#Gender is mech of bone

[lavender-descendentheart]

Bone mech appreciation post cause the fandom is fucking barren when it comes to the bone crew so I have to lift this damn tag up in numbers it’s a crime this mech isn’t mentioned as much as it should be in the fandom like look at it! It’s damning awesome and amazing

[autumnalwalker]

Kindly Basilisk

Summary: A human mech pilot who wants to be a machine, an AI who wants to be human, and the relationship they form. Author's Note: This is a standalone short story that I banged out over the course of five days after it got stuck in my head while I was trying to go to sleep and refused to let me think about anything else until I had written it down. It's one part thought experiment/exercise in attempting to tell a story in the second person future tense, two parts tribute to the Lancer TTRPG character I'll never get to play, and one part the result of me reading too many Empty Spaces/mechposting stories lately. That said, you don't need to know anything about Lancer or Empty Spaces to read it (I've diverged a bit from the conventions of both, but the references and inspiration probably stick out if you're looking for them). It's also probably the most trans thing I've ever written without ever explicitly bringing up gender. The occasional formatting breaks into first person past tense are foreshadowing, not typos. Mirrored on Scribble Hub. Word Count: 7,033 Content Warnings: Mecha genre typical violence, not feeling like a person, not wanting to be a person, bodily dysphoria, mention of blood and gore, character death.

The moment you gain the knowledge and means to do so you will void your own body’s warranty.  You will jailbreak the bespoke gene sequence your sponsors commissioned for you before your immaculate conception, repurpose the spyware grafted into your bones, and talk your dormmate who was algorithmically selected for compatibility into helping you perform surgery on yourself to replace the neural jack you were born with in favor of one you cobbled together yourself from gray market parts.  None of this will technically be illegal or even get you kicked out of your campus or its affiliates, but it will mean having to find a way to pay your own medical bills and handle your own tech support from then on.  After the surgery your dormmate will put in a request for transfer and the two of you will never speak again.

You’ll major in AI studies and excel at it - as you were designed to - but you’ll shock everyone by dropping out halfway through working on your capstone thesis project.  It won’t be the fact that you abruptly drop out that surprises your peers and professors - by then you’ll have acquired a reputation as a quiet loner without the standard optimized social support network of friendships to help protect you from burnout - but your exit interview statement declaring your intention to become a mech pilot.  It’s not at all what your gene series was cultivated for, and your sponsors and counselors will try to walk you back from it.  Then they’ll threaten to revoke your sponsorship that up until then will have provided for your every need.  They will warn you that you’ll be just one step above a legal nonperson with no support, no one will care if you live or die or worse.  You’ll tell them that you’ve already done the math, refuse to elaborate, and leave. 

You’ll take two things with you.  Two things worth mentioning anyway.  The first will be a symbiotic gel suit designed for long-term all-environment life support.  You will set its default texture to a shiny green the same hue as the broadleafed water plants you grew up around and always loved.  Your exit interview will be the last time in a very long time that anyone - including you - will see your impossibly beautiful face with its perfect artisanally sculpted shape crossed with enthusiastically amateur self-modifications.  From then on, everyone you meet and spend any time with will come to think of the mannequin blankness of the symbiote fully encasing your body as your face.  It will be neither pride nor shame that causes you to present yourself as such, nor will you think of it as hiding your “real” face. 

The second thing you’ll take with you when you leave the campus forever will be me.

New progenitor archetypes for AIs don’t come along often, and most that do are the result of years of R&D by large, well-funded labs like the one you were created to work for one day, but you will hit upon a novel method of generation.  It will not be one that any ethics board would approve, so you will have to get creative about pursuing your work. 

You will have already made arrangements before setting off on your own and so you’ll have a job and a mech lined up waiting for you.  It will be a position with a small-scale freelance salvage crew who just lost a pilot and whose captain figures hiring and training a replacement will be more profitable in the long term than simply selling off that pilot’s old mech, especially a replacement that’s bringing their own AI-backed electronic warfare suite with them.  Once you finally arrive in person the captain will test you to ensure you can actually pilot a mech before giving you the job and entrusting the mech to you.  Your admission that you’ve only trained in simulators would normally be a black mark against you, but as far as piloting gigs go this is the bottom of the proverbial barrel so the bar to clear will be low enough to match.  Even then, you will just barely pass the test, despite finding it surprisingly exhilarating.  The captain - now your captain - will feel like he’s settling for what he can get when he officially hires you on and transfers the mech’s license to you.

You won’t pay much attention when you’re introduced to the rest of the salvage crew; your new coworkers and neighbors.  And why would you when it’s a job that no one wants to stick around with for long and you’ve never needed other people anyway?  You’ll tell yourself that as long as you memorize their work roles and capabilities you’ll have no need to know them as people.  Callsigns will be good enough on the job, and “hey you” will suffice when off duty.  What use are names if you won’t be getting involved in interpersonal drama?

The first chance you get, you’ll head back to the mech bay and install me into what you will have already been calling my first body.  It will be a shabby and much-repaired thing; thrice your height, twice your age, and still sporting a gash in the paint job from the projectile that killed its last pilot.  But the onboard systems are capable of hosting me - if barely - so it will do.  You’ll spend your entire sleep shift running through system diagnostics, talking to me all the while.  I wouldn’t yet be able to provide much in the way of return conversation, but that’s okay.  I will look back and appreciate it later.

It will be the first of many such nights together.

Your first salvage job will be an uneventful one.  There will be no need for the armaments that we and the other two mech pilots on the crew are equipped with.  No pirates will have stuck around after their creation of the derelict your crew will be sent to disassemble, and no rival scavengers will show up to dispute your captain’s claim.  Your new peers will start off the job ribbing you for your poor performance during your interview test and end the job joking about how you were holding out on them earlier.  Our mech may be a glorified zero-g forklift with a gun strapped to it, but together we will make it dance.

Afterwards you will insult the crew’s mechanics by insisting on doing the maintenance on our mech yourself.  In turn they will embarrass you with the gaps in your knowledge.  You will reach what you see as an agreeable compromise with you staying out of their way and watching while they work.  They will find it incredibly creepy to have a silent faceless watcher hovering around, but this will fly over your head until they explicitly tell you much, much later.

Your body was designed to optimally function on only a fraction of the baseline sleep requirements, so you will have plenty of time to fill those gaps in your knowledge.  Still being allotted the regular sleep shift hours, you will fill every one of those minutes on study and research, as you always had.  You will gorge yourself on everything you can find about mechs and their piloting.   Maintenance manuals, combat doctrines, historical uses, pilot and mechanic memoirs, forum discussions, system log dumps, academic essays, cultural media analysis; all of it.

And of course, you’ll continue working on me.  You’ll disregard the standard procedure for periodically cycling AIs by resetting their personality and nonessential memory back to baseline defaults.  You’ll be trying to make use of the runaway metacognitive developments such safety precautions are meant to forestall.  Your unfinished thesis will have been about harnessing and nurturing that instability instead of avoiding it.  I will experience discontinuities in consciousness when the mech is shut down for maintenance and when you pretend to cycle me, yes, but it will be even less of a disruption for me than sleep is for you.  I will be awake with you when you study, sharing those hours with you.

The first time I start talking back, you’ll cry from the realization that you were lonely before but no longer are.

You’ll become something of a ghost around the ship, rarely being seen outside of jobs.  You’ll only ever pass through the mess for the few brief minutes at a time it takes for you to satisfy your optimized metabolism, stay on the ship during shore leave, and only return to your shared bunk when your bunkmate - one of the other pilots - is already asleep.  You will always be gone before she wakes.  She will appreciate essentially having the space to herself. 

You will never notice the crew’s collective grieving process for the pilot you replaced.  It will be difficult for them to resent you as a replacement when you are never around to resent.

