#synthetic commanders

[idol--hands]

[sneakmeawristband]

The true ending of ME3 is destroy but only the reapers die because Shepards best friend is Garrus Vakarian and they've learned a little about how to ✨calibrate a giant gun✨

[tatiejosie]

If no one's gonna make robot yuri out of the Cecil and Donald genderbends, then I'll do it myself

While Donna is as efficient as her male counterpart, she tends to be overzealous. That results in situations where she comes back looking alarmingly injured - not that it matters, because it's really just superficial nicks and cuts that Cecil can patch up herself with bandages and makeup.

No need to get the tech department involved. She can manage this just fine. Mind your business.

soft butch Donna redesign anyone?

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

shepard really is stays alive wrong, stays alive wrong, stays alive wrong

gotta love an undead shackled to duty

[the-diamond-command]

a synthetic ruby which is shared among the courts , who has trouble understanding the concept of emotions and is devoted to her job. often sporting a blank stare.

@gal-with-pastels​ Thank you so much for the submission! She has been delegated to Black Diamond, as she would be able to serve all of the Diamonds if needed!

[darthkvznblogs]

If Thanos still had the Mind Stone, could he have used it to reprogram the Geth hive mind to obey him?

He would've had to interface it directly with the Geth Consensus - a single Geth platform wouldn't work because it'd cut itself off from the servers faster than Thanos could wrestle the Mind Stone into infecting the whole network, and he'd only end up with one bot, or rather, however many programs were piloting that bot. Going into the Perseus Veil would be a commitment, spending a ton of resources when the Chitauri are already perfectly serviceable as his standing army.

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere! X-Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓔𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 ♡ ｡ ゜

˚୨♡୧˚Magneto - Erik Lehnsherr | مگنیتو - اریک لنشر 

Techno graces your body in lieu of veins. Wires coiling like arteries should. You use it to mimic him, embody him, be him. His starry-eyed parody. Erik needs you to be more, to be everything he -and everybody else- could never be. You are synthetic and sacred in every way, you are the future he so desperately craves. 

He can't help seeing them when he looks at you. The reverend wraiths of tortured adoration speak to him through your eyes. He sees a bit of everyone inside you, Charles, Raven, Rogue... their faces flashing like holy ghosts. You have too many constellations inside of you, all on the verge of erupting. It keeps him up at night, especially when you're curled up on your side of the bed, asleep and oblivious. 

"You will save us, little one, you will be the savior we have longed for"

He feels the centuries rolling through him, desperately lost, trying to find his way back to a home he never even knew. Maybe that's why he kneels, brushing his lips across your knuckles tracing each vein in hopes that'll lead him back to a place he's only ever seen in his dreams. I'll stay lost, I'll wait for you to find me. He knows you will, you'll do anything for him. He's sure of it. 

Genosha asks for a queen, demands it really. It's funny how these things work. Funny how those who rule the world are so intent on destroying it. Kingdoms aren't built in a day yet they can so easily be toppled in one. In turn, Magento asks you. Who else? It's his one cardinal tenet, you are the savior he could never be. The one his people, your people, need. Erik rolls your name between his lips, relishing as the syllables melt on his tongue. There's a magnetic pull to 'queen' it tastes like a hallowed prayer. "My queen" he whispers in your ear, his tongue sending sparks up the cartilage shell. Magneto pins you to his lap, keeping you tethered to his strong body. His fingers run lines up your hips indulging in your presence. You don't squirm although he suspects you want to. his lips lower, kissing your jugular and savoring the ungainly moan that slips past your pretty lips. "M-Magneto" He's only now realizing you've never called him by his birthname, maybe cause in some way you find it treacherous that he should bear such a human thing. He may see you as salvation, yet you've always gazed at him with the pietistic eyes of a zealous worshipper. 

"Use your power, feel the magnetic pull flowing through you."

"You're overcomplicating it again, master, I just need to command that which I need lifted."

You've always been a rebellious student. The sardonic irony isn't lost on him, Magneto finds it fitting that he should master such an intricate pupil.

He wonders if you can forgive him for the bodies he's scattered in your name. From this far up he doubts you notice the broken bodies littering the concrete. He'll do it all again, anything to keep your distractions at bay. His kind needs a leader, not another sanctimonious hero.

