drags her limbs closer underneath her in a desperate attempt to stand and fight. Her servos screaming at her as they fail to give her what she wants. Void sighs, accepting her fate, letting herself think back to those deep, desperate memories. Her body failing her now as it did back then.

I’m sorry

Before Void is able to fall too far into her shame, the entire floor lurches beneath her, a deep rumbling pulses through her body. A deafening explosion roars from somewhere behind her and the entire space around her is shifted and distorted. Void is thrown from her prone position forcefully into the ceiling, before dropping back down onto the now rapidly collapsing floor, the structure disintegrating and warping around her faster than she can process. Watching as the ancient warbot across from her is sucked through the floor, its towering form swallowed by the darkness below.

Attempting to avoid a similar fate, Void thrusts her knife deep into the wall in front of her. Almost as quickly as the knife enters the wall does the floor crack and sunder beneath her, being torn away by whatever force propelled the explosion. Her entire body briefly suspended in the stale air. Gravity quickly takes hold, her form plummeting downwards before jolting to a stop, anchored to the wall by her blade. Her relief is short lived as her her arm is torn from its housing, shorn wires sparking, lighting up the darkness as she falls fast. Warnings and alerts fill her vision, her entire system screaming at her one final time as the impact ruptures something within her, sensors and servos lose power almost instantly, her consciousness only seconds behind. Her limp body pathetically falling through the dark before thudding into a metallic surface one last time.

~~~~~

I'm currently saving up for a tattoo (as well as just trying to survive) so if you wanna support me know it would go to a hot as fuck tattoo hehe - Ko-Fi

[vintagerpg]

This is Arms Law (1980), the very first product published by Iron Crown Enterprises.

It is a percentile based combat system derived from the system the company founders used to replace D&D’s standard combat for their long-running homebrew game at the University of Virgina. It was conceived as the first in a series of rules modules that would constitute a new system called Rolemaster. Subsequent releases were Claw Law, Character Law, Spell Law and Campaign Law.

The low page count of the booklet might imply a simple system, but nope. See, the thing is that the booklet sits on top of a stack of tables printed on cardstock, about a quarter inch thick. People call it Chartmaster for a reason.

To attack, you roll a percentile, add your attack bonus and any modifiers, then subtract the target’s defense. That result is checked against a dedicated chart for the weapon used, and cross-referenced with a chart corresponding to the target’s armor, which will give a damage value that is subtracted from the target’s pool — take enough hits, fall unconscious or die. Rinse, repeat, for every single exchange of combat in the game. It’s a lot. Too much? For me, yea, but I know a lot of folks who swear by RM. Even though I don’t particularly care for the results though, I appreciate the spirit of RM to the core. Rules tinkerers of the world unite!

Oh, also, the infamous critical hit and fumble tables for each type of weapon are in here. These are legendary in their deadliness. I bet I am not alone in using just the crits and fumbles in my D&D game and pitching the rest of the combat system.

[theinstagrahame]

Back at it again with my mailbox. Having an extremely weird few months still, and 2025 continues to be an absolute shit year.

But, here's a bunch of neat stuff I've gotten this last couple of months.

Transgender Deathmatch Legend II: Ever since listening to the first version of this on Party of One, it's been on my mind to pick up. Kayla Dice is also a designer I keep an eye out for, because everything from Rat Wave Game House is unique and cool. So, this was an easy yes, when it hit the crowdfunders.

Triangle Agency (box set): The corporate horror meets weird sci-fi angle of Triangle Agency is an easy sell, and I was feeling flush the month this came into crowdfunding land. So, I was more than happy to get this incredible box, which includes a notebook and dice, in addition to the core book and a collection of really amazing-sounding adventures. I've got a few friends I think would really vibe with this game.

Navathem's End: I'm super public about how I got into the hobby through the Ampersand Game, and how it never really satisfied me once I really got to know it. The pitch of Navathem's End really hooked me, because it seemed like it hit the same notes, but did it with a system I was way more interested in (PbtA). Plus, the creators are extremely talented and, honestly, underrated.

Valiant Horizons: I am always in awe of @basilisika's art, and @binarystargames's game design. Valiant Horizons also hearkens back to a really formative era of RPG design, which was sort of mid-college for me, when I had disposable income and few responsibilities. So, even though I haven't brough it to the table, Valiant Horizons feels very nostalgic. I really can't wait to find an excuse to run it.