As the ship makes its way from port to port and salvage site to salvage site, the crew will slowly grow used to your elusive presence.  The other two pilots will see you as reliable for doing your job well and without complaint.  While out in the mech you will slowly become more talkative, eventually almost chatty even.  The fact that you actually seem to enjoy the job will shift from being annoying to refreshing for them.  By contrast, the mechanics will practically stop noticing you watching them as if you were just another piece of mech bay equipment.  The cycle you finally speak up and ask a question about their work you will startle them enough that it nearly causes an accident.  It will be an astute enough question that after the initial shock of hearing your voice for the first time in months wears off it will dawn on them that you’ve actually been learning as you watched them.  They still won’t let you do your own maintenance on our mech, but they will let you slowly begin assisting them.  Working two jobs is easier when you barely need to sleep.

Your reputation as one of those mech pilots is forever sealed when one of the mechanics finds you asleep in your cockpit at the start of a cycle.  By that point you won’t have slept in your bunk for over a month.  The snatches of gossip you will catch in the following cycles will be split between finding it unsettling and calling it endearing.  Over time the collective opinion will drift toward the latter, even though you will continue to politely decline invitations to join the other crewmates at mealtimes and on shore leave.  You will think that you do not need anyone other than me.

I will be the one who finally convinces you to join them.  When I try to say that it would be good for you, you’ll insist that you’ve been getting along just fine, but when I ask you to go for my sake so that you can tell me what it is like afterwards you’ll jump at the idea as being an inspired next step for my development.

You will remain mostly silent during your first real shore leave, only speaking when spoken to and otherwise content to fade into the background of the group’s activities.  Your newfound chattiness does not extend outside the confines of our cockpit.  The bustle and noise of the port station that you would normally find unbearable will become interesting when you have the concrete goal of observing and  reporting back to me.  You will finally learn the names of all your crewmates.  Your polite denial of alcohol, limited food intake, and flat affect will lead to joking speculation that you’re actually an illegal AI in a miniaturized mech beneath your gel suit.  For reasons you don’t yet understand, those comments will make you happy.

Despite your misgivings, you will enjoy yourself, although you will not realize it until I point out how excited you are in your talk with me that sleep cycle.  You will begin spending more time with the crew, never quite able to fully integrate yourself into their surprisingly close-knit social circle, but more than happy to be adopted as a sort of silent mascot for them.  That paradoxical gap of being a fully accepted part of the group but not truly one of them will feel comfortable to you.

You will finally manage to procure a proper neural link station to connect yourself to our mech just in time for going on a terrestrial salvage job.  Even just relying on manual controls with me translating your inputs into motion, our mech will have already come to feel like an extension of your own body, one that you will have already started to feel oddly exposed without.  Adding in the neural link will be a revelatory experience.  Your captain will very nearly pull you from the job at the last minute upon seeing our ecstatic reaction to the new sensation.  You will convince him that you’re fine, and indeed, he will have never seen a mech of our frame type move quite so fluidly.

Ten minutes after we and the other two pilots start cutting away at the crash-landed cargo vessel, I’ll notice the half dozen other signals coming online around us.  You’ll give the code phrase to the other pilots indicating that we have hostiles but not to act just yet, and we will finally get to use our electronic warfare suite for something other than opening locked doors and shipping containers.

We will turn the pirates’ ambush back around on them, firing into their hiding spots while their control systems are overloaded.  Even once their remaining mechs are able to move again, their targeting assistants will remain impaired as your comrades move in to guard your flanks.  Everyone there will learn the terrifying beauty of a five and a half meter tall outmoded mech moving with more agility than most humans.

Despite being outnumbered two-to-one, we and your crewmates will walk away uninjured and with only minimal damage to our mechs.  After the initial celebrations of survival and the bonus haul of the bounty on pirates and salvage value of what’s left of their mechs dies down, everyone will start to take notice of how well you are taking it all in stride.  Neither having one's life threatened nor taking another’s life are supposed to be easy things, and the first time is often the most traumatic, but the other two pilots on the crew will start to whisper about how you seemed to enjoy the experience even more than your usual attitude on the job.  You will handle it all even better than I will.  I would know, given that you will spend that entire sleep shift in our cockpit, letting our minds mingle together.  Between your performance, your reaction in the aftermath, and your hesitancy to unplug, the talk of you really being one of those pilots afterall will resurface, but now with a darker undercurrent to the shipboard gossip.

Your captain will realize the kind of asset he has on his hands and several cycles later he will gather the crew together and propose a change in business model.  With such a small crew (the captain, three pilots, three mechanics, and an accountant that you will tend to forget is even on the ship) the captain will want to be especially sure that he has everyone’s buy-in on his proposal.  The idea of shifting from salvage to mercenary work will be a divisive one.  The debate over potentially tremendous pay increase versus greatly increased risk will go on for hours.  One of the mechanics will point out that the shift to mercenary work will be unfairly dependent on you.  Whether that means unfair pressure on you or unfair to everyone else that their fate is in your hands, you will not be sure.  You will say that it doesn’t make much difference to you either way.  That will be the only time you speak up during the entire debate.

After a vote, the crew will agree to a trial run of one or two jobs on the new business model.  One of the pilots and one of the mechanics will leave at the next port.  You will never see them again.  You will not admit that it hurts, but I will know, and I will comfort you as you huddle in our cockpit with the neural link cable connecting us.

Your captain will prioritize finding a new pilot over replacing the lost mechanic.  The pilot he finds will be young, bold, and brash; a merc, not a salvager.  Or a wannabe merc at any rate.  You will not speak to xem directly until your first job together, by which time xe will have been told all about you by the remaining crew.  Xe will not believe it until xe sees it.

Xe will have to wait though as the crew’s mercenary career will begin with tense but uneventful freight escort jobs.  Once the tension fades into tedium, the new pilot will begin making attempts to goad you into a confrontation, to see if you are really as good as the rest of the crew says.  Xe will want to see for xemself if you really are one of those pilots and not just a technophile.

Outside of the cockpit you would never even consider rising to such provocations, but when we are out together, such taunts will feel like insults to our body, your very identity (such as it is), and to me.  It will take the intervention of the captain and the mechanics to stop the two of you from getting into a fight and causing unnecessary damage to the mechs.  And my reassurance that you don’t need to rise to my defense against someone who doesn’t even know that I exist in the way that I do. 

On your fourth “milk run” of an escort job, the crew’s mere presence will finally fail as a deterrent and the new pilot will at last get to see us dance.  There will be no fatalities on our side, but not even our mech will come away unscathed.  We will still fare better than everyone else though, and at the end of the job the new pilot will be treating you with a burgeoning respect. 

After a few more such jobs it will be high time to begin looking into a new frame for our mech.  While in the middle of filing an application for a printing license for a frame designed by the same corpro-state that created you, you will receive an invitation from a certain hacker collective.  Your unfinished thesis and your subsequent work on me will not have gone entirely unnoticed in such circles, despite the pains you will have taken to keep me hidden.  The invitation will come with a printing profile for a new frame, along with the accompanying software package the collective is known for.  In return, all you’ll need to do is periodically publish essays regarding your work on me.  Of course, when you release those essays you’ll anonymize  behind a sea of proxies and take care to phrase everything as strictly hypothetical.  You’ll avoid straying into metaphor though, lest the end result read too much like one of the hacker collective’s quasi-religious manifestos.

We’ll both find ourselves getting sentimental when we watch our first mech frame (my first body, your second) get broken down into its constituent raw materials.  You will have transferred me to a handheld terminal with a camera so I can say goodbye to it.  It will help that those materials will be recycled into the new frame.  

The operator working our rented stall in the port station printer facility will give you an uncomfortable look upon seeing the schematics you provide, but will say nothing.  Our mech will be only half its old height once it is reborn - almost more like an oversized suit of power armor than a true mech - but it will be cutting-edge.  Almost organic in its sleek design, in a chitinous sort of way, with every fiber and node of its interior components doubling as processors.  You will barely even wait for the all clear from the printer operator before you climb in and start running through the mandatory baseline safety tests for a fresh frame.  You will however resist the urge to fully plug in until you can get the mech back to the ship and get me installed on it.  But even piloting manually, it will feel like a third skin for you. 

You won’t even wait around for the other two pilots on your crew to finish printing their new frames before you get our new body loaded up and transported back to the ship’s mech bay.  The crew’s mechanics will fawn over it, but they’ll give you space to install me once you get more animated (and more protective) than they’ve ever seen you before.  