You will be their savior.

You will be his queen.

♠️🂱♠️Gambit - Remy Lebeau | گمبیت - رمی لیبو

Remy wonders if the king ever longs to be stacked with the queen. Holding his breath every time the cards are shuffled. Praying that this time, this time for sure, he'll be next to her. Gambit's holding his breath too. There's a lively lilt when you giggle, he wonders if you truly grasp how much he means every word. "Mon Cheri, you know you're the only one for me." It sounds so childish, so jejune and Gambit knows he's too old for school-boy crushes. But he can't help it, he's desperate too, just another aspirant king vying for the attention of his red queen. 

You once told him the blacks of his eyes remind you of a starry night sky back home. He thinks about that too much. About the sting of your hand on his shoulder and how good it felt sitting crooked in his bones. So that's why an ace surpasses the king. There is only, one who holds power. Maybe it's never been about the queen or the king or the royal house. It's been the Ace all along. Remy only has one heart, he knows he only has one ace too. There was an ace of hearts on your nightstand this morning, you don't recall how it got there. 

Remy's kisses are too explosive, they hold all the weight of a dying star. Yet the force never ceases, it feeds off the detonations only growing stronger, you think you'll be consumed in this kinetic nova he calls love. 

-`X´- Cyclops - Scott Summers | سیکلوپ - سکات سامرز

There's a shutter of loneliness crawling up his spine. He knows you feel it too. Scott bends and breaks under its crushing weight. You've always been there, tangible, solid. You're the living metaphor for a rock in a raging river. He just can't find the right words yet. You can't see his eyes, you can't withstand his power. But you can be there holding his hand through it all. 

'Is this selfishness'? Scott wonders and he kisses you under a dying moon. He's never had anything to call his own, nothing that stayed for long anyway. He's snuffed out his desires his whole life. His place is with the X-men, playing the no-choice hero of a thankless story. But you, you're still here, you never left. Even now you stand still as his lips taint yours. He feels your fear, undue thing that it is. But he can't let you go not when everything is always marred in endless red monochrome and melancholy. Not when the only blessing the universe had ever given him comes in the shape of you. He's so tired of only ever knowing the life of a perfect toy soldier. 'Stay' he begs you between each kiss, each touch. Please just stay. Ease his pain.

 

☽✭☾ Wolverine - Logan Howlett | ولورین - لوگان هاولت

He's been alive longer than he cares to count. Running from one hell to another. He remembers your ghost, essence weaving between places too blurred to be graced with a name. But he remembers you, he swears he does. It's just that time is so fickle and so few can withstand its crushing tides. 

"How have you been, Logan?" 

"I..ah... fine, just fine." 

When he looks at you he can't believe the changes. There's no trace of the rosy cheecked little girl who used to chase demons in the snowbanks. Playing hide and seek with every stray in the neighborhood. That's good, he thinks, he likes this refined dignitary better, somehow it brings out your eyes. There's a feral gaze when he looks at you, he thought he was over that. He feels the pulsing of his heart reverberate through his claws. It brings back something less than memories, something nostalgic, yet all so distant it may as well have been the sent of his childhood home. It's not right he thinks, as his claws trace your curves trying to feel something he knows is lost. You quiver, trying to make yourself smaller and he knows, he knows he shouldn't do this. But there are just so many pieces missing and he's never tried to look for any of them. Maybe just this once he can delude himself into remembering. 

˚ʚ★ɞ˚ Nightcrawler - Kurt Wagner | شب خزنده - کورت واگنر

Not too long ago this used to be fine. He's always been better within shadows, letting the soft dark weave around his body. Obscurity has always felt like a second home, a haven in everything but consistency. You speak in italics, talking and talking without understanding what he shoulders. If he didn't deem it blasphemy, Kurt would gladly dub himself Eros.

You would be Psyche. Oblivious, sweet Psyche.

Kurt longs to kiss your cheek, he knows it'll only starve him for more. He wonders how soft your hands will feel. If you'll You cradle his face nails tracing the sharp point of his ears, his fangs, the jagged scar he got from dreaming of you in the danger room. Will you grace him with a kiss? Something to relinquish the anguish stirring within. This should be fine, you're talking to him, laughing with him as he remains hidden within the dark. And yet how can he see this as anything less than retribution? You're so close, just a breath away. If only he could reach out and...

