#Out of Cybernetic: OOC

[cyberpawn]

Haters will say "Vale Entropy could never dress up as Haxsaur from Fortnite" despite evidence to the contrary

Art by @zaffyrr !!

[letternotekisses]

That head tilt in Ramattra's "provoke" emote has got me feeling things

He feels conflicted towards you, unable to configure whether you’re truly human or robotic.

There are metallic elements climbing your hips, framing them like tree branches or circuitry, woven into your skin like colourfully painted twine. He’d caught sight when your clothes rode low, scanning over soft fat and muscle, belt buckle glinting just below your navel like a blaring target, exposing such vulnerable parts his mind seemed only to fixate on.

And yet you feel - you move with all the natural fluidity that a human would, that a human should. It sickens him, intrigues him.

He trails his fingers across the mottling of metal and human flesh, his heavy digits sending skittering sensations over your skin. It’s enough for you to slap his curious palm away, and for him not to chase the subject. While clearly stronger than you, Ramattra must admit that your augments still made for a somewhat respectable opponent, and well, he’d rather not scratch the paint.

It was never specified if he meant his own.

I reanimated from the dead to hand over this rushed ass blurb of Ramattra. Sorry for being gone so long, please forgive me 💕

Also, fun fact - this was originally written about Ultron and an OC of mine, but I figured it fit well with Ramattra, too!

[worldsouls]

me:

the demon in my brain: what if you for realsies wrote dionysos huh

[cyberpawn-arc]

❤️/🐲/💙 ❤️/🐲/💙 ❤️/🐲/💙

[shakes treat bag] Vale Entropy stimboard! Here's a Vale Entropy stimboard for all those interested!

[ataleoftwodragons]

For Genji. Hands down.

[mechahero]

//Oh help, I'm still thinking about that live action Tek.ken AU.

[cyberpawn]

SHOUT OUT TO ONE OF MY FAVE POSTS I'VE DONE

and because the link doesn't work anymore, this is what I mean with the arm gradient designs!!

Okay random drop of titan/kaiju vale thoughts, and yes this is just What If Vale Was A Kaiju, just a full on big ol' beast!!

The primary influence in their design in the prehensile tailed skink, my favorite species of lizard!! A full body pic can be seen here of these lads!!

As a kaiju, Vale is Relatively Small Sort of!! They're shorter than Kong and definitely not as long as Goji. They're around 275ft/83.82m long, with about 137.5ft/41.91m of that being their tail! Just like the skink, their tail is about half of their body length!! But the thing is! Vale is primarily quadrupedal, so they're normally just walking on their hands/feet and standing at about 90ft/27.43m on all fours!

I said they're primarily on all fours, but they CAN get onto their hind legs. When they're in bipedal mode, they have a stance much like Toothless here!! That polite/awkward 'hi im not supposed to be on two legs what do what am doing' stance

Vale's hands and feet are great and grasping onto things thanks to their very thick, durable claws. They're an arboreal species and rely on those claws to sink into tree trunks and their prey (a departure from the skink's normally herbivore diet). Their tail is very muscular and useful when it comes to climbing things, other kaiju, and also a great weapon as they can use it either to strangle or restrain an enemy. Vale's claws have a bit of a rainbow shine, like bismuth, to them! They can't fully grasp things as they don't have opposable thumbs, but they can dream.

Vale's arms are muscular but stout, better for keeping their body close to whatever they're climbing. Long arms just mean Vale is further from whatever they're climbing and more of a risk of losing control and falling. On their arms, they have this gradient/design going on with their scales.

Once you get up to their shoulders, Vale has feathers that start at their shoulders and trail towards their spine and then down their tail. These feathers are short and coarse, much like guard hairs on a mammal's pelt. Underneath the rougher feathers are much softer, downy feathers that are useful when they're sleeping up in trees and they're vulnerable to frigid winds. The feathers going down their tail take on a sharper appearance the further down the tail you get, much like a bunch of porcupine quills that are GREAT as a weapon/defense.

Kaiju Vale is an omnivore, they will try to test bite things, even if it's a bad idea. Just to see if this thing is yummy or not.

Vale is a protector, they are social (just like the skinks!!). While they were not raised by a family group, they are very social and making their own lil found family groups!! They got their buddies!! As always, they are full of energy and very vocal too. They make a mix of reptilian hisses and rumbles, like a gator, and some more avian clicks/songs!

Their stomach is not as well protected as they're used to their body laying flush against tree trunks or the ground, so they're naturally protected by their environment.

Eyes are a bright, piercing green if you're in their woods at night. Vale is native to Skull Island because yeah maybe I think Vale and Kong could be friends.