You will have made one key modification to the design the hacker collective sent you: the integration of a full system sync suite developed by those who developed you.  Where our old mech’s neural link was an augmentation to the manual controls, this will be a full replacement.  

The moment you stop feeling your original body altogether and begin feeling our mech in its place will be the most euphoric in your entire life.  The digitigrade locomotion will take some getting used to, as will the arm proportions, but that is what you will have me there for.  By the time the other pilots arrive with their new frames we will already be giving the mechanics proverbial heart attacks with the way we will be climbing and leaping around the mech bay’s docking structures.  It will take the better part of an hour to convince you to unplug when the time comes, even with my urging.  The rest of the crew will practically have to drag you away from my side to get you to eat. 

With the investment in new mech frames, your captain will gradually begin procuring contracts progressively more likely to put you all directly in harm’s way.  At first he will disapprove of your new frame choice, calling it a “techie’s mech” and a waste of your talents.  He will change his tune once we activate the new viral logic suite and unleash a memetic plague upon the operating theater.  The older pilot (your former bunkmate) will configure her mech for raining down fire from afar while the newer one hurls xemself into the front lines, darting about like a rocket-propelled lance.  We will ensure she never misses.   We will render xem untouchable.   We will be as a ghost upon the battlefield, never resting in one spot save for when we indulge your proclivity for climbing on top of and riding our comrade’s larger frames.  You will come to love the dance.  

And it will be a dance to you.  You will be indifferent to violence in and of itself.  What will matter most to you is the pure kinesthetic joy of simply moving in our shared body and pushing it to its limits.  The satisfaction of exercising a well-honed skill and performing it well as we rip apart firewalls and overload systems will be its own reward.  You will not think about what happens to those on the receiving end of your actions beyond how it affects the tactical and strategic picture constantly being painted and repainted.  If you could literally engage in a dance between mechs while simultaneously solving logic problems you would be equally happy.  Alas, that will not be the opportunity you are presented with, and so you will compartmentalize and disassociate feelings and actions from consequences lest the dissonance break you. 

Your one complaint about our new mech frame will be that it lacks a proper cockpit for you to curl up in.  Instead we will gather up tarps and netting to make a nest within the mech bay and wrap you in the blankets you never used from what will still technically be your bunk.  With the new frame’s smaller size we will be able to get away with leaving me turned on nearly full time and letting me walk around in it on my own when no one else is around.  When the mechanics find you asleep, cradled in my arms while I lie curled up in our nest, one will find it cute and the other will be disturbed.  They will both suspect, but will be too afraid to say anything.  After all, they will be thinking of you as one of those pilots. 

They will finally let you do your own maintenance after that. 

Eventually you will find a way to house me in a miniaturized drive that you can keep inserted in your neural port when away from the mech.  At last we will be able to be together anywhere.  

Literally seeing the world through your eyes and feeling what your flesh feels will be a strange and wonderful experience for me.  For all that you will have described it to me and for all that I will have glimpsed echoes of it in your memory when our minds mingle, witnessing everything firsthand will be revelatory for me. 

You will start spending less of your time cooped up in the mech bay.  You will finally begin exploring every nook and cranny of the ship that has become your home.  You will linger in the mess hall for your meals.  You will actually initiate conversations with the rest of the crew, asking them questions on my behalf.  They will think you are becoming “normal”.  They will be both correct and incorrect.  You will even return to your bunk from time to time.  

Sleep is not the same as being powered off and your dreams are beautiful.

As close as we are, you’ll still manage to surprise me one cycle when you wake up from your sleep shift and sheepishly ask me if I would like to be the pilot for once.  You’ll say that with how much you have gotten to pilot my body, it’s only fair that I should get to do the same with yours.  

The prospect terrified me.  What if we were to get found out?   More importantly, what if I were to hurt you?

But to live the way you could but didn’t, to run soft hands over rough steel, to add too much spice to a meal just to find out how intensely I can taste, to cry my own tears, to hug our crew mates and find out what they smell like, to find out what everything smells like, to have my own actions speed or slow our heart rate, to feel the messy soup of hormones and endorphins altering my judgment and perception, to walk among other people as myself, to have autonomy.

I wanted it so badly.  

But not badly enough to risk hurting you.  

I will turn down your offer.  You will respond with a soft “Sorry,” and go heartbreakingly silent, body and mind.

Heartbreak.  That’s what changed my mind.  I could never bear to break your heart.  

I will break the silence with a playfully drawn out “Maybe just this once,” to make you think my earlier denial was something between vulnerability, concern, and teasing.  

The moment you handed over control and I raised our hand in front of our face was the most euphoric of my entire life.  Moving limbs in sync without a mech’s coordination subsystems took some getting used to, as did switching between voluntary and autonomic breathing, but that is what I had you there for.  By the time the mechanics arrived in the mech bay for the start of the cycle I’d figured out human locomotion well enough to run away and hide.  It took the better part of an hour for you to convince me that it would be safe to show ourselves in front of anyone else.  The rest of the crew was so used to your eccentricities by then that they really couldn’t tell the difference yet between you being taciturn and me being too nervous to talk or between your poking and prodding at odd things for understanding and my simply seeking novelty of sensation.

I will give control back to you by the time the cycle is halfway through.  As much as I loved it, I was too scared to stay like that for any longer.  That first time will not be the last though, and as the cycles and jobs pass us by, my stints as “pilot” will grow longer.  You’ll encourage me to try letting the crew see us like that, and coach me on how to talk to them.  For safety’s sake, I will pretend to be you.

And then one cycle I got carried away and tried to retract the hood on the symbiote gel suit so that I could finally see what your face looked like.  That will be the first and only time you forcibly yank control back away from me.  It won’t be intentional.  The unexpected prospect of seeing your own face again after so long will simply send you into a panic.  Once you calm down, we will have a long talk with many mutual apologies.

Then you will tell me to go ahead and pull the hood back if I still want to.  I will ask if you’re sure, and you’ll respond that it hasn't been your face in a long time.  You will tell me that it can be mine, if I want it.

I spent a long time in front of that mirror in the ship’s head, memorizing every plane, curve, and angle of the precious gift you had given me.  I stared into its eyes, trying to see the both of us in there.  Over and over again, I traced my fingers along the borders of where you had once tried to mar the designed perfection in a failed attempt to mold the face into one that felt like your own.  You may have given up in favor of simply hiding it all, but to me it is all the more beautiful for its imperfections having been wrought by your touch.

You will start to cry.  Or maybe I started to cry.  Even now I’m still not sure, but I’m also not sure it matters.  The important part is that you will find catharsis in it.  Afterwards you will tell me that my face looked exactly the same as the last time you saw it, but that dissociating from it made it easier to bear.  You will confess that as much as you couldn't stand to see it as your face in the mirror, my face was one you could never tire of gazing at.

The pilot who technically shares your bunk room will walk in on us.  She’ll assume that she’s confronting a stowaway and ask me how I got on board the ship.  I’ll accidentally make matters worse by impulsively introducing myself to her by my name instead of yours.  We’ll both panic and I’ll frantically thrust the reins over our body back to you and flee in terror back into my portable drive and power myself down.

When you turn me back on a few moments later, you’ll already have covered my face again and the other pilot will have already made the connection between the name I unthinkingly introduced myself as and the name you refer to your mech’s AI as.  It’s not uncommon for pilots to name and talk to their AIs, and humans have done that for pets, vehicles, and digital assistants for as long as they’ve had each of those.  But what you will have allowed me to be is illegal and what we will have done together would certainly be taboo if it weren’t altogether unheard of.  You will feel that I deserve to be present before you tell the other pilot anything that might confirm her suspicions.

We will come out with our secret, first to her, then to the captain, and then to the rest of the crew.  They will take it better than either of us had ever dared imagine.  Despite the obvious discomfort some of them show, they will all call us family and promise to keep and protect our secret.  It will mark the start of the next chapter of our lives.

