#scrap metal shipping company

[goldenfreightforwardingmarketing]

Economic Bounce Back & Busy Trade Lanes

New Kids on the Block: Emerging Trade Routes Geopolitical Musical Chairs: The world map of trade is getting a fresh paint job. Thanks to some geopolitical shuffle, places like Canada, America and India are turning into hotspots for trade. This shake-up is making freight companies rethink their game plans and routes.

Digital Swagger: The Freight Forwarding Tech Revolution With the economic landscape shifting, freight forwarders are all over digital tools. These tech solutions are game-changers, making operations smoother, adapting to market swings, and boosting customer satisfaction. Gone are the days of paper overload and headaches over manual tracking. Now, it’s all about slick, all-in-one systems that offer live tracking, automated paperwork, and smart analytics to keep businesses on their toes.

Green is the New Black: Eco-Friendly Shipping Eco Push: Everyone’s riding the green wave, and the shipping industry is no exception. Thanks to both carrot and stick approaches (think incentives and tough rules), shipping companies are moving towards cleaner, greener options like eco-friendly vessels and alternative fuels.

Rise of the Underdogs & Decentralization The global economy is less about the usual heavyweights and more about rising stars like Vietnam and India, reshaping the freight demand and flow. Plus, tech is levelling the playing field, enabling smaller companies to duke it out with the big dogs by offering top-notch service and efficiency.

Setting Sail: The Shift to Ocean Freight & Tech Tools With folks leaning into environmental concerns and wallet-friendly options, ocean freight is getting more attention. This has spiked the demand for ocean-specific freight software that makes maritime shipping smarter and smoother.

AI on Board: Smarter Ocean Freight Ocean freight’s getting a brain boost with AI. Think of AI as the new captain, helping predict delays, navigate the weather, and even cut down on fuel use. This isn’t just about keeping shipments on track; it’s about making them smarter and more cost-effective.

Better Together: Enhanced Collaboration Through Digital Platforms In today’s global village, smooth teamwork across borders is key. Modern freight systems are making it easier for everyone involved in shipping to stay on the same page. By sharing info and syncing up, these digital platforms are knitting a tight-knit shipping community.

Tailor-Made Tech: Custom Freight Solutions Just like no two people are the same, businesses have unique shipping needs. Enter custom freight platforms, offering services you can mix and match to fit your specific needs, from picking the best routes to managing your stockpile.

Economic Guard Dogs: Navigating Protectionism Some places are throwing up trade barriers to protect their turf, which can be a headache for the freight world. The antidote? Smart freight platforms that can weave through these regulatory mazes.

E-commerce Explosion & the Last-Mile Hustle The e-commerce boom is reshaping retail, cranking up the pressure for quicker, slicker last-mile deliveries. Freight systems that can click with e-commerce setups and give live updates are winning big.

Flexibility & Resilience: More Than Buzzwords The twists and turns of 2024’s economic rollercoaster highlight just how crucial it is for freight companies to stay nimble and resilient. Those ready to leverage tech, green up their act, and keep a global perspective are set to ride high.

So, there you have it: 2024’s freight forwarding landscape in a nutshell. It’s all about being tech-savvy, eco-conscious, and ready to adapt to the global beat. With the right tools and attitude, the future looks bright for the freight world.

[moltensteelsg]

Are you looking to know the best scrap ship propeller buyers in Singapore? Come to Molten Steel; we are offering to collect, trade, and recycle all grades of scrap, including ferrous and nonferrous metals.

[mortalityplays]

about a month back I was walking home from a union meeting with another member who lived in my direction. I automatically took my usual route, through a quiet industrial block dominated by construction and scrap yards and those single storage unit offices that are basically a metal box with a parking space. he hesitated to follow me, and then explained that he'd never taken this route before because he felt out of place and nervous there. he's from a middle class background, wears blazers and corduroy with lapel pin badges, you know the kind of look.

now this is not me criticising him, as far as I know him he's a good dude who shows up for the union and gets involved in direct action and generally puts his money where is mouth is. he's worked on outreach and gone door knocking in this same area and is very relaxed and pleasant in any company. in this sense he's a better leftist than a lot of people I've met who have the aesthetics and talking points down but turn shy when you ask how they actually participate.

anyway, he walked with me and we talked about it. he admitted he simply had no experience of this kind of industrial environment. he associated it with the rough working class pubs on the main street nearby, and inferred that it was dangerous to him as an outsider. I explained that it was a working environment, that each lot was somebody's business, and that the closed units he saw were offices used by traders who just needed somewhere to manage invoices, payroll and accounts a couple of times a week. nobody is going to beat up a complete stranger in broad daylight for walking past their place of work. as soon as he understood that, he relaxed.

thing is, the only reason I know this is because I grew up around these places. I worked out of an office unit just like those for a while in my teens, and walked to and from my job without ever being hassled in their vicinity. I went to school with the lads whose fathers and uncles owned the construction and scrap yards and shipping warehouses around us, and who went to work there as soon as they were old enough to wear a hard hat. the difference between a dangerous industrial space and a neutral part of the everyday environment is something I learned by living in it. the tradeoff is that I feel uncomfortable in middle class cul de sacs, because the danger zones there are invisible to me.

class is woven into our understanding of the world as children, blended seamlessly with our sense of objectivity before we have a chance to question it. as adults we have the capacity and context to unpack a lot of those assumptions and reinvent the borders around them — go door knocking for the union, build new relationships across class lines — but we can't ignore the fact that class is one of our primary cultural experiences. you will carry it with you like a half remembered motherland your entire life, like it or not.

[good-chimes]

G.I.G.S. PLAY LETHAL COMPANY

STREAM RECAP

Skizz, Grian and Impulse appear in orange spacesuits in a down-at-heel salvage spaceship. They are met with a glowing red display informing them they have 4 days left to meet profit quota.

Impulse makes a good-faith attempt to read the training manual, but this is aggressively ignored by the other two, and even Impulse gives up completely when Scar arrives.

Grian hates that they all look the same and demands they change suits.

They all succeed in changing their suits to exactly the same shade of orange as they have only unlocked one color.

Grian deals with his frustration at being thwarted by jumping over the railing of their ship as it starts to land shouting WHEE!

Skizz: Did he just jump?

Grian: [has sustained enormous amounts of fall damage] MY LEGS

Eventually they discover the main point of the game, a mysterious abandoned facility.

Grian: HEEEEEEE [jumps over the railing into the depths of the facility]

Grian has died.

Grian’s ghost commands the ship to leave early.

The whole party are left by Grian to perish on a hostile planet.

Skizz: So, what did we learn?

Scar & Impulse together: Nothing.

Grian: Falling hurts?

Impulse discovers a valve he can’t pull. Scar asks if he needs a man to come down and pull his valve. Scar finds he cannot pull the valve either and suggests maybe we need someone else to come down and crank it.

Scar: Should we have left Grian to his own devices? [This is slander, Grian has begun to find valuable items for the crew.]

Scar and Skizz are eaten by sand monsters.

Scar and Skizz attempt to abandon the others but Impulse and Grian make it back in time.  

Grian: I can’t believe how bad we are at this.

1 day left to meet profit quota.

New planet! it is raining. Scar and Skizz get lost on an old rail track for about five minutes. When they return, they find the mysterious splattered corpses of their dead friends.

Both of them stand there inspecting the mysterious splattered corpses of their dead friends beside an inexplicable jar of pickles. Scar picks up a corpse. Skizz retrieves the pickles.

Scar get splattered by exactly the same monster as the other two, in the same place, doing the same thing.

Skizz: I saved the pickles!

Impulse’s ghost:  Really? 😒

0 days left to meet profit quota.

Argument over the value of pickles all the way back to the company planet, where a small window with a bell is apparently where to sell their stuff. Impulse tells the others to ring the bell and stand back. A dark force scythes out of the window and consumes their scrap. They return to orbit.

Ship: YOU HAVE NOT ACHIEVED YOUR PROFIT QUOTA. WELCOME TO OUR DISCIPLINARY CLASSES.

The airlock opens and sucks the whole party out into the airless void.

Impulse: Noooooooo!

Scar: Did we get spaced!?

Grian: [in a tone that suggests he thinks the Company have a point about incompetence] We’re being disciplined. In space.

Scar: I don’t like our boss.

Grian announces that he has a NEW STRATEGY. We stick together, we find stuff together, and we leave together.

Grian immediately runs off after landing.

Impulse: I think he’s dead.

Scar: Have faith in him, he’s British.

Grian: [reappears] The profit quota is 130 credits. We can do this if we do it PROPERLY. [These are rich words for a man who has jumped unnecessarily to his death several times.]

However, Grian is absolutely determined they are going to succeed. He finds a whole scrap engine. Meanwhile Scar, wondering if he will ever find anything of value, is delighted to find and recover an ominously glowing light.

Skizz: [hearing the new hum] What did you do?

Scar: I salvaged a lightbulb!

Impulse: YOU TURNED ON THE RADIATION, SCAR.

Scar: That wasn’t me, that was…Grian.

They have collected a big metal cog, an engine, Scar’s ominously glowing lightbulb, and miscellaneous junk. Skizz has died again. In site of Grian’s agitation for efficiency, they are still a few credits short of the quota. They are once more sucked through the airlock into the cold void of space.

Impulse: AUGH!

Skizz: OH NO COME ON.

Grian: [disgusted] We deserved it.

New planet again! They are definitely going to do things better and more efficiently this time.

Impulse: I’ve bought four flashlights! We should see a rocket landing to give them to us.

The rocket arrives playing a jaunty ice-cream truck tune. Skizz welcomes it by standing under it and yelling.

Skizz is killed by the rocket.

Scar: That’s so sad. [steals his flashlight]

Scar has found a horn

Grian: I think—

HORN NOISE

Grian: I think I’m going—

HORN NOISE

Grian: …

HORN NOISE

Grian: I’m going back to the ship.

HORN NOISE HORN NOISE HORN NOISE

Skizz: Well at least I always know where Scar is now

HORN NOISE

Grian: [back at the ship] SCAR I’m going to have to ask you to DROP THE HORN.

Scar will not drop the horn. They travel to company planet to sell. Visibly at the end of his rope, Grian finally convinces Scar to put down the horn.

Grian immediately steals the horn for himself and starts using it.

The next mysterious abandoned facility has nothing to offer but a very difficult parkour jump over a dizzying drop.

Grian: We gotta do the jump.

Impulse successfully makes the jump and gets to the other side. A giant braineating slug instantly drops on his head. The others assist him via encouraging shouts of ‘look at that idiot!’. Eventually it is decided there has to be a rescue party. The other three make the jump and try ineffectually punching the slug (Scar: BANG HIM. JUST BANG HIM!) The slug finishes eating Impulse’s brain and starts eating Grian’s. (Grian: IT’S ON ME). Scar attempts to pick up Grian’s body. The slug lands on Scar. The slug eats Scar’s brain while Skizz runs away and starts the ship.

Skizz: [having abandoned all his friends to die and failed to pick up any scrap] A grade D? This is outrageous.

Scar picks up the horn again in revenge.

They return to the company planet. Grian rings the bell several times to sell their stuff.

An eldritch tentacle monstrosity eats Grian.

Impulse: There was a bell. You knew he was going to press the button too many times.

Scar: WHY DO WE WORK FOR SOMEBODY LIKE THIS.

Newly resurrected, Grian proposes for their next run on a new planet they buy some flashlights. Impulse proposes that they save the money as they will probably die and need them on a future mission. Skizz proposes they buy Impulse some OPTIMISM and BELIEF IN HIS TEAM. This motion is carried.