[frutigerfischl]

How about Sevika x Reader with Sevika being protective? Thank you :D

⌗ TITLE┆SHE REALLY LOVES ME┆song: drink ★ ₊ ˚⟡

⌗ TAGS┆gn reader, protective sevika, hcs, slightly ooc, based on s1 because I haven't watched s2 yet so idk how she acts there ★ ₊ ˚⟡

⌗ NOTE┆hey, I love this idea but didn't know if you wanted a oneshot or hcs since you didn't specify but I decided to do hcs since I don't usually do then and wanted to practice! If you wanted a oneshot you can inbox me and I'll write one, also if you're wondering my format has slightly changed ★ ₊ ˚⟡

⊹₊⟡⋆ TRUST

Sevika is suspicious of you at first. She doesn’t trust easily—not in Zaun, not with the life she’s lived. “People look out for themselves,” she tells you, a note of warning in her voice. “Don’t expect me to save your ass if you can’t hold your own.”

Except she does save you—over and over. The first time, it’s instinct: her blade catching a would-be attacker’s throat mid-swing. The second time, it’s with a grimace and a sharp, “Don’t make a habit of this.” But by the fifth? She doesn’t even bother pretending it’s a chore. She just growls, “Stay behind me,” as she steps into the fray, all muscle and menace.

⊹₊⟡⋆ PROTECTION

Sevika’s protection isn’t loud or showy. She’s not the type to shout declarations or pick you up over her shoulder in some grand display. No, her protection is quieter, more calculated—shadows moving on the periphery, her watchful gaze tracking the room while she leans back in her chair, exhaling smoke. You think she’s distracted, but you notice the subtle shift of her cybernetic arm whenever someone steps too close. One wrong move from them, and she’ll put them on the ground before you can blink.

You’re not sure when it starts, but Sevika always seems to know where you are. Whether you’re in the Last Drop nursing a drink or wandering the back alleys of Zaun, you’ll feel the weight of her gaze. At first, it’s unnerving—her sharp eyes tracking your every movement like you’re a potential threat. But over time, the edge softens. You catch her watching you with something warmer, something quieter. She’ll look away when you notice, muttering something about needing to “keep tabs on trouble.”

Despite her gruff demeanor, Sevika always insists on walking you home. “Zaun isn’t kind to people who walk alone,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. If you protest, she’ll just cross her arms and arch a brow. “What? You think I’ve got better things to do?”

⊹₊⟡⋆ AFFECTION

Sevika isn’t the kind of person who says what she feels, but her actions speak louder than words. She’ll shove a bowl of stew into your hands after a long day, grumbling something about “keeping your strength up.” If you don’t eat it fast enough, she’ll gruffly ask, “What, it’s not good enough for you?” even though you can tell she’s genuinely worried.

Her jacket? It’s yours now. You didn’t ask for it—she just draped it over your shoulders one night when the Zaun air turned cold. “Don’t read into it,” she snapped when you thanked her, but the warmth in her tone betrayed her.

There are nights when the weight of Zaun, of Silco’s war, of everything she’s done to survive, catches up to her. She won’t talk about it, but you can see it in the way her shoulders sag, in the way she stares at her drink like it holds all the answers. You don’t push her to open up—you just sit beside her, your presence quiet and steady. After a while, she’ll sigh and lean into you, her head resting against your shoulder. She won’t say anything, but the way her fingers brush against yours says enough.

Once, after a particularly close call, Sevika cups your face in her hand—her real hand, rough and calloused. “Don’t do that again,” she says, her voice low and raw. “I can’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but the way her thumb traces over your cheek makes your heart ache.

[cyberpawn]

[stood in a thinking pose]

I think I may make Vale a fandomless OC honestly!! I think one of the big reasons I haven't been writing on here (outside of being busy irl) is that I haven't felt really a sense of direction, I've felt really stuck to 'oh man Vale is cyberpunk', but that's gonna change!! I'll probably be adding a lot to their verses page, changing some stuff up!

[lunarlighxt]

— reprieve | bruce wayne (☾)

wc: 3,047

draft from early last year — written as part of lunar lore (oc) but can be read as ‘x reader’

initially written in lowercase bc i mostly write on my phone so if i missed anything lmk pls

warnings: fluff !! super wordy/descriptive, potentially ooc!bruce, younger!bruce wayne (as in like the second year of being batman—he's in his early-mid twenties), third-person pov (mc is referred to w she/her pronouns), no use of ‘y/n’ or names, mc has hair long enough to be tied into a clip (one or two mentions of ‘curls’), established situationship (they're not dating actually BAHA), mc has abilities (super strength, healing factor, n cybernetic eye implants mentions—lmk if u want a more detailed explanation!!), domesticity, flirty!bruce, mc implied to hv a rough past and high pain tolerance, clingy!bruce, chores, mc is smaller/shorter than bruce, documents, thomas n martha wayne mentions, mc mentioned to be physically toned, alfred is on (a well-deserved) vacation in the maldives, bruce has a bad headache (bane mentioned!!), lots of touching, celcius use (jumpscare), sleep coercion (/pos), gaslighting (/joke) — lmk if i missed anything !!

Reading is a friend.