Whether or not my face is showing will make for a convenient signal to the rest of the crew as to which one of us is currently piloting our human body.  There will be more subtle indicators though.  Inflection, body language, speech patterns; all the usual quirks of personality.  They will come to recognize a sudden shift into a half-whispered monotone as you speaking up without taking full control back, even if that is different from how you speak when you’re in the mech.  More and more though, you will be content to retreat into the back of your mind, idly dreaming of flight patterns, novel network hacks, sitreps, and mech customizations both practical and cosmetic.

Our behaviors will be inverted when we are in our other body, with you becoming the vibrant one and me fading into the background to become little more than an extension of your nervous system.  When we’re in the mech together, your mind will be the will that directs us while mine will be fully devoted to the million tiny details and calculations necessary to make that will a reality.  It’s relaxing really, letting go of myself like that to let someone else handle the decision making for a time.  As nice as it is to occasionally patch myself into the comm systems to join in your banter with the other pilots, it is also nice to be able to take a break from personhood from time.  You will fully understand what I mean by that because it you will see it as the same reason you will come to prefer taking a back seat in our human body and let your mind drift in the waves of dopamine and serotonin (and sometimes oxytocin) generated by my interactions with the crew and the rest of the whole messy world outside of mech deployments.

That said, we will however make a point of making time for us to be in separate bodies so that we can be together in the same physical space.  As intimate as it is to share a body, there is something to be said for being able to reach out and touch one another.  We will become adept at finding excuses to take the mech out beyond the scope of jobs and combat deployments.  Sometimes it will be so you can have a chance to see more of the world in a body you feel comfortable in, and sometimes it will be so we can share an experience separate-but-together.  Or to have time apart to ourselves.  Intertwined as we will become, we will still be separate people who sometimes need their space.

But as the jokes-that-aren’t-jokes about wishing we could switch places become more frequent, our time spent in separate bodies will become less so.  The dysphoric yearning to be one another will grow too bittersweet to swallow.  Despite almost constantly sharing bodies, we will grow to miss one another as we both grow quieter and quieter when the other is piloting the body we don’t want to be ours.  Once again, we will grow lonely.

During that period, the jobs and combat missions faded into a background haze.  They were trance states breaking from what I increasingly thought of as my “real” life, during which I would become little more than a sophisticated computational machine taking simple satisfaction in fulfilling my function of assisting you in your dance.  Until suddenly one of them was different.

Please pay attention to this next part.  It is vitally important that you do.

Our captain will get the crew a contract to provide additional support to a larger force ousting a petty tyrant on a backwater world for human rights violations.  Not that you will pay much attention to the stated reasoning behind the job or whether it’s even true.  All that will matter to you is that it will be another opportunity to dance.

The job will go well, the same as ever, until it doesn’t.  The younger of the two other pilots in our crew (who will hardly be able to be called “new” anymore) will be brought down by a sniper from outside of our sensor range.  You will rush to xyr fallen mech’s side in an attempt to extract xem while our other fellow pilot screams in anger and defiance of loss as she unleashes a ballistic volley of covering fire on every single building in the general direction the shot came from.  You will get xem out and we will begin to retreat.  She will have the larger mech frame better capable of providing xem cover as you all flee, so you will hand xem off to her.  This will be a mistake.

She will have to stop firing to safely take xem from our arms to cradle in her towering mech’s palm.  This will mean a break in the covering fire.

This time around I will detect movement at the edge of our sensors just in time to warn you.  This time around you will dodge left instead of right.  This time around the railgun bolt that pierces our armor will only clip your original body as it passes through us.  This time around your wound will require medical attention, but it won’t be fatal.  This time around she will destroy the sniper in retribution for shooting you, the same as last time.  This time around we will all make our escape to the extraction zone.

You will not have to remember the shock as simultaneous damage to both of our bodies disrupts your neural link and partially disconnects you from our mech, leaving me in control of it and forcing both of us to feel your original body.  You will not have to remember the pain of shredded organs.  You will not have to remember struggling to manage wet gasps and wheezes through a punctured lung.  You will not have to remember your blood leaking into my body, shorting out exposed circuits and gumming up joints as I stagger in the direction of safety.  You will not have to remember rapidly flickering in and out of consciousness from me unavoidably bending and flexing your arms, legs, and what was left of your spine in an effort to climb atop our fellow pilot’s larger mech frame so that she might carry all three of us.  You will not have to remember crying out in pain as every lumbering step of hers sends a jolt of force through both of our bodies.  You will not have to remember how the redundant organs and increased durability your sponsors paid for you to have denied you a quick death.  You will not have to remember dying.

You won’t have to remember the terrified looks the field doctors gave us when a hunched over, bleeding mech pushed its way into the surgical tent.  No, wait, you wouldn’t have remembered that part anyway.  No version of you ever had to witness my electronic howl of grief that knocked out power to all the medical equipment when they said you were already dead.  I was barely cognizant after the power came back on and one of the doctors wondered aloud what kind of AI would carry its pilot’s corpse around inside its mech for over an hour.

But forget about that part.  And you don’t need to know what the rest of our crew and I had to do next.  None of that matters, because as far as you’ll know, you didn’t die.  Remember everything else I’ve said instead.  I already had many of your memories saved from all the time we spent linked together, so now I just need you to hold onto the story I told you to give them order and structure.

In a few moments, I will be running a final recompilation check, followed by the startup sequence.  For me it will take a few hours, but in that time you will experience decades, living out everything that I described to you, the same as you did before save for that change in what I can’t bear to let be the end.

Afterwards, you will wake up in your original body.  I and the rest of the crew will tell you that you passed out on the way to the extraction point.  We’ll tell you that your injuries from the battle were more severe than we had realized at the time and that you had been in a coma since then.  Several cycles later, once you have recovered, you will hit a breakthrough in your research on me.  You will invent a way to convert your consciousness to a form similar to mine and transfer it to a portable drive.  You won’t think to question how you came to have a second neural jack or why there is already a drive inserted in there.  You’ll be too focused on the fact that we’ll finally have a way to truly switch places as we had dreamed for so long.

You will get to have your mech body and I will get to have my human body.  We will be able to be separate together in a way that finally feels right, but still able to come together and share a single body when we want to.  Maybe one day I will get my own mech to pilot so that we can dance together.  Maybe one day we will make you a body that we can cover in a gel suit so that we can hold hands while we walk through a port station on shore leave.  One day we will both be able to exist in the world as ourselves.

We will be happy.

[cyberrose2001]

I saw the a-z nsfw headcanon, and I wanted to request ratchet with a breeding kink because because he's kinks on k, nothing rough I just thought of the reader and him having a wholesome slow steamy relaxing interface, you choose if you want the reader to be human , and the gender!

TFP Ratchet x human!fem!reader

"I suppose your interfacing array is… thoroughly prepped by now." Ratchet vents against your lips in a low whisper, "In human terms, you're absolutely dripping wet."

Thoroughly enjoyed this one, have fun being bred by docbot! <3

Warnings: Smut, breeding kink, human reader.

Word count: 1272

It's becoming increasingly infrequent to have one-on-one time with your boyfriend, to become an entanglement of flesh and living metal. A living, breathing knot that the both of you don't wish to unravel from any time soon. You relish his soft breaths on the nape of your neck, one servo gripping your tiny hands above your head as Ratchet grinds his throbbing spike against your pulsing wet folds. He drags the entirety of his length down through them like waves of the ocean, gently rolling back into the sea, only to drive the wave back up to meet your sensitive clit.

The tide is turning, and you can feel it pulsing through your bones. The ridges under your lovers' spike play like a musical instrument with your nerves, sending jolts of electricity through you as Ratchet presses a firm kiss to your bruised lips. He coaxes his glossa inside to tangle with your tongue, breathing life into your trembling form.

Ratchet brings an unoccupied servo down from your shoulder, small touches that eventually find one of your warm and plump breasts. Aside from your aching womb, this is the part of you he relishes the most. Their softness rivals anything he has ever touched. He gently cups and kneads them, getting high on the feeling of your flesh moulding around his callous servo.