Scar proposes they all take a moment to remember the airhorn and how fun it was. This motion is summarily discarded.

Grian jumps into a sand creek in his great excitement at the arrival of the ice-cream truck supply rocket and slowly falls to his death shrieking HELP ME.

Impulse: I’M HELPING [Impulse also slowly falls to his death]

Skizz: Here’s the ice-cream truck!

They were too slow and the rocket has left without giving them the flashlights.

In an act of protest at being a ghost, Grian starts playing a Switch game with the music up and his mic on.

Scar dies to another carnivorous slug and Impulse and Grian’s ghosts tell the ship to take off and let Skizz perish on the hostile planet, leaving once more with no scrap and a mission grade of F.

Scar: We’re all dead.

Impulse, the man who originally threw away the instruction manual: Maybe we should read up and see if there’s something we missed about this game.

Scar: I liked the air horn.

Impulse: … What if we played Phasmophobia instead?

[dabivrse]

scrap metal ♡ (frobin)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: hurt/comfort

pairings: nico robin x franky

wc: 2.2k

cw: mental illness, depression, body dysmorphia, dysphoria (but like cyborg dysphoria), comfort, angst, fluff, suggestive references, self harm, franky feels less than human

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I know x reader tends to do better on this app but I deeply adore frobin and I've always thought about the idea of franky struggling with his humanity. Its been a headcanon of mine since he was properly introduced.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Franky could never understand people who didn't have an inner monologue. His brilliant mind runs a hundred miles a minute; he's always got something to think about. He internally discusses future inventions and ship-building plans or sings to himself while he works. He spends most of his time thinking about his Nico Robin. He replays the day she said yes to being his partner in his head daily; he could spend hours thinking about her hair and smile. The mere thought of her tears fills Franky with a deep-seated rage. All she has to do is look at him, and he's on cloud nine.

Franky is in his development room, working on a new weapon design, when the door creaks open. He looks up to see Robin making her way over to where he's standing by his desk.

“Hello, pretty lady,” he says, his voice raising in volume as his mood picks up instantly upon seeing the woman he loves. Robin giggles at the affectionate term and stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss the underside of Franky's jaw.

“Hello, Honey.” One of Franky's large hands settles around her waist to keep her at his side. Thinking about Robin when she's not with him, his emotions run high, but when she's in his arms, he's completely relaxed and able to enjoy her company without wandering fears of losing her literally or figuratively. He leans down and pushes his face into her neck; the cold of his metal nose makes her flinch at first, but once she adjusts to the feeling, she threads a hand through his hair and lets out a happy sigh as Franky presses his lips to her skin. He's wary of how much bigger than Robin he is and hurting her is an unforgivable sin, so he's gentle with his affection. He might be gentle, but he's still a pervert, so when his palm opens up to reveal a smaller hand that dips into the waistband of Robin's skirt, she tugs his hair to get him to lean back and look her in the eyes. She presses a kiss to his lips, which he happily reciprocates. “As handsome and tempting as you are, you need to behave. Anybody could walk in.”

She's right - of course, she is - Usopp, Chopper and Nami are all frequent visitors to Franky's workshop. He nods at her words, flushing red at the compliments. The compliments he's used to refer exclusively to how cool and ‘inhuman’ he looks. People tell him how talented he is as a shipwright and inventor in general, but anything regarding his looks comes off more as someone talking about a suped-up car than a human being. It's the one thing he can't get used to in his relationship with Robin. He knows she's not lying to him and that she really does find him attractive, but he still can't grasp how different it feels to be desired. He's completely prideful and not at all shy when he's pleasing her. In the bedroom, he's fully confident, but something as sweet and innocent as a kiss on the cheek has him so shell-shocked that he can barely speak.

“So, how come my beautiful angel came to visit me?” Franky asks after clearing his throat and going back to staring at his blueprints. Robin cheerfully laughs at the pet name. Franky has asked her how she really felt about all his dramatic names for her, and she had told him that they make her feel special; she had also made a morbid comment under her breath about how they'd add to an emotional yet creative eulogy for her one day and Franky had pretended not to hear it.

“I wanted to make sure you're getting enough food and cola”, she smiles, kissing the left side of his chest. Robin places a plate of food down on the desk, and he guesses Sanji had dished up dinner and Franky had been so focused on his getting some work done that he hadn't heard the cooks call for food over his inner argument over what size gun to add to his robot. He thanks Robin and begins to eat. When he's finished with his food, Robin picks up the plate and leaves, promising him she'll visit later as she goes.

Franky is once again left alone with his thoughts.

As he's working, his reflection in a mirror leaning against the wall catches his eye and Franky flinches. Sometimes, he forgets what he looks like and seeing a huge cyborg as flashy as him is jarring. He has to remind himself he's not a little child anymore; he's something way cooler. He goes back to his work and tries to ignore the thoughts that begin to swarm him. His eyes keep getting drawn to the metal on his body. He recalls how earlier Robin had flinched at the cold metal of his nose and how difficult it is sometimes just to hold her without fear he'll hurt her. Sometimes, he thinks she would be better off with someone who can keep her warm at night, like Jinbe or maybe someone younger and more conventionally attractive, like Zoro or Law. Franky is a brash and loud man, but deep in the pits of his heart, there still lies the broken, abandoned kid. The feelings of worthlessness that took over his body as a child never truly left him; even after he tried over and over again to replace them with metal.

His smaller hands shake as he finishes his food and pushes his plate away. He tries to pick up his pen and write again, but he can't focus at all. His initial plans have taken a backseat to the unrelenting self-doubt that he tries to keep locked away behind his smile. He pushes on with his work, absent-mindedly scribbling down plans for a self-upgrade. He doesn't realise he's crying until the door handle clicks and snaps him back to his senses. Now he's acutely aware that he's crying and that one of his crewmates is about to see him. Franky's manly tears aren't unheard of, so he's able to play it off to usopp, who has come to ask about weapon materials, as simply inventing something so cool it's made him emotional. Usopp laughs, tells Franky he can't wait to see it and leaves after getting the advice he'd requested. The tears leave Franky feeling off-kilter for the rest of the day.

Later that night, Franky is entirely unable to sleep. He tries to focus on Robin, who's sleeping beside him and matches her breathing, but it doesn’t work. He shifts around to get comfortable and rests a large hand on Robin's waist, and then it all comes crashing down. That hand is not a human hand. When you press his metal nose, it changes his hair, and that's not human anatomy. His stomach has an empty chamber that uses cola as a fuel, and that's not human. He has weaponry built into his body, and that's not human. Franky is not human.

He makes a strangled noise as if he's gasping for air, and he scrambles to his feet. The noise wakes Robin, and she asks what's wrong, voice laced with concern. Franky doesn't notice she's awake, and he can't hear her question over the uncomfortable ringing in his ears. He makes his way out to the deck, ignoring the worried expressions of Nami and Usopp, who are still awake. He can't verbally describe how he feels, but he reaches to his shoulder, where metal meets skin, and begins to claw. His fingers dent the metal with force, and he only stops when a hand much larger than his covers his and stops his movements. He looks up and sees Robin has used her power. She leans down to where he's knelt on the deck and when she comes into view, Franky notices she has tears in his eyes. He can hear Nami crying behind him and sees Usopp shaking out of the corner of his eye. A new feeling stirs in his gut that makes him feel ten times worse.

He feels guilty for upsetting them. He apologises, but Robin shushes him, cradling his face in her hands. The gentle care with which she approaches him is enough to kick-start the waterworks and Franky is once again reduced to tears. He sobs so hard it causes a sharp pain in his chest. Robin shoos away the younger strawhats and promises to give them an update later. It's now just the two of them and Franky slumps forward, burying his face into Robin's shoulder. His tears haven't subsided, but he starts to apologise before he can stop himself. He repeats ‘I'm sorry’, and though Robin's skin muffles the sound, she can hear him fine and well.

“What are you apologising for, sweetheart? What's wrong?” asks Robin, wiping his tears with her thumbs, and she holds his face to look at her. Franky flounders for an answer, struggling to find his voice. Robin is patient as always and gives him a moment to collect himself.

He doesn't know what to say. How can he tell her he feels alien, like a passenger in his own body? That his ‘skin’ doesn't feel like it belongs on his body. He doesn't know how to explain how nauseous the sight of his own ‘body’ has been making him feel without sounding crazy. Robin is an understanding woman, but how much can she take?

“I feel more like a box of scrap metal than a human”, he says, cringing at how raspy and unsure his voice sounds. Robin remains silent, expression unchanging as she listens to his explanation. “I just wanted to get out of this ugly body. I didn't mean to scare you or the kids”, he says. He tries to avert his eyes despite Robin's hold on his face. He worries he's upset Robin further, but she leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“First of all, I'm not scared of you, and neither are Nami and Usopp. We're just worried about you because we love you.” she says, moving a hand from his face to run it through his hair. “Secondly, your body is not ugly. You're my Franky and I like you just the way you are.” Her voice wraps around the violent words in his mind and strangles them out, easing his mind slightly. “I'm not going to pretend that I understand your pain, but I do know how it feels to be shunned, and I want you to know that will never happen to you here with us.”

Franky listens intently as Robin speaks. Her words don't take away his pain, but they at least calm him down. The strange, itchy feeling under his skin eases up and he relaxes in Robin's embrace. He kisses her neck and whispers a thank you in her ear. She's patient with him as he lets her comforting words repeat in his head. His tears have stopped, but there's still one question bothering him, and he's unsure if it's appropriate to ask right now. Sensing that he has something to say, Robin encourages him to speak up.

“Do you ever consider leaving me? Like don't you want someone more attractive like -” This time, instead of being patient and letting him finish, Robin cuts him off with a scoff, shuffling so she's sitting in his lap.

“You look at me right now, silly man,” she says, guiding him to look in her eyes. “I love you, I want you, I need you,” she says. Surprisingly, it's the word ‘want’ that gets him the most. It's not that Robin needs Franky around to fulfil some type of urge but simply that she wants to spend time with him. They like each other just as much as they love each other, and the reassurance makes Franky's stomach stir for an entirely different reason. “and there is no one as attractive as you. You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” she punctuates her sentence with a kiss to his lips. Franky feels much better now.

“What about Jinbe?” Franky asks to lighten the mood. It's common knowledge that Robin had a crush on Jinbe at first (so did Franky, but he'll never admit it)

“Hey! You like him too. We invited him into the bedroom once. You're my man forever,” she says, laughing into another kiss. They're sitting in silence for a while when Robin starts to yawn. “Now that you're feeling better. Do you want to go to bed?” she says, covering his cheeks in more kisses. Franky gets to his feet, scooping Robin up and carrying her off to bed

When Franky wakes up the following day, Robin is pressed up against his side and he feels at peace. As if she can sense him staring at her, Robin opens her eyes for a second, then smiles and goes back to sleep, snuggling further into his side. Franky feels content as he relaxes into the mattress. For now, his unsure feelings have subsided, and he feels more like himself. He knows they're likely to come again, but he also knows he'll have Robin and the rest of his family to help him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

frobin is so cute to me so I just wanted to write a cute comfort oneshot about them 😭

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

when y/n gathering scrap to meet quota and heard a noise and quickly turn around to see coil-head stop moving they slowly walking backward to try not get killed, after a long while they managed to escape from the coil-head. now y/n heard a rumor about a very familiar entity with a funny nickname peanut (its scp 178 if your curious) but it have very valuable information to know since its familiar to coil-heads when looking at the enemy will not move until your not looking at it

"Just be cool..it's all for the Company...all for the Company...."

Uttering that small mantra, you approached the large humming machinery, your eyes being set directly on the prize: a glowing yellow apparatus. The powercell of this entire facility.

It was worth a good fortune in the name of meeting quota, although it didn't come without its risks.

Like plunging you into total darkness and being stupidly heavy to lug back to the ship.

Unfortunately your crew sent you to retrieve it alone, as they were adding up how much the scrap piles were worth, buying stuff on the terminal, and looking out for eyeless dogs.

But for all you knew, they could be doing fuckall while you're risking life and limb every second you remained in this building.

Then again, that's just a normal day when working for the Company.

You kept your scanner going, cradling the giant apparatus close to your chest. It was your only source of light right now, as your flashlight was out of battery--and it made you look like a giant walking target for whatever monsters lurked here.

Speaking of which-

--New creature data sent to the terminal!--

"...what did I just scan?"

Stopping in your tracks for a brief moment, you took a look around the room, not seeing any sort of creature moving...

Only to suddenly hear loud footsteps rushing at you from behind, and in panic you swiftly turned around. The glow of the apparatus illuminated something humanoid that stopped short in front of you, allowing you to fully take in its horrifying appearance.

It was a creature that looked like a mannequin, with nails piercing its body, no forearms, and its head attached to a metal spring that bobbed as it stopped in-place. It had two hollow eyes and a broken mouth that made it incapable of expressions...yet you felt very afraid staring up at it.

"Shit..th-there's something here, guys.." You muttered into the walkie-talkie, praying somebody would pick up.

"We see it." One of your crewmembers' voice responded. "It's...a Coil-Head. Just got the data."

"Coil-Head? That's what they call these things?"

"If you wanna get specific, it's a Vir colli-"

"Whatever, not important. How much longer do I have until midnight?" You huffed.

"You got time. You're close to the exit!"

"Okay...well what do I do about this thing? I'm looking right at it."

"This is gonna sound weird, but just..keep doing that and head for the exit. But whatever you do, don't l-"

*krrrrrrrt*

"...one more time? I didn't catch that last part."

"........."

"Oh my god..you're kidding me, right?" Briefly glancing at your walkie-talkie, you realized the battery died and groaned, although the Coil-Head suddenly moved an inch closer, its head bobbing violently. "Woah--okay, okay..I'll keep looking at you, I guess....I don't want any problems."

It didn't answer, and simply stared.

"Christ..why does something like this exist at all?" You mumbled to yourself, keeping a tight hold on the apparatus as you slowly backed away, trying to keep your ears and scanner open for anything that might creep up behind you.

God forbid it was another landmine, spider web, or Bracken.

This was genuinely terrifying, especially knowing you were wandering through a near pitch-black facility with this mechanical creature following you every time you had to break line of sight.

Now that you've lost all communication with your crew, the only way they could tell if you're alive was on the monitors. You didn't even know what time it was. All you could do was pray to whatever god was out there in this vast universe that you'd get back to the ship before they decided to take off without you.

Surely, they wouldn't abandon one of their own..

Then again, you were all told to do "whatever it takes" to survive long enough to meet the next quota.

Even if it meant ditching and killing each other, or leaving the moon's atmosphere before midnight to keep tabs on whatever scrap was salvaged for the day.

But regardless, you had to survive..and so you did your best to maneuver around the facility with the Coil-Head in your sights at all times.

Its mannerisms did remind you of some other creature you have researched from a different and not-so-ethical company. Although right now, you're not too focused on that.

Not dying was more important.

........

"You made it!!"

"Yeah, no shit..my arms are killing me.." Dropping the apparatus unceremoniously on the ship floor, you looked at your fellow crewmates--two of whom were arguing about which moon to route the ship to next, while only one acknowledged your close call with the Coil-Head.

At least somebody cares.

But now that you've had time to calm down, you remembered what you wanted to do once you returned here safely.

"Y'know, that Coil-Head reminds me of this one creature I've read about back on Earth..its mannerisms are similar." You hummed, before heading to the terminal, irritated by the arguing duo. "Move. I need to look up something."

"Oh thank god." One of the employees huffed, shaking her head. "Please jump on the terminal before this dumbass routes us to Titan and blows all our money."

"Why are you being so stingy?! We can afford it!"

"We can't afford dying just because you wanna go to the deadliest moon! You think it's gonna be like Experimentation? A cakewalk??"

"No but it sure as hell's gonna give us better loot! We may have an apparatus but it's not gonna sustain us!"

"...can you guys take this conversation elsewhere? I'm going in." You squeezed between the pair and managed to get your hands on the keyboard, pulling up the internet (with speed that sucked since the Company tended to be cheap like that).

Curious, they stopped their squabbling and looked to what you were typing, bringing up a data profile for a creature called-

"SCP-173?"

"Yep. Or as they call it, the Statue..but I like its nickname "Peanut" a little better." You chuckled as you read its containment summary and description. ""The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight...object is reported to attack by snapping the neck at the base of the skull"...yep....the vibes are similar. Interesting"

"I thought snapping necks was the Bracken's job." One crewmember joked. "You're telling me that Coil-Heads and this Peanut might be cousins?"

"Maybe whoever designed them took some inspiration...though I wonder how it could snap someone's neck if it doesn't have any hands.."

"I kinda wanna see that happen. Any volunteers?" The Titan-obsessed employee laughed, but the dead silence and blank stares they received from all three of you caused them to tense up. "...I-I was only kidding...jeez.."

"If we run into another Coil-Head, we're leaving you behind to stare at it."

"Wha----are you really that mad that I suggested going to Titan???" They snapped.

"Since you're acting like a total nincompoop who should know we don't have the proper equipment yet...yes." You answered flatly, to which they groaned in annoyance.

"You're all jerks...I wish I had a new crew."

"In space, no one can hear you whine. Now let's go to March. We still got one day left to make some extra bucks, okay?"

"Fiiiiine, "Captain". Whatever you say."

[kybercvnt]

Bargaining

Pairing – Cassian Andor x GN!Reader

Summary – Andor comes to you looking to sell something of his, except he wants to negotiate for more than just credits.

Word Count – 1416

A/N – Immediately after binging the first 3 eps, I couldn't help myself and felt the need to pump something out.

SPOILER FREE

It wasn't a particularly interesting day. Quietness spread throughout the room, with the exception of the ambient chatter of people on the street and the hum of radio music in the corner of your shop. The inactivity of business was a familiar event, and so the work became more of a dull chore than an actual job.

Running a scrap shop on Ferrix was probably the worst idea ever, especially having competition with every other scrap shop in town. It was still a surprise to you that you could still manage to keep the shop afloat.

That was until you saw your regular customer walk in—Cassian Andor—a favourite. He walked under the doorway and spotted you, his cold features warming up when you caught his eye. You glanced at the time from behind the counter.

“You’re late. Thought you’d never show.” You teased him. Cassian had a schedule when it came to visiting your palace of robot parts. Without fail, he would arrive on the hour, except today. Sometimes you weren’t sure if he was visiting for the business, or for the company. Compared to the other myriad of sister shops on every corner, it would make you think he was ripping you off with all the times he dropped by.

“I know, I’m sorry. I had some transport trouble, I’m sorry that you missed me.” He smirked at you and then placed a ship component on the surface in front of you. You raised your eyebrow at him.

“A stabiliser? I’ve got like ten of those,” you scoffed before handling the component and twisting it around. That’s when you saw a small sigil etched into the side of it, “holy shit, is this imperial?” You gawked at the piece of metal. He crossed his arms and leaned back in pride, nodding. “How the hell did you get your hands on this?” You asked him and started twisting it around in your hands, getting a good inspection on the spacecraft part.

“Some old crashed ship a few hours out of town.” He explained, and you returned the stabiliser to its position on the counter.

“How much d’you want for it?” Your fists rested against the table, balancing your weight on them. Cassian contemplated for a second before speaking.

“Five thousand credits.” His words were filled with conceit. You scoffed at the suggestion and slid the scrap closer to him.

“Not a chance.” You replied, and pushed yourself up and rounded the counter, walking past Cassian who was now looking at you, dumbfounded.

“What, why not? This is premium imperial technology, it’s probably worth more than that!” He exclaimed, but you didn’t turn to face him. You picked up a nearby rag on a different table and started scrubbing the grime off of a small heat sink.

“That,” you pointed to the stabiliser in front of him, “my dear Cassian, is empire junk. If they find out that you stole that, then you’ve earned yourself a blaster to the head.” You went back to scrubbing.

“Fine then. Four thousand for the illicit part.” You couldn’t help but smile at his unwillingness to back down. You stopped the scrubbing and placed the items down before spinning around and sitting on the edge of the table with your arms crossed.

Now that you could see him again, you took a long look at his face. His face was surfaced in oil and dirt and his unkempt hair with his growing beard tied the whole ‘rugged scavenger’ look together. Whenever he looked at you, his features would soften and all you wanted to do was to hold his face in your hands and stare into his eyes. The same eyes that noticed your staring, and you snapped out of your daydream from under his gaze. He was flattered, and as a result, he expressed an arrogant smirk.

“Three thousand. It’s almost a decade outdated, not as premium as you think.” You countered, and he clicked his tongue and started to slowly stride towards you. You nearly leapt off your temporary seating when you straightened up. He was very close to you, and you swore you could feel his body heat from the proximity.

“What if I buy this?” He picked up the heat sink you were previously cleaning and shook it in the air, looking at you. You felt his warm breath on your shoulder when he spoke, but you weren’t ready to let him exploit you that easily.

“It would run you about five hundred credits.” He made a mockingly pouting face at your answer. “These are trying times, Cassa.” You clarified. He made a quiet little huff of laughter at your tenacity that made your heart flutter, but he was willing to play this game with you as long as you were.

“You wound my pockets, sweetheart.” You nearly melted on the spot. “I could probably get a better deal with Bix.” You were slightly offended by his claims. So he decided to play dirty, mocking your lack of business as a threat tactic to rip you off further.

“But Bix wouldn’t be your favourite scrapper to visit, would she?” That wiped the smirk off his face, and you found yourself feeling slightly dismayed watching his serious face. You made the terrible mistake of calling attention to his frequent and predictable visits. You weren’t afraid that he would lash out at you—no, you knew Cassian well and you knew he wasn’t one to react violently at you—so that’s what scared you most, the unknowingness of a reaction. He started to lean in over your shoulder, mouth hovering over your ear. Your breath hitched when you felt his body press closer into your own.

“You’re right,” your tensed muscles relaxed, relieved at his words, “she’s not. I’d always pay a little extra to see you.” The feeling was short-lived after he said the last part, and you felt your cheeks grow warmer. He leaned back, catching your eyes once more, and looking at you with a soft ogling, reading your reaction. Your lips were ajar to let your ragged breaths seep through, as he made it difficult for you to breathe all of a sudden. Your body ran its troubleshooting and you snapped back to reality, straightening your posture to exhibit your utmost fakest confidence that you could muster.

“How do I know it works?” You asked, completely ignoring his insinuation.

“I was careful not to disturb the wiring when I excavated it. Want to find out?” He replied.

“Two thousand two fifty and I’ll throw in a full repair check.” You offered.

“Two thousand two fifty, but you throw in a kiss on top of that.” He suggested, and his hands found them on either side of you, resting on the edge of the table behind you. This resulted in him closing the gap between your two bodies, as he pressed you into the surface behind you.

“You could get that for free.” It was like your heart spoke for you, the words rolling off your tongue autonomously. It was all Cassian needed to crash his lips onto yours. You caved into your fantasies from your daydreams and your hands found their way to his beard and you caressed his jaw. In comparison, his hands left the table and found your waist, to which he embraced.

