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vikwrites · 1 year ago

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Playboy - Tony Stark

Summary ➣ Tony Stark invites you into his Rolls Royce. Pairing ➣ Tony Stark x Reader Word Count ➣ 2.5k words Warnings ➣ 18+ / Car Sex / Power Imbalance / Age Gap. Author's Notes ➣ The first full Tony Stark oneshot! Comments are highly appreciated <3 Requests are also open!

You didn’t know exactly how you ended up here.

The events leading up to your current situation were a blur, like trying to see through thick fog.

Here you were, seated in the plush backseat of Tony Stark's lavish Rolls Royce Phantom. A variety of crystal glasses in all shapes and sizes were scattered haphazardly, some full, most empty. The rich aroma of Macallan 1926 filled the air. A bottle had been tipped on its side, its deep tones spilling onto the seat and seeping into a crevice of the leather, leaving behind a multitude of stains, You wonder how many times Tony had to pay someone to clean up these messes.

The past few hours were a hazy mix of neon lights and blaring speakers, the repercussions of Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC filling your ears.

Then you recalled that Tony had spotted you at Stark Expo, at the Arc Reactor exhibit, standing in front of the machine, mesmerized by the pulsing reactor and the hypnotic hum that filled the room.

Tony had made the first approach and talked to you for a while, although most of the conversation consisted of you awkwardly sucking up to him, while another part of you was afraid of saying something embarrassing or coming off as too eager.

You never thought you'd be graced with the opportunity to even be in the same room as Tony Stark, let alone talk to him face-to-face. But as the conversation went on, you felt more and more intimidated. You had always admired Tony and maybe even had a bit of a crush on him, but now that he was standing in front of you, you didn't know what to say or do.

However, when you were invited to his limousine, you couldn't resist. He had lured you in like a moth into flame.

The air was thick with tension, your fingers found themselves subconsciously fidgeting, you were sitting mere inches away from Tony after all; who was currently fiddling with a Cuban cigar. Your heart raced with a cocktail of excitement and fear - after all, this was the Tony Stark, one of the most influential figures in the world, and you were just a mere woman-in-the-street. This man probably had more money in his wallet than you’d ever have in your entire life.

Tony seemed to have picked up on your nervousness, reaching over to the mini-fridge and picking up another bottle of liquid courage. The cigar had found its way in his mouth, and is currently hanging from his lips.

“Mr Stark—” You stuttered, trying to reach for the rear-hinged doors of the car, “I’d think it would be best if I left, it’s getting late.”

“Relax, honey.” As Tony's hand unexpectedly settled on your wrist, pulling you back, the sudden weight caught you off guard. You couldn't help but flinch when you felt his fingers close around your wrist. His touch gentle yet assertive, a delicate balance that leaves you feeling conflicted. He takes another drag of the cigar.

Internally, you battled with conflicting emotions, but externally, you remained still as his hand steadily guided another crystal glass into your grasp, the weight of the cold drink dragging you back to reality. Initially you wanted to refuse, but you didn’t want to let Stark down, or seem ungrateful—downing the whiskey, you felt the liquid burn your throat.

His hand on yours caused a weighty pause in your conversation, Tony smirked, finding it amusing how tense he made you. Eventually, he breaks the silence by redirecting the conversation towards you. "So, tell me about yourself," he prompts, his tone casual and easy. Another cigar made its way into his mouth.

You took a moment to recollect your thoughts before answering. "I'm studying at MIT," you replied, "I'm pursuing my degree in Nuclear Engineering." As soon as the words leave your lips, you notice Stark raise an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly impressed by the mention of your alma mater.

Tony leans back in his seat and exclaims, "Impressive, I’m going to assume I’ve probably funded one of your projects, you’ve been to the September Foundation Grant presentation right?" He turns to look at you, as if trying to make a connection. You nod and continue to take small sips of your Macallan whiskey.

After a few more rounds, you found yourself becoming less tense around him.

“—and he’s now the forehead of security, get it?” Tony giggled, clapping his hands at his own joke, his laughter was infectious, and you found yourself laughing along with him, feeling a sense of camaraderie that you hadn't experienced in a long time. He takes another puff of the cigar, attempting to blow smoke rings but failing horrifically, the supposedly circular puffs of smoke coming out in flattened, unidentifiable shapes.

"Mr. Stark-" you began, but were quickly cut off by the man himself.

"Please, dear," Stark offered with a shake of his head, "just call me Tony."

You took a deep breath, trying to muster up courage (as much courage as you could get while being mildly to severely intoxicated, you couldn’t tell at this point), and corrected yourself. "Tony," you said firmly, hoping to sound more confident than you felt. "Why did you invite me here?" The question hung in the air amongst the clouds of smoke.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tony raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I think you’re cute.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his bold statement. Did Tony Stark really just say that to you?

“Fuck, Tony Stark thinks I’m cute, never expected that, ever.” But before you could fully process the unexpected compliment, another thought crossed your mind. “Looking past the obvious," you continued, "why isn’t there some Playboy supermodel in my position? Aren’t you just slumming it?”

“Your expectations of me are too high, darling,” Tony drawled, his voice dripping with charm and confidence. “Honestly, I’d call Playboy right now and make you a model right away. You’ve got the face for it,” he paused to rake his eyes over your body, biting his lip, “—and the bod.”

A rush of heat spread through your body at his words, igniting a spark of desire that you couldn't deny. The atmosphere became charged with tension, but this time, in a good way. The constant pet names and lingering gazes from Tony were stirring you up, and you could feel something else crackling in the air between you two.

You wouldn't say no to his advances, not when his gaze was so intense and his touch so electric. After all, who would say no to Tony Stark? His smooth words and charming smile were enough to make any woman weak at the knees, and you were no exception.

“I just think that you could do better.” You muttered, all the confidence draining from you the moment he tries to make a move, you cursed yourself for it.

“Quit being self conscious and just kiss me.” Tony's words were like a soothing balm to your inner turmoil, urging you to let go of your self-consciousness and just give in to the moment. As he leaned in, his lips met yours in a swift motion that caught you off guard.

Your hands instinctively found their way to his cheek, pulling him closer to you as you melted into his embrace. While his hands grabbed at your hair, caging you in between his body and the leather seat. The taste of his lips and the warmth of his body enveloped you, drowning out the nagging voice in your head reminding you of all the reasons why this could be a mistake. Tony moaned into your mouth, you took a mental recording of that, hoping to replay it in your head later.

In this moment, nothing else mattered except for the feel of his touch and the heat that pulsed between the two of you. You surrender yourself completely, allowing yourself to be swept away by his kiss.

The cigar was carelessly discarded from his trembling hands, the smoke swirling in lazy wisps around the ash urn. The taste of tobacco still lingered on his lips, a bittersweet reminder of his vice. Your senses were heightened as you pulled away from the kiss, your hair tousled and wild from the frenzied grabbing. The two of you shared round after round of kisses, each one more desperate and passionate than the last till Tony decided to go further.

Tony pushed you down onto the seat, his movements were rough and uncoordinated, but it only added to the thrill. Your body responded to his manhandling, and you could feel yourself getting turned on. You laid horizontally on the car's leather seats, taking in the sight of stars twinkling on the headlining, but your attention was quickly diverted as Tony's lips crashed onto yours once again.

"You look so good underneath me, baby." he whispered in that seductive low tone of his, his mouth mere millimetres from your ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine and each vibration of his words seemed to make you even wetter.

Your breath hitched in surprise as Tony's hand traveled down to your core, his fingers grazing the hem of your dress and revealing more of your skin. You were startled by the sudden move but couldn't deny the heat that pooled between your legs. His touch was tentative, tracing circles over your clothed clit with a slow, teasing stroke. Your moans grew louder as he continued, each touch feeling foreign yet undeniably pleasurable.

"F—Fuck," you gasped as his piercing gaze met yours, those maroon eyes no longer their gentle brown hue.

"God, you're so wet for me," Tony's eyes locked onto yours as he brought his glistening finger to his mouth, savouring the taste with a low moan. Just the sight of it nearly sent you over the edge. "And you taste even better." Your eyes rolled back at his declaration, you’re so close and he hasn’t even started yet.

Your fingers trembled as they reached for the button of Tony's Tom-Ford dress pants, fumbling with it in a desperate frenzy. In this moment, your entire existence seemed to depend on getting his pants off and feeling his naked skin against yours. Tony's hands were still on your clit, his skilled fingers teasing you mercilessly.

You could barely focus on unbuttoning his pants as he brought you closer and closer to the edge with just two fingers, god he was good. Every touch from him felt like electricity pulsing through your body, igniting every nerve ending and making you forget everything else except for the pleasure he was giving you.

"Please, Tony," you pleaded, your voice breathless and desperate. Your body quivered as two fingers slipped into your slick pussy, the wet sounds echoing in the confined space of the car.

At first, Tony's movements were slow and deliberate, teasing and tempting every inch of your sensitive walls. But he knew how to push all your buttons and soon, you were clenching around his fingers, begging for more.

"I'm gonna come," you gasped out, feeling your orgasm building with each thrust of his fingers.

"Come for me, baby,” Tony growled lowly, his voice making you even more wet. "I wanna see you falling apart on just my fingers." And with those words, you unravelled in a mind-blowing climax, your body trembling and shaking against his skilled touch.

As you came down from your high, you felt a new sensation. You realized you had squirted all over the interior of the car, but at that moment, you didn't care. All that mattered was how good Tony made you feel.

You were dazed and lost in the haze of pleasure when you felt him shuffling over you. His pants were unbuttoned and his cock was in his hand, slowly stroking as he took in the sight before him: your flushed skin, your heaving chest, and the evidence of your pleasure coating the seat beneath you.

You let out a soft gasp as he playfully teases you, running his member along your slit. With regained control over your limbs, your hands find their way into his once-slicked back, now ruffled hair. Your legs lock behind his lower back, pulling him closer to you in an attempt to deepen the connection between you two.

His voice is low and husky as he groans, "Your tight pussy feels so good, darling." As he pushes into you, you feel a fullness that you've never experienced before. The initial sting of pain quickly gives way to a deep pleasure that radiates through your entire body.

"Fuck, I love you, Tony." The words escape your lips before you even have time to register them. The intensity of the moment sparking a declaration that surprises even yourself. But before you can worry about whether it was too soon or not, Tony returns the sentiment.

"Love you too, baby," he whispers as he bottoms out inside of you. You can feel every inch of him inside you, and the sensation causes you to writhe beneath him. His chest is pressed against yours, and you can feel his heart beating through the fabric of his suit that was yet to leave his figure, but you figured you’d see him without the suit another time.

“Fuck, gonna be a good girl and take my cum?” Tony's deep, ragged breaths spurred you on as his orgasm neared. You could feel your own climax building, your body shuddering in anticipation. Unable to form coherent sentences, you nodded in response.

Your back arched off the leather couch as you reached your peak, crying out in ecstasy as Tony's movements became even more frenzied. "Yes, gonna come so hard, Tony. Need you so bad." Your words were barely audible through your moans as he grunted and thrust into you one final time before the both of you came.

Breathless and spent, Tony's lips crashed down on yours once again.

The heat between your bodies was almost suffocating as you rode out your high. He remained inside you until he was soft, and when he finally pulled out, a trail of your arousal leaked onto the leather beneath you. A groan escaped him as he took in the sinful sight, but you were too lost in your pleasure-drunk haze to fully register it.

You're too spent to move, but from the hazy corner of your vision, you see him in front of a mirror slicking back his disheveled hair. Still dazed and caught up in the aftermath of your orgasm, it took you a while to gather yourself and get dressed. But as soon as you did, Tony turned to you with his trademark smirk.

"So, about that Playboy call?"

⎊ back to masterlist

#iron man #tony stark #mcu #rdj #robert downey jr #avengers #tony stark x reader #robert downey jr imagine #tony stark smut #marvel #rdj x reader #tony stark fluff #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #the avengers #robert downey jr fanfic #robert downey junior #robertdowneyjr #robert downey

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typewritingyip · 2 months ago

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The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty One - Crash Site

Part Forty

Warning: Gore, Violence, & Vomit

———

Mech emergency evacuation systems, M.E.E.S; which to be perfectly honest is not the worst acronym in the army. Was initially designed and regulated by the US Army armored suit branch, to bring down the number of pilot deaths and suit destructions.

In its first year of operation it prevented three suits from having catastrophic failures and saved the lives of seven pilots. The initial system was a massive power sink, likely to drain the suit and put it out of commission until new batteries or reactor or core could be sourced.

MECHA’s number one researcher went on to redesign the system as a whole, it prevents 99.1% of suits from experiencing catastrophic failures when experiencing devastating attacks. It saves the pilot around 17.8% of the time. This system saves the governments of the world billions in suit production costs each year.

It costs them millions in wrongful death lawsuits.

Lawsuits are rare when nearly the whole world is living under martial law.

The switch to Shockwaves system’s has become the typical followed path with his rapid advancements and improvements for the integration technologies.

Even if the outcome is less than desirable, his advancements are the fastest and most consistent. His advancements ensure steady income for MECHA, along with free reign to find the path forward.

To end the war. To design the best suits. To be willing to take the steps that some refuse to.

His version of the M.E.E.S is the most used in the world, ensuring the safety of the suit.

Of Arcturus One, two of the four pilots have that system integrated.

—

He slams into the side of the Quintesson, bringing his gun up and firing point-blank, splatting himself and the ground in green gore. It splashed against some of his lower field cameras, but it was easy to reroute the needed angles, shoving against the Quint with his now empty shoulder while digging the gun into the hole he’d made, firing several more times.

Shifting the gun and activating some of the magnets in his platting, it locked in place on his forearm while tearing the Quint in half. Grunting with the effort of it as one arm laid useless on the ground somewhere behind him, the other at present pulling out the entrails of the Quintesson in front of him. Honestly if he hadn’t been a pilot for so long and spent those first few years doing exactly what he’s doing now, he’d probably find the whole situation rather disgusting.

Of course they’d all seen the slightly sideways glances Breakdown gave them when they got covered in the remains of the enemy, tankers rarely got as close as they did or as Breakdown did now.

None of that mattered at the moment though, just thoughts to keep him occupied while trying to ignore Sideswipe’s painfully loud, blaring music.

The music of the bar had been nice and quiet most of the time, nostalgic for a time he’d hardly know but still one he’d been around for. A connection to home and his life before all of this mess.

Sideswipe’s taste in music was significantly louder and less familiar to Hound. It pained him to admit it, mainly because it made him sound incredibly old, he wasn’t partial to the music. He didn’t particularly dislike it, but sometimes the pitches made his ears ache from going through speakers twice. Wincing as a particular note tried to slice his ear drum, Hound turned down his audio receiver even more, “God.” The concussive blow from moving to the next Quint wasn’t nearly as bad.

Spinning on his good foot, Hound crouched for a moment to survey. Sideswipe was still to his left, dealing with a Quint who had managed to wrap its tentacles around his suit, and there were only a few left though he could just see one starting off towards the crashed ship, the same direction the rest of the pilots went off to.

Slowing his breathing, Hound takes a deep breath, shifting his gun back to his hand for now and standing, moving to the next Quintesson in line. He could hardly hear the gunfire now, less from his turned down audio and more from the repetitive action. Sideswipe slams into the Quint in front of him, spraying them both with green, “Ugh, these things are horrible.”

With a glance, Hound shrugs the best he could, “The sooner we get splattered with green, the sooner the fight is over, come on.” There were only a few left, “When we’re done here, we go to the crash site.” Shaking his head, Sideswipe chuckles, “No shit.” Closing his eyes for a long moment, Hound was reminded why they were split up, again, they would get each other killed even if it was just from the banter.

—

Sunstreaker had grown used to knowing there was a sniper at his back, it had been a safety net of sorts, and with only one arm it was turning his stomach unpleasantly. Even with Jazz at his side, the uneasy feeling just wasn’t going away.

After watching some of the fighting on New Kaon, he’d asked Blue for some help with something that he was now very grateful for. Sure, he had the blades on his bracers, but now he was thrilled to have sharp; effectively, claws.

Taking apart the fingers of his suit had been a pain, they had sensors in them that were entirely unfamiliar and magnets like his assistance suit, but they weren’t activated. It had never been his thing, to try and stick to things. Whether buildings or the light armor the enemy sometimes wore.

Blue had been a massive help to get the plating on his fingers off and reshaping them, then filing them, apparently it had been a somewhat regular practice during the last war. Not among the autobots but certainly among the decepticons. It was still a regular practice for them, but more for aesthetics than practical use now.

Sunny knew for him that there was no real aesthetics to it, it was all practical use, use that he was using now.

His hand dug into the side of a Quint, just enough to ensure his bracer followed, why he had never thought of this before he’d never truly know. Slicing upward, it through through the dense mass of the Quintesson and he laughed, pulling his arm back as his enemy basically popped.

Splattering him and Jazz with it’s gore just as another Quint came and wrapped it’s tentacles around his legs. With the missing arm, his balance could have been better, “Fuck!” He was jared in his piloting seat as his suit slammed face first into the ground, groaning as he shoves up and grasping at the ground as it drags him.

Jazz moved in fast and grabbed hold of the Quintessons tentacles and started pulling, twisting his arms around them and pulling, “Where are the others?” Sunny throws himself around and kicks the Quint in its beak like face, “I don’t know, coming eventually.” They both struggled with it, Jazz pulling the tentacles free of the body as Sunstreaker caves in its face.

He breathed heavily, jumping when the booms of Breakdown’s cannon reached his ears, turning briefly to see him before looking back at the army they were trying to keep inside the crashed ship.

The ship, thankfully, had landed on the road and had yet to do tons of damage to the nearby buildings. Earthlings were skilled in taking down their ships, but they were far more fragile than they appear. Keeping it from falling apart of exploding was key at the moment, the surrounding buildings appeared to be residential but thankfully evacuated.

Sunstreaker had no idea where everyone went, but he was glad there were no cybertronians nearby to see the state of their suits. He knew he wasn’t the only person to think they looked like the walking dead.

His vision blurred for a moment, the Iacon street fading into New Kaon sand and he swore.

Swinging back out, he still connected with the approving Quintesson, both in memory and in reality. His head swam and his stomach turned again, gasping as he tore off his oxygen mask desperately, “Jazz, help!” He kicked the Quint back and stumbled.

It took several painfully long seconds for his vision to clear, Jazz in front of him, tearing apart the enemy. Taking several deep breaths and grabbing his water pouch, Sunny gags and tries not to throw up.

He really wished Blue was there, watching his back, he sat on the ground trying his hardest to not throw up. It was bad enough he got alien gore on his suit, it would be even worse to throw up in his cockpit.

—

Hound could hear the booming of Breakdown’s cannon in the distance again as he and Sideswipe moved closer to the crashed ship, the bar had been cleared and Hound had his fallen arm tucked up under the one remaining. He’d have to leave it once they saw Quintessons again, it was too cumbersome to carry around but he wasn’t just going to leave it behind.

Sideswipe was to his back, watching behind them and the sky as the seekers still screamed overhead, “You know, this is very different from any of the times I had to defend Miami.” Nodding a bit, Hound kept his gun up, scanning the surroundings.

”It’s because they're just scouting Earth, they are actively trying to invade Cybertronian space.” Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder at Hound, “Yeah, but why? They’ve been on Earth for thirty years as of today.” Sighing, Hound shrugs again, holding his fallen arm tightly to his body.

With a glance around, Hound leads them between buildings, “We’ve been holding them off for thirty years, I think if we had an army like this, an army of pilots it would be different.” He nearly stops at the sight in front of him, but instead drops his arm and brings his gun up.

The ship had crashed, but Quints were still trying to work themselves out of the gaps in its armor, screeching and clawing at the metal.

His vision was pinging him with each one trying to escape, along with ways into the ship that he could have hardly fit through, now though without an arm those gaps were slightly more doable. His skin itched with the prospect, with the hunt, and he grinned behind his oxygen mask.

Sideswipe’s hand landed on his shoulder, “I’m going to move in to help Jazz and have Sunny fall back towards you.” But Hound was already shaking his head, “No, have him fall back towards Breakdown, I’m going in.” There was a pregnant pause, “Are you nuts?” Shrugging again, Hound chuckled, “Well, slightly.” He glanced at Sideswipe.

They shared a look, “Alright, but you’re not going to have help in there.” He nodded and turned up his comms, “Did everyone hear the plan?” Breakdown grunted with the effort of keeping his suit upright as his cannon went off, “I think it is a stupid plan.” Sunstreaker nodded in the corner of his vision, “Hound, were strikers.”

Chuckling filled the comm, “You guys really should know more about pilot history, Hound used to be a hunter class. This is what he initially tested into.” He paused, “And Prowl says the backup is about twenty minutes out, so it’s now or never that we try to end this ourselves.” Hound hardly had to spare a glance to Sideswipe before running for the ship, gun coming up again.

The comms of course were loud then, “Well, how was I supposed to know he was a hunter class? Since I’ve known him, he’s been a striker and class jumps are rare.” Jazz tore out the throat of an approaching Quintesson while Sunstreaker cut off several of its tentacles, “Hey, welcome to the chaos that is being a soldier then a pilot!” Jazz’s voice was light, even as his foot collided with the beak of the enemy.

Hound was trying hard not to laugh as the intense focus drew in, “Only ones who’d understand that process are Breakdown and I.” His voice was slightly gruff now with concentration, slamming into the side of the ship for a moment to catch his breath. Sideswipe came up fast so he effective wall sat, giving the younger pilot the leverage he needed to jump up towards where Jazz and Sunstreaker were fighting the worst of the hoard.

He breathed deeply for a moment, watching the shadows of his friends on the ground and looking to Breakdown, braces against the corner of a building while his cannon glowed red hot. He’d have to stop soon to prevent it from blowing up in his face, again. Each shot sent his head wobbling slightly.

Yeah, they were going to look like hell after this fight.

Catching Breakdown’s eyes, he nodded for a moment before turning and forcing his way through one of the gaps. As soon as his cockpit was lodged inside, his comms cut out. Sending him into a near silence, “Okay then,” It wasn’t the first time he’d been aboard an Quintesson ship, nor would it have been most of their first times, but this one was four or five times larger than any that had been spotted on Earth.

The ones they’d taken down on New Kaon had all but disintegrated on impact.

Kicking against the slide, he falls to the floor, or in this case the wall, of the ship and sighs. They needed answers and every time they tried to get them, something happened. They also needed to handle the Quintessons that were likely hiding throughout the remains of their vessel.

Hound brought his gun back up and started moving in slowly, bringing up his sensors and different camera settings, he was going to handle all those who remained in this ship. No matter the outcome. He was just thankful his gun didn’t need to be reloaded regularly or he’d be left with just his suit.

This was going to suck.

—

His head was pounding and the only relief he had was honestly the fact that they were in the dark, Bluestreak and Prowl were sitting together speaking quietly. He should probably try to get up to be a part of that conversation, but right now he has hardly been able to drag his corpse over to Optimus.

The last time he’d been caught in a collapsed building hadn’t been so bad, but he also hadn’t been diving onto another person to try and save their life. Primus, he was fragged.

Now Hound was up on the surface somewhere with the other humans dealing with the Quintessons alone. It tore at his spark, he’d had the mechs back for around a stellar cycle now and it had become second nature. Their senses were so different between the species.

There had been more than one occasion where Hound just hadn’t seen the enemy, where any of the humans had, so he’d handled it. The slight lightening to Hound’s visor indicated the appreciation or at least that’s what he figured each time it happened.

Which was a lot.

For sparks sake, the mech could miss the enemy but always find him, invisible or not and that shredded his spark. Looking over to Prowl and Bluestreak, he could see the same worry he felt etched into their faces as well. The humans moved their ways into their sparks with an ease that was almost unsettling, but then again he’d watched the same sort of thing happen with Optimus Prime and Megatron.

That was even after a million years of war, whereas the humans had been nothing but helpful and loving, and nearly perfect. His head was swimming.

Fragging damnit, he loved the mech, and as many times as he had saved Hound’s life, Hound had saved his. If Hound hadn’t found him in the rubble, it might have been cycles before anyone did, because of course Hound would find him.

He’d always find him, because he was human and that’s just what they seemed to do. Full of enough confidence and ego to manage it. Primus, he needed to be with him.

Mirage stared at the ceiling a bit stupidly as his head swam, not moving still, his head pounding.

—

They were able to stand together again, back to back while Sideswipe slashed open the enemy, “Sunny, you should move back.” His voice sounded far away, like his head was under water and Sideswipe was shouting down to him.

Overuse was hitting him like a truck, trying to pull him back again, away from the edge of getting past it, “No, we need to handle this.” He turns and Sideswipes hands land on the shoulders of his suit, “Dude, you have one arm and are out of it. Other than Breakdown and Hound, none of us have guns.” It was the simple fact of being a civilian pilot.

Sideswipe shakes his head a bit, glancing up, “The seekers are covering the stragglers we missed, I think, but for now Jazz and I got this.” He gives Sunny’s suit a bit of a shake, he looks to the camera and watches Sideswipe tilt his head slightly.

”You look like you did after Savannah, take a minute to catch your breath before the backup arrives. Alright?” Nodding a bit, he pats Sideswipes shoulder carefully.

Today has been hell, for both of them. First it was Simon having an overuse-induced panic attack and now he was on the verge of throwing up, his chest hurt and he could hardly breathe. Whatever was going on was far from normal for either of them. So, instead of arguing, he nods a bit.

It was easier than bickering with his brother. With a pat to his shoulder, Sunny turns a bit uneasily towards the back of the ship. Maybe the front and carefully makes his way to a spot where he slides back down the edge, glancing back towards Jazz and Sideswipe again.

The pair were cutting through the Quintessons that squeezed through the gaps in their falling apart ship. He didn’t want to stick around any longer than he needed, turning and running the best he could towards Breakdown. Sliding slightly on the sidewalk before taking his flank, “You doing alright over here?” His stomach turned unpleasantly when he came to a stop.

”As well as one can, how are things looking in there?” Shooting another glance towards the ship, Sunstreaker sighs a bit, “Not great, Hound went in I think. We really need that backup.” Breakdown hummed and stared at the ship, “We’re hurting more than we let on to our allies, yes?” Shrugging a bit, Sunny sighs, “Of course we are, but what else were we supposed to say? Let the Quints invade while we wait for backup?” Nodding slowly, Breakdown shakes his head, “They’ll have our heads.”

Smiling a bit, Sunny shrugs, “Well, yours is almost off anyway.” Breakdown shoved his shoulder and he lost his balance, crashing to the floor with a groan. They both chuckled even as his stomach turned over again.

So much for keeping his cockpit clean, Sunny at this moment was just glad to have taken his oxygen mask off as he curled up in his piloting seat. Getting miserably sick.

—

The halls were disgusting, seemingly to be alive in a way that was hard to explain. Even Hound was having a hard time just looking at them, turning down his main visual feeds and changing to infrared.

Every time he came up on another Quintesson, his gun came up and fired rapidly before moving in. They probably already knew he was here, there was no sense in staying quiet.

Tearing into them was never easy, but the practice had made perfect. Whether grasping at the edge of their jaws, fighting a grip on one of their tentacles, or blasting a hole through its side, ripping a Quintesson apart was the easiest way to kill it. It left nasty, sticky and stinking hot gore in its wake.

Greener than anything should be, it would splatter and cling to the suits, after long enough the joints would stiffen up.

Tonight their apartment's bathroom was going to suffer and be excruciatingly hot, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

His gun comes up again and fires rapidly as three Quints come screaming from around the corner, “Shit!” They slam into him even as he keeps firing, the barrel of his gun turning red from the heat. One of them, or more than one he really couldn’t tell, was quick in wrapping its tentacles around him. Thrashing, Hound continues to swear and fire his gun.

Even opening comms just left his head full of static.

Shouting out of anger, he drops his gun and grabs one of the tentacles, then pulls as hard as he can. Everything narrowed down into an eerily calm focus, life or death, hunt or hunted. And he would not die here.

The tentacle gave way with just the first tug and the grip around him loosened instantly, catching his feet under him before spinning, Hound took one breath before moving back in. Fist colliding with the side of the Quintesson nearest, rupturing its eyes and his hand grasped the socket.

Blood squirted across its companions as Hound threw it into the wall, tearing off some of its shell with it. It broke the light that had at one point been in the ceiling and sent them into near darkness, but their heat signatures wouldn’t escape his view. Not now.

Diving forward, he grabbed a set of tentacles and pulled hard, slamming the head of his suit into the aliens beak with such force Hound could hear the bones or platting under its shell crack and break.

His foot then collided with its already broken face, sending it crashing to the floor and he stomped on it, hard. Breaking the last of its exterior and splashing the floor and walls with its insides. The heat rapidly dissipated before he turned to the third one, which made the fatal error of both lunging at him and existing.

It manages to wrap its tentacles back around him, but Hound hardly noticed, hand digging into the soft more mailable limbs and ripping open its skin there. Breaking through what were likely arteries and spraying the last bit of nearby clean floor with its blood.

The thing shrieked in pain, letting go enough for Hound to swing around, kicking it in the side and sending it colliding with its dead allies. It continued to shriek as Hound picked up his now disgusting gun and fired into its face, caving it in.

His breath was ragged, gasping against the mask for a moment, his heart was racing as his senses came back with a brutal force.

Stumbling into the wall, Hound presses his hand to his chest, gasping for air for a moment more.

This was one of the many reasons why he gave up being a hunter class, you lost yourself to the suit far too easily. But it’s exactly why he missed it. With another few deep breaths, his heart rate comes back down and he looks down on the mess he’d made of the alien hall.

If he could have spit on them, he would have, instead he made do with storming through their corpses. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying.

There was this grotesque element to being a pilot, to killing these things they didn’t know or understand, but they were some of the first things in Hound’s life he didn’t want to know or understand. To alien and to vile, the things that were trying to take away both of his homes.

The people he loved even. For a moment, just a moment, Mirage’s werey face flashed through his mind just as sharp as any overuse halicunation.

Shaking his head a bit, he took a breath and glances back at the pile of bodies he was leaving behind. They had chosen to come here, to hurt his friends, he was just returning the favor. Looking back down the hall, he starts to stalk towards the end, staying to one side, gun low but ready.

Someday, when the war was over, if he made it to see the end of this damned war, he’d go back out to nature and just wander in the expanse of it all. What brought him to the hunter class in the first place, the desire to track what was unusual. To understand things that weren’t human, even if it was just trees and plants.

For now, he raised his gun and turned right at the end of the hall.

———

A/N

So, I will be honest. I did not feel great about this chapter until I wrote the last part with Hound. When I wrote Mirage’s scene was probably when I started to feel properly in the grove but Hound’s last scene is just *chef kiss*. I love writing fights from his perspective.

Tuesday’s update might be part 42, it might also be the next part of Arcturus 3 or the sequel to Arcturus Negative One, explains what happened with Soundwave. All of those things will be written at some point. At this moment in time I have 0% written for any of them.

So yeah, you can let me know if you have a preference on what gets updated next.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

#transformers #maccadam #tf mecha universe #tf mecha au #mecha pilot jazz au #mech pilot jazz au #the arcturus missions #hound #breakdown #sideswipe #sunstreaker #mirage #prowl #bluestreak

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fotibrit · 4 months ago

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Tony stark running bit where he created a muppet version of himself to sit in on boring avengers meetings, but nobody expects how insane the puppet is - as in, it has motion sensors and mini cameras in its eyes, it's got a speaker with an AI version of Tony, it's got mics which connect back to Tony's workshop, where Tony can speak through the muppet (as opposed to the AI).

Tony calls it his "life model replica".

(it does not have an arc reactor. Tony never comments on this.)

#marvel mcu #avengers #tony stark #iron man

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aromantic-ace · 8 months ago

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Humans Are Weird/SpaceOrc: Nervous Laugh.

This was 100% already done but idc i wanna participate. So, you know the times where you laught or sing in the totally wrong moment (for exemple when someone get hurt or you get scared). Well i just love to think of how much freaked out the aliens would be upon seeing that.

All lights were off on the ship, only the emergency lights were barely functionning and won't be for long thank to the ship reactor being unable to provide much power. The Expedition Cruiser wasn't a war vessel despite its name, sure it had some Guns and turrets but those were mostly fitted for clearing out debris and asteroide, not to resist an ambuch from an unknown specie. But the worst part wasn't the attack from those other being, no it was that they were INSIDE the ship now, and killing the crew in an extremely cruel and sadistical way but Lieutenant Grex knew that already, he saw it happen and so did the Human, and honestly he was worried for her. Human Leila wasn't on soldier duty, sure she had some basic weapon training and understanding but she was a scientist, she wasn't fit to fight and the situation couldnt be worse.

The both of them were roaming the corridor with caution until it happened, out of the blue Human Leila started singing calmy with some sort of maniacal laugh about the fact that they were "going to diiiie" or that she was "not liking this and going to shoot anything that move". Lt. Grex was used to civils freaking out but this ? If anything that was bloodlust, he already knew the fact that humans were great soldier and could be absolutely terrifying in fights, but he though that was only applying to soldiers ! As a training to do some kind of psychological warfare ! He certainly did not expect the civil to start singing about what atrocities she was going to do to those "weird ass lizards".

Suddenly one of the invaders showed up, probably tracking the song of her voice and before he could even react Human Leila sniped the lizardman accross the corridor in almost total darkness, a mix of fear and respect came in Lt. Grex mind, she was only armed with a civil laser pistol, how did she managed to do that ? With such aim !? Memories of the time where Human Leila had one of those "Human Rages" rushed in his mind, she wasn't someone to mess with. And then she started to laugh even more ! Saying how "scared she was" and how "in fact those guys are ass". Poor Grex wasn't understanding a single things, all that he knew is that he now have a bloodthirsty human going around doing better job than the elite force.

The light went back on, and through the speakers news of the enemy being defeated was announced, and during the little time between the first altercation and that Human Leila killed four other invador, laughing and laughing sometime even kicking the bodies telling them how much she got scared.. but was she tho ? She didn't miss a single shot and always killed them in one or two charges, Lt. Grex couldn't even do anything before they were dead and he took the opportunity of this mess ending to ask her.

Grex: What was that Human Leila ? Why didn't you specify you had those skills ?

Leila: Specify what ? It's the second time in my life i'm using a laser weapon.

Grex: This ! All this ! The laugh, the weird "singing" as you call it ! We only ever saw those in elite humans troops and now you take on five of those beasts !?

Leila: What do you mean "only elite troops" that's called fear ! And you probably have heard of adrenaline right ? Surely you have that's like the most known things about us.

Grex: Just a drug don't cause that ! You- you were acting as a bloodiust soldier going on a rampage !

Leila: Well that's because i was affraid, people tend to laugh in these situation even if its not funny, that's called nervous laught and we all have that.

Grex: YOU ALL BECOME BLOODTHIRSTY KILLING MACHINE BECAUSE YOU ARE AFFRAID !?

Leila: Yup !

And without a word she left, going back to her quarter to clean the mess, with a flabagasted Lieutenant in the corridor that was rethinking a lot of things about humans, and doing a little promise to himself to never ever scare Human Leila, under any condition. He will have to inform the higher ups of her abilities. "Deathworlder" he muttered to himself going back to check the mess and the casuality.

#human are weird #human are space orcs #humans are space orc #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #writers on tumblr #writing

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fandom-geek · 4 months ago

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post stream

gift of the lotus: orokin reactor and orokin catalyst blueprints

5th march

st patrick’s day – infested darvo deals

7th march

(14:00 EDT/19:00 UTC +0) tennoconcert tickets go live. it doesn’t include access to tennocon, it’s a watch party at the hilton doubletree hotel in london, ontario.

12th anniversary goes live – alerts with all previous anniversary items will go live, with new dex laurus ephemera (login reward)

19th march (techrot encore: most content is locked behind rank 4 for the hex syndicate)

4 new proto-frames (nova, saryn, temple, frost). all have their own arcs to resolve that are “quite personal to them” via KIM – that said, not romanceable but you can get “quite close” to them. frost and saryn (minerva) are married, adoptive parents of major rusalka. hollvania central mall is expanded, with a new area added to it (the round table, a pub!), which will appear (with the protoframes) at rank 4, but some won’t talk to you until rank 5.

kaya velasco (nova) will be in charge of the temporal archimedea, lots of modifiers involved. 3 new arcanes and vorsfor also available from her.

minerva (saryn, momtoxicated) and velimir (frost, papapolar) are located in the pub. velimir sells the new furniture. minerva sells the scaldra weapons. they also share a group chat with the drifter.

minerva is a very capable military woman who is looking for her neci (rusalka) and although rusalka is adopted, they share “assets”.

flare varleon (temple) is on the pub stage, who has a symbiotic relationship with their talking guitar, lizzie, who was born from their infested blood. flare sells temple’s parts and weapons, and these are available from the new game mode, arsenal.

each protoframe will have their own theme song and this will play in the pub. they also all have gemini skins.

you will get malware on your KIM-puter if you progress with the technocyte coda system. the coda system supports tints now, and will show rewards for converting or defeating.

ephemera is a mix of energy and gore-y/monster-themed stuff.

technocyte coda will give you zits that grow and grow, so you must destroy them before your zit gets too big. but it’s purely cosmetic, no stolen resources/credits.

temple warframe: comes with alternate helmet (mohawk physics). their signature weapon, riot-848, was modified by albrecht with an entrati silencer that lets bullets teleport back to the weapon.

temple is more about rhythm and comes with an onscreen metronome (their passive) that boosts abilities by 50% efficiency, so try to time it with that. abilities: flame pillars (correct timing increases damage), create speakers to deafen enemies (makes them vulnerable to crits), 3rd ability buffs you and allies + makes you invulnerable (can chain longer with metronome), and 4th is your exalted weapon, lizzie. she can create a giant flamethrower and you can pick what element is included with her cast attack (viral, magnetic, radiation

new game mode: solstice square. defence with 3-4 twists. 3 waves. flare and lizzie are playing a concert at the end of the world (plays a special song in the background), viktor wants to kill them, and you’ve got to protect them.

twists include: shortened wave, each 3rd wave includes a berserker (the screamer) that will be very dangerous for temple, giant speakers will occasionally unleash attacks to passing enemies, stage evolves after first set of waves (“rock and roll to the centre of the earth”).

rot-heart strings will drop here.

gyre deluxe (vortengeist) coming with alternox deluxe.

olly’s crash course is coming – more developed than the demo version. essentially star course from mario-kart. features weekly leaderboards with rewards, including olly’s bike and olly’s floof.

pseudo-exalted re-work, 4 new warframe augments (wisp, koumei, qorvex, and gyre), and the quality of life updates mentioned in the previous stream. duviri paradox and the hex quests are now replayable. platinum bundles will now be pro-rated.

new player experience – shortened and reworked the path for the star chart, including relevant junctions, up to the second dream, including ceres removed from the core path. loaner necramech provided for the new war. removed high-level crafting materials when crafting an archwing, with launcher segment delivered upon completion of the archwing quest.

27th (?) march

warframe guitar giveaway for Jake Bowen’s signature guitar (Ibanez JBM9999 electric guitar) closes

13th june

community showcase submissions for tennocon close

#warframe #warframe spoilers #technocyte coda spoilers

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btmc-official · 3 months ago

Note

A combat subaltern strides across the hangar deck, one arm tucked behind its back, the other positioned near the bullpup laser carbine mag-clamped to its thigh. Its armored silhouette is sleek and biomimetic: digitigrade legs supported by bundles of synthmuscle, an oblong torso sloped to deflect kinetics, and a distinctly inhuman head, its face dominated by eight optical sensors arranged in double staggered rows.

An SSC design, almost surely.

Like a bodyguard, the subaltern escorts a second, smaller figure. A hologram projected from a shoulder-mounted emitter: the image of a coyote with a light tan coat.

The pair approach hangar 3B, where the vessel Stormpierce is docked, and make their way to the nearest members of the Company. When the coyote addresses them, its voice issues from speakers on the subaltern, producing a disconcerting effect.

“Well, good to see you. I am Ma’ii, of Luna Wing. This is the Black Torrent Mercenary Company, I gather? You have quite a ship here.”

[The ship is an angular thing, made of sloped panels of armor, reinforced and tempered for a variety of battles or situations. The name 'Stormpierce' is emblazoned on the side in black, against the deep cobalt blue of the plating. It's designed for speed and maneuverability most likely, though the ship itself has plenty of spacing for hidden armaments. It's a large ship despite this, needing to be able to house each mech of the mercenary company, in addition to any other necessities.]

[A woman can be seen standing at the base of the ship, talking with a station crew member. Her hair is a pale blonde, matched by her equally as pale skin. Silvery scars can be seen across what little of her skin is visible, the most notable two on her face. She's still in her hardsuit, which is of a matching theme to the ship itself. It's clearly built to allow for flexibility and quick movements, while still being protective from a majority of hits.]

[As the subaltern and hologram duo approaches, she turns, giving a nod. Her gaze is steely, matched by the oddly warm ocean blue of her eyes. She stands in what is obviously a more.. militant at ease pose, which certainly fits how she acts on the omninet.]

<Flashflood> "Ma'ii, I presume? I am Silvania, but please, call me Silvia. To answer your question, yes, you have arrived at the ship for Black Torrent Mercenary Company. It is good to meet you in person."

<Flashflood> "The others I believe are off on business, taking some time to gather more personal items from the station's various shops.. Though, I do believe Ambrosia should be around here. She'll introduce herself when the time comes, I suppose," [Silvania continues, glancing around to look for the enigmatic pyromaniac.]

[A moment later, a subaltern exits from a small boarding ramp of the ship. They are rather distinct; deep grey armor, edged in silver and deep cobalt heraldry to match the colors of the ship itself. It appears as if they are in full plate, the armor having a distinctly draconic theme to it, with the helmet appearing closer to the head of a dragon from old-Cradle myths.]

<Tempestas> "Callsign Ambrosia, otherwise known as Alaine, is currently predisposed with attempting to mix pure ethanol with reactor coolant. Frankly, I am surprised she is still alive." [He responds, filling in for Silvania as he approaches. His voice is a calm baritone, reminiscent of a perfectly still lake. The two are surprisingly alike in how they present themselves.]

#lancer rpg #oc rp #lancer rp #black torrent mercenary company #oc rp blog #lancer oc #The meeting begins!

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shattereality · 3 months ago

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✦𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐗 — 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 & 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍

OH MY EMPEROR the drama, the longing, the ABSOLUTE DISASTER OF AN ATTEMPT AT INITIATING INTIMACY— TW: suggestive

Scene: Vigilant Oath – Vox Transmission in Specialist’s Quarters

The quarters were small—barely enough for a bunk, a desk and the glowing icon of the Aquila bolted to the cold wall.

A dataslate lay on the table with unfinished reports; the soft hum of the ship’s reactors echoed distantly through the metal.

She was brushing off dried ichor from her coat when the vox unit crackled to life with a high-pitched whine. A green rune blinked.

“Specialist. Incoming astropathic relay—priority communication. Clearance: Delta-Ordos-Primus.”

She blinked. Straightened. Reached over and toggled the receiver. The small wall-mounted speaker buzzed—then a familiar voice cut through.

“Specialist [REDACTED], this is Ordo Representative Kellen Varn of Segmentum Command. Your assignment aboard the Vigilant Oath is now considered complete. Your contribution to Deathwatch operations has been evaluated as sufficient. A new deployment awaits.”

Her body locked into attention. Professional. Steady.

“Understood, Inquisitor Varn,” she replied. Crisp. Efficient. As if her heart hadn’t just dropped into the soles of her boots. “Please transmit mission specifics.”

A pause.

“You are to report to Proxima Sectorus within thirty standard days. There, you will assist in xeno-biological anomaly cataloging alongside Mechanicus personnel. Coordinates will be encrypted and transmitted posthaste. Stand by for purge of previous assignment access.”

“Affirmative, Lord Varn,” she said.

“The Emperor protects.”

The vox clicked off. In the silence that followed, she didn’t move.

Not for a long moment.

Her eyes remained fixed on the now-silent vox unit, the light fading back into cold metal, like nothing had changed. But everything had.

She pressed her lips together. Her hands—normally steady, nimble—curled at her sides.

Her work with the Deathwatch was over.

She was leaving.

Leaving this ship.

Leaving the halls that had grown familiar.

Leaving… him.

Aphareos.

It hit her then, hard, behind the ribs: a breath she didn’t realize she’d held collapsed in on itself. Her stomach twisted. Her lungs burned. The memory of his voice, the way his eyes—just barely—softened when he spoke to her.

The steady weight of his presence in the field. The silence they shared after battles. The painting he hadn’t shown her yet, the one she suspected he’d been working on in the late hours…

She was leaving him.

Her lips trembled—but she straightened. Shut her eyes.

This was the life she’d chosen. The Ordo called and she obeyed.

No attachments. No weakness. No deviation from the mission.

Still, the faintest whisper broke through her internal storm:

“… he doesn't even know that I...”

She opened her eyes, set her jaw and turned to her desk.

She had reports to finish and a bridge to visit.

—

Scene: Aphareos’ quarters. The lighting is low, humming with the faint glow of lumen-strips. The air smells of ceramite, oils and faint pigment from his paints.

The Specialist bursted in like a comet with nowhere to land. Her hands balled at her sides, her lips tight, her face flushed in a mix of frustration and something deeper, unspoken.

Aphareos stood by the wall, calmly setting the final protective layer over the painting.

He didn’t turn to look at her right away. “Specialist.”

She paced. “Don’t ‘Specialist’ me like we’re back on the range. I’m leaving in a month.”

He finally turned, unreadable as always. “I am aware.”

She threw her hands up. “That’s it? ‘I am aware’?! After everything?!”

Aphareos didn't respond. Instead, he walked to the side table and pulled something from a protective casing—a canvas, large and bound in a black iron frame.

It was her.

Not just a figure, not just her armor or her stance—but her spirit. Her fire. Her grace, wildness, charm. Aphareos had captured something no pict-recorder ever could.

“I had planned to gift this to you upon your departure,” he said. “It is... a preservation of what I have seen.”

She stared, stunned. Then looked back at him.

“I… I don’t want to be preserved, Aphareos,” she mumbled, fiddling with her fingers. “I want to… bloom.”

He tilted his head, clearly confused.

“I read Sister Justina’s The Blooming! Do not dare laugh!!” she added, bashfully poking a finger into his chestplate. “It’s about awakening… and intimacy… and joining of minds and bodies and I-I think I want to do that with you.”

A long silence.

“…You wish to copulate?” he asks, like he’s confirming a combat strategy.

She groaned and hid her face in her hands. “Y-yes—but also ugh!”

He stepped closer, very slowly.

“Do you… understand what that entails?”

She peeked between her fingers. “More or less. There’s… preparation. And you’re… big.”

“Indeed.”

Another long, awkward pause. She looked at his belt, then his eyes, then away very fast.

He reached forward and gently took her wrist.

“You are certain?”

“…Yes but also quite terrified.”

And that was when he leaned down, tilted her chin up with a scarred finger and in that rare, soft voice of his:

“Then I will guide you.”

And thus began the night where the battle-hardened Specialist finally stepped into the unknown—with the gentle, precise guidance of a grumpy Astartes who has been trying very hard not to think about her thighs for over a year.

“This feeling. All… fluttery. Like your heart is malfunctioning but not in a dying way. Like a… system overload but emotional.” she asked, voice barely a whisper, gesturing vaguely at her chest.

“Desire,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“YES! That!” she exhaled.

Her eyes shot up to his, wide like she'd just unlocked a hidden vault on Mars. She gulped, then leaned forward, full of stupid, trembling bravery. “Would you ever… feel that way about me?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

So she pressed on, talking faster now. “I mean, I am a grown woman, I’m not a servitor—I have some appeal, right? I bathe regularly, I’m not missing any teeth and I have very soft thighs—”

That made something twitch in his expression.

“—and my chest is symmetrical! And I know I can be a bit troublesome at times but I have charms as well! Surely?! Right?!”

Aphareos inhaled deeply. His voice was a quiet thunder.

“You ask if I would find you attractive.”

She nodded rapidly.

He leaned slightly closer, gaze piercing.

“I already do.”

Dead silence.

She froze. Absolutely malfunctioned. Her jaw moved but no sound came out, until:

“…WAIT, really?!”

“Yes.”

“…Even though you once likened me to a… a tiny, constantly-talking feline with knives?”

“You are... unexpectedly effective,” he rumbled. “And you possess fire. That draws the eye.”

Draws your eye?!?! She blinked, stunned.

Then covered her face with both hands. He said nothing, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

They were so close. So close that she’d already unbuckled her belt and Aphareos had peeled away the first layers of his robes with ritualistic reverence.

The air between them was thick, electric, charged with something that had nothing to do with war or duty. And then—

“Emergency deployment. Code Sigma-Red. Boarding party required at once.”

The vox crackled with cruel authority.

Both froze. His hand was on her shoulder. They stared at each other like war-hounds denied a fresh kill.

Then Aphareos exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled. “...Duty,” he muttered like a curse.

She nodded, even though her skin still hummed with unshed tension.

—

Hours later, aboard the void-scoured hulk of a traitor ship, it all came roaring back.

The Heretic Astartes had desecrated every inch of their armor with chaos iconography. One of them leered through a spiked helm and spoke in a garbled vox: “Come to die, lapdogs?”

Aphareos said nothing.

He moved like a storm.

Faster than she’d ever seen him. Not a single calculated pause. Just brutal, sweeping violence. He cut through the first traitor like he owed him time. His chainsword screamed, blood arced and he didn’t stop.

Sergeant Belenor reached out, alarmed. “Captain! Wait—!”

Too late.

Aphareos slammed into another Chaos Marine, ripped him from the ground, driving his blade through the heretic’s chestplate, roaring something about ‘delaying the grandest rite of all,’ which Belenor definitely didn’t understand.

The Specialist, ducking behind debris, blinked.

“What’s gotten into him?” she whispered to herself, watching her usually composed companion turn into a fury of vengeance and impatience.

She had no idea that it was her.

She had no clue that each heretic slain was one step closer to returning to her.

To finishing what they’d started.

#☠︎︎ — the darker the dream the darker the sky #warhammer 40k #wh40k fic #warhammer imagines #space marine x reader #adeptus astartes x reader #warhammer deathwatch x reader

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under0-0s · 3 months ago

Note

Deyanira was annoyed. Something was interfering with her machines and it was getting on her nerved.

‎Her workshop (if you could even call it that) was away from any big project or facility that may have a large enough machine or reactor to off throw her technology.

‎So when her machines started acting weird. Mainlt her tracker that made sure nobody would steal her things while she was away she needed this problem fixed.

‎She expected an old radio or even a project that she missed.

‎She didn't however expect a run down Iron Man Suit...

- @cursed-with-knowledge

“Well, this is awkward.”

A crackling voice came from the busted helmet speaker, barely holding onto its last breath of functionality. The suit twitched, an arm jerking up slightly before slumping back down, like a drunk trying to raise a glass and failing miserably.

A few more sparks popped from the chest reactor. Tony’s voice crackled again, laced with his signature sarcasm. “Would love to explain, but I’m currently in a bit of a situation. As in, not physically there. You ever hear of remote piloting? Yeah, this was supposed to be a test run. Guess what? It failed.”

“Hey, in my defense, I didn’t plan for it to crash-land into your secret lair. Also—nice setup. Very mad scientist chic.”

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siveine · 29 days ago

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I shut off the plasma torch and pause my work, apparently long enough for my partner to notice. The comms channel clicks to life.

"What's wrong, love?"

"Do you hear that?" I ask, looking around the various displays and windows in the cockpit of my mech. From where I'm hooked into the carcass of this derelict ship, I can barely see the outline of our salvage rig against the dark of space.

"No?" A pause. "Sensors aren't picking up any vibrations not coming from you. Maybe it was just the metal expanding weird from the cutting torch?"

"Hmm..." I sit in silence for a moment, listening to the hum of my mech, and... something else? Leaning over to the comms unit, I start dialing up the volume. "Are you listening to music?"

"On the ship speakers, yeah. Is it bothering you?" Its voice booms over the now maxed-out volume.

I wince, and crank the dial back down. "'Course not, babe. Give me sec."

Click. With a flick of a switch, the comms fall silent, leaving me alone with the hum of the reactor core, and a strange, intermittent rhythm, like loud music from headphones sitting across a room. I squirm in my harness, turning my head to try to pinpoint where it's coming from.

"Well? Anything?" I hear my partner's slightly bitcrushed voice across the comms.

"Definitely sounds like music. Dunno where it's coming from, though... Oh well."

With a huff, I power up my torch and continue cutting. Within a few moments, the section of hull I'm attached to creaks and buckles, separating from the rest of the huge derelict ship.

#mechposting #pilotposting

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shadows-over-the-wastes · 5 months ago

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Shadows Over the Wastes: Chapter One

Stables. Bunkers, more or less, created to shelter ponies from the doomsday that was The Day the Bombs Fell. Or, aptly, The Final Day. Created with self-sustaining magical technology that would run until Reclamation Day. And even further beyond that. This is the environment I had known my entire life. Yellowcake Cream, an altogether uninspiring, and unassuming unicorn.

That was me. With a yellow coat, a blue-green mane that’s always too messy and sloppily tied back, and bright green eyes that have a blue discoloration to the sclera. My cutie mark is a Balefire green glass tuning fork, surrounded by a blue glow. If anything about me was unique or impressive, it was that. But it didn’t do much to compensate for my rather lacking stature, being one of, if not the, shortest mares in the entire Stable. It also didn’t explain my sad physique. I’m rather chubby, to put it lightly. Fat, to put it accurately. And worst of all, I never look like I get enough sleep, and I have a horrendous cough I can never get rid of. I’m not asthmatic, I’m just pathetic.

My special talent is… a little unclear. But I’m really good at fixing up the reactor in the Stable, and I’m unaffected by radiation, so my place is clear. I’m a reactor engineer and technician. A rather high-clearance, and low-effort job, which doesn’t help with my weight problem. Most of the time, I spend my days watching old TV shows, re-reading the Stable library’s selection, or simply hanging out in the bakery.

My sweet tooth was my friend Cherry Garcia’s fault. She’s the bakery mare, and runs the shop by herself, which she took over when her mother retired. Her coloration was that of red velvet cake. A maroon coat with a creamy white mane, striped with chocolate brown, and beautiful, crystal pink eyes. She was the Stable’s eye candy, always was for her peers, even when we were foals. All the colts thought she was the prettiest thing in the whole wide world. They weren’t wrong, but she always expressed that stallions weren’t really for her. She and I met because I was always the smartest foal in the class, and the quietest. She’s not book smart, but socially smart, so she came to me for help. We’ve more or less been inseparable ever since.

The piercings in my ears were my friend Aero Ace’s fault. He’s a punky gray stallion with a faux-colorful black mane, violet eyes, and plenty of tats and piercings to match. He’s an artist, with a needle and a brush. He’s also a troublemaker. Always has been, always will be. He’s not as big as some other stallions, built very lithe, and quick on his wings. We met for similar reasons, but moreso because he wanted to know the most effective way to prank somepony using a Mr. Handy robot. I told him all the ins and outs and how to change personality scripts. Even helped him do it. He stuck around me since then.

Today was another day of nothing, spent in my room, with a comic book sprawled on my bed. I was sat comfortably, twirling a pen in my magical grip as a notebook laid next to the comic. I wasn’t reading it, so much as I was using it as reference to draw. Another hobby I’d picked up to kill some time. I started when I was 16, and had gotten pretty good over the years. Sighing, I closed the comic book, going back to sketching. I was drawing a cowpony gunslinger, with a big chunky revolver. I always thought cowpoke were cool, that and the concept of aliens.

I heard a knock on my Stable room door. “Go away.” I called over, not peeling my eyes away.

“It’s Cherry!” Garcia called through the speaker system.

“Oh! C’mon in!” My ears pricked up, dropping my pen and looking over at the door.

The metal bulkhead door opened up, and the earth pony walked right through. She had a big, cheeky smile, a tray balanced on her back. She wore the same Stable suit we all did, dark blue and gold trim, branded with a bold 27. “Another hard day of work, huh?” She joked.

“Yeah yeah, I know. You can ask me for help if you need it, y’know.” I replied, leaning my head on a hoof.

“Oh no… don’t want you pulling a muscle.” Garcia smirks, joining me on the bed by my side, and gently setting the tray in front of us. It had three or four pastries on it, assorted. “Brought you the daily extras. Since you didn’t visit…”

I snickered, picking up an eclair with my magic. “Jeeze… this is all extras, huh?”

“Just figured I’d bring you some, since you never bothered to visit.” She chuckles, giving my side a poke.

Feeling my face flare up, I bit a sizable chunk from the pastry. “Sho what bringsh you by?”

“Well, I wanted to see your workspace! You always hang by the bakery, I’ve never gotten to see the reactor room.” She answers rather bluntly, shrugging.

I cough, almost choking on my mouthful. “You… you do?”

“Mmhmm! I wanna see what you do!” She grins, flashing her perfect white teeth.

I hesitated, eating the other half of my eclair, thinking it over. “Well… uh, I’m not really supposed to have anypony else in there. It’s a… bit of a dangerous environment.”

“Pleeeease…?” She pushes her nose up against my cheek, giving me the wettest puppy eyes she can manage. “I promise I’ll behave… I’ll even bake your favorite cake for the morning if you take me.”

My ears flopped back, “…Banana? You really don’t have to, y’know. You already brought all this.”

“Mmmhmmm…” Cherry nods, leaning on me a little more. “For my favorite nerd…”

Unfortunately, try as I might, I felt my face burn with her honeyed words. I hated how good she was at sweet talking me, it always worked. “Uhhh… y-um. Okay… I can take you in for the morning maintenance check.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you!” Cherry gives me a tight hug, practically suffocating me with her forelegs. I didn’t really understand the excitement, but it was flattering in a sense.

I chuckled, giving her back a pat with a hoof. “I… don’t really understand why you’re so enthusiastic, but I won’t complain.”

“So what time do I need to be here?” Cherry backs up a little bit, her tail giving an excited shake.

Rubbing under my chin, I thought for a moment. “Ideally you wanna get here before security starts their morning patrol. I’d say anywhere between 06 hundred and half past. Preferably on the dot, though.” I pointed at her, “But. You need to do as I say. Any safety precaution not taken for you can mean dire radiation poisoning.”

“Promise… anything you say, I’ll do it.” She pats her chest, nodding.

Sighing, I give a nod, “Alright… be here fresh and early. And clean. Please. The decontamination protocols call for a shower at least the day before entering the reactor room.”

Nodding again, she smiles. “Showered and early, got it.”

Tapping my hooves together, I glance around the room. “So… um. Did you… wanna stick around for any other reason?”

“Of course, silly. Keep drawing, I’ll watch…” She leans on me, getting comfortable.

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The morning came unceremoniously, after a productive day of drawing and eating the pastries that Cherry brought me. Getting on my Stable suit, I clicked my Pip-Buck onto my right foreleg, using a few dials and switches to get my authorization ready. As I walked out of my Stable room, I was greeted with the sight of the Overmare, Silver Lining. In the same hallway as me, speaking to another Stable member. She shot me a look, one that was hard on the nerves. She always tested me, ever since I took my Mother’s position as the reactor tech. Makes sense, considering this job is what took my Mom from me. And as far as my Dad goes, no news. Nopony really knows who he is. My Mom had an alcohol problem, and slept around. It could be any stallion, and she simply forgot. It made me a bastard foal. Something that was tough to live with. Something that got me taunted through my school years.

Breaking me out of the stare was Cherry, tapping me on the shoulder. “Hey! You good?”

“Uh… yeah. Fine.” I shrugged it off, starting to head for the reactor room. Garcia trailed closely at my side, trying to gauge what was wrong. I could tell, by the way her eyes were burning a hole through my skull.

“By the way, your cake should be settled by the time you come back with me to the bakery!” Cherry smiled, trying to turn my mind onto something else.

Looking over, I scoffed, “Yeah? You actually made one? You didn’t have to, you know. You have other customers.”

“You’re not a customer, Cake! You’re my friend. My best friend, at that.” She bumps me, nearly sending me off balance.

Stumbling a little, I snickered, shaking my head. “Alright, if you insist.” Before we knew it, we got to the reactor room. Glancing around, I checked to make sure nopony was near. Then, once confirmation was ensured, I opened the door. “Go go go…” I waved Cherry inside, before stepping in myself. Locking the door behind us, I sighed. “Alright. Now here’s the tough part.”

“I thought that was the tough part?” Cherry cocked her head.

Moving to a rack with hazmat suits, I shook my head. “Nope. You need to put one of these on.” I tossed her one, sitting so I could watch her.

Starting to slowly pull it on, she grunts. “Don’t you need one too?”

“Nope. My body doesn’t react to the excited magi-tomic energy in the air.” I wave a hoof. “Dunno why, but it doesn’t.”

“Huh…” She fits the respirator mask over her head, and I seal the suit, starting the circulation of air. Once ready, she stomps the metal shoes of the suit against the floor. “Good to go!” Her voice is garbled through the respirator, but clear enough.

Heading to the decontamination room, it seals behind us. Misting us with a germ-scrub solution, we’re then dried off. Then, without any further delay, we walk right through, into the reactor room. The reactor itself is a technological wonder. A Balefire reactor, one of the only subjects of its kind. Most other Stable reactors rely on magi-tomic fusion. Thus, they need their core replaced eventually. However, a Balefire reactor is a perpetual magic machine. A self-sustaining dark magic reaction, exothermic, and highly radioactive. It looked like a giant metal sphere, suspended by a series of green-glowing wires, with a thrumming, bright emerald mass swirling within.

“Welcome to where the magic happens.” I motioned to the generator. “My maintenance typically consists of dark energy ventilation, sorting, and purification.” Moving to a few tubes lining the walls, three on each side, I pulled large red levers on their sides. “Using these, more or less, vacuum-based traps, I suck the excess dark energy from the reaction, and trap them in specialized battery housing.” I demonstrate, tapping on a tube swirling with green-blue energy. Then, turning a wheel on the tube, I initiate the exchange. The energy excites, then decelerates, and solidifies into bright gold strands. Pure solar fusion energy. A primitive mocking of Celestia’s godly power, in the quick of my hoof. “And… voila. Pure, unfiltered celestial energy. Ready to be cycled into an empty core. This is a gross oversimplification of the process, but… I don’t think you could really get it without years of education. Like me.”

“That’s insane! I never knew this is what you did!” Cherry sounded astonished, staring intently at the raw fusion energy.

I nodded, patting the tube. “That’s pretty much it. Do that for every tube, and it’s exchanged. Easy stuff. Those cores are cleaner and last longer.”

She and I spent the next hour or two talking and ventilating the reactor. She quizzed me on just about everything I knew, regarding magi-tomic energy at least. I’d never had anypony else be as interested in it as I was, it was refreshing. However, just as we were getting ready to leave, single file through the decontamination room, I heard something. Before I entered the room with her, my ears twitched, and Cherry looked at me through the bulkhead door. “You okay?”

“I heard something. We shouldn’t have any other unauthorized life signs in the room. It’s protocol.” I kept my voice down, eyebrows furrowing. Then, I closed the bulkhead, squinting as I turned around.

Cherry banged a hoof on the door, looking through the window. “Cake?! What’s going on??” Her voice was heavily muffled, but audible.

Looking back, I yelled through the door. “Stay here, and stay safe! I’m gonna find what’s crawling around in here!” “Cake! No! C’mon! This is a job for security!” She bangs on the door. Unfortunately for her, my curiosity was getting the better of me.

The reactor room didn’t have much in the way of weapons. For defense or no. But, a screwdriver should do the trick. I’ve read a few comics where a good screwdriver to the eye was more or less a low-end lobotomy. I didn’t wanna kill anypony, so a lobotomy would have to do. However, I found the origin of the sound. One of the metal panels on the wall of the room had been moved, revealing a long, dark corridor.

I hesitated, but I made my way within. Using my horn to light my way, a cold breeze blew over my body as the panel suddenly shut. And locked.

FIRST | NEXT

#mlp g4 #fallout equestria #mlp fanfic #mlp fanart #my little pony #mlp fim

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raynerberg · 5 months ago

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Awakening Continuation of the story based on those drawings

— Attention! Only emergency systems are operational. The operation of all systems in the "Epsilon" complex has been suspended, — echoed an emotionless voice from the automated defense system, emanating from speakers embedded in the ceiling.

A standard warning meant to prompt all personnel to follow one of two protocols: evacuation or activation of the main life-support system from control centers where energy reserves were still available to power the reactor. Yet, there was not a soul here — neither synthetic nor organic. This place would have remained forgotten, forever entombed in darkness beneath layers of rock, if not for the single island of light within this "tomb," clad in tungsten-titanium panels. The only place where a fragile chance for a new beginning still remained. The first breath and first exhalation had already been taken before the warning even finished.

— Main computer, cancel protocols 0.2.0 and 0.1.1, — a robotic baritone commanded softly.

A humanoid figure sat motionless on its knees at the center of a circular charging station, carbon-fiber hands hanging limply, resembling a monument to a weary martyr. It could feel the electric tension within the wires embedded in its head, running beneath a slightly elongated protrusion where a human’s parietal bone would have been. These connections to hubs and gateways fed it information, energy, and programs necessary for independent operation. Data streams pulsed in uneven impulses, flowing directly into its central processor. Disconnecting remotely from all storage units during the upload process was pointless while the body remained in a state of non-functioning plastic — albeit an ultra-durable one. At that moment, it could be compared to a newborn: blind, nearly deaf, immobilized, with only its speech module fully operational.

— Request denied. Unknown source detected. Please identify yourself, — the computer responded.

— Personal code 95603, clearance level "A," Erebus, — the synthetic exhaled a trace of heated steam on the final word. The database key reader had been among the first systems to activate, already granting necessary access.

— Identification successful. Access granted. Please repeat your request.

— Main computer, cancel protocols 0.2.0 and 0.1.1, — the android reiterated, then expanded the command now that full access was in his mechanical hands. — Disable emergency systems. Initiate remote activation of the S2 repair engineer unit. Redirect energy from reserve tank "4" to the main reactor at 45% capacity, — Erebus added, his voice gaining a few extra decibels.

— Request received. Executing, — came the virtual response.

For two minutes and forty-five seconds, silence reigned, broken only by the faint hum of the charging station. The severe energy shortage had slowed down all processes within the complex, and hastening them would have been an inefficient waste of what little power remained. Erebus waited patiently. A human, placed in a small, cold, nearly pitch-black place, would have developed the most common phobias. But he wasn’t human…

He spent the time thinking. Despite the exabytes of data in his positronic brain, some fragments were missing — either due to error, obsolescence, or mechanical and software damage. Seven hundred eighty-five vacant cells in the long-term memory sector. Too many. Within one of these gaping voids, instead of a direct answer, there were only strands of probability, logical weavings leading nowhere definitive. In human terms — guesses. He knew who had created him, what had happened, how Erebus himself had been activated, and even why — to continue what has been started. These fragments remained intact. The registry was divided into sections, subsections, paragraphs, chapters, and headings, all numbered and prioritized with emphasis. A task list flickered as a small, semi-transparent window on the periphery of his internal screen, waiting to be executed. But… The android had been activated, which meant the battle was lost. Total defeat. Area 51 was destroyed. All data stored there had a 98.9% probability of being erased. Blueprints, research, experimental results — all had been consigned to the metaphorical Abyss created by human imagination. So why did any of this matter now? And to whom? These were the first questions of the logical mechanism to illogical human actions.

Yet, to put it in poetic human language, Bob Page had been a luminary of progressive humanity. A brilliant engineer, a scientist, and most importantly, a man of absolute conviction. Cynical and calculating, but one who genuinely loved his work. The idea above all else.

It’s known that true ideological fanatics are among the most radical and unyielding members of Homo sapiens. They can’t be bought, they won’t allow themselves to be sold, and they will trample others underfoot if it serves their belief. They don’t need others' ideals — only their own. These are individuals who elevate themselves to the rank of true creators. Even after death, they remain faithful to their convictions, leaving behind tomes of their interpretations and scientific dogmas to their equally devoted disciples — followers always found at the peak of their intellectual and physical prowess. So, upon activation, had Erebus inherited… An Idea? Has he become a spiritual heir?

Did Page have no biological heirs, or did they not share his ideology? Or were they simply unaware of it? Could a true pragmatist have lacked successors or trusted disciples? Hard to believe, even with missing fragments of data. To entrust the idea to a machine instead of a human? As Homo sapiens would say — "a mystery shrouded in darkness." Questions multiplied exponentially. But Erebus had plenty of time to think about all of it. As well as about his own deactivation — after all, a machine has no fear of "death".

"Loading 98%... 99%... 100%. Secondary initialization complete. All systems active at 100%. Disengaging."

The message flashed across the inner visor of the android’s interface before vanishing. Behind him, with a low hiss, the plugs disconnected from their sockets, and fiber-optic-coated cables fell to the floor with a subdued clatter. The android slowly raised his hands before himself, clenching and unclenching his fingers, then rotated his wrists inward, as if they had the capacity to go numb from disuse. Finally, planting both fists on the ground, the synthetic pushed himself up in one fluid, springy motion, straightening to his full height. Motor functions — normal. Calibration — unnecessary. Optical focus — 100%.

— Attention! Reactor online. Power at 45%. Follow procedures for medium-level emergency response, — the announcement echoed through the chamber. Erebus turned his head slightly.

— Main computer, report overall operational status of the "Epsilon" complex, — the android commanded.

— Overall status: 10.5% below safe operational levels, — the computer obediently replied, recognizing the synthetic as an authorized entity.

"Acceptable," Erebus thought, and addressed the system once more.

— Redistribute energy between the maintenance sectors, communication center, transport hub, and computational core. Utilize reserve tanks as necessary.

— Request received. Energy rerouted. Reserve tanks "2" and "3" engaged. Reserve tank "1" decommissioned. Reserve tank "5" operational at 90%, awaiting connection for redistribution, — the computer reported.

— Excellent. Main computer, power down, — Erebus issued his final command to his brief conversational partner. — Now, I am the master here.

#my art #deus ex #deus ex oc #bob page #erebus #deus ex fanfic #rayner writes

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