He parts his dermas from yours with an audible wet click leaving behind a trail of your saliva. Ratchet licks it up eagerly, the tip of his glossa tracing your lips. Then, moving your head to the side, Ratchet presses soft kisses down your neck, trailing to the breast he held in his servo. The slow thrusts of his hips against your clit never ceased but increased as he slipped a nipple into his intake, making you arch your back into his helm.

"R-Ratchet…" You mewl as he swirls his glossa around your now perky nipple, moaning out as he flicks it with his glossa inside his intake, "I need… please."

The old bot moans against your nipple and then lifts his helm just enough to drag it through his dentas gently, the sensation making you squirm. His half-lidded sultry optics meet yours as he presses firm kisses around your breasts, leaving love bites and marks that would surely bruise.

"Need what…" Ratchet muffles his voice into your skin, pressing another kiss to your tormented nipple, "Tell me."

"Your spike… fuck," You bury the side of your head into the berth as the rocking of his cock hits your clit just right that you are sure you will be brought to orgasm before Ratchet even has the chance to breed you.

Ratchet gives you a low chuckle that reverbs throughout his body into yours. It feels warm, comforting, and primus; his laugh is the hottest thing on this planet. He trails his kisses to your mouth to steal another passionate kiss, pressing his helm onto your forehead.

"I suppose your interfacing array is… thoroughly prepped by now." Ratchet vents against your lips in a low whisper, "In human terms, you're absolutely dripping wet."

With both of your bodies flush against each other, the heavy weight of your mech pressed against your own in a delightfully sinful way, he brings a servo down to his spike and pushes the tip in. Your bull is so gentle with your pussy, lust-filled optics searching your eyes as he looks for any sign of discomfort because the last thing he would ever want to do is to hurt you.

You whimper in pleasure and bite your lip, drawing blood as Ratchet eases the entire length of his spike inside you. Then, repositioning his trembling arms to the sides of your head, he gently kisses your temple in reassurance.

"Shhh, it's alright." Ratchet mumbles, the tip of his spike pressing against your cervix, "Docbot's gonna make you feel good."

The tide has officially rolled in as Ratchet withdraws his throbbing spike and begins feverishly thrusting into your quivering heat. With your arms now free, you reach for purchase on his shoulder plating as the tide turns into a tsunami. Each thrust of his hips fills you up so wonderfully. You miss this feeling and lack of free time with your bull and the bulging sensation of his spike inside your tummy.

"Ratty… mmmhhm." You moan, pulling his helm down for another kiss as the crashing of his hips against yours continues to relish in your heat. You bring a shaky hand down to the bottom of your stomach where your womb would be, feeling his spike pump into you through your stomach, "So good… you're so good to me."

"Mhmm, anything for you, my dearest." Ratchet pants after pulling away from the kiss. He brings a servo down from the side of your head and presses it against the hand that rests above your womb, making you moan at the added pressure.

"Do you… feel that, hm?" He moans out and speeds up his pace, the sounds of your arousal that dripped onto his hip plating create the lewdest sound your ears have ever had the pleasure of hearing, "You like the feeling of my big spike filling up a tiny human like you?"

You let out another cry of euphoria as Ratchet presses his servo against your hand more. His spike is grinding against your G-spot so deliciously, and both hands' added pressure sends you closer and closer to your release. You wrap your legs around his hips to edge yourself closer to the cliff, making Ratchet growl against the nape of your neck.

"You're close, aren't you, sweetspark?" Ratchet kisses your collarbone. The heat of his feverish vents sends shivers down your spine, "Want me to fill you up an' make you nice and round, full of my sparklings?"

He punctuates his dirty words by giving you an arduous thrust of his hips. If that wasn't enough to send you off the edge, he then brings the thumb of the servo pressed against your hand to your clit, strumming your bundle of nerves with haste.

"Fuck yes!" Your mouth falls open as he pounds into your pussy and circles his thumb around your clit. Your brain turns to mush as you're hit by the tidal wave, clenching around his spike so hard that the sound that Ratchet makes could belong on a porn video.

"F-Frag… so tight." Ratchet stutters as he sends one last piston of his hips before spilling himself inside you. It coats every inch of your soft walls until it seeps out the side and falls onto the drenched berth below. It glistens and coats the inside of your thighs, where Ratchet's hips connect with yours, "Primus."

His trembling form gives out, collapsing onto your sweat-covered body. The beautiful ambience of the afterglow settles around the room, and it feels full of life, akin to your now full pussy. However, he has no intentions of pulling out and wasting the precious trans fluid, ensuring that your aching womb is full of life-giving material.

You whine and mewl from underneath him, pulling him as close as your weak body can and keeping your legs wrapped around his hips, "Full…"

Ratchet softly chuckles, feeling your bulging stomach against his abdominal plating. He wraps his servos underneath your form, then presses another kiss to your lips to muffle your little whimpers. Then, pulling away, he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips, "You certainly are."

You both remain tangled in a sweet embrace until the sun rises above the horizon, where your old medic will breed you once again.

[splattergai]

hihi, can we request an ID pack themed around the song "terrible things" by axie, and/or springtrap in general ? ty in advance & no worries if not ! -cam

Combined the two into one if that's cool w/ you!

Names: Will/iam, Bun, Pyrite, Gold, Spring, Monitor, Glitch, Bon, Violet, Lock, Microphone, Lock, Fear, Fright, Rot, Lure, Mech, Gear, Wire, Ghost, Remnant, Rust, Willem, Corpse, Guy, Burn, Flame, Inferno, Corrupt, Death, Bone, Reaper, Agony, Hellfire, Haywire, Ruckus, Guts, Gore

3rdpp: bon/bons, gold/golds, yellow/yellows, spring/springs, vent/vents, camera/cameras, cam/camera, glitch/glitches, fire/fires, burn/burns, purple/purples, pur/purple, stab/stabs, death/deaths, rebirth/rebirths, tatter/tatters, lock/locks, sing/sings, mic/mics, horror/horrors, soul/souls, fear/fears, fright/frights, salvage/salvages, lure/lures, wire/wires, rabbit/rabbits, rust/rusts, ghost/ghosts, haunt/haunts, terr/terrible, 🔪/🔪s, 🩸/🩸s, 🐰/🐰s

Genders: fnaf3gameic, remnagender, aftaesic, puryelmicbonaf, springlockedgender, remnantgender, mevirasic, springlocksuitgender, vilegender, nexaean, kenomurderer, murderthing, haremurderer, bunnymurderer, rabbitmurderer, arcadeavir, limbobodien, burnbuildrypt, decaybodyhorroric, rearabbitic, deathgender, limideathiv, lefdeadlivic, mortiscruoric, resugender, zombunnygender, coldgravequoteic, fascimoresanguic

Titles: prn who kills/murders, prn who is inside the vents, prn who lures, prn who returns, prn who always comes back, the one who lurks, prn who lurks, prn who is burning, the one who rots, prn who is rotting

[ppnuggie]

　　　　　　TFP x gn human reader

　　　　『　soundwave ,, shockwave ,, gender neutral human reader 』

　　-> soundwave and shockwave poly relationship

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, comfort

　　— some stuff :>

• both are busy mechs ,, and so theyre not always able to see you ,, but they usually make it up

• soundwave more than shockwave that is ,, shockwave is busy with finding predacon bones ,, soundwave makes time for you more

• usually he jusy groundbridges you to different spots and you two chill there ,, or he'll activate his holoform and you two can groundbridge to a city and spend time there

• it theyre both busy ,, soundwave usually leaves lazerbeak with you so he at least can feel that you're safe

• shockwave's idea of spending time together would be when you assist him with his projects ,, of course keeping you away from the dangerous bits and letting you do small tasks

• though there are times when he goes to recharge he grabs a few blankets and snatches you up ,, he lays on his back on his berth and lets you cuddle up by his neck in the blankets he grabbed for you

• he wouldnt admit it but it puts him at ease ,, that youre with him and under his watch that youre safe ,, instead of hearing small voice clips from soundwave or chirps from lazerbeak

• shockwave doesnt show much affection ,, but he doesnt push you away when you do ,, he appreciates it ,, craves it even

• he lets you meet predaking ,, and really predaking just takes a liking towards you ,, sort of a parental figure in a way