Greenhorns: I've picked up a couple of other titles from Spicy Tuna, and I am a sucker for weird sci-fi. Greenhorns promises to be weird, OSR-flavored, and really fun. It seems like the kind of game that lends itself well to goofy sci-fi shenanigans, which sometimes that's what you're looking for.

Fabula Ultima - Press Start: Read this on a business trip, and it's honestly a really great intro to a really neat game. The quickstart does a pretty sound job of introducing mechanics a little at a time, and I feel like I could run the intro adventure with the book and nothing else. It's a fascinating example of a Quickstart, and also really makes me jazzed about Fabula as a game.

Citizen Sleeper - Cycles of the Eye: This was a no-brainer. Citizen Sleeper was easily one of the best computer RPGs I've played in a long time, and a tabletop version by Alfred Valley was an easy "yes" from me. But it also came with a themed Tarot deck with characters from the game, which really pushed it over the top.

Farewell to Arms - Redux: I'm very curious about Mork Borg in general, and I like the idea of it, even if I'm not totally in love with the idea. But I do really love how quickly it's spread and grown as a game. This is meant to be a WWI-era sequel to Mork Borg, which I think is a fascinating premise, but I also think the horrors of WWI would make for a really fascinating campaign.

Dagger to the Heart: In this house, we love Heart: The City Beneath. So, the first full expansion for Heart was an easy grab. I haven't really dug into it, but I'm certain there will be bits that want to go into whatever Heart campaign I eventually run or play in.

Gardens of Ynn: I am a sucker for cloth-bound covers, but also I'm still in my Adventure Module era. Exploring an ever-deepening, weird garden maze seems like exactly the kind of thing I'd like to torment some players with.

The Stygian Library: Gardens of Ynn's crowdfund included a reprint of the Stygian Library (or was it the other way around? Apologies, I have had *a week* this week). I really like and respect the designer of both titles, and dark academia always piques my interest. So, yeah, let's go get some forbidden knowledge and then have a forbidden garden party, why not?

Best Left Buried: Deeper: If I don't miss my recollection, my beloved Orbital Blues is loosely built on the same engine as BLB, and it was the big gap in my SoulMuppet collection. I also have several books written with BLB in mind, so it seemed like it was time to pick up the core book and dive in.

The Zine Club books of the month(s) were:

UST -Unresolved Sexual Tension

Told by Starlight

GORE

Wolves at the Lake

Black Mold at Claus Manor

Salutations Mr Grey

Welcome to St Julian's

Dark Designs in Verdigris

Once again, don't know a ton about most of these, but they are by amazing designers, and I'm excited to dig in. Plus One EXP's Zine Club has been a really neat way to expand on your collection and support indie creators, so y'know, check that out and you too could have mystery exciting stuff thrown at you.

Bonus board game:

A fer years ago, I played Chronicles of Crime, an app-enabled mystery game by the same publishers. So I picked this up, because the Urban Fantasy/Mystery element was intriguing. I've just skimmed through the materials, but it is very interesting so far, light RPG elements, and I'm curious to see how the app interacts with the game.

[online-silkmoth]

Heres the new death dialog with transcription btw

Image transcription:

Warning: Extreme damage sustained

Running diagnostic

Error: Arm core module #1 not responding

Error: Arm core module #2 not responding

Warning: Combat systems inoperable

Attempting reconstruction

Error: Self repair nexus not responding

Insufficient blood.

Insufficient blood.

Initiating escape protocol

Attempting connection with limbic modules

Error: Leg core module #1 not responding

Error: Leg core module #2 not responding

Warning: Unable to sustain motor functions

Error: Visual cortex malfunction

Error: Limbic function not responding

Insufficient blood.

Insufficient blood.

Warning: Unable to sustain internal organs

! Pulse failure !

! Pulse failure !

! Pulse failure !

-!- Shutdown imminent -!-

Error: No vocal interface detected. Unable to complete task

! Pulse failure !

! Pulse failure !

Insufficient blood.

Insufficient blood.