Your lips moved wildly and passionately against each other, he wasn’t holding back any longer. The crush that he had for you expanded every time he walked into your shop, every time he saw you, and every time you spoke. You never did anything specifically that made him fall in love. Since there was barely any business, you basically did most of the cleaning and repairing during the hours he wasn’t there, so he fell in love with you for doing absolutely nothing.

Most of the time, the bargaining would just be an excuse to talk to you longer. He didn’t care about the credits, or the value, rarity, technicality, or whatever. He just wanted to talk to you more.

After a while of a fiery makeout session, he pulled away, leaving you both in a hot and breathy mess. You were disappointed, but welcomed the much needed break.

“Two thousand two fifty. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.” He started to walk backwards, rounding to the exit. “I’ll know to use my regular-customer discount next time.” He winked at you before taking his leave, and left you anticipating your favourite customer’s return.

[idungoofed]

Frustrations

Oh jeez okay, this was meant to be straight smut but what can I say? I just can’t help myself when it comes to Din and getting all the feels! I might be predictable but I’m not sorry. Enjoy!

Summary: Mando’s been leaving you alone on the Crest, and your feelings for him are turning into frustration of the spicy kind.

Warnings: Smut, PinV, fingering, swearing can’t be bothered to sit here and list it all but if you’re under 18 just leave now. No use of Y/N, the Crest lives! And the helmet does come off but you don’t really see anything.

Word count: 3,149

____

Letting out a huff of air, you stare up at the metal ceiling of the Razor Crest in your bunk. You’d been laying like that for the better part of an hour, listening to the quiet buzz and clicks of the ship settling around you.

You’d been left behind again while Mando had gone on another long hunt that would take days.

Your time on your own was becoming more and more frequent after the mandalorian had handed the kid over to the Jedi. You couldn’t blame him for it - knew he was hurting from the loss, and hunting bounties was a way to distract him from it, but in the process you became more lonely.

You’d been a mechanic on the crest for a while now, being employed by the man a few months before his kid was taken out your lives.

In that time you couldn’t help your fondness of the beskar clad bounty hunter growing into something that tugged at your heart whenever he called your name. Even if it was just to help with a mechanical issue.

Your relationship with the man never evolved into more than friendship, although that didn’t stop you from the hope it one day would, and when the child was around you found yourself feeling like a part of a family. They were a clan of two but you were never made to feel like a spare wheel, something you were thankful for.

Now, with the other half of the clan gone, things hadn’t stayed the same. Mando had grown distant while you yearned for things to return to how they were. What was something you thought could bloom into more than a friendship had been halted in its tracks.

You’d accepted this… at least that’s what you told yourself. Repeatedly.

It had been a long time since you’d been intimate with someone, and however much you told yourself it wasn’t going to happen with the mandalorian, you couldn’t help the fantasies that came when you were in bed alone at night.

You been able to satisfy yourself before Mando started distancing himself, using memories of his fingers brushing yours while fixing the ship together, or how he’d shove you behind him at the first sign of danger, wanting to protect you.

But now with only clipped sentences between you and dancing around each other on the ship you had just become… frustrated.

Letting out another long breath you made up your mind - you were going out.

Mando hadn’t specifically said you couldn’t leave the ship, and being docked into a port on Tatooine meant it was only a short walk to the nearest cantina.

You left a note explaining where you were, gathered your credits and headed out into the night.

When you arrive at the cantina it’s still busy with patrons, and you weave through the crowd to order yourself a spotchka and claim a newly vacated corner booth.

You take a sip and settle in, your booths location gives you an open view of the establishment, and you scan tonights crowd. A group of Jawa’s to your left seemingly fighting over scrap metal, on the right Trandoshan’s gathered round a game of sabacc, in the middle Twi’leks dance together to the jazz band and many other species in between; all there for a good time.

You’d just finished the last dregs of your drink, when a man in a green flight suit approaches your booth. You’d caught his eye a few times while you looked over the crowd, not disliking what you saw.

“Hey, I couldn’t help but notice you could use some company.”

You smile up at the man, maybe not your usual type but you couldn’t deny he was handsome, with sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, clean shaved chiselled jaw.

He jerks his chin at your empty glass. “Can I get you another one?”

You nod and accept, and eye him from behind. Not bad but…

Not as broad as your mandalorian.

Not yours. Stop it. You scold yourself.

He’s back a few minutes later, drinks in hand and slides into the booth. “I’m Seth by the way.” He says clinking his glass against yours after he sets it down.

You tell him your name, “Thanks for the drink Seth, and for your company I was starting to feel a bit lonely over here.” You say smiling shyly at him and taking a sip, watching him over the rim of the glass.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, I’d remember a pretty face.”

Your eyes itch to roll in their sockets at the line, but you fix them on his instead. This is what you came here for, it doesn’t need to mean anything.

You continue to chat to Seth, and he seems nice enough, offering up information about himself and asking about yourself in turn.

Wanting to avoid telling him who your travel companion is, you simply describe yourself as an onboard mechanic.

You feel yourself relaxing as the conversation continues, the alcohol working it’s way into your system and boosting your confidence.

“So if you’re not from here where are you staying tonight?” Asks Seth as he cups his glass in his nimble hands, leaning forward on the table.

You raise your eyebrow at him, catching the flash of desire in his eyes.

Here we go.

“Well that depends, Seth.”

“On?” he asks, starting to look unsure of himself.

“On where you live.” You say, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Uh, just round the corner from here.” He says, still unsure of where you’re heading.

“We’ll I guess I’m staying just round the corner.” You say, resting your elbows on the table, chin perched on your hands.

He eyes widen for a moment, as he realises your train of thought, a smirk spreading across his face.

Neither of you waste time after that, scooting out the booth you make your way over to the exit, Seth following close behind.

As you stride towards the door you’re met with a wall of beskar, stopping yourself just I time before you get a face full.

“Mando!” You say surprised at his sudden appearance. “What are you doing back?”

He doesn’t reply, instead looking over your shoulder at Seth who seems to shrink in size under the visors intimidating gaze.

You cross your arms over your chest, unable to stop yourself from filling the silence. “This is Seth, we were just-“

You’re cut off by the man behind you.

“Uhh, actually… I just forgot, I have an early start tomorrow, should probably take a rain check on… this.” Seth says, before darting around you, squeezing between Mando and the door frame and disappearing out of sight.

You stare after him, your cheeks heating up from being slighted, then throwing a glare at Mando as you shoulder past him.

Guess that’s over then.

The T-shape of his visor follows you as you walk out the door. Your night now ruined, you start a swift walk back to the Crest, not bothering to see if the mandalorian was following you. You could hear his steady footfall and occasional clink of beskar trailing behind you.

Back at the Crest, Mando lowers the ramp, waiting for you to enter first.

You’re pissed at how your evenings turned out, and can’t help your mood show, muttering as you walk past him.

“Cockblock.”

His helmet snaps in your direction.

Oops.

“What did you just say?” His modulated voice coming out dangerously low.

You turn to face him, pressing your lips together making it clear you weren’t going to repeat yourself. Fighting to stop the smirk hitching at the corner of your mouth from being so bold.

“So that’s what you think?” Mando asks sharply, slowly stepping towards you.

You let out an exasperated sigh, throwing your hands up in the air. “You never here… and if you’re not… I mean I had to find someone… I just wanted… needed…” You trail off as your back hits the ship wall you’d been subconsciously backed into.

Mando’s arms come up on either side of you, caging you in. He brings his helmed head down to your eye level, and you stare back into the visor, words stolen at his closeness.

“What is it you need?” His voice sounded strained, but not mad like before.

What is he…?

You such a breath in as his one of his hands trails down the wall, and settles on your hip, a leather clad thumb moving up and under the hem of your shirt.

He moves closer again, settling his thigh between your legs.

“Tell me what you need.” He asks again, commanding you to answer.

“I need you, Mando.” You whisper.

At your confession he moves closer, his thigh moving higher till it meets your aching core. A whimper falls from you lips and you can’t help but grind down on his beskar clad thigh, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

Both his hands are on your hips now, gripping them and aiding your movements by rocking you against him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, eyes locked on his visor as your hips roll, small whimpers and breathy moans escaping between your lips.

Heat already starts to pool in your belly, and the dampness of your underwear against yourself only aids in the release you seek.

After so much time with only yourself as a means to satisfy you, it doesn’t take long before your orgasm slams into you. Panting out his name as you writhe against him never wanting the high to end. Your arms cling tighter around his neck as your legs give out, but Mando holds you up right, never taking his hidden eyes away from your face.

“Fuck, Mando I-“

“I’m not done with you yet.” His husky voice comes threw the modulator. Still keeping you facing him he removes his thigh and backs you towards his small sleeping space

You feel the back of your calfs meet the end of the bed and he gently pushes you down onto it, gesturing for you to move back.

You scoot deeper into the space as he starts to remove the armour covering his body. You can’t help your eyes as they roam over him, shuddering involuntary when they find the outline of his cock straining against his flight suit.

Once the armour has been placed in a careful pile next to the bed he crawls in and settles at your feet. His hands are still in the leather gloves as he glides them up the sides of your legs towards the waistline of your pants, hesitating for just enough time for him to receive a nod from you to continue.

Mando swiftly pulled down your pants and underwear in one movement, and he settled on his forearms between you legs, taking in the sight of your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, your perfect.” He growls, taking his hand and sweeping a finger through your folds, holding it up you can see your slick clinging to the tips of gloved fingers. “All this for me?”

You nod, desperate to feel him on you.

He says your name drawing your attention to his visor once again, “I need words.”

You never imagined you would be in this position with the man infront of you, always so serious and stoic with you, and now he was causing you to become completely undone.

You make eye contact with where his would be behind his helmet, “Yes Mando, it’s all for you, it’s always all for you, I’ve wanted this for so long.” You say, barely recognising your own voice.

“Good girl.”

With that he plunges his finger into you, as you gasp his name, hips rolling up to meet him. “Fuck.. more, please!” You beg and he doesn’t make you wait, adding a second finger, curling his digits to hit the spot that sends stars across your vision.

You lean your head back into the mattress below you as he continues to fuck you with his hand.

You hear a hiss as he withdraws his fingers and you look down at him, fascinated as you watch him tip his helmet back just enough for him to suck on the fingers that were just inside you.

He groans around them, licking them clean, “Taste perfect too… fuck, I-“

His hand smacks against the control panel on the wall next to him plunging the ship into darkness.

“What are you-?” You start before you hear a clink beside he bed and a warm breath against your mound.

Oh.

His hands are back on your thighs, he must of removed his gloves after his helmet, as warm hands caress your skin instead of cold leather as he coaxes your legs over his shoulders.

He teases you at first, kissing and sucking a trail down your inner thigh, before delving his tongue into your wetness. He laps and groans into you, the vibrations causing your legs to tremor. He drags his tongue over your pussy and then focuses soft swirls on your clit.

You were becoming unhinged, the gasps and moans a continuous stream from your mouth.

You could feel yourself racing towards your next release as you grip the sheets below you, unable to stop your hips from bucking against his mouth.

When Mando pushes his thick fingers back deep inside you, you cry out his name as the wave of your second orgasm crashes over you, your muscles spasm as Mando holds your legs open and works you through your high.

As you start to relax again you feel Mando’s weight shift as he moves up your body and his mouth claims your own. You taste yourself in his kiss and feel his hard length twitch against you.

You break the kiss first, needing to catch your breath.

“I need you Mando… need to feel you.” Your voice coming out as a whine.

“Din.” His voice coming from the darkness above you. “My names Din Djarin.”

There’s a beat of silence as you process his words. Slowly, you bring your arms up, stroking the back of his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Din Djarin…” you say testing his name on your tongue, “I want to feel you.”

A deep growl comes from his throat.

“Need to see you.” Din says, his weight again disappearing.

You can hear the sound of fabric rustling as he removes the rest of his clothes, and you do the same, pulling your top over your head.

“I’m going to turn the light back on.” He says, voice once again modulated. You couldn’t help the slight stab of disappointment the helmet was back on, but you understood. He’d already given you more of himself than you ever could of hoped for.

The small room filled with soft light and your eyes widen as they roam over the man before you. The tan skin you had only seen hints of previously was scattered with silver scars, and stretched across a broad chest and defined muscle, your eyes shift lower and you take in the sight of his thick hard cock weeping with precum. Your walls clench around nothing as you imagine him inside you.

His large hands are on you again he positions himself between your legs, and you reach for him, pulling him down towards you, burying your face in the crook of his neck, seeking his skin with your mouth and you feel him sigh against you.

Din reaches between your bodies, sliding himself through your wetness, and lining up at your entrance before slowly sinking down into you.

The fullness you feel is better than any partners before him. Your sensitive walls flutter around him as he starts at a slow pace, causing you each to sigh in unison.

He calls your name and you open your eyes you hadn’t realised were closed.

“So beautiful.” He says as his knuckles gently graze over your cheek.

You take his hand in yours bringing his palm to your lips to press a soft kiss against it, hearing a modulated intake of breath.

Din starts to pick up his pace and you match his rhythm, clenching around him, drawing him in deeper. His hips jerk at the sensation.

“Wanna feel you cum around my cock.” Din rasps.

You already know you’ll meet his request, the coarse hair at his base catching on your bud as he continues to thrust into you.

He wraps his arms around you, keeping himself deep inside you and in a sudden movement, pulls you up so he’s on his knees and your sat astride him.

The new position only adds to your pleasure as he drives his cock up into you. The gasp and moans combined with the wet slap on your bodies moving only eggs you on and drives you over the edge quicker.

“Din I- I’m gon-!”

“Yes cum for me perfect girl”

As if on command you unravel in his arms, and he chases his own release seconds later, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spills inside of you.

He lowers you back down on the bed and you whimper again as his softening length slips out of you. He lays down next to you, gathering you in his arms and tucking you against him.

“Din… about the cantina… I don’t… didn’t” you start, wanting to explain.

“It’s okay, I-“

“No, it’s not. I don’t want you to think I want anyone else, I… I want you.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know you would want me.”

You hold your breath as you wait for him to reply.

“I’ve… wanted you for a long time. Then everything with the kid… losing him has been… hard.” You know there’s more and you wait for him to continue. “I didn’t want to ruin things by trying to be with you, I couldn’t lose you too.”

Tears are gathering in your eyes at his admission and you grip him tighter as he continues.

“But seeing you in the cantina ready to leave with that other man… I knew I couldn’t let that happen.”

You sit up on your elbow, looking down at him.

“I’m glad showed up when you did. If I had left with him I would of regretted it, he’s not the one I want, I would of only been wishing it was you.” You say, sure of your feelings.

Din coaxes you back down towards him. You rest your head against his chest, his hand tangled in your hair massaging your scalp.

Listening to each other’s calming breaths, sleep starts to take you both quickly. Just before you slipped into unconsciousness you hear Din whisper unfamiliar words to you. You almost miss them as sleep drags you under, but you remember one.

“Cyar’ika.”

____

Thanks for reading!

[peashooter85]

The Short Lived Pneumatic Dynamite Gun

In 1867 famed chemist Alfred Nobel patented his explosive invention; Dynamite. The new high explosive revolutionized many industries such as mining, quarrying, construction, and demolition as before the only explosive compound available was black powder, which doesn't doesn't quite have the high explosive blast of dynamite. Thus, demolition work was slow and required large amounts of black powder. It was not long after dynamite became a staple of the industrial revolution when people began to contemplate it's possible use in warfare. While dynamite is powerful, it's not very stable, and extreme caution must be practiced in it's handling and use. As a result it was not suitable for use in high explosive shells as the violent force from a firing cannon could cause the shell to detonate before even leaving the gun's barrel.

A man named D. M. Melford came up with a solution to this problem. In 1883 he demonstrated what was called a dynamite gun, which was a pneumatic cannon made to fire high explosive dynamite shells. Because it used compressed air, it could fire the shell at low velocity thus minimizing the risk or an explosive accident. In attendance for the demonstration was an American artillery officer named Edmund Zalinski, who improved upon the design and founded the "Pneumatic Dynamite Gun Company". His new "Zalinski Guns" came in a variety of calibers and utilized steam driven air compressors to charge them. Immediately the US military took interest in the concept, and began purchasing a number of the guns. In 1887 the US Navy commissioned the USS Vesuvius, a small cruiser which was armed with thee 15 inch dynamite guns which fired 500 lb high explosive shells at a range of a mile, and 200 lb shells up to 4,000 yards. The ship saw action during the Spanish American war where it's guns were used to bombard Spanish positions when the Americans landed in Cuba.

A small 8.4 inch gun was also outfitted on the USS Holland, the US Navy's first modern submarine which was commissioned in 1897.

In 1894 the US Army purchased a number of 15 inch coastal guns for use in coastal defense forts.. These 15 inch guns could fire a 50-500 lb shell around 2,000 - 5,000 yards depending on weight.

While large coastal defense guns and naval guns could easily be operated by large steam driven air compressor, such guns were impractical for field artillery as it was difficult to transport a large air compressor and use it in the field. The only piece of field artillery worth mentioning was the Sims-Dudley dynamite gun, a 2.5 inch gun which fired a 10 lb shell, and was charged using an air compressor driven by an engine which operated on the combustion of smokeless gunpowder. One was used by Theodore Roosevelt's Rough Riders during the Spanish American War, where it was generally shown to be mechanically unreliable.

The United States was the only major power to invest in the dynamite gun. Brazil purchased only one gun, which was mounted on a warship. Other than that, no one else was interested, probably figuring that it would not be long before someone invented a stable high explosive rendering dynamite guns a dead end technology. While the United States was buying dynamite guns, everyone else was inventing stable high explosive substances. In 1863 a German chemist named Julius Wilbrand invented a yellow dye called trinitrotoluene (TNT). In 1891 another German chemist named Carl Häussermann discovered that TNT has explosive properties and is relatively stable. In 1902, the German Army began using TNT in high explosive shells from field artillery. Instantly the dynamite gun was made obsolete. Artillery using traditional propellants were cheaper, more accurate, had greater range, and without the need for an air compressor were more portable. By 1904 the USS Vesuvius had been converted into a torpedo ship, and all dynamite guns in military service had been dismantled and sold as scrap metal.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Falls on my knees,,, Peach can I please request nsft Junker Queen with a smol fem s/o who comes from a rich family and is kinda sheltered? Like, sneaks out to go see her Junker wife, maybe a bit of a corruption kink if that's okay? Ty ty in advance! And if the request isn't to your liking, that's totally alright too! <3

Now, I don't normally do gendered readers. BUT I couldn't get the idea of Junker Queen calling reader her Lil Princess soooooo I'll make a self indulgent exception this time. Also accidentally got carried away and wrote more than intended lmaooo

Reblogs > Likes. Please Reblog if you hit like/heart to keep more writers like me alive and to see more content! :D

Ao3 link: Here

Fandom: Overwatch

Relationship: Junker Queen x Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader explicitly uses she/her pronouns + has a vulva + is called a good girl/princess/wife/etc, I'd say fem reader but as a femme nb Id be okay with those terms sooo, There's a public scene so like- pda but make it horny?, Possessive Junker Queen

Words: 3.2k

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Would it really surprise anyone nowadays?

You always had a luxurious life- yet, very strict. You were raised under the intention of taking over your father's company, being the only child in line for it. You were to be someone else's legacy. Your feelings and opinions never mattered- not even your hobbies.

Your father ran a tight ship, one that limited you greatly even into your adult life. He worked closely with Vishkar, working on a program that would better life for humans and use omnics as either scrap metal or servants.

You never liked it, always having immense empathy for those around you. Omnics or otherwise. It left a poor taste in your mouth at the thought of having to take over such a company.

But. It did mean you had to learn the tricks of the trade. Meaning trading with other people, companies, and sometimes even faux kingdoms.

And that's where you met her.

~Rest under the cut~

Odessa was not a woman of unreasoning, but she definitely wasn't one you bullshitted with either. She could sniff out a lie like a bloodhound; No exception to your father either when he tried to underhand her.

She laughed in his face when he proposed helping with the feral omnics around and using them as scrap metal. Offering to clean out her Wasteland just for parts. But she knew better and had leaned down from her imposing throne, using her axe to tip his chin up as she crooned; "And what's in it for me, old man?"

Whilst looking directly at you.

He tried offering money for the scraps, but in the end they had reached an agreement of some kind. You would come to her faux kingdom and help her with financials and factions that she couldn't seem to get right. And of course, he'd still pay handsomely for the scrap he took. But, if he overstepped his bounds or went against his word, he could kiss his scraps goodbye.

And judging by how she had looked at your during this dealing, you expected you'd be scooped up as well as 'aid for the salt in her wounds'.

It's how you two get close. Odessa- or Dez, as you find she liked to be called instead- keeps to her word and uses your knowledge for her own gain. And in turn, you get to see parts of the world you know you'd never be allowed to.

She takes to calling you Princess, and at first you scoff at it. But soon it turned into a fond pet name, something that made you feel pretty and cherished.

Your interests start to show again, an old love of engineering and tinkering coming into play on one of the weeks she has you. She finds you late at night in her very own workshop, using pieces of scrap found around to make a makeshift sculpture of her Champion. A little ball that when a button was pressed, popping open into the sculpture to form the little hamster inside.

After that, she'd come and watch you instead.

Her keen eyes on you as she straddled a chair backwards, resting her chin over the top of it as her honey eyes burned holes into you.

Then more watching as you got to stay for longer periods of time. Dez was interested in your routines, how you lotioned your skin, patting lipgloss on your lips and doing your hair. Softer things she was unfamiliar with, just like the rougher things you too didn't understand.

Tension built between the two of you. You couldn't look her in the eye without feeling flustered. And it seemed like she caught on quickly, trying to do everything to impress you.

She was like a puppy some days.

Some times you caught her making a struggle sound when lifting something heavy, only to act like it was no big deal when you walked in the room. Or how some days she'd try to cook something more elaborate with spices like you did, but it would be too much and inedible.

It's the thought that counted.

It wasn't until she shows up in your room in her wing with flowers does it occur to you this silly queen had been trying to court you.

From there, you…try not to go home too often.

Your father doesn't like that you're enjoying time away. It all becomes too much one day when he tries to tell her he's breaking off the arrangement to the Queen. To which Dez laughs in his face and reminds him that she's not against taking his only child.

Not that you would be against it either.

When your relationship starts, she's all chivalry. She's loud, huge, and isn't scared to get into fights with people who even look at you sideways.

She holds your hand in public, grabs your ass, presses a hand on your lower back- you name it. She says it's to 'Give that lot something to really look at' and 'Let em know what's the Queen's property'.

It makes you feel…wanted.

But Dez also grabs your hand to guide you gently down the steps, or helps you tie your dresses up in the back. She'll sit with you while you take a bath, watching you with all your fancy bubbles and soft lotions with curiosity.

And then hunger when you offer for her to join you.

In turn, you learn to get a little dirty. The basics of self defense and standing up for yourself. Learning how to say No with certainty and getting into hobbies you'd long since forgotten.

It's one day after one of your baths does she make her move. She's upset about something, frustrated, looking to blow off steam. She tells you you smell so good, that you're so soft.

That she wants to tear you apart.

You go that night sore and bruised with bite marks lining every inch of you. With a snoring girlfriend lain across you and holding you like a stuffie.

Princess becomes more than a pet name after that.

One final night, you have a fight with your father and sneak out that night. Your private dropship already knows where to take you, the built in AI taking you there.

It's dark out, but Dez is already waiting for you. As if she got wind of it before you even showed up. You don't question it or try to make sense of it, just taking her hand silently as she escorts you off your ship.

"Rough night?" Are her first words that break the silence as she leads you inside her bedroom. You laugh dryly, wiping at the mascara trails under your eyes silently as she hands you a tissue.

"S'alright, love. You can stay here as long as ya need, yeah? Been in my fair share of spats with my old man too back in the day." Dez comforts you, opening her large arms as you come towards her to rest your head on her.

Your head reaches below her chest. Her hands are warm and rough as they rub across your back, focusing on the exposed part of your upper back where your dress dips down. Her short nails soothingly rub across your skin as you breathe in her scent slowly.

"Got any positions available in your kingdom, Your Highness?" You murmur as a jab to be humorous, but it comes out quietly.

In turn, Dez spares you a little chuckle. She pulls away briefly, grabbing your chin to tip it up to her with a cocksure smirk playing on her lips. "Could use someone to help me keep documentation on things." Her thumb then rubs across your bottom lip, watching as you close your eyes and peck a kiss to it. "Could also use a lil' wife to keep me in line too."

"Wife, huh?" You tease back at her, reaching up to grab her hand and press a kiss to her palm. But when she doesn't laugh at first, you glance back up to her face to see she's looking at you expectantly.

It clicks.

"Dez you're not seriously proposing like that, are you?" Your tone is full of mirth, flattered even. Your smile breaks her as she starts to smile in turn, leaning down to kiss your forehead and then your nose.

"Nah, nah. Just a thought, Princess. Would wanna find ya a big ole ring. Somethin' that screams 'Queen', ya know? Maybe we'll even getcha a lil tiara, aye?" All the while she speaks, gesturing to your head and forming a circle with her fingers like she's measuring you.

"Are you going to bring fireworks for the occasion?"

"Of course, doll! Would do it in public too. Maybe after pulverizing some bloke in the Reckoning." Dez hums thoughtfully, cupping her cheek and letting her eyes flick over your now smiling face. "Though, worry it'll make 'em think you're part of that prize. The title and the bride up for grabs."

"I'd poison them in their sleep and get you your title back."

A grin splits across her face, her big, booming laugh echoing in the room as she scoops you up into her arms to squeeze you tightly. "Now THAT'S my girl!"

--

You stay there afterwards. Carefully bundled in her bed with her night after night. Most nights she's not there, busy with handling things. And in turn, you learn to stay up late with her. You write down all her words, keeping documentation on factions and any upsets that went around town.

It feels like a domestic lifestyle. She's even started teasingly calling you her bride and wife, much to your embarrassment.

Dez treats you gently, the utmost gentleman that she is- per her own words.

But one time, when you go to the bar with her, someone gets a bit too bold with you. Knocking shoulders with you, poking at you. You can see her from across the table slowly looking murderous. But the cherry on top is when the person beside you implies they could treat you better.

You're surprised they don't end up a bloody pulp. But you quickly learn why when Dez croons at them, "Oh, ya do, aye? And would you happen to know what little spots make her tick, hm?" In this venomous tone as she stalks around the table to come toward you.

You squeak as you're lifted off the chair by her, your body turned towards that person as her hands slide down your shoulders. Down to your waist where she grabs you tight and makes you gasp, a heavy flush covering your face.

You try to turn your head, but she grabs your chin, turning your head towards the person to make sure they're looking just as you are.

"See how her legs shake?" Dez continues, her free hand trailing up to your chest and making you tremble. "See how she melts at my touch?" Her hand on your chin slides down, and you automatically move to make room for it to wrap loosely around your throat.

Your lashes begin to flutter, your breath shaking.

"You wanna know what sounds she makes for me in the night? Screaming my name? Ya think you could do that? Mate, I can make her scream for me without ever bein' inside her." Her words are harsh and heavy, but you're so distracted by her hand trailing down to the bottom of your dress. Her hand slides underneath, over your thigh, bending you over with her height only.

"Doll," She directs to you, her tone so sweet and kind. You hardly have time to breathe. "Remind this poor, blubbering fool who you belong to?"

"M-my Queen."

"And who only gets the utmost pleasure in having you?"

"You, my Queen."

"Now. Be a good girl and tell this bloke to fuck off." Her tone is sweet to you, so kind. You're shaking at the feeling of her body heat behind you as she stands to allow you to stand.

Her hand catches your chin again, directing you to open your eyes and look at the poor son of a bitch avoiding eye contact with you as the whole bar stares.

"Fuck off."

You don't get to finish your time at the bar. From there, Dez tells everyone to get back to what they were doing and have a good night. Said with a big slap on the back to the person who had been flirting with you.

You barely make it to the bedroom before Dez is snarling and slamming you into the nearest surface- but of course with a hand behind your head to avoid impact.

You whimper as she captures your lips in hers, bending down to do so. Her hand grabs your hair, her other one quickly shuffling up your skirts to fit her large thigh between yours to cause a moan to gasp from you.

"My pretty girl," She snarls against your lips, kissing down your neck as she pulls your hair. Forcing you to expose your neck as you gasp out. Her thigh presses up harder into you, feeling how wet you are already and making her breathlessly chuckle. "Oh? My sweet Princess liked that, hm?"

You try to nod, but can't move a muscle when she sucks a bruise into your neck with a cry from your own lips. "D-Dez-"

"Yeah, keep sayin' my name, angel. Gonna make you scream it real soon." She promises, her voice sounding like a growl as she scoops you up to deposit you on the bed.

You hardly get one bounce in before she's grabbing your hips and tugging you to the end of the bed where she gets down on her knees in front of you. Your dress is shuffled up where you quickly hold the skirts in place to watch her helplessly.

She moans at the sight of you, her finger trailing over the wet spot on your panties and pressing with just enough pressure over your clit to make you squirm. "My poor baby. A queen should never let her bride be wanting, hm? How selfish of me."

Your panties are ripped off, tucked into her back pocket before Dez is quickly yanking you close to bury her face into you. Her tongue knows exactly what you like best, licking flat over your whole cunt before her lips seal over your clit.

You scream out, your hands finding her braids and grabbing onto them for support. Your legs quake as she presses forward, forcing your feet to press to her shoulders and effectively pressing you into a better, open position.

It works to her favor, as she quickly introduces a thick finger pressing inside of you just like you like.

You cry out when her tongue flicks across your clit, back and forth nice and slow before taking you back between her lips again to suckle. She presses in a second finger, curling them upwards just as she moans helplessly into you when you pull her hair.

You cum quickly like that, with her fingers pumping into you shallowly and her tongue flicking across your clit nice and slow as if savoring you.

"Dez- D-Dez, fuck, baby, please, f-fuck-" Your cries are all her name like a prayer, fucking your hips into her face as she growls into you again.

It's only then does she pull from you, not giving you anytime to think as she forces you onto all fours.

Two fingers slide into you again, her other hand coming below you to sandwich your clit between two fingers to massage it in time with her fingers fucking you.

You scream her name into the mattress as your fingers claw for support in the sheets. Your face buries into them, desperate to muffle your pathetic whines as your eyes roll back into your head.

You're over sensitive, but you can still make out her words behind you. Each one more claiming than the next.

"No one else gets to see you like this."

"What a pretty Princess for her Queen, hm? Not such a good little girl now, are you? Just look at how well you take me now."

Then finally, her hand leaves your clit, giving her enough space to lean over you as her fingers fuck into you still. Spoken as she nips your shoulder and murmurs behind your ear, "Beg. Beg to cum around my fingers, pretty girl. Let 'em hear ya all over the wasteland, yeah?"

Then Dez moves. Moving to lay on her back under you, keeping her fingers sunk into you and using her free hand to grab one of your hips bruisingly.

She yanks you down to her awaiting mouth, moaning into you just as you sob out and start to hump into her face and back into her fingers.

You know Dez doesn't need to wait for you to beg, pleas already slipping from your lips in a higher pitch with each swipe of her tongue. Each curl of her lips sloppily kissing over your clit in open mouthed, messy kisses with a brush of her tongue on each kiss.

You scream for her. Screaming her name loud enough to be heard outside the open window for sure as you cum on her tongue and fingers.

Your back arches, twisting your fingers in the sheet as your eyes roll back into your head. You don't even realize you're kicking your legs and squirming too much until both her hands take a hold of your hips.

Dez's strength in her very fingertips makes you shiver, sobs racking your frame as overstimulation winds into your bones. Tears bubble in your eyes, your body shaking as you whine her name quietly.

It's then that she slides out from under you, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand before readjusting you.

She pulls your trembling form into her arms, cradling you bridal style and fixing your dress into place. You cling to her tightly, burying your face into her neck as she rubs over your back crooning to you gently.

"You did a good job, love. Not hurt, are ya?" Her voice is gentle, using her cheek to nuzzle at the top of your head. You shake your head quietly, humming to let her know that your reply is no.

"Good. Cause I ain't done with ya yet." Dez chuckles softly, kissing the top of your head with a turn of her head. Your reply is a soft whine, feeling how one of her hands cheekily slides under your dress to squeeze at your thigh.

"What? Haven't even properly bruised ya up yet. After a slight like that, I'm itchin' to tear you apart." Her words are a promise, despite her soft tone. "'Sides, we know you can take more than just that."

"You're going to kill me." You groan back to her, lifting your head finally just in time to catch her gaze. Your cheeks flush at how dark her eyes are.

How hungrily she looks at you.

"Not gonna kill ya," She promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead tenderly. "Just gonna make sure ya can't walk tomorrow."

And you know Dez. Her promises?

They're not ever broken.

---

Reblogs > Likes. Please Reblog if you hit like/heart to keep more writers like me alive and to see more content! :D

[smiledog15578]

GOOGLE GIDEON Google’s first walking talking task robot

The first of his kind, so some of his features are outdated

Originally had silicone skin but was ripped off because he didn’t want to be seen as human but as robot

Was once on earth but went rouge, wanting to destroy human kind

The government thought instead of termination, they would put him into the nasa where he would go into a spaceship and land wherever nearest planet he can inhabit. He has no control over the ship so he’s mostly a metal asteroid

You can either avoid the unknown flying object or let it crash into your ship

If you let it crash into the Invincible, Gideon will aboard your ship surprisingly being friendly. He is putting up a front to kill you and your crew mates and take over the ship then going back to earth destroying it in the process

He doesn’t like Head engineer Mark. Of course Mark loves to ask it questions since he’s never gotten a physical robot before

Doesn’t like the ship computer either.

If you avoid the unknown flying object in later universes you will end up in the bad lands were bandit, Beta, and wug inhabit

Begrudgingly joins the pack just to survive, he doesn’t like any of them but they help him from not falling apart

Beta thinks that him and Gideon are friends, Gideon doesn’t think so at all more of a nuisance than anything

Talks in a monotone but snarky voice

Higher intelligence of any human being on earth, but not street smarts

While he does hate humans in order to blend in he had to learn human culture

BING BETA Bing’s first and last task robot

Like Gideon, Beta was once a robot from earth

Not as good as the Googles robot. Pretty janky

The earth decided to make him space trash because of how shit the product was.

Ended up in the badlands junkyard were he was left with nothing but a head and an upper torso

He quite literally built himself up from scrap grabbing other trashed robot parts

While he isn’t intelligent, he is a very friendly robot. More human than robot at this point

He is sort of an inventor trying to find things to help other robots in the badlands without limbs n such

He actually named himself! He never really had a name except “Bing prototype”

Meets Wug and Bandit later on down the road and they’re his only best friends

A lovable himbo

Once Gideon crashes into the badlands and Beta finds him, Beta is excited for joy of this new robot on their planet

He immediately goes to work repairing anything torn of broken fixing Gideon up

Him and Gideon are best friends even if Gideon is a bit shy

Loves to collect earth kick knacks he finds and gives them to either Wug or Bandit. A huge earth enthusiast

Probably Allum and Beta would be friends also

Twitches a lot, faulty wiring.

Mark said he wish he could play Bing and Google again but couldn’t due to copyrighted names but here ya go! Something completely non copyright free if you take out the companies names and replace it with something else :3 this was just for fun

[moltensteelsg]

Are you looking to give up your scrap? You have come to the right place; Molten steel is a renowned scrap ship propeller buyer in Singapore. Bring in all kinds of scrap, whether it’s commercial or general metal scrap waste.

[gatheredfates]

78. Trapped Together, please! Surprise me :eyes:

Disclaimer: This is an AU between my character Eve and my partner's character, Flynt! He, unfortunately, dislikes being perceived™ so I can't link you to his stuff. Also this whole thing is very unserious because they're very unserious and I love them.

Evelyn Rivers was overdue for a no-good, terrible day.

Arguably, any day with another person's company and a lack of good whisky was a no-good, terrible day, but this was an exceptionally bad no-good, terrible day.

And it all began the moment his face flashed into her peripheral.

"RHALGAR'S TITS, COCK AND ASS!" The low tong of wrench hitting pipe resonated through the cramped entanglement of metal and wires, narrowly missing the blonde hair of his ear... and the little fucker did absolutely nothing. He looked down at her, the space between them nary and inch, and grinned.

"Hi."

"Th' fuck you mean hi?" Eve tried to hiss, though it exited more like a wheeze.

"Hi," Flynt repeated, like that was a sufficient answer, "I'm stuck."

This was a problem. Right up to and including this moment, the mechanic had been lying on her back, meticulously rejigging the wires of her deathtrap airship, The Junker. Because it was a hodgepodge of rubber, iron and hammered-on scraps of carbon-fibre, she wasn't particularly big. Enough for one person, to be sure; two was pushing the luck. But her engine, while deep, was certainly not enough for two people to linger comfortably — less so when the other looked like stashed cables at the back of her wardrobe, kept for the never-occurring 'later on'.

"You're not stuck, Flynt —" Eve paused.

Flynt didn't lie, that was the issue at hand. He might obfuscate, he might withhold information. But as far as a direct question to answer ratio, the viera did not lie. "—Are you actually stuck?"

"Without a doubt." She was going to kill the cheery motherfucker. "I fell in."

"How did — YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS?" The question was rhetorical. She swiped at him with the wrench and missed atrociously, further enraged by his blind luck. He let out an 'Oops!' and began to comically scramble, freeing himself by pushing a pipe completely out of alignment as she chased him and nearly smacked her clean in the face with it.

"STOP! RUINING! MY! FUCKIN'! SHIP!"

Bang, bang, bang! The chorus of her tools hitting steel rather than bone.

"That was choked for ages!" He claimed, grabbing hold of whatever would take him as he clamoured out. "I'm helping!"

"YOU NO' DOING SHIT —" She bellowed, even as SERS lit up from the pilot console above and began to speak in a pleasant tone.

"Designation Evelyn, it is my pleasure to inform you that, due to your efforts, our fuel efficiency has been increased by twenty percent!"

"SHUT TH' FUCK UP, SERS."

[spectrum-studios]

Story notes : dystopian space, tw: mentions of blood and slight blood, violence, moderate language, gore.

This is a school assignment I made, and I had lots of classmates and teacher advice taken, and it's a part of my final for the creative writing class.

Also, here's some mentions to people i wish to share this with!

@lethalcontracts @adriftinthev0id @xdollydoodlesx @orbdotexe @celestelunisea16 @gizmocrate-werecrow

Story below the cut!

“Hello, I'm the boss of this [REDACTED] company, YOU are my newest assistant, YOUR job is to make sure the crews are mentally sane, YOU will activate the [REDACTED] protocol if a crew does not meet quota. And thank YOU for joining the monitor system…”

YOU sat down at a repurposed security desk and turned on all the monitors… and decided to read about the restricted rehired No-Fire crew captain, Intel.

[Intel’s Background

Year 1XXX. An asset named Intel yelled at her team to take off as she fended off the monsters who were trying to board the ship. The captain tossed her a stop sign for her self-defense.

And years pass on the moon… enough time to let her learn about things that no soul can ever dream, Intel learned how to kill anything.

As the years pass intel is eventually saved and rehired soon becoming a captain.

Her crew is named Team No-Fire made up of Intel, Socks, Rookie, and Intern.]

YOU tuck the file away and start monitoring the screens.

‘This has been a cycle for everyone’s lives. Just eat, ship to moons, collect scrap, kill aliens, get home, get paycheck… repeat. Once someone joins, they can't leave till death, age, or too much information. Everyone is an asset. They don't care if you commit crimes or are insane; you are an asset and a tool to the company.’

Year 2387.

Intel parries a Jester’s lunge attack and shoves the jester back and swings her stop sign and digs the sharp metal into the Jester’s neck and exposed spine, blood spewing from the wound which made quite a mess… Intel starts violently stabbing the Jester’s shell with the sign pole and blood starts to pool the hall as the Jester is lifeless on the ground, and Intel wipes blood off her cracked visor, Intel looks at Rookie, “that's the third near death with Jester, Rooks… and it's a monday.” She helped Rookie up.

“Doesn't beat Socks’s however… she has the most encounters, what was it again?” Rookie asked. “98 encounters Rooks, 98, and that was last month.” Intel answered, collecting scrap.

“Still shocks me. Socks lied her way into the job…” Rookie sighs.

“Me too Rooks… me too.” Intel said with a disappointed voice. The two head back to the ship. Upon getting home and taking a break, along with paying respect to fallen people, the crew dumps off the scrap and “sleep”...

In the morning, Intel got up to get the paycheck.

“Here's the paycheck Intel” boss said as his visible clawed hand held out the check to Intel.

“Thanks boss, have a good day” Intel replied, taking the check and reading it over.

Later in the day Intel’s team washed off the blood from a fight that the youngest teammate, Socks, miraculously missed by taking the fire exit, that fight was scary… Intel didn't want Socks to die or get traumatized. Intel looks at her stop sign, the very sign that her old team tossed her as she sacrificed her life to save them… sad that they got fired… Intel yearned for freedom but she knew far too much for her freedom, she knew more than the boss himself…

The sleep pod alarm went off as Intel punched it to silence it and slid out of the pod in her black skinsuit as she grabs the space suit and slips it on, she bangs on the other pods to wake up the rest.

“Wake up bitches, we have work today… no slacking” Intel spoke in a tired voice.

“I’m up, I'm up, capt'n..” Intern kicked open the pod door while the others slowly got up and ready. Intel grabs a helmet and skips breakfast, boarding the ship assigned to her team..

Later, they arrive at a new moon that is worth ten times the normal runs they do. Intel rips the stop sign pole from a baboon hawk head as its thick viscous blood covers the pole.

“Fucking baboon hawks” Intel mutters under her breath…

“These robots are soooo BIG!” Socks squeals excitedly at the sight of giant robots.

“They look dangerous, Socks.” Rookie holds her small shoulder.

They all enter the building and get the scrap, ward off nutcrackers and brackens, and get back to the ship as giants crawled from the earth at the sight of a sunset.

“Time to go?” Intern asked. “Yeah lets get the fuck outta here” Intel answered dropping some scrap, and heading ‘home’.

Intel washes off her stop sign and suit off of any alien blood along with the others. They grab dinner and climb into their pods. Intel stays awake, dreaming her hopeless dream.

End. . . ? no… there is never an ending in the company… It's just a million stories and a million lives lost out in space.

Lore | Lethal Company Wiki | Fandom

[ginandoldlace]

HMS Montagu aground on Shutter Rock, suffering a 91-foot (28 m) gash on her starboard side. Unable to free herself from the rocks,

At 02:00 on 30 May 1906 , Montagu ran aground on Shutter Rock, suffering a 91-foot (28 m) gash on her starboard side. Unable to free herself from the rocks, she slowly filled with water; twenty-four hours later, her starboard engine room and all of her boiler room were flooded, among others. Her crew counter-flooded the port engine room to prevent her from listing further to starboard. Divers inspected the hull to determine the extent of the damage, which proved to be more serious than initially expected. The bottom of the ship also received extensive damage, including several other holes and the port propeller shaft having been torn from the hull. The starboard  bilge keel was also ripped from the hull, as was the rudder. The wreck rested on a fairly even bottom, so there was hope that the ship could be refloated

Since the Royal Navy had no dedicated salvage unit, it turned to Frederick Young, a former Royal Navy captain who now worked as the chief salvage officer of the Liverpool Salvage Association. Young was at that time the foremost expert on marine salvage in Britain, so he was hired to advise Admiral Sir Arthur Wilson the commander of the Channel Fleet, who had no experience in salvage operations. The navy initially hoped to lighten the ship by removing the medium and small-caliber guns and other equipment that could be easily taken off and then to pump out the water so that the holes in the hull could be patched. By the end of June, some twenty pumps had been assembled on the scene, with a total pumping capacity of 8,600 tonnes (8,500 long tons; 9,500 short tons) of water per hour. Difficulties with pumping, owing in part to the subdivision of the internal compartments and the need to reflood the ship during  high tide to keep her from suffering more damage before the hull could be patched, led the salvors to give up the operation

Wilson next sought to remove armour plate from the sides of the ship and to erect a series of caissons , at which point a powerful air pump would be used to blow the water out of the hull. The caissons repeatedly broke free even in mild seas, and the air pump failed to have the desired effect. Her sister ship  Duncan herself ran aground whilst trying to help the salvage effort, though she was successfully freed. At the end of the summer of 1906, salvage efforts were suspended for the year, with plans to resume them in 1907. However, an inspection of the ship conducted from 1 to 10 October 1906 found that the action of the sea was driving her further ashore and bending and warping her hull so that her seams were beginning to open, her deck planking was coming apart, and her boat davits had collapsed. Having failed to refloat Montagu, the navy decided to abandon the project. Further material was removed from the wreck, including her main battery guns, which were later re-used in other vessels.The Western Marine Salvage Company of  Penzance completed salvage of the wreck for scrap metal over the next 15 years. The court martial   convened for the affair blamed the thick fog and faulty navigation for the wreck. The trial was held aboard  HMS Victory . The ship's captain, Thomas Adair   and the navigation officer, Lieutenant James Dathan, were severely reprimanded, with both men being dismissed from HMS Montagu; Dathan lost two years of seniority in rank as well.The wreck site, which now amounts to little more than some armour plate on the sea floor, is a popular diving location. Divers have also located parts of her gun turrets and shells that were not recovered during the salvage operation. In September 2019 the British Government granted the wreck site—including the steps which had been chiseled out of the cliff during the salvage effort protected status

[the-churroguy]

Omg! It’s here! The first chapter?!?!

So one thing I’m going to say. If you aren’t aware of who the Night Lords in 40k are: the worst. They are literally the worst. They should not be admired or looked up. They are assholes. In the worst way imaginable. Why am I writing shitty fanfic about them? Don’t ask question! Anyway, I do NOT ship the main male and female leads. They are NOT a wholesome couple. They aren’t even an item, I realize that won’t stop some of you, but please be warned that these two monsters are NOT NICE TO EACH OTHER.

Kerreck fiddled with the edge of his blood-stained lightning claws as he glanced through the red tinted goggles of his helmet. His eyes flicked left a hair's breadth as he took in the sight in front of him. Just barely visible above the egress zone of this accursed world were three more battle barges.

The first and most pronounced was ‘The Nexum Arcana’, an ancient warship hailing from the sons of Magnus; captained by Azariah, a skilled sorcerer, seconded by none save Ahriman himself. Across from it was ‘The Miasmic’, which was heralded by a war-band of plague marines being led by a powerful terminator captain simply named Locust. He supposedly took the name from one of his ‘grandfathers’ own never-born after slaying it in battle. Lastly, and most dreadful in Kerrek’s opinion, was ‘The Warmaster’s Requiem’ a battle barge belonging to Black Legion. It had been renamed by its captain, Talos Infernus, a Master of Possessions. The ship was renamed to pay tribute to their former primarch, the Luprechal.

Kerreck and his brothers’ war party were not here willingly, at least most of them were not. Their captain had lost sight of their fathers last wish, the Night Haunter’s dying command, and had chosen the path of ‘apotheosis’. This was no doubt spurred on by talks with either the Rubric or the Black Legionnaire, perhaps even both. He grumbled as he stared out of the viewport, still gently gliding his gauntleted hand over his lightning claws, “Hmmmph, demon-hood. As if it is to be some sort of honor.” If he had his helmet removed, he would have spit at the notion of ascension. He understood the ruinous powers of the dark gods, and the ‘gifts’ they could provide; but all, save perhaps Khorne, would trick their subordinates and cripple them or curse them for nothing more than entertainment. No, Kerrick wanted NOTHING to do with them.

“Perhaps…” a young female called up to him, followed by the sound of a whetstone grinding against metal, “The good captain and his guard are simply seeking to honor your father in this way?” There was a scratchy chuckle from her throat as soft pink eyes stared up at the Night Lord. “What better way to sow terror, fear and bloodshed across the materium than by becoming the monster of your own story?”

The female was in rudimentary armor, scraped together from plates of former guard members and scrap they had lying around in the dark belly of the barge. It was dingy, barely offering protection, but it was light, and quiet, allowing her to slip in and out of the shadows with ease. It stood in stark contrast with Kerreck’s own warplate. His armor was ancient, fierce and covered in a leathery, blood-soaked cowl of his favorite prey he had hunted. The Night Lord turned his head to face her; sneering beneath his face plate. This girl, barely on board their ship for a quarter of a century, had nerves of adamantine to address him so casually, even more so to assume his thoughts. But she wasn’t wrong, a monster is the only thing Kerreck could call his captain, Envrol Skavak. He had served the Night Haunter faithfully throughout the heresy, and had carried out their fathers will for three different crusades, but now… greed and power had poisoned his soul. His vision had become jaded by thoughts and spirits of the warp as he steered not only himself, but his entire company down this forsaken path.

“Have you completed your tasks, Sahar?” Kerreck inspected the ax blade in her hands. It was nearly as large as she was, and undoubtedly heavier, but she was able to maneuver the weapon with relative ease as she twirled it in her hands, the black of the handle nearly blending in perfectly with the ebony color of her matted hair.

A cruel smile curled around her lips as she offered Kerreck his weapon, bowing her head to hide her eyes, “Of course, lord. This one was tempted to test its edge against some of the slaves below deck. But she stopped at the thought of using her master's arms without his permission.”

“So there is still some wisdom in that malicious head of yours after all.” Kerreck scoffed and took the device. “That is good. I’d hate to kill you, girl. You’re the only human aboard this vessel who can truly appreciate a blade's purpose. I’d hate to have to train up another one of you.”

The girl giggled slightly, “This one shall do her best not to inconvenience her lord.” She straightened herself back out and brushed her hair out of her face, “Besides, she prefers the quiet blades, engines give away positions.” She rested her hand against the pommel of one of her machetes. “Have we been summoned yet?”

Kerreck tisked as he turned his faceplate to stare at her. His eyes peered into her soul as he reprimanded her, “Know your place, Sahar. You are my ward because I ALLOW it. But you are NOT part of this war band, you are NOT a Night Lord.”

Sahar’s expression dropped slightly. She knew she would never be an astartes, no matter how hard she trained herself, bruised herself, bled herself. She would never be at their rank. She bowed her head low, “Forgive this one's forwardness.”

Kerreck paused as perhaps a small tinge of regret lifted to the forefront of his mind, but he quickly shoved it back down. No time for sentimental weakness. “You are correct, however; the captain HAS called me up. You will accompany me, and we will see what fresh hell he has planned for the company. No doubt the makings of another crusade.”

Sahar leaned to the side as she looked up to Kerreck with curious eyes, as if she had forgotten that she had just been scolded by a Night Lord, “Perhaps the four of them wish to marshal favor with the war master?”

“Abaddon is beyond any of us.” Kerreck grumbled, “And the fact that you know his name is very… disturbing…”

Sahar giggled to herself as she followed alongside Kerreck, “This Lord talks in his sleep. Dreams of malice leak bits of information. She does her best to maintain knowledge for the sake of her lord.”

“Keep it to yourself, for both of our sakes.” Kerreck looked down to her, “Many of my brothers would relish the chance at us. And while you would never be able to stop them, you can certainly do your best to remain unnoticeable to them.” Kerreck turned to make his way towards the bridge.

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Sahar had never seen so many astartes assembled in one place; and there were so many different colors. The ones in gold trim seemed to strike her the most. She had never known metals could be so brightly polished. And they were shining. It almost hurt her eyes to stare at them for more than a few seconds. Hues of purple and blue danced around them. The warp ebbed into the cracks in the war plate and danced across the surfaces of their heraldry.

She caught her master's left hand shift slightly. Glancing up she saw his helmet slightly tilted towards her, a subtle sign that let her know she was staring. She took a half step back and pulled the dingy blue hood of her makeshift shawl over her head, wanting to remain as unseen as possible. She smiled a bit as she stepped back though. Other slaves aboard this ship were terrified of their masters, and rightfully so. The eighth legion was the most bloodthirsty of the corpse gods creations, perhaps even more so than the World Eaters. The twelfth legion shed the most blood physically, but they did so with ‘honor’ and ‘pride’, all to appease some god that would only cast them aside. Just as the corpse god had done to his sons. It was a pointless cycle to her. She and her master did not kill for honor, they did not do so to bask in the gifts of some heathen deity. They killed… simply because they could, and they were GOOD at it.

The girl snapped back to reality as she listened to the meeting. The captains were all arguing over the war plan. Another thing Saharr and her master hated about these joint efforts with the cousin legions. Planning and logistics and rituals and… Sahar had to hold back a groan as she stared out of the viewport. She was getting anxious, ‘and if SHE is anxious…’ she looked up to her lord; ‘HE was bordering on insanity.’

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Kerreck was certain that if his teeth had not been filed down and reinforced from his geneseed, they would have been ground to dust by now. His eyes darted between Locust and Azariah:

The terminator stepped forward, “Speak carefully sorcerer. My armor may not bear the shine of yours. But the powers of the grandfather, as well as the endurance of my own strength will see that I am alive LONG after you and your brothers are reduced to dust…” he looked Azariah up and down, “… again…” Venom dripped off of that last jab as Locust reminded the Thousand Sons captain of their legions greatest failure and subsequent curse.

The sorcerer responded quickly as his staff tapped the ground as roaring blue fire erupted from his hand, “Mind your tongue, you walking pile of refuse.” Azariah hissed, “Your foul bodies may be immortal, but a snap of my fingers will see that entire ship ripped apart in the darkest realms of the warp as demons feast upon your putrid souls.”

The terminator’s autocannon began to cycle on his right arm. But ultimately, it was Talos who had the final words, “Brothers, please.” He reached out and touched both of their chests, “We already have so few allies. We can scarce afford to lose what little we have in the materium. Besides, you forget we are ALL guests to our host, Skavak.”

A Night Lord captain, draped in leathery capes and skull-embossed armor plating, slowly crept from the shadows as he stared at each of them. “He is correct, you two. You stand in MY ship, surrounded by MY honor guard.”

Locust huffed, “Some guard, you merely keep a handful of Talons aboard this bridge.”

“Those are the ones you are ALLOWED to see. Do not forget my filthy friend, the Raven kin are not the ONLY ones who can hide in shadows. Now then, this debate.”

Talos bowed lightly, “Yes, noble lord. We are ready for the next step. Perhaps an explanation?”

Skavak nodded and looked at the plague marine. “I will not deny the power you hold, ancient one. But your grandfather's gifts will not serve me or my company as we haunt the galaxy.” He motioned towards the Miasmic. “However, they WILL serve as an invaluable shield against whatever Imperial reinforcements arrive at the mention of this planet's downfall. My gift to you is that. Whoever you wish to capture and claim during the fight for your purposes will go unchallenged by the rest of us.”

Locust went to protest, but he could see it in Talos’ stance that there would be no further negotiations of his cause beyond this, “Very well. But heed my warning, Envrol. The Great Changer is not as… merciful… to failure as Nergul.”

“Do you believe any amongst the eighth legion are prospects for mercy?” Skavak raised an eyebrow.

“I have said what all I will say.” Locust turned to leave, a noxious cloud following behind him like an opaque cloak.

The rancidness of his armor made Sahar gag as she had to bite her tongue and hold her breath just to keep herself from vomiting across the decks. Once he had departed, she turned her hidden gaze back to the Black Legionnaire.

“And for the three of us?” Azariah asked, “What shall be our goals here?”

“Tzeentch and Khorne…” Talos smiled, stealing a quick glance to Sahar as if he could almost read her thoughts. “The two brothers have always been in an ebb and flow for the champion of the great game. The blood god detests all things arcane, while the Great Changer is disgusted by Khorne’s… straightforward… tactics.”

Envrol growled, “And yet, you claim they will both accept me as their champion? This doesn’t make sense to my mind.”

“You are a CAPTAIN of the Night Lords.” Talos raised his voice, but not in derision or condescension, but rather as a sort of praise, “A true son of Kurze, the Night Haunter. Your armies wade through torrents of blood and death. The War god hates spellcasting, but apotheosis is something he is no stranger to. And your deeds here will cement your claim. As for the Keeper of Knowledge…” Talon turned to face Azariah.

The rubric nodded and took a half step forward, “Tzeentch is above all else, curious. He craves knowledge, and the idea of a merging demon prince between him and his brother may anger him, but his curiosity will win over. It can be done.”

Sahar caught something just there, as the sorcerer spoke. A slight pause, a fraction of a second in looking back to the Night Lord Captain. He was lying. A scheme was brewing between the two arcane masters. Skavak might very well achieve apotheosis, but he would no longer be the one pulling the strings.

“Very well.” Envrol nodded, “Nine days. We will lay waste to this world for nine days. Eight monuments are to be erected as we take the hive sectors to venerate the blood god, around each monument we will inscribe the whispers of Tzeentch. The blood will appease the one, while the knowledge claimed by this world slakes the other.” Envrol looked to Kerreck, “Prepare your brothers. When shadow falls across the planet. You will strike.”

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