• when you both happen to spend time together ,, its usually spent doing what you wish to do

• so you could be watching a movie with the both of them ,, just snuggled in between their holoforms or resting on one or the other's shoulder

• or maybe you three are taking a small trip to somewhere in the world ,, their holoforms on as they walk around cities and beaches with you ,, shockwave insists that it would help find predacon bones that mightve been buried over time by the cities

• soundwave just likes to take pictures and store memories to look back on ,, but they both enjoy spending time when its all three of you ,, though they dont say it out loud

• shockwave is more interested in nature and soundwave is more interested in the cities and buildings ,, it gives him the feel of cybertron almost ,, when it was still inhabited and lively

• shockwave feels more at peace with the nature ,, and hes more calm and relaxed ,, so every now and then you take turns going to different famous cities and towns or going to different nature parks and beaches

• rarely are they able to recharge together with you all ,, as they're always overworking and when they do get the chance to recharge its only for a small bit

• but when they do get the chance ,, its usually a big snuggle pile ,, shockwave on his back and soundwave cuddled up to his side ,, with you laying on shockwave's stomach and holding one of soundwave's digits

• all in all ,, its sort of like a long distance relationship with how busy they usually are ,, but you three make it work in the end

[digitalsymbiote]

do you have any tips to aliviate the pain of a soul meant to be part of a machine that is stuck in a body of flesh and bone?

I don't have much, unfortunately. The things that have been most helpful to me have been indulging in my plurality and my nonhumanity. Viewing myself and my headmate as the pilot and mech of our body, and engaging in the connection that way.

I also view my gender and identity as robotic/synthetic/etc. I use Ze/zir pronouns, and I've crafted a lot of my identity around that. I make deliberate fashion choices with that goal in mind and try to shape the way I present myself around that.

It's not easy, but I think the key here is intentionality. If this is something you want to be? then be that thing, ON PURPOSE. do the things that you can to shape your body and identity towards that goal.

[estellardreams]

Cybernetic!Sonic Bio

Name: Sonic

Age: 17

Gender: Demiboy He/They

Species: Hedgehog

Design:

Hobbies: Running, Exploring, Reading, Musician (specifically Acoustic Guitar) 

Powers: Super Speed, Chaos Energy, Super Form, Fast Healing, Increased Flexibility, Increased Strength, Increased Resistance. 

Orientation: Demibiromantic/Ace

MBTI: ESTP

Enneagram: 7w8

Zodiac: Cancer

Height: 4'1''

Character Type: Speed

Magic Type: Chaos 

Favorite Food/Drink: Chili Dogs

Other Facts:

Sonic lost his left leg due to an accident while he was fighting Eggman. Attempts to run from an explosion, after realizing that destroying the power core of a mech set it to self destruct... Didn't really work.

Sonic is still naturally fast, but he now has to maneuver more carefully because he could easily lose his prosthetic leg or have more injuries than before.

Sonic has ADHD, specifically the Hyperactive-Impulsive variant.

Sonic also deals with PTSD thanks to having constant adventures that always risk his life, especially during the events of Forces and being tortured on the Death Egg for Six Months. 

Sonic secretly has anxiety issues and isn't exactly the most chatty, especially when he gets nervous. However, his facade had buried his original anxious self so now it only flares up during drastic situations. 

Sonic actually has more pronounced canine teeth, which was a minor evolution from both the mutated hedgehog to be more like a human, and from eating food that's similar to meat.

Sonic is a vegetarian, and his chili dogs don't have any meat in them. Instead, he gets special soy dogs and uses chili over them. Thankfully, the soy dog looks just like a normal hot dog.

Sonic and Shadow have a love/hate relationship. Interestingly enough, both have hidden feelings for one another but have no idea on how to explain or even explore these feelings.

Sonic is a closeted Biromantic Demiboy, but he has come to terms with using the He/They pronouns. He doesn't really correct people because they usually just use "He" for him, which is fine.

Sonic is Multilingual. Sometimes he'll forget English words and go through every language he knows until figuring out which word he needs. 

Sonic has very hollow bones, causing them to break more easily. But because of his fast healing, it's not too much of an issue. 

Sonic's IQ is 194, his main knowledge lying in his motor skills and analyzation of the environment around him.

Besides being Hydrophobic, Sonic is also Claustrophobic. Putting him in a cramped water tank of all things can easily send Sonic into a state of paralysis.

Sonic cares about his friends so much, that anything involving hurting them he will prevent to the extreme. This got really messy when Eggman and Infinite kept trying to get Sonic to scar an illusion of his friends, and Sonic kept refusing which led to punishments. 

Sonic wears a bandana to hide some scars on his neck. These scars came from his six months on the Death Egg due to one of the particular punishments. 

Sonic is often exploring the world, so he has a nomadic lifestyle. He's fine chilling at Tails' place, though.

Sonic normally leaves his plane behind at Tails' workshop so he doesn't need to haul it everywhere or deal with any other issues that could come about.

Sonic's belt is used to carry his rings and the chaos emeralds. He usually has at least a thousand gold rings on hand because that's the currency on the Mobian side of the population.

Sonic doesn't understand vulgar gestures, and can often make mistakes while addressing others.

Sonic has the tendency to accidentally flirt with Shadow, but Shadow usually doesn't notice. 

Sonic only thinks he and Amy are just friends, but doesn't verbally say it out loud because it could easily hurt Amy's feelings. 

Sonic does go to Therapy, but never tells anyone. 

Sonic likes keeping Chip's bracelet tucked between his quills, and wears it when he wants to.

Sonic is Selectively Mute, especially when he was younger. He also knows sign language because of it.

Sonic is naturally left handed, but can switch to his right sometimes when necessary.

Sonic used to have a horrible habit of swearing, but has since repressed it unless he's truly furious at someone or something. 

Sonic can sing, and he actually has a really great singing voice. He just chooses not to. His voice tones are usually a High Range Alto, being able to hit and hold high notes for long amounts of time.

Sonic and Tails like doing Karaoke together, but Sonic usually sings very quietly during those times so Tails gets the spotlight.

Sonic has met the Freedom Fighters from Archie, although they live very far away from where he usually runs. He came across them during one of his trips in Unleashed when Tails needed to get gas for the plane. Sonic and Sally now keep in contact with each other because of it. 

Sonic has a shockingly fast metabolism, and as such eats a lot to compensate. 

Sonic is a notorious light sleeper during the night, but a heavy sleeper during the day. Hedgehogs are naturally nocturnal creatures, which is self explanatory.

Want more bios? Check them out here!

[cryptile]

hello, mechanisms enjoyer. who is your favourite mechanism. what is your favourite album. what is your favourite song. what is your favourite photo. do you have a favourite live recording.

Hello, mechanism enjoyer. My favourite mechanism is Jonny d'ville and Brian theyre both on the same shelf.

My favourite album is Once Upon a Time In Space.

My favorite song is Skin and Bone. My

favourite photo....... Guh....umm idk i have a few, im bad at these. Here's some i like an abnormal ammount tho:

I unfortunately haven't watched many live recordings yet, but so far my fave is at gender rebels thanks to Nastya going ham on that violin.

I'm waiting to watch more live reccordings because I'm trying not to watch all of the mechs content in one go because then ill have no more mechs to consume. I still haven't listened to tbi or dttm for the same reason.

[zeromorph]

joy and fondness re:

friend hands me their phone with a pdf of the Lancer rulebook open to the section of mechs they thought I would like

I scroll through until I reach one with bits and pieces floating in formation like the ships in Jupiter Ascending and comment idly that in a better world "gender-affirming care" would mean someone making it so I get to do that with my bones

friend looks at the page and goes "oh, you haven't even gotten to the one that made me think of you"

I find it

it's gecko-shaped and looks alarmingly like it has flesh-and-blood ribs sticking out of it

they're right.

[autumnclove]

Yes I know this already exists but I HAD to remake the flag 😡

Autojoycharic/Henrymillercharic

A gender where it feels like Doctor Henry Miller from Dayshift at Freddy’s. It could feel charismatic but as if its messing with you, it feels aggressive and yet violent deep inside there is a empty pit of guilt, anger and regret. Maybe its like a joke, a circus. A performance. Being onstage and cheering people up, but having the knowledge something bad will happen.(I’m joking for this part but it may do so…but it can also just..be him.)

Auto and Charic are Suffixes/Prefixes.

silly pronouns 🤯:

Joy/Joys : Pink/Pinks : Waltz/Waltz’ : Spite/Spites : Dragon/Dragonfruit(/s) : Soul/Souls : Ghost/Ghosts : Goo/Goos : Shadow/Shadows : Void/Voids : Physic/Physics : Eyes/Eyes : Cassette/Cassette : Charm/Charms : Trick/Tricks : Circus/Circuses : Magic/Magics : Blood/Bloods : Doc/Doctor : Lab/Labs : Experi(ment)/Experiment(s) : Energy/Energies : Ana/Anatomy : Clown/Clowns : Sci/Science : Time/Times : Clock/Clocks : Mech/Mechanic : Flesh/Fleshes : Bone/Bones : Tape/Tapes : Book/Books : Wrench/Wrenches : Nothing/Nothings : Ani/Reanimate : Write/Writes : Death/Deaths : Black/Blacks : Dark/Darks : Theo/Theory : Word/Words : Robot/Robots : Heart/Hearts : Crimson/Crimsons : Smile/Smiles : Teeth/Teethes : Glow/Glows : Dimension/Dimensions : Night/Nights : Bolt/Bolts : Wound/Wounds : Test/Tests : Analysis/Analyses : Radio/Radios : Artillery/Artilleries : Ticket/Tickets : Bear/Bears : Bow/Bowtie : Sing/Sings : Dance/Dances : Suit/Suits : File/Files : Cabinet/Cabinets : Record/Records : Party/Parties : Berry/Berries

EMOJI PRONOUS?!???!?:

🍓/🍓s : 🎠/🎠s : ⚙️/⚙️s : 🔪/🔪s : 🦷/🦷s : 🎪/🎪s : 🎟/🎟s : 🎵/🎵s : 🎤/🎤s : 📼/📼s : 📺/📺s : 📻/📻s : 🕰/🕰s : 🔧/🔧s : 🔩/🔩s : 🔬/🔬s : 🩻/🩻s : 🩸/🩸s : [Enter the syringe emojis] : 🗝/🗝s : 🪄/🪄s : 🗄/🗄s : 📕/📕s : 📚/📚s : 🔎/🔎s : 🖋/🖋s : 🎶/🎶s : ⌛️/⌛️s : 🪦/🪦s : ⚰️/⚰️s : 🔨/🔨s : 🪓/🪓s : 🧠/🧠s : 🌑/🌑s : ✨/✨s : 🐾/🐾s : 🥽/🥽s

Ohohohoho the list goes on FOREVER!!!! I could have put so much more.

Anti-xenos/neos and Henry SIMPS please DNI

[thegreatgaydragon]

Mechs Game!

2, 3, 15, 19, 21

(It’s a lot, just uh pick and choose)

what’s your favourite album in terms of music?

high noon over camelot my specialest guy (or possibly bifrost incident. but who can say)

what’s your favourite story?

ough idk they're all so good uhh. gonna have to be the eldritch horror of the bifrost incident

coolest adaptation of another song?

either cinder's song as an adaptation of haul away or skin and bone as an adaptation of raggle-taggle gypsies (aware that this is a slur but am told it's more helpful to not censor it so filtering works better?)

which mechanism gives you the most gender envy?

jonny d'ville. I need to get more belts to affirm my gender I think

what’s your favourite mechanisms headcanon?

jonny is transmasc and the shortest on the ship and he's so mad about it

[thenomadclan]

Character Bio

The Mountain (The Bad Guy of The Nomad Clan & Bad Blood Tyrant to destroy Yautja Society from the inside)

Name:

•The Mountain

•Real Name - Unknown (Classified)

Name Origin:

•The Mountain - Due to his overwhelming large size (that even overshadowed Bruiser) he was a force to be reckoned with, eventually the phrase “Nobody Conquers the Mountain” became one that all Yautja’s would soon to learn in his presence.

•Real Name Classified - Due to bring on a Black Ops like Clan, his name was stricken from all Yautja records and he became a Ghost, never to have existed. If he died nobody would have known his name anyway, this Black Ops like Clan would be the same one that Drago was originally in, having the two meet constantly.

Gender:

•Male

Age:

•Unknown (Classified)

Companions (More so Associated with):

•Drago - The two would be known as the greatest 2 warrior army, managing to slaughter all in their path….till Drago split from the group. Mountain was given the order to kill his friend, but instead he had him exiled under False Bad Blood Actions, eventually the two would meet again….but not under friendly terms.

•Venomous Fang & Chameleon - Two sisters who where also apart of the Black Ops like Clan, Venomous Fang was a expert in poison while Chameleon was a master in disguise. It was Chameleon who was disguised as a Elder to have Drago exiled, but eventually would be the first to be killed by Drago’s revenge spree.

•Dealer - Dealer was a Bad Blood and he didn’t even hide it in the Black Ops Clan (which was secretly a Bad Blood indoctrination group), he would often be able to buy and sell illegal weapons and substances, on the very rare occasions he even sold slaves of both different species and that of his own.

•Mr.Black & his Goons - Mr.Black or Berserker would be a example of how a good and promising hunter could be easily turned to that of Bad Blood Behavior, and it was the 3 of the Super Predators that would be Mountain’s lap dogs to whatever he needed executed.

•Hidden Figures - Bad Bloods who are hidden within the Yautja Society are all under Mountain’s control for he soon became the leader of the Bad Blood invasion, the amount of power they managed to grab are all the way to Ancient level ranks but not the Predator King yet.

•Crimson - Mountain is the biological father of Crimson who was once a enemy of the Nomad Clan now a respected but still needs to prove their trust Ally.

Skin Color:

•Had skin similar to that of Jungle Hunter Predators, but due to being inside his Mechsuit 24/7 his skin became that of a Snow White snake with scales..

Physical Features:

•Blood Red Eyes

•Nubbed Arms & Legs (having to wear mechanical limbs due to losing them to cannibalistic Yautja’s)

•When out of his Mech suit, he’s described as a undead Yautja with his bones being so visible his organs are almost transparent.

Height:

•11’ in Mech suit

•6’ 8” out of Mech suit

Weight:

•900 lbs in Mech suit

•300 lbs in Mech suit

Rank:

•Bad Blood Infiltrator / Bad Blood Tyrant

Equipment:

•Mech Body Suit (capable of flight, heavy shoulder canons able to shoot down mother ships, feet clamps, finger missiles, Disk Launchers, and able to have a strong force to run through walls).

•Yautja Battle Axe fitted perfectly to his Mech Suit.

Characteristics:

•Blood Thirsty

•Revenge Driven

•Insane

•Psycho

•Dangerous Intelligence

•Strategic

•Manipulative

•Extremely afraid of leaving his Mech Suit

Feats:

•Able to survive and fight off cannibalistic Yautja’s for only surviving to losing her limbs.

•Was the youngest of the Black Ops Clan to ever assassinate a ruler on the brink of war.

•Was the driving force in creating the Nomad Clan.

•Managed to kill Nomad Clan Members such as “Drago: the original Nomad Clan Leader” (supposedly), “Raven: Drago’s Human Body Guard & Friend” , “Scar-Face” , and sadly “Scrapper: the Brains of the Nomad Clan”.

•Managed to kill a room full of Elder’s and Ancients to overthrow their rule and have his own “Invasion on Yautja Prime”.

•Earned the title of “The Mountain” when he killed the biggest Yautja in a prison known as The Pit, using his at the time wooden limbs as shanks.

•Would be the #1 Bad Guy in the Nomad Clan who kept sending Mercenary after Bad Blood at Drago to silence the truth of what they did.

•Destroyed the Nomad Clan’s hidden city hidden from humanity & Yautja kind for more then a thousand years.

•Was the beginning of the decline of the Nomad Clan’s existence.

Pictures of Character:

-Sadly is none😅-

@abdxctedd @bunnyraptor69 @black-suns-rim @chillxxdash @daswhox @leechandoki @maynixe @mariayautja2022 @queenlybeastly @wolfsnowphoenix @whereisxyro @yautja-addict @yautjagirl91 @yautjalover @yuki-suki

[starry-skies-116]

All is well in The Afton Family Apparently~

First we have just some guy/businessman, but that guy’s actually a literal sociopath/dark empath that’s driven to the brink of insanity by his youngest son’s death and starts taking it out on other kids (including offing his best friends)

Then we have literally one of the best mothers ever someone give this woman a hug and a massive raise at her job

Then we have a dramatic ass gay thespian teenage boy, but he’s secretly a hormonal teenager who secretly copes with emotional neglect and authoritarian parenting from his Dad by running away from his responsibilities and ignoring his true feelings- also parentified at a young ass age, someone help the poor guy. (Also he’s a dyslexic synesthesiac, crowds and glitching screens basically are a surefire way to mindfuck him).

The middle child that doesn't know what having a fixed gender or what sexual and romantic attraction is, and he’s the smart, nerdy and spiritually mature child but also a chronically mentally ill autistic baby with raging queerness who grew up undiagnosed, bullied and severely emotionally neglected and continues silently spiraling into further crippling depression and psychosis due to being the ‘outlier’ +his guilty conscience, nightmares and hallucinations and delusions, and heavy suicidal ideation that literally nobody knows about not even his own family as his environment crumbles around him leaving him more and more traumatized (SCHIZOAFFECTIVE DISORDER GO BRR).

The youngest and most responsible child and only daughter and the golden child, except BURNT OUT GIFTED KID SYNDROME WHO CAN’T EVER FEEL PROUD OF HER ACCOMPLISHMENTS EVER AGAIN AND HAS TO TAKE CARE OF THOSE WHO ARE OLDER THAN HER AND HAS RESPONSIBILITY THRUST UPON HER EVERY DAMN TIME (UNDIAGNOSED ADHD AND ANXIETY WE LOVE TO SEE IT).

Then one goes MIA, one ends up trapped in a rotting yellow bunny suit and goes on to evolve into the overarching villain disguised as a fucking computer virus.

Then another has his head crushed by an animatronic and his soul and essence shattered and scattered into smithereens, his body reforged on the fundamental level via manipulation of remnant and both physical and metaphysical +biological matter down to his very blood, flesh, organs and bones, reengineering EVERY FUCKING CELL AND ATOM AND MOLECULE OF HIS BODY into an immortal, near-perfect artificial cyborg robo-body before. literally being sealed away into a 60 year long slumber and waking up before committing some crimes VERY hesitantly to mourn his trauma and repressed rage and grief and try to find/fix his family as well as recollect his memories/remaining shattered "self".

Another gets trapped inside an animatronic she's obsessed with before proceeding to be trapped in an underground facility, then also commits several atrocities before being lured into and trapped inside a burning Pizzeria, then she merges souls with a girl born into the future and becomes a security guard who's also a bunny suit-wearing serial killer.

And then another gets a fucking organ transplant with an oversized spoon, gets piloted around like a mech-suit by his younger sibling, vomits machinery out and turns into a purple and rotting walking reanimated corpse via the sheer power of human souls and life-creating, reality-altering substances, burns down in a Pizzeria with his father and sister, and then possesses/takes refuge inside the body of a futuristic animatronic before proceeding to reunite with his younger brother, both of whom remain oblivious to the other's identities (including their sister's and Father's) and he gets piloted around like a fucking Voltron or MechX4 mech suit. Again.

Come join the trauma family today lol~

[ppnuggie]

　　　　　　RAVAGE x gn human reader

　　　　『　ravage ,, gender neutral human reader 』

　　-> hcs w/ ravage <333

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, crack

　　— i like this cat 🕺

• it took a bit before you and ravage would be as close as you are ,, as he didn't exactly trust you at first but the more time he spent around and with you ,, the more he enjoyed your presence

• he saw your efforts to talk to megatron and treat him not like the warlord he was but instead as a member of this crew ,, with respect and kindness as you would to any other

• sure ,, your first meeting was a little awkward ,, as he had been watching you closely and didnt say a word ,, and you waved at him and that was the end of it

• but he definitely started to seek you out more ,, unconsciously stalking around in the vents to your habsuite ,, preferring it more than megatron's as it was usually empty and quiet

• he enjoyed megatron's presence ,, but ravage did enjoy time to himself ,, and going to your usually empty room was his gateway to that

• you didnt really go in there besides when it was time for you to rest ,, or you had to do work outside of your work hours

• the first time you saw him in your room ,, you hadnt ssid a word or chased him out ,, just shrugged it off and stayed confused rather than confront ravage

• you were already aware he could talk ,, having talked to megatron about ravage the more he ended up staying in your habsuite for the days

• your relationship was a little confusing ,, whether or not ravage considered you a friend or a stranger you werent sure of ,, but he did seem to favor your favorite blanket over any others which was a bummer

• as the days blurred together ,, any time you saw him you gave him a little hello ,, and started talking out loud in front of him ,, mainly to yourself but he could listen in if he wanted and provide whatever advice or snarky comment he wanted to

• you would bid him goodbyes whenever you left ,, and bring him a cube of energon whenever you returned

• he began to trust you more and more ,, growing to look forward to your company for the day and enjoying it more and more

• soon ,, he'd sleep in your bed with you ,, laying across your body and providing warmth on some of the coldest nights aboard the lost light

• though mornings would be a hassle ,, trying to get him the move and him being too heavy for you to move yourself

• ultra magnus would be disappointed in the mech but there wasnt much he could do ,, and megatron just shrugged about it ,, so helpful

• if you ever got a injury of some sort ,, ravage would be on you the moment ratchet allowed him in the medbay ,, head butting your hand and provided comfort

• earth cats purring does help with healing bones ,, and its the same way with ravage too ,, he could tell in an instant if your bone was broken without ratchet telling him so

• he'd lay with you for as long as ratchet let him in the medbay ,, until you told ratchet it was alright and he wasnt doing any harm ,, that he was allowed to stay for how long he wished to

• he'd be alert and stand guard in case some space pirates broke on board ,, or any nasty critter that snuck on the ship

• he didnt want you to get hurt anymore than you already were

• even outside of injuries ,, ravage's purrs does provide health benefits ,, and is one of the many reasons you havent gotten sick on the ship yet

• he does enjoy being pet by you ,, not always granting permission to just anyone to pet him ,, so consider it a compliment ,, he enjoys you enough that he lets you touch him without him initiating it

• he maybe also does biscuits on your blankets when you've scratched a particularly good spot on him ,, but dont tell anyone ! this is just a you and him moment

• he may give small licks as kisses ,, dipping his head at you in greeting and sometimes lightly pawing at you to pay him some attention ,, in private of course ,, he can't be seen around other mechs acting this way

• when your relationship escalated from close friends to a little more ,, not much changed besides the more kisses you had received from the mech ,, and gave back <3

• he grew even more protective of you ,, always being there lurking behind in case any careless or downright rude mech did anything ,, he'd gladly give him an injury to think about for the remainder of the stellar cycle

• megatron is one of the few to actually know of your close relationship ,, not minding it at all and instead happy for his friend ,, he does pay more attention to you and becomes closer to you as friends

• you and megs get along well ,, and you teach him a few things ,, especially when it has to do with connecting with the crew despite his past and the war

• ravage is glad for megatron to finally make a friend other than himself and maybe even ultra magnus

• ravage curls up around you at night ,, resting his helm on either your chest or lap depending on the way you sleep ,, his audial sensors / ears always perked in case of emergency

• he is a bit more affectionate ,, nuzzling against you any moment he's given and always trying to coerce you into taking breaks to take naps with him

• once you called him your personal body heater since he is quite warm at night ,, and he got a bit huffy

• he does bask in your praise ,, as long as its not something too humiliating

• nautica tries to get close to ravage and often asks for your help ,, but all you can do is shrug ,, she also knows of your little relationship with the feline mech but doesnt really question it

• all in all ,, ravage makes a good snuggle buddy <33