Warning: Unable to sustain basic functions

-!- Shutdown imminent -!-

-!- Shutdown imminent -!-

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Cyclops

The Cyclops began production in 2710 as an assault BattleMech and headquarters unit for Star League Defense Force field commanders. A decent mix of weapons provided the Cyclops with both long- and short-range firepower and a sizable engine to keep up with mobile operations. The most important feature of the 'Mech though was its advanced electronics, especially the Tacticon B-2000 Battle Computer, which allows the pilot to effectively command up to brigade-sized units. Other aspects of the 'Mech are less than stellar however. The diverse array of weapons means the 'Mech does suffer somewhat from ammunition issues while meager armoring provides less protection than that found on similar machines, though it is enough to stave off attackers until reinforcements arrive. In particular the armoring on the head section, while as heavily protected as allowed by the internal structure, leaves the pilot and the sophisticated command and control equipment more vulnerable than usual. When operating as the command vehicle at regimental and higher echelons with an ample support apparatus and guarded by a headquarters lance, these deficiencies are far less noticeable and the Cyclops could be kept in reserve until employed to turn the tide of battle or exploit a weakness.

Unfortunately the Cyclops did not fare so well with the onset of the Amaris Civil War when the Rim Worlds Republic Military destroyed its primary factory on Caph in 2774. Spare parts for the machine quickly began to dry up, until by the end of the Succession Wars less than ten percent still had a working B-2000 computer. Lacking the critical part of being a command vehicle many Cyclopses were pressed into an assault role. Acting as the bodyguard or decoy for the real commanding officer, they proved to be swift if mediocre combat machines. As most enemies know about the vulnerable head and automatically target it in combat, many Cyclops pilots also began adding false head protectors to defend against impacts. A study by the NAIS after the Fourth Succession War would eventually find that these caused more harm than good by restricting vision and increasing shrapnel, ending the practice altogether.

The rediscovery of the Helm Memory Core kick-started a number of attempts to replicate the B-2000 computer, however there were no successful attempts prior to the Clan Invasion. Also, the invention of the C3 computer with its emphasis on small-scale networking, and a switch in doctrine to using DropShips as command posts, saw the Cyclops' command role decline. However Grumium Creations was eventually able to restart production of new variants of the 'Mech, and where it has participated a Cyclops with a working B-2000 has had noticeable effects. For this reason Cyclops 'Mechs with a working battle computer were reserved for high-ranking officers.

The Cyclops carries an arsenal built to handle almost any situation. For long-range combat and indirect fire, the 'Mech carries a Delta Dart LRM-10 missile launcher in the left torso along with one ton of reloads. For closer ranges the 'Mech has a variety of weapons. A Zeus-36, Mark III Autocannon/20 mounted in the right torso keeps all but the heaviest 'Mechs at a respectable distance and is fed by four tons of ammo split between the side torsos. The autocannon is backed up by two Diverse Optics Type 20 medium lasers, one in either arm, and a Hovertec Quad SRM-4 with one ton of reloads in the center torso.

The centerpiece of the Cyclops is its sophisticated holographic battle computer, the Tacticon B-2000. When combined with the Olmstead 840 tight beam comm suite with SatNav module, the Cyclops can effectively command a brigade across the surface of an entire world. Unfortunately the Cyclops is poorly protected relative to other assault 'Mechs with only ten tons of armor, and while its normal load of twelve heat sinks allows it to stay cool in most cases, they can prove to be inadequate in especially heavy situations.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 21

Cauldron Mu

Behind the door to the Cauldron core, the corridor was threaded with more orange-filled cables. From its oil gleam and consistency, it looked like Purgewater, or at least a component of it.

Sure enough, there was a Widemaw suspended in a light field in the centre of the core, being worked on by a mechanical arm. I set a couple of Purgewater traps between me and the machine, then overrode the core, causing the Cauldron to set its central prize free.

I thought I'd get through unscathed until a second Widemaw charged in. I doused the first, drenched by my traps, in frost bombs and rattled off a braced sharpshot, then a few standard arrows to pierce it while brittle, trying to keep focus on the vulnerable machine while dodging the attacks of its friend.

Once the first was down, I targeted one of the sparkers on the second, and it detonated at the same time as it fired off a glob of Purgewater, knocking me back. I landed well; no harm done. I struck the Widemaw at close range before tying it down and detonating its second power cell. That kept it stunned long enough to tear it apart with my spear and secure the core.

I overrode the core, downloading the overrides that came with the rest of its data, though some were corrupted and would need repair at the RCC lab.

I rode the core platform back up to the surface. A Scrounger was waiting right outside the door just waiting to be overridden with my newly-improved module. I fought the remaining two Scroungers at its side before the machine hacked past the override's effects, and I put it down too.