When he was younger and his parents were still six feet above, the library had been, au fond, Bruce's bedroom. Restless nights tossing and turning became nights by the warmth of the fireplace, moonlight managing to spill over the carpets through the gaps of the preposterously too-tall curtained windows that had always towered over the young wayne back then—the same windows where he now reached half its height, a bittersweet revelation to live. All the while Alfred would find him fast asleep in the loveseat in the morning, an opened copy of something Caesarean during his odd Roman Empire phase as a child opened and tucked against his chest, eyes shut and breathing slow, drowning deep in a dreamscape. But reading wasn't his only love in that aspect.

His mother read to him often. It was how he learned that he adored literature. He slept better with the sentiment of a bedtime story, whether it be tall or grounded, read from or simply spoken. His father tended to be guilty of the latter half, spouting theatrical tales that had his arms waving about and his expressions warping and morphing into exaggerated faces that young Bruce would sleepily giggle into his blankets from. His heart would sometimes swell and yet, ache in the recollection, bittersweet on his tongue. He supposed the whole family were readers, in their own way. Storytellers and story-lovers, one and the same. Though, in his life now, a free hour was tough enough to wring out of his day, let alone enough time to sit back and properly enjoy a book like he used to.

It didn't help that now, one of the only few things he actually had to sit down and read were documents. A good amount of which, for his company.

Such as right then, where he hunched over his home-office desk, head in his hands as his overworked brain tried to swallow the bits of information spread out on crisp sheets between his elbows.

Fucking hell.

Groaning, his head sank further into his palms, fingers weaving through the loose, messy strands over the front of his hairline.

He just dealt with Bane last night—reading was very much a foe right now.

The home-office was nostalgic in the shades of Victorian browns and the arched tips of the intricately framed (and once again) too-tall windows, floors drenched in the liquid gold of the sinking sun through the glass. Carpets blanketed mahogany planks as shelves lined up against the walls, neighboring pictures and awards and titles scattered over the century-old paint, where his parents would watch over him in the various stages of their lives, smiling forever. It could be considered old-fashioned, but it was comfortable. Before him, it was his father's and the father before him and so on. A Wayne's dwelling, through and through. Anecdotal in each crevice and dent and scratch and marks he'd discovered all throughout his life and will continue to, what with the too-long history of his bloodline—if the very lived-in state of the place hadn't made it so, anyway.

Bruce, however, felt far from comfortable—even if he was in the best pajama set he owned that he got a few months back. He thought it'd be a normal-ish day (normal-ish only because of the lack of Alfred, who was probably sipping cocktails as he tanned by the shore somewhere in the Maldives); wake up, morning routine, get to work, try not to sleep through meetings, scatter some food intake throughout the day and sunscreen reapplications, clock out, prep for his night job, do said night job, night routine, go the fuck to sleep. But no.

No, his company had to have some dispute with a Hong Kong branch because of a corruption case (that Batman had exposed) that had occurred and blew up several weeks before. And now, as a majority shareholder, he was one of the several board members that had to figure out what to do with the aftermath. And it's not like he didn't have a plan—of course he did, he's Batman—he had one, he knew exactly how to clean up messes. He was good at it, he knew what to do. But even then, he was still a man. And sometimes, men have headaches in the face of legal documents after a night of getting tossed back and forth in a Gotham bank.

Eyes squeezing shut, his shoulders sunk in quiet defeat as he sighed, eyelids unveiling a steel blue glare into the petty fibers of inked paper. Some part of him felt that it was stupid how he couldn't just take in some words, but hell, exhaustion was a bitch.

His ears perked up at the faint, but relief-inducing sound of steps echoing through the hallways past the home-office walls, shifting to lean back in his seat as the thumps thudded louder to the door. She had light feet. In a different situation, he'd barely be able to hear her steps at all. But she was at home, she was comfortable. So she was louder than she needed to be for no reason, and it was fine.

Seconds later, the door cracked open (she never bothered to announce her presence, not when she knew he could always sense her), and doe eyes stared at him through little loose wisps of curls that framed her face, untucked from the clip the rest of her hair was in, a blank expression (not bored or anything, just a default face) written into her skin.

“I just finished the laundry—can you take out the trash later? I've done everything else.”

The request was strange in hindsight, considering his status. You'd think the first son of gotham would never have to lift a finger. but with Alfred on vacation, the simpler chores were split between them. And well, she did most of it—considering the fact that she knew how, having tailed and assisted the Wayne butler on a day-to-day basis—but on some instances, she proved, admittedly, a tad lazy or she simplydidn'twantto. Which was where he came in, something he definitely didn't object to. It was fair, and it's not like he couldn't throw out trash or clean the bathrooms himself. He'd been in the darkest trenches of the earth back in the days of learning his practice, rotten food and mold scared him as much as finding her fluffy bunny slippers under the bed did.

Sighing—not out of exasperation, to be clear—calloused fingers ran through dark curls in blatant exhaustion that twitched a shift in her expression, he nodded softly.

“I will. But just—” his tongue kissed teeth as a plea formed in the back of his throat, the bridge of his nose massaged through his pause. His free hand waved her over, “could you come here for a second?”

Brows furrowing in visible concern, she pushed the gap of the door wider to let herself in, revealing the familiar silk set of a camisole and pajama shorts that hung over her hips, and the basket of folded laundry comfortably tucked between her hand and her waist that she carried with ease. Immediately, she scanned him and his surroundings for any cause of his discomfort as the basket of clothes was set down by the door that she nudged shut.

“What's wrong?” She asked, walking over to where he sunk in his seat, palms reaching out to grasp his forehead for a temperature change as her eyes blinked white. 36° celsius, her findings read. He was fine, his vitals were largely stable. Mostly unmarred save for the leftover bruises and minor cuts from the night before, and the slight concussion from the headslam into a fucking wall. Soft fingertips scratched over his scalp as she weaved through his hair in soothing motions, willing the comforted flutter of his eyelids as his head fell back with yet another sigh—that had, fortunately, sounded a little more relieved this time.

“You're stable.” She concluded, eyes narrowed at him. “Is it the concussion?”

It was definitely the likely culprit. His skull was pounding into his skin, throbbing with an ache that set fire to his senses. But even if said concussion had fallen rather mild, most of the pain stemmed from the bruising more than anything. Being slammed head-first into a sturdy bank wall wasn't quite as painless as she'd have made it seem. But even with the protection his cowl offered, it couldn't exactly cancel all the brute force from the impact. No matter, that wasn't his main concern at the moment. (but it definitely was the concussion.)

Before he could say more, a searing pain shot through his head at the slightest scrape of a fingernail against the bump over his cranium (again, Bane), triggering a sharp hiss of air through gritted teeth. Immediately then, her hands slipped away to hover hesitantly by her chest, wincing apologetically.

“..Sorry.”

“Hn.”

Eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaved with deep breaths as he pulled himself together, straining to push down the pain blooming over his scalp. How inconvenient.

“I can't read.” He rasped a confession, weakly knocking his knuckles to the edge of his desk to introduce the documents to her line of sight, the white lenses faintly glowing in a quiet examination.

Oh. Okay, she understood.

But with a snort, she opted to tease. “Didn't know Bane made you illiterate.”

Groaning, his grasp found her forearm just to pull her into his lap, arms circling her waist to push her closer, head lolling into the soft skin of her toned back as she settled over his thighs in the blink of an eye. Maybe she should be surprised, but proximity was far from a stranger at this point in their timeline. And she wasn't one to ever deny him, regardless of the desires his hands would speak for him.

“Read it to me.” He beckoned, muffled against her shoulder blade, inadvertently bubbling a giggle up her throat from the ticklish way his lips mumbled into her skin. “Please.”

Moving the rolling chair closer to the desk, she leaned over to skim through the papers, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she pinched the papers between her fingertips. Her head tilted as the information summed itself up in the built-in display beyond the white lenses she looked through, “this is clean-up?”

He nodded once, “for the corruption case, yes.”

She nodded too, flipping through the pages in her quiet, reading through the paragraphs with the ease his exhaustion had antagonized.

“I don't think you want me to read you all this word for word.” she quipped with yet another snort, words laced in an audible smile that lulled his worn-out brain. “If you couldn't read it, I don't think you'd digest it better hearing it.”

A single grunt was the only response he could muster to her teasing, strong arms squeezing her by the waist as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. If he wanted to say how her voice might bewitch his brain just enough to finally understand it, he didn't. Because this was nice. She was warm. Softer in comparison to his hardened, calloused self, scarred in places he'd rather the world never see. She wasn't like that. All her scars were inside, in the skeleton of her soul and in the heart of her mind. They both shared that quality, certain enough. It made them closer, he considered. He never felt so close to another living being that he could unsheathe his armor, the facades and the lies and the aloof stoicism and unveil his everything, to feel safe enough to sleep nights by her side. The thought that she was his anchor was overwhelming, but bears a comfort in the truth. He'd rather no one else to sit on his lap and yet mock him in a moment of weakness.

“Mm..” Humming thoughtfully, she finally reached the end of the papers as his inner monologue wrapped up. “I could annotate this for you.”

Pushing the chair back, she leaned down to reach the desk drawers—with that of a mild struggle considering the way he clung to her—in a search. “Where'd you put the sticky notes and pens i got you?”

“Ask Alfred.” Was his immediate reply—one that he could definitely feel her deadpan to—expression shifting in slight discomfort with how she was leaning over a little too far for him to snuggle into. he squeezed her tighter, frowning into her skin. “Stop moving.”

“No,” she lightly chided, making her way through the drawers that lined the large foot of the desk from top to bottom. “I'm looking for the sticky notes.”

Another grunt. “Just summarize it for me.”

“You won't remember it.”

“I will.”

Clicking her tongue, her eyes rolled. “As if.”

“I will.”

With his insistence, she was suddenly pulled back up against him, resulting in a position where he was basically sandwiched between her and the back of his chair, biting back a pained sound from the slight sting of his head pressed against the leather cushion. “Just stay still.”

Of course, she ignored that and continued to lean over to look for the sticky notes, much to his chagrin.

Huffing, he stubbornly clung to her as she searched. and in just a few handfuls worth of seconds, she finally found them—much thanks to him, of course.

Quietly, she set the pens and notes over the desk, clicking the tip of the pen open to start the annotations. It's not like she had to or anything—definitely not. But she liked the feeling of doing it, the feeling of helping him in any sort of way. She indulged the extra mile for anything he needed, but if he rather she didn't, she could do that too. She'd give her soul for him if asked, even offhandedly.

“In summary,” she began, softened hums harmonizing with the scribbles of pen and paper. “Contract terminations, relocations, reviews, resourcing, retrieving research, rehiring—bla, bla.” Trailing on, she wrote down the necessary jist of it into the colorful notes and stuck them by the relevant paragraphs, scribbling quick summaries to keep his attention. “And then you get to the lawsuits part and who you're suing and for how much, as suggested by your legal department.” She said, “how fun.”

He scoffed, “how not.” His cheek was squished up against her shoulder, “there's another meeting for it tomorrow.”

“Aw.” she mock-cooed, “poor rich boy with his meetings.”

“Shut up.”

“Uh-huh.” An amused grin formed at her lips, the bottom half bitten between her teeth as she wrote down all the necessary things in the little notes.

Silence stretched on in the quaint, half-modern half-victorian home-office, the light steps of a dancing pen over paper being the only sound that cut through the otherwise nothingness looming in the air. She could feel him against her, breathing starting to slow and his hold starting to slack, his neck curling in in a position that'd probably leave him sore if her were to just fall asleep just like this. So, despite how little her want to wake him was, she lifted a hand to lightly tap at his cheek, rousing him just enough.

“You should go on ahead,” she urged, following the sleepy hum he let out. ”Nap.”

He grunted, snuggling deeper into her, a chosen response in the stead of vocal words.

Looking up in a mix of a deadpan and something fond, she sighed. “Bruce, come on. You'll be sore when you wake.”

“Are you done?” He mumbled an ask, just for her to lightly shake her head as she rubbed his cheek gently.

“No,” she told him, “I'll be done in maybe ten or twenty minutes, though. And then I have to start on your dinner before patrol—”

“Later.” He nuzzled into her once more, ”you're tired.”

Her brows shot up with amusement, “..Okay, I'm not.”

“You are.” He gave her yet another squeeze, “you're very tired, and you want to nap.”

She threw her head back with a laugh, a hint of disbelief whisked in the hymn of her giggles as her hands moved to rest over his where they hugged her by the waist. Jesus, he was (poorly) gaslighting her. “Oh, you're serious.”

“So serious." He added, “you're so tired, and you want to nap.”

Her head shook with the humor of the situation, a grin stretched across her face as the white of her lenses was blinked away. “You're unbelievable.” He'd rather that she was the tired one and he was, what? An unwilling victim to her desires? Unbelievable.

“You're so sleepy.” he repeated, like somehow his sleepy chants would coerce her into feeling it. maybe he was just that tired, and she was just that comfortable and he was too used to it. but he couldn't just go to bed without her now, not when it was better by her side. “So sleepy.”

Eyes rolling, she sighed defeat into the air, shoulders sinking in a quiet relent. If this was how he was going to be convinced to nap, then so be it.

“Fine,” she slumped, “I'm so sleepy.” To exaggerate, she feigned a yawn. “So tired. I want to nap.”

Chuckling, his arms pulled her into yet another squeeze. “I told you so.”

She lightly shook her head, “you're unbelievable.”

Without another word, he'd gotten up the chair with her in his arms, wringing a yelp out of her as she was now held up in the air by the waist, knees tucked in like she was still seated as her feet hovered while his took steps over the mahogany floors, somehow managing to make his way to the door successfully in his sleepy state without resulting into her crashing into anything. When they met the door, she opened it for him to pass them through and shut it closed just as well, leaving the papers and the laundry idle in the home-office as he led them through the halls of his childhood, eager to sleep off the ache in his skull.

Thankfully, she remembered to set up a few alarms to wake them up before patrol, much to his grumbling.

And if she ever brought it up again, he'll only grunt about it.

©lunarlighxt on tumblr

ask me stuff pls — tell me what u think !! <33

[worldsouls]

Fun Fact! Raptor's Pack has their hideout in an abandoned furniture store/warehouse, and Raptor's bed absolutely has these kinds of vibes going on

King size bed, plenty of room for her Pack members to come in and cuddle if they want, lots of space, makes her feel like she's got a big nest there, shelves to keep her favorite books near her bed

[whohasfourthumbsand]

+ HELLO OMNINET ?

+ HELLO! It's IPS-N's youngest biomedical engineer, prosthetist, and lancer-in-training; I convinced my Tutor to connect my personal PDA to the Omninet despite the potential security risks. So, so, for legal reasons, this account is for educational purposes only.

+ Arthur Caldwell, nicknamed GRAY, in attendance. I design and maintain IPS-N-approved cybernetics, armor, and alterations to existing frames; My own mech, G.R.A.E. is a VLAD that I've modified myself! We've only attended two missions together, but here's to the lucky third. + Reach out any time with questions on cybernetic, subaltern, or prosthetic care!

(OOC; My main blog is @tigersharko! I already posted Gray's design there, but I figured having a blog for him to match would be nice. The character uses he/they pronouns and is the 19 year old member of my ongoing campaign's supporting cast/ship-side crew.)

[cyberpawn-arc]

HEY EVERYONE! TODAY'S THE DAY! THE DAY WHERE CYBERPAWN BECOMES ITS OWN BLOG!!

Yes, you heard me right! From now on, I'm going to be coming at y'all live from @cyberpawn, the new and main blog for Vale! This way you'll get asks directly from me and not just an old rp blog of mine! We're moving to a main and here's some quick answers to some questions you may have!

I am going to continue threads and asks over at my new blog!

I will be following from the new cyberpawn blog!

This blog is staying open, just as an archive to look through old musings, old threads, old asks, and all the fun memories here!

I will be revamping my multimuse as a sideblog to the new cyberpawn blog! This will come at a later time because holidays are approaching this week!

[ataleoftwodragons]

Well Genji suddenly got really loud and why??? for what??? I haven't the foggiest.

So, anyway, if you would like a Genji in your notifications or inbox:

Like this for a random starter and/or inbox stuff, I guess?

[snake-ey3s]

Serpens at your service~

OOC: I started this au as a joking accident and it got too real

Welcome to New Dahlia, 2082! Here's some lore I made!

A mix of Empowered and Unempowered humans got ahold of the sovereign D'Deridahn, and quickly used him as a power-source and used parts of him to advance themselves technologically, socially, medically, militarily, etcetera.

This AUs version of D.U.M.P is D.E.V.I.L (Department of Exportation, Vanguard, Integration, and Law) What are they Exporting? You don't wanna find out :)

And Empowered person? Enjoy life to the fullest! You could be an average Joe, a rich and powerful sipping champagne from your balcony, or if you're really unlucky, thrown out like yesterday's garbage into the slums (and if you're really unlucky you're born there)

You wanna be a d(a)emon? Great! Except not! A d(a)emons career path is strictly to be drained of magic to fuel the city (wouldn't want to use up the Sovereign they already have now would they) With calculated feeding times in sad rooms!

Inchoate demons are by far the most hired by the city

With

Sadism, Misery, and Strife demons being the second most hired (usually feeding off of gang members, depressed pencil pushers, or people who lose their loved ones in the slums)

Shock and Elation demons being the third most hired (Having jumpy junkies high on happy drugs to feed)

Conccubi being the fourth most hired

(Any horny fuck picked off from the streets will do)

And Serenity and Empathy Daemons are rarely if at all hired

Which is great! Except Not! (Part 2)

Congratulations, if you're a d(a)emon, get ready to be a useful pet for high class/elite jackoffs!

Hold stuff

Fetch them things

Do their work

Give them sexual favors! If your human wants it, you're gonna give it to them!

Oh you wanna rift?

Sorry pal, d(a)emons get captured as soon as they end up in New Dahlia! Get ready to have a chip implanted in your prefrontal cortex, implanted by cutting the thin layer of bone above the eye socket, preventing you from rifting, so once you're on elegy you're stuck there!

Hm? Oh? You got turned?

... you're probably a part of a mafia gang! Just high enough to enjoy the luxuries of life but just below the guys in the ivory towers and silver spoons. But don't worry! We've advanced technology so you can get high and drink until you black out just like the good ol days! (Ignore your vamp friends overdosing and dying from alcohol poisoning because it's just a bit too addictive)

Oh, you're unempowered? Not really... I mean, you could have a hand that could fire bullets or metal legs that can move as fast as a car! With how many body mods, enhancements, and brain downloads you could get, you might as well be Empowered! Sure, they ain't cheap, but what is? Inflation? You're talking silly! (Don't look at the rates of people who went fucking crazy and spiraled into a former version of themselves because of too many body mods, enhancements, and brain downloads. Sure, a lot of them went brain-dead vegetable and felt their mind melting, but you're built different! ... right?)

This post will be updated anytime something new should be added and I will also make separate posts about any updates!

These lovely people also have their own Cyberpunk AU oc blogs and you should follow them because they're cool!

Important posts!

D.E.V.I.L does love their science labs (ethics not included)

How to capture a Sovereign

Choose your college

Cybernetic updater

Serpens gang

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[moodymisty]

Hi absolutely love your primarch fics

Could i request a corvus corax x reader. The poor bird boy needs more love. Maybe something fluffy i do adore the fics where the primarchs are more human and they get a break.

Author's Note: Ok so I decided to kind of combine these two also, since they both seemed to work together. This isn't fully NSFW, but there is some lewd elements. I hope that is acceptable to you both.

This is also my first time writing Corvus, and I haven't delved into his lore like I have with some of the other legions. So I apologize in any deviations from his canon and any inconsistencies in this fic apart from the obvious 'primarchs in love' ooc-ness.

Summary: Diplomacy has always been dreadfully boring.

Relationships: Corvus Corax/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW but it's pretty vague, I dunno what to call this I guess fingering? But it's not? hand grinding/rubbing I guess It'll make sense I promise, Voyeurism kink, General 40k mentions so war death all the usual

Word Count: 1714

"You shouldn't have brought that thing here."

The rattly, nearly wheezing voice comes from somewhere out of your sight, and you don't pay any mind to it from how mumbled and furious it seems. You assume it's directed at another, and not yourself. No one has any possible reason to speak with such anger at you, after all; At least as far as you're aware. The fabric of your clothing is wrinkled at the front, and you brush it to flatten it. Perhaps you shouldn't have walked ahead.

"Are you deaf, girl?"

Suddenly you look up, and see someone standing to your side. The source of the voice earlier, you presume, judging by it's similar rasping tone.

Head to toe they are adorned in various cybernetic enhancements, even more so than what is visible to you, judging by the odd, inhuman bulging beneath his ornately decorated copper robes. The metal, hooked fingers of his left hand gesture to the raven perched comfortably atop your left shoulder.

"That, shouldn't be here."

The small metal tubings coming from his neck seem to muffle his speech in some way, and there is a distinct tremor to both his motions and his speech. You don't know if it's the sheer volume of his anger like an engine overheating about to explode, or simply something his extensive cybernetic work has yet to or is unable to fix.

The raven, still unnamed by you, snaps it's beak in the direction of the man's metal finger getting too close to itself and it's keeper, letting out a squawk when the man instantly retracts his hand back close to his peculiarly shaped torso. The raven only then returns to preening your hair, or at least attempting to.

"I think I can bring it where ever I want, thank you."

With no surprise he seems completely shocked by your adamant refusal to listen, no doubt not expecting it in the slightest. You don't know if he hasn't noticed the Aquilla and the symbol of the XIXth on your clothing, or if he just simply doesn't care.

"Unbelievable; You embarrass yourself acting such a way- And where did that, thing, even come f-"

"It was a gift."

The sharp corners of this fortress's halls effectively hid Corvus for a good while until he was quite close, the pitch black of his armor seemingly almost eating the light that shined onto it instead of reflecting it. His hair does the same, flowing down past his jaw and laying against the collar of his armor. He is followed by a retinue of seven, Nykona included among them. Despite all the other Astartes leaving their jetpacks behind because of such tight quarters, Nykona elected to still wear his. The advantage of his skill with it is too great for him not to have for any possible scenario.

Even if this world seems intent on coming peacefully, someone like Corvus is going to take no chance on the matter. You would be of no surprise to find out that there with Raven Guard scattered across this fortress, and along the rocky faces surrounding it.

The man looses color like a draining sink, what little blood left in his body leaving his face and worsening his pallid complexion. He instantly moves to bow, before rising, pointing towards you and instantly breaking any previous respect he might have gained.

"Lord Primarch?! What is your r-"

"That raven was my first courting gift to her."

As if his face couldn't get any paler, it somehow seems to upon the realization that he'd just insulted the new lover of the Primarch who holds this world's neck in a noose trap. The Shadow of the Emperor sits moored just in the planet's outer atmosphere, ready at any moment. Corvus need only give the word.

Had Corvus the desire, he could simply level this rock until it was nothing but ash beneath the treads of his boots. But he was perhaps a bit more human than some of his brothers, and given the planet had relatively vast infrastructure and plentiful resources, he had elected diplomacy. To make use of said infrastructure, rather than simply leveling it and starting over.

You hear a soft sound; The crackling of a vox channel being used between the Astartes helmets. It's a subtle sound you've gotten keen to. They're talking to each other on their private channel, but about what you have no idea.

The one left of Corvus, not Nykona, is who speaks up.

"What are our orders, My Lord?"

Corvus gestures down the hall at the end of which lies the grand meeting room you had been moving towards, before getting interrupted. The counciler that once had the intent to scold you now stands frozen, fearful of the Primarch's lack of interest in his existence.

"Two post at the door. The rest with me."

The Primarch begins walking forwards and nearly through the man, had he not stumbled out of the way.

Corvus need only take one look at him, to send the man scuttering back towards his peers. You follow beside Corvus, and one of the Astartes slows his gait ever so slightly to allow you to do so.

The four Astartes spread across the meeting room once you enter, all placing themselves near points of entry like windows. It's nowhere near as large as something you would see on Terra, but it's more than sizable to need a few Astartes to cover it's corners.

However, you had entered the room with five- you notice a group of candles almost blow out from an invisible wind, but you elect to look away from it.

A myriad of profuse apologies on behalf of and from their compatriot fill the air, mixed between bowing and spouting of enough titles to fill a stew pot; Only once it concludes do you finally sit. They must've heard the altercation from moments ago, and you struggle not to show amusement at the theatrics. But after that moment, only a feeling of boredom remains.

In the deep recesses of your mind, perhaps one sicker than you might wish it, you lament Corvus's choice of diplomacy.

It's longer, far more tedious, and has you spending all of your energy speaking with stuffy priests and diplomats that has your mind aching in either boredom or annoyance. Or at worst, anger. Like moments ago in the hall. With something such as war, the goal is at least on first impression, simple and obtainable. Diplomacy requires a firm hand, yet gentle, and results in having a legion of Astartes figuratively chomping at the bit.

Thankfully, Corvus has Imperium agents and his own diplomats to do most of the gentle talking. Corvus is far too blunt and tight lipped for these sorts of things, and you aren't on your best behavior after the incident in the hall. You swear that man might actually just collapse dead if Corvus spares him one more glance.

But the Primarch seems disinterested, though not much to your surprise. What is a surprise however, is when he seems to decide to find a way to occupy his mind elsewhere. On matters perhaps a bit more interesting to him.

His hand lays on your thigh. It's heavy; The ceramite of his armor adds a considerable heft. You look up at him curious and receive nothing back in return. He has always been impeccable at hiding his emotions behind an mask of complete indifference, and only sometimes does it fall off. You only catch his dark eyes for a moment before he looks elsewhere, the sunlight colored through the stained glass and shining on his pale skin.

His hand trails further up your thigh, though it doesn't much have to given the sheer size of his hand in comparison to your body. He might perhaps not be the largest of all the Primarchs, but that doesn't mean his body is any less gargantuan compared to your own.

The raven, which has been largely silent since sitting, shifts from your shoulder to his, content with it's higher perch. Your clothing bunches and wrinkles underneath his armored fingers, before the outside of his armored palm presses against your cunt. You feel a jolt of lighting go up your spine, and it's a struggle not shift your shoulders forward as he applies a non-stop pressure to your most sensitive areas.

You put a hand on his fingers and attempt to peel them away, but they stay firm. It's like trying to pry away the fingers of a marble statue. There is absolutely no chance in doing so and now you sit at the mercy of whatever he wishes to do to you. A question that will get no answer, as you glance upward again his watch his stoic face glance from person to person. As if completely unaware or uncaring of what he is doing.

He is intent to try your patience, it seems. You lean slightly forward as your nerves make you fear of anyone being able to see what's happening beneath the table; As you know there is at least one cloaked Raven Guard somewhere in the room. If he was behind you, he would be easily able to see. Especially as The Primarch's hand begins to move, unsatisfied with simply forcing his way into the front of your mind with just his still pressure. Each movement he makes makes your body feel hotter, like you're going to boil alive despite the cool air

"And mandatory requisitions..."

Negotiations seem to be doing well, from what murmurs you pick up. But you're too busy tensing your thighs as Corvus rubs the side of his hand against your clothed cunt to notice. His armor is unyielding, pressing against you firm and forcing your thighs apart slightly no matter how hard you fight it. You'd be hard pressed to have anything come to mind at this point. Slowly and with every muscle in your body tensed, you attempt to let out a deep, heavy sigh without casting any interest your way.

You cross your ankles, and put your chin in the nook of your index finger and thumb, placing fingers over your lips in an attempt to simply look bored. Your other hand grasps onto the first two fingers of his hand for dear life, desperately trying not to even make a single movement out of place let alone make a noticeable sound. You can feel the way your undergarments slide against your cunt, soaked and crying for it to stop, and for it to continue until you finally come.

"We can construct a new harbor..."

You've completely lost the path of what's happening around you, thighs quivering from how tight you have them pressed together around Corvus' hand. But his hand still moves between them up and down against your clothed cunt, unimpeded.

A harsh breath is all you let out of your nose as you feel your stomach tense as you come against him through the layers of fabric, feeling like you're being watched by a million eyes. But none are, except for him.

Through that flawless, neutral expression, he glances downward at you before he pulls his gauntlet from between your thighs and rests it back against the massive wooden tabletop. You could tell the look in his eyes. He lets you settle down from the high in silence, in a room that feels like a stage. You have no possible idea of how long you'll be stuck here, as your clit throbs in aftershocks.

You look away from his dark eyes before they trap you for good, and lament the wet, sticky feeling against your undergarments as you shift in your seat.