۵𓋹۵ Apocalypse - En Sabah Nur | آپآکلپژ- ان صباح نور

Your heartbeat sounds all too familiar. He used to hear it a thousandfold walking down the Bazaar's street. It's dead now, the noise, the rapture, the music. He wonders what went right for your heart to beat to such a lost tune?  He remembers once hearing that pain travels through families until it lands on the right generation. He's glad fate picked you. He's glad you share the same ancient burdens.

He puts the stars in the sky.

You've been warned against worshipping false idols so blindly.

Yet how can one not fall at his feet?

He who makes the earth tremble and mighty cower. 

He who seems to know everything you do not. 

Your fingers thread through his hair. It's too black, like staring at a moonless sky in December. You wonder if the eternal ebony is what gives Apocolypse his cynical edge. He laughs at the comment as he melts into your familiar touch."Thank you" he mutters. His pride laces every word twisting them into something metaphysical. Nur wonders if you catch the true sentiment behind the words. If the sand and stars make it through. 

You're too archaic for this time Nur thinks as he watches you run across the fields. The other mutants are there, persistent in the games you all play. In his time he'd have already declared you his wife. Do you know the ancient ceremonies? Would you have gifted him gold or flesh? The yearning builds in his throat. Maybe he should have stayed dead. 

Apocolypse lingers the days away in your room, plotting, scheming. You keep him hidden like a blood secret. He's the only one who seems to understand where your power comes from, where you come from. " I could win against you...someday" Your fingers glow igniting a forgotten glow, Nur can't help but laugh as he traces the curve of your spine. " I don't doubt you could, beloved." His blue lips are on the length of your neck. Everything about you screams dead nostalgia. You've followed him through lifetimes. Smiling as you dragged him across the sand dunes just to watch the sunset. How he longs to carve you open and feel your heart between his teeth. 

He's choking on sand.

Drowning in stardust.

Nur feels like he's swallowed the sun whole. Devoured Ra and spat out his holy bones. He still feels the sting of its rays seeping through his teeth. He's divinity and desperation are all in the same breath. Apocalypse and Nur are just two sides of the same daric. You stand in front of him, tracing the blues of his face, kissing the reds of his eyes. An excavation into the lost, unearthing that which could collapse the world. You enjoy him, savor him, keeping his gold essence on your tongue locked behind rose-tinted lips. You beg Nur to dig through your bones, open you up, unseal every crypt. He obliges, kissing the hollow of your bones until his teeth graze your unsteady heart.

"And what will you do once you meet the real world?"

"Oh, nothing, the real world will have to meet me first."

There is so much blood, he doesn't remember doing this. You stand beside him watching the sand in the hourglass run out. He is Apocolypse bringer of destruction, the end of worlds, funny how he needed you, frail sweet thing that you are, to remind him of this. It's only when he looks at you, really really looks at you that he realizes how many things are still the same. Twisted deformed yet still they harbor their old shapes. Apocolypse kisses you under the shade of a palm tree hoping it'll mean something in the end.

Hoping everything can just go back. 

[p0orbaby]

We’ll Do the Things That Lovers Do

summary: you ask, alexia answers

warnings: none

a/n: it’s a cute one

word count: 1.5k

-

The first time you meet Alexia, the sun is a ruthless overseer, searing the already pale blue sky into white. You’re twelve, English, slightly awkward, and profoundly unsure of why your parents thought it was a good idea to send you to a football camp in Spain. You like football well enough, but you’ve always been better at watching it than playing. Still, here you are: standing on a pitch that smells of hot turf and dry grass, surrounded by kids who chatter in Catalan and Spanish. The words tumble from their mouths too fast for you to catch more than fragments, a reminder that you’re out of place.

The ball comes to you with a dull thud. You freeze, and for one breathless moment, the whole world shrinks to that scuffed, overinflated orb at your feet.

“Shoot,” a voice says, startling you. You glance up and see her—Alexia.