A Burrower next; a pair of them ran up to investigate the commotion. I overrode one and watched as the pair snapped and swung at each other.

Cute as a Watcher when they're not trying to kill you.

I headed back to my cave of spoils to rest for a few hours. I've missed out on some serious sleep these past couple of days.

I rode to the Oseram camp by the river, trading in my salvage from Shadow's Reach and Cauldron Mu. Steady profit to aid me on the journey further west.

I was hailed over by Gendas and Rushavid, who told me that their hired Oseram delvers had returned to Jagged Deep Dive since I'd cleared out the machines a fortnight past, and offered payment for my efforts. Their returns were good, but diminishing. I told them I hadn't found any further information on Gendas' precious 'tray', which seemed to disappoint the poor guy, who still held the hard drive in delicate reverence.

I made the short journey back up from the banks to Stone's Echo, hoping to find Milu there.

Indeed I did find her, deep in argument with Mian. She was trying to explain that she was not, in fact, a slave of the Carja huntress, but her student. Mian wouldn't listen, going on about the rot and ruin sure to follow barbarous outlanders. Milu cut her losses and came over to speak with me privately.

Unfortunately, Mian wasn't the only one in the village that shared her blind intolerance. Stone's Echo was particularly hostile, Milu said, thanks to its proximity to Riverwatch, from which the Red Raiders had launched their many attacks and dragged their prisoners after defeat. This place saw the worst of Carja brutality, and has not forgotten.

I told Milu about the path through the mountains now opened through the Regional Control Centre. I didn't tell her anything except where to find the entrance, knowing Talanah planned to go alone. I'm hoping she'll find the interior interesting enough to stick around with some coaxing from Varl, maybe even bump into Gaia...but I'm not sure. Her conviction to find this friend of hers seemed absolute.

Milu planned to continue her training far from her bitter little hometown, journeying north to a Hunting Ground north of Plainsong. I wished her luck on her way. She was still quite clearly awestruck by my presence, and when I praised her for being a skilled enough hunter to catch Talanah's attention, I nearly floored the kid. She'll go far, if I end up saving the world.

I stuck around for a meal, then left Stone's Echo in the early evening. The village was right by the trap-laden path said to be frequented by Shellwalker convoys. I still had that contract from Larend stuffed somewhere in my satchel. Whether he'd already sourced the parts from elsewhere or not, as far as I could tell by the clause, he was law-bound to pay up if I delivered.

Hidden in an alcove overlooking the path, I found the world's dustiest campsite. Useful provisions stockpiled, but my rest was fitful as I waited for the convoy to turn up. Still, it was rest, and I needed it.

I woke up covered in red muck to the sound of an approaching Shellwalker and its Burrower escorts.

I let one of the stone trap's loads fall free, crushing the Burrowers, then I was clear to focus fire on the Shellwalker. I snuck around it wearing my Stalker shield, setting an acid trap before landing my first strike. It stumbled into the trap then, and I loosed a few acid arrows to hasten the corroding effect. I stuck with my strategy honed in Cauldron Mu; braced shot to the shield generator, stunning it, then a flurry of explosive spikes to down it in a seething pile.

I collected the plating Larend needed for his armour—interior plating, of course, given the irreparable damage done to its exterior. I'll head back east and hand over the salvage in the morning.

Returning to Stone's Echo, I climbed to the lookout stations on a couple of the rooftops, taking in the vibrant lamp glow and flower beds, the gentle rumbles of Re's machinery at stilted rest.

I final settled down in the communal shelter late into the night. Too much sleeping today; I consider myself well and truly recovered. Now, just to wait for news from Gaia. I can't stand much more of this uncertainty.

[terresdebrume]

for the prompts - "i'm not worth saving. please." and/or "a few more steps. we're nearly there. i've got you" for a ship/ships of your choice?

Hey friend! Thanks for the prompt :D Sorry it took a bit, you know how it is with work^^" Still, I hope this AU without a cause will satisfy! Prompt list here, if anyone wants to send me another one!

Edwin huffs as he leans backwards, suspending his entire weight at the end of Charles' arm and still not managing to move him more than a couple of inches. He pauses, heaving for breath, and watches as Charles heaves himself up the last few steps with a painful-sounding mechanical whir.

"Come now Charles," he pants, forbidding himself from sitting down. "We only have a few steps left."

"I can't," Charles says.

His words comes out flat, mechanical. His voice modulator must have given up somewhere between the bottom of the stairs and now. His chest is rising and falling too fast, cooling circuits working overtime, but the audible sound his systems make tells Edwin it isn't quite working. Charles must be approaching overheating, and there is nothing Edwin can do about it here, in the hallway to the agency.

"Charles, please," Edwin begs, but Charles shakes his head.

"I can't," he repeats. "My left knee's piston is malfunctioning."

Edwin inhales, sharp and loud, and ignores the beeping in his systems that say his shell is too warm. They found spare parts for his cooling system last month: he can handle a little heat, but Charles--

"Charles, you must keep going, you can't--we have to plug you in!"

It took a lot of time, and even more money--although they are lucky Crystal never asked them what it was for--but they finally got their systems up to a point where they can handle one of them, at least for a time. Charles' software isn't as solid as Edwin's, but ROWLAND persocons had a reputation of hardiness for a reason. They have the memory banks required, and more than enough compatibility coding between the two of them to keep Charles safe until they can find him a new chassis, but none of that will matter if they can't get him connected before he shuts down.

"You should leave me here," he says, Edwin gasps.

"Do not say that," he warns.

"You should," Charles insists, eyes closing. "I'm not worth saving."

"Do not say that!" Edwin all but shouts, not caring about the time, or the human neighbors whose suspicions they've been trying not to arouse. "I forbid it, Charles!"

"Look at me!" Charles exclaims.

Edwin, electrical core on overdrive, looks down at Charles. Some of the hair is missing from his skull, burned away in the accident that nearly tore Edwin's head off a few years back. There is a long streak under his eyes where the synthetic skin peeled away, revealing the gray of his chassis, and the open jacket he wears fails to conceal the three large dents in his chassis, left there by the older ROWLAND model he used to live with. He looks resigned and, impossible as it should be, exhausted.

Even so, even pulling up the necessary softwares to run a simulation of existence without Charles prompts half a dozen alerts in Edwin's system, and he shudders. Crouching down, he puts a hand to the side of Charles' face.

"I am looking at you," he says, voice modulator struggling to keep his tone even through the shiver of his cooling system going overdrive.

"I'm old," Charles says, bitter. "I can't even move. Even if we do preserve me: I won't even have a body. I'm an industrial unit--what good am I if I can't even move around?"

"Charles," Edwin says, surprised to get an alert from the hardware around his throat, "please stop. You haven't been a dockhand in decades--"

"But I am!" Charles cries, or must try to. "That's why I'm the brawn, isn't it? Stronger chassis, longer batteries, building routines--that's what I'm for! What am I if I can't do what I'm for?"

"You're my friend!" Edwin says, fiercely, bringing his face closer to Charles. "You're the man who got me out of the scrapyard I'd been stuck in for seventy years! You're the one who made me look human enough to go out again!"

"Yeah, and now I'm the one who looks like a rogue!" Charles retorts, closing his eyes in distress. "If anyone from Endless Co. sees me, they'll do more than scrape us--"

"That will not happen--no!" Edwin insists, louder, when Charles looks like he is about to protest again, "That will not happen! I will never let it happen. You are my friend! You are my confident, and my companion, and you must stop talking about yourself like you are a glorified forklift!"

"That's what I was programmed for!"

"And I was supposed to be a sex unit!" Edwin breathes harshly in the stunned silence, gathering himself closer to Charles, until he can curl up around him and touch their forehead together. "I don't care chat they made you for," he whispers. "You're the one who decided to download all those fighting programs. You're the one who saved me. You're the one who came up with the name of the Agency. I don't care that they think we're not alive, Charles, I know they're wrong. You and I, we're alive in all the ways that matter, and I--"

Edwin stops talking. His voice modulator refuses to add even one word, some previously unnoticed subroutine cutting off his access to his dictionary. Fantom code, perhaps: a glitch. Or maybe the people who programmed his model line back at Payne Industries wanted to make sure they couldn't evoke certain feelings. Either way, Edwin's voice absolutely refuses to shape the words he is thinking, and so he does the only thing he can possibly do in this situation: he leans forward and presses his lips to Charles'.

Charles twitches under him, unnatural and poorly coordinated, but when Edwin pulls away to look at him, he is met with eyes filled with wonder, and joy, and that same word Edwin's core software won't let him say.

"Oh," Charles says, and brings a hand up to touch Edwin's cheek.

"Yes," Edwin replies, arch and haughty, "oh. Now, if you would please help me. It's only a few more steps."