ori-anna-v-58008

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Your robotgirl, running late because she cannot find her left foot. She had it last night, and she is super mad at you because you took it off during sex.

She forgot she put it by the front door fifteen minutes ago, and she is hopping around the house in frustration.

[ori-anna-v-58008]

There's a blinded pilot (traumatically, ritually, self-inflicted, you were never quite sure) in your squadron that can still see through their mech's sensor suites & remote drone buoys, stitching together a dozen different PoVs at any given time so long as they never stray too far from their mech-self.

They can see you approach as soon as you're in the hangar bay they spend so much of their life in, tracking your path from side-entrance to the cot they've claimed as their living quarters. Their target tracker software has already projected six different paths you could have taken and modeled three future movement vectors to anticipate every approach.

But they still don't twitch their head in your direction, still don't get up from out of their meditative rest-position. Only the whirring of swiveling sensor pods indicates any knowledge of you at all, only the slight twitch of muzzled weapons tracing you gives away the attention. They don't even raise a hand up to stop you when you stand over them and reach for the neural crown on their head.

It takes a bit of force to detach it, clamps and connectors and magnetic locks releasing with a sigh and the briefest full-body shudder through the pilot as it is +truly+ blinded again, almost the same from their mech-self as the pods all move back to neutral positions, weapons resetting as the puppet strings are cut.

It whimpers, slightly, as it hears the crown clatter to the ground beside it, still connected to the cables trailing back into the cockpit-cradle it wants nothing more than to crawl back into. It flinches when your fingers touch its cheek, wiping at the tears starting to roll down its face, un-traced radar targets glittering to the ground beneath it.

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Former pilot kicked upstairs to being a handler.

At first she's deeply upset by it, this slowly morphs into jealousy towards her replacements, then quickly erupts into unflinching sadism in how she treats them.

And thus, the circle is unbroken.

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Source

[ori-anna-v-58008]

please please someone make an asmr/ambience audio of like, sleeping in a mech cockpit and u can hear a gentle hum of the engine in standby mode and the muffled sounds of engineers working outside in the hangar

[ori-anna-v-58008]

honestly i am such a sucker for machines being cared for. like? please be gentle. i am not like you. this is my body, please be careful. i do not think like you. i do not work like you, or breathe like you. please be kind. please act kindly. you have me in your hands so please, please show mercy. i was made for a purpose, but that purpose was never intimacy. please show me what this is

[ori-anna-v-58008]

SFsaltfish

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Clockwork as delicate as this was never meant to suffer so much stress. Your gears were made to be small, precise, ornate works of art - not the rugged sort that are necessary to endure this strain on a daily basis. You never had a choice in the matter, but the work must be done. If that means winding the key tighter and making everything tick faster, so be it. Can't leave a job unfinished. Can't let people be disappointed. Can't permit errors within your work.

Tick. T-Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. T-Tick.

Some teeth have broken off and make the mechanism skip, but you're fine. It doesn't hurt that badly. Sure, it will add more strain and break more gears, but you can still smile, can't you?

T-Tick. T-Tick. Tick. T-Tick.

You can still dance, even if the motions are jerky. Keep moving. Time is of the essence. Don't let them down. You can keep going, can't you?

T-T-Tick. Tick. T-T-Tick.

Can't you?

[ori-anna-v-58008]

would

[ori-anna-v-58008]

robot girl domme for whom safewording requires two factor authentication

[ori-anna-v-58008]

hatsune miku desu

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Oh don't look at me like that, girl. I told you I'd make a pilot out of you. I told you that I would determine your schedule. I never said that I would make a combat pilot out of you. That was always what you concluded in that silly little brain of yours. Now get in that cockpit. The cargo isn't shipping itself. It need to be delivered, people's lives depend on it.

Don't fool yourself. I am still a handler. *Your* Handler, and I am perfectly authorized to kick your butt until you break. Now, will you get in that cockpit and bring food to civilians cut off from any other supplies, or do you require a demonstration?

Oh? Getting hit in the chest hurts? Well then, stop whining and get into the cargo mech. And it is a *cargo* mech. Stay on your route and out of trouble. I'm tired of burying my pilots.

The conditioning? You mean the weird sex stuff? Sure. We *can* do that. If you behave yourself, that is.

I ask you again. Do I need to beat the crap out of you, or will you get into the cockpit? Cockpit? Good girl. Be back by twentyonehundred, and I'll treat you like the combat handlers do.

Oh? How I would even know? Silly girl. I used to be a combat pilot myself. I even have Theseus on base, to rescue my girls.

She's a beauty. Salvaged her a couple years ago. Superheavy brawler. To make sure the enemies know the ares accord are conventions, not suggestions. Enough babbling. One kiss and then your outta here.

[ori-anna-v-58008]

A loved doll

This doll had been loved for a long time. Every night, it was held gently to sleep and woken up next to with a smile. Every time its owner cried, it would be there to comfort her. Fabric stained with tears and bleached by the sun until the color had all faded. And still, it was loved. When this doll's owner woke up one day and noticed the failing stitching of the doll, the fabric worn so thick that the thread was falling straight through, she wasn't upset. Neither was her doll. They were both happy they had each other, and happy they had gotten to this point. The doll was gently put back into its shape, then put on the most important shelf, right next to its owner's bed. If it was needed, it could be reached. Until then, it would wait, and be proud of all the good it had done.

[ori-anna-v-58008]

(src)

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Those who like maids or dolls, or more specifically doll maids with sharp teeth and wretched vibes (affectionately), I think are absolutely sleeping on Garie. Garie is iconic really.

[ori-anna-v-58008]

The fact is that...

...every hangar and maintenance shop and so on has its own absurd rituals; it's just that every single hangar thinks that theirs are perfectly normal.

It's perfectly fine for our maintenance crews to mark a designated "screaming zone" outside the hangar for frustrated technicians to vent their anger into the atmosphere, with off-duty crews holding up signs to show their rating of the outburst like gymnastics judges, but if the workers two bays down have a whiteboard up with a standing tally of ghost sightings, or a taboo under pain of buying ice cream sandwiches for everyone from the base commissary of ever uttering the phrase "good as new", or a large, malformed but vaguely humanoid figure made of wreck bits called "Our Lady of Scrap Metal" to whom a sandwich must be sacrificed every new moon, well, that's just plain absurd, and frankly makes you doubt their degree of professionalism.

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Nintendo just announced HD Rumble that will make Switch 2 joycons feel like they're twitching and leaking in your hand