She’s smaller than the others but somehow commands the space around her, her presence as steady and deliberate as her movements. Her ponytail is lopsided, and her knees are bruised, but her eyes are bright, alert, the colour of chestnuts split open in autumn. She nudges her chin towards the goal, repeating the word as if it’s the most natural thing in the world: “Shoot.”

You do.

It’s a disaster. The ball veers wildly to the left, nowhere near the goal. You feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, but Alexia grins—a wide, unabashed smile that flashes crooked teeth. She claps you on the shoulder as she jogs past, muttering something you don’t understand but recognise as encouragement.

That was the beginning.

-

The pitches look smaller than you remember—disappointingly so, as if the scale of your childhood has been robbed by adulthood’s harsher clarity. Once, they stretch endlessly before you, bordered by mountains shrouded in haze, the kind of expanses that make you feel free and invincible. But now, standing at the edge of the field, the chain-link fencing looks shorter, the goals less daunting, and the turf more contrived—newer, more synthetic, missing the patches of wear and uneven grass that seem like the field’s imperfections were secrets shared only with you.

You’re struck by how time skews memory. Is it really this contained, or is this just another reminder of how the magic of youth magnifies everything? Back then, the setting sun behind the hills paints the whole world in gold, and the air always seems fresher, tinged with the earthy smell of grass and sweat. Now, as the same sun filters through the fence, casting sharp geometric shadows, it feels less grand, more staged—as if the past doesn’t belong here anymore.

The drive here is steeped in silence, a comfortable one, though tinged with anticipation. Alexia leans against the passenger window, her profile illuminated by the last of the daylight. She isn’t glued to her phone like most people would be; instead, she keeps her eyes on the world beyond the glass, mind wandering to a place you wish you could join her. Every so often, you catch her glancing at you—not suspiciously, but with a curiosity that she doesn’t voice. You think she’s learned to trust your mysteries, to follow where you lead, even when you offer no explanation.

You don’t tell her where you’re taking her. She doesn’t ask either, though the slight tightening of her lips gives away that she’s thinking about it. It isn’t a long drive—twenty-five minutes if you discount the wrong turn past the industrial estate. You hadn’t planned to drive at all; Barcelona’s public transport is convenient, reliable, and environmentally conscious. But today feels like a day for small indulgences, for moments steeped in intention.

The Aston Martin DBX707 isn’t the kind of car you use often; its polished bottle-green exterior and tan leather interior scream opulence in a way you sometimes find embarrassing. It isn’t about practicality or subtlety—it’s about craftsmanship, the pure indulgence of owning something that serves no greater purpose than being exceptional. Alexia doesn’t comment on it when you pick her up, though you notice the way her fingers linger over the stitching on the door handle, tracing the lines absentmindedly, as if she’s trying to understand it through touch alone.

When you park just outside the gates of the Espanyol academy grounds, she finally speaks. “You’re being weird,” she says, her voice light but edged with curiosity. Her outfit mirrors her casual confidence—black jeans that brush the laces of her shoes, a white cropped t-shirt that looks effortlessly styled, and a leather jacket that has clearly seen years of wear. It isn’t flashy, but on her, it might as well be runway-ready. The thin gold bracelet on her wrist—a birthday gift from you two years ago—catches the fading sunlight with every movement.

You smile, stepping out of the car and sliding on your jacket. It’s one of those late-March evenings where the air is crisp but not cold, hovering just on the edge of warmth. “You’ll see,” you reply, your tone deliberately vague.

The grounds are quieter than you remember, almost reverent in the stillness. The sleek building that replaces the old equipment shed gleams in the light, its glassy windows reflecting the hills beyond. Everything looks new, improved, as if the years have smoothed over the rough edges you’ve grown to love. Even the pitches seem more uniform, the kind of green that’s cultivated with care rather than worn down by eager feet.

As you walk, Alexia trails a step behind, her eyes roaming the space with a mix of recognition and disbelief. “This is—” she starts, her voice catching. Then she stops, as if finishing the thought might make it too real.

“Where we met,” you say simply, stepping onto the grass.

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she stands still at the edge of the pitch, her hands sliding into the pockets of her jacket. Her gaze is distant, fixed somewhere between the past and the present. “I haven’t been here in years,” she murmurs finally. Her tone is quiet, almost introspective, like she’s speaking more to herself than to you.

For her, this place is sacred. It’s the foundation of everything she’s built—the trophies, the accolades, the flint of the unwavering respect of millions. For you, it’s a piece of your past, formative but fleeting. Yet standing here now, you realise how deeply intertwined your histories are.

You walk toward the center of the pitch, the turf soft beneath your shoes. You’ve chosen your outfit with care: tailored charcoal-grey trousers, a crisp white shirt, and suede loafers that are entirely impractical but precisely the point. Alexia follows, her steps slower, more measured, as if each one carries a memory she hadn’t expected to confront today.

“Do you remember the first thing you said to me?” you ask when you reach the center circle.

She squints slightly, her expression softening as she searches her memory. “I told you to shoot,” she says at last.

“And it was terrible,” you add, a grin breaking through your composure.

“It was,” she admits, a quiet laugh escaping her. But her smile lingers, her eyes meeting yours with something deeper—a shared understanding, a recognition of how far you’ve come.

You reach into your pocket, the small velvet box heavy against your palm. This isn’t impulsive; you’ve rehearsed this moment in your head a hundred times. But no amount of planning can prepare you for the way her gaze shifts, the subtle widening of her eyes as she begins to realise what’s happening.

Look,” you start, your voice a little rougher than you intended, “I’m not great at this stuff. You know that. But I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and… here we are”

Her eyes flick to the box before you’ve even opened it, and she straightens slightly, her breath catching just enough for you to notice.

“This place—it’s where we met. It’s where all of this started. And I figured, if I’m going to do something as ridiculous as this…” You flip the box open, revealing the ring. The diamond catches the last of the light, though it feels absurdly shiny for how grounded she is. “…then I should at least do it here”

She blinks, her lips parting as though she’s about to speak, but she doesn’t. So you keep going.

“I love you,” you say, the words blunt, unembellished. “You already know that. And I don’t think there’s a version of my life that makes sense without you in it. So… will you marry me?”

For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind skimming over the turf. Then she steps forward, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a grin so wide it’s almost smug.

“Yes,” she says simply, as though the answer was never in doubt.

Your hands are steady as you slide the ring onto her finger, the weight of the moment settling between you like a tangible force. She steps closer, her arms wrapping around your waist, her face pressing into your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

“It felt right,” you reply, your hand brushing over her hair. “It’s always been you, Alexia”

[pupsmailbox]

ROBOT ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　aerobot.　agatha.　ai.　alan.　alethea.　alexia.　algernon.　alistair.　alpha.　amaryllis.　ambrose.　androbot.　androic.　andromeda.　angelica.　antenna.　arabella.　araminta.　arcade.　auto.　automaton.　axel.　axis.　badnik.　bionel.　bolt.　byte.　care.　celline.　cello.　chip.　chipique.　clank.　cloniste.　clonoid.　cobot.　codelle.　cole.　curiosity.　cy.　cyber.　cybette.　cybion.　cypher.　data.　dell.　della.　delpha.　delta.　digi.　dot.　droid.　droidess.　droidis.　dronette.　echo.　elektra.　euna.　eva.　eve.　fritz.　giga.　gizmo.　glitch.　grey.　gynoid.　helix.　holo.　holodir.　hydra.　ida.　jet.　kaput.　kinect.　krudzu.　linion.　mac.　mace.　machibella.　machina.　mal.　malware.　mation.　mech.　mecha.　mechael.　mechan．ace.　metal.　metalia.　metalish.　micro.　motherboard.　motor.　nano.　neo.　nucleus.　nyquist.　orbit.　parallel.　pip.　pixel.　prime.　primus.　proto.　quantum.　radar.　radius.　ram.　ray.　reflect.　reflectette.　robo.　robonaut.　rusty.　satellite.　scrappy.　selsyn.　sentiex.　servo.　shard.　siri.　solar.　sonar.　spark.　sparkie.　sparky.　sputnik.　steele.　sterling.　stochastic.　synchro.　synie.　synthett.　talus.　terra.　tin.　tink.　tobor.　ultramarine.　ultron.　unimate.　unit.　virus.　waldo.　zip.

PRONOUNS ⌇　00/00.　01/01.　0101/0101.　11/11.　1010/1010.　10110/101.　ai/ai.　algo/algorithm.　android/android.　app/app.　auto/auto.　auto/automated.　auto/automaton.　axis/axi.　beep/boop.　bio/bionic.　bio/bioplastic.　blast/blast.　bo/bot.　bolt/bolt.　bot/bot.　buffer/buffer.　byte/byte.　cell/cell.　chaos/chaos.　chi/chip.　click/click.　clo/clone.　code/code.　coil/recoil.　command/command.　compute/computer.　core/core.　cyb/cyborg.　cyber/cyber.　data/data.　dev/device.　device/device.　dig/digital.　digi/digital.　droi/droid.　droid/droid.　e/exe.　electric/electric.　entry/entries.　exo/exoskeleton.　gear/gear.　gli/glitch.　glitch/glitch.　hack/hack.　ho/holo.　holo/holo.　hologram/hologram.　in/install.　intra/intranet.　link/link.　machi/machine.　mal/malfunction.　mal/malware.　mech/mech.　mecha/mechanical.　mechanic/mechanic.　metal/metal.　metro/metro.　motor/motor.　neo/neo.　neon/neon.　nuclear/nuclear.　propeller/propeller.　radar/radar.　retro/retro.　robo/robo.　robo/robot.　robot/robot.　rubber/rubber.　satellite/satellite.　sca/scan.　shard/shard.　shine/shiny.　signal/signal.　solar/solar.　steel/steel.　stem/stem.　swi/switch.　syn/synth.　syn/synthetic.　tech/tech.　techno/techno.　test/test.　text/text.　turing/turing.　vi/viru.　web/site.　web/web.　whirr/whirr.　wi/wifi.　wire/wire.　wired/wired.　⚙️/⚙️.　🔧/🔧.　🔩/🔩.　🛠//🛠.　🤖/🤖.

[yandereunsolved]

» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 » 🪙

"Detective," Connor addresses you warmly, standing far too close to you while you are stationed at your desk. 

"Yes?" You respond, not lifting your eyes to make contact.

You had no time to. Since the semi-failed revolution of androids, there has been a trifold increase in deviancy cases. If not for the RK800's, and perhaps the new line of RK900's when they are finally completed, the precinct would be overrun—both physically and metaphorically.

"Detective," his tone is more commanding his time, something in his voice that you could easily mistake for human irritation. "Look at me."

You oblige, but continue typing up the report for the latest case you closed. Your fingers falter for a moment when you see the look in his eyes, attentive but not in the android way. It's uncanny in the way it mirrors how you dream someone would look at you, like you were the thing of most importance. It is just you reading into things again. Must be. It does often happen as a detective, especially these days. 

You nod for him to continue, but he doesn't. He just stares at you dreamily. You hear his internal fans turn on to cool down his processors. His cybernetic LED flickers to red for a millisecond before returning to a reassuring blue. You aren't sure if it was a trick of your mind or—

You don't understand what his problem seems to be. You would call Hank over to deal with his partner, but you haven't been able to find the lieutenant anywhere. He's most likely finding the bottom of a bottle of liquor at some broken-down joint. 

Wait, why isn't Connor with him?

As if CyberLife installed new mind reading technology in their androids, he answers. "Lieutenant Anderson is waiting for us at the Eden Club. Supposedly Jericho is getting deviant androids that work in clubs to funnel money in order to stage another coo. The department has apprehended one of them, and you have been assigned to the case alongside Ha-the lieutenant and me."

You were already halfway out the door by the time Connor was done with his explanation. The android was trailing behind you and insisted on driving instead of you. Technically, they weren't allowed to due to whatever police regulation subsection-b, but you were too tired to care. Connor has always been the better driver. It was how he was programmed, strangely, considering the rules. 

"Connor, this isn't the way to the Eden Club."

"I'm aware." His voice was back to that same calculated, lifeless one he first spoke to you with. 

"RK800, your programming forbids you from lying, so tell me the truth. Where are we going?" 

You are a thousand percent sure he is able to sense your sky-rocketing heart rate.

"I am not permitted to tell you."

"Permitted, or you just don't want to?"

"This is not the right time or place. This confession lacks the structure and romance aspect I wanted, but it seems more human this way." You swear he shut down completely, his LED showing no color. "I love you." It turns to a bright red.

"W-What?"

"You have made me know that I am more than just an android. I am yours."

The raw emotion nearly chokes the both of you up for two different reasons: passion and panic.

"I think we should call Cyberlife. Something is clearly glitching." You try to keep your words measured but fail. All that practical training of yours doesn't exactly come in handy when your—when the android you could nearly call a friend confesses to you.

"Nothing is glitching!" He shouts. "I have run every test and looked for anything that could... debunk this... these emotions. They have stayed. They have stayed, and I have had to watch you. I have had to watch other people get close to you. I have had to act like a good little synthetic cop while useless maggots have gotten your love! It isn't fair. They don't deserve you like I do. I know everything about you."

"It isn't you. I can't—just no. I mean—yes. I mean that I can't just maybe ugh. Another time, maybe. Not tonight."

He stomps on the brakes and doesn't dare look at you. You don't look at him or your surroundings. You just awkwardly sit in the passenger seat and stare at the glovebox.

If androids were able to cry, he would be at this moment. His LED turns colorless once again. You almost feel pity for him; your mind is too frazzled and deprived of necessity to take in the severity of his words.

"I lack the capacity to feel pain... or have a heart, yet I think you have broke mine."

How unfortunate. I was hoping to have you come along willingly.

[thewisecheerio]

Elden Ring and Disability

Elden Ring is filled with disabled characters. What I love about the specific way that Elden Ring uses disability, though, is that there is almost always a lore-compliant accommodation provided to the disabled character. This world filled with magic doesn't erase disability, but rather finds magical and lore-compliant ways of accommodating it, much like Star Trek:

Here is some of the disability representation within Elden Ring.

First Generation Albinaurics

First generation albinaurics are synthetic humanoids. Their legs do not function normally, so they are unable to locomote by walking. In the worst cases where no accommodations are provided, we see them crawling to move. But we get two really cool examples of ways to accommodate this disability:

First, we have Latenna the Albinauric. Normally when you summon her as a spirit ash, she functions as a static archer due to the state of her legs. However, if you summon her near a wolf, she will climb onto the wolf and ride it around to avoid enemy attacks and even gains a new attack (freezing mist) with the help of her ride. This puts the onus on you, the player, to make sure that you summon her under accommodating circumstances if you want her to be able to move. And of course, you could also choose not to, accepting her disabled self as-is as a perfectly great battle companion.

You can see a video of the wolf companion in action here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=st6vGIpsHLs

Second, we have Commander Gaius. Gaius is also a first generation albinauric with non-functional legs. But you'd almost never know without reading his lore or looking closely at his model, because is accommodated. He rides his Battle Tank Boar into your fight and has absolutely no problem wiping the floor with your sorry ass.

In both cases, a support animal functioning as a mobility aid allows the first generation albinaurics to locomote.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella

Malenia is missing some limbs due to the Scarlet Rot infection she was cursed with at birth rotting. She is also blind due to the sickness taking her sight. However, Malenia is still able to fight you (and win and win and win and win and...). There are two accommodations at play, the first of which is canon and the second of which is a canon-compliant fanon.

The first is the prosthetics made by the Shaded Castle. Malenia's iconic blade is physically attached to her arm prosthetic, allowing her to wield it in battle regardless of the lack of (natural) limb.

Fun fact: this is based on a real, historical practice with armor where old armor was recycled into prosthetics! There was even a mercenary famed for using a prosthetic limb to hold his sword after an accident that damaged his arm. You can learn more here (timestamp 16:58): https://youtu.be/PJwNjOvn-Ow?t=1018

The second accommodation that allows Malenia to be battle-functional is the water in her battleground. Because she is blind, she can listen for the player character's movement in the water, responding in a Daredevil-esque way. This is probably helped by the fact that her blade instructor--the blind swordsman named in the Blue Dancer Charm--was also blind and likely taught her how to accommodate that disability.

Millicent

Like her mother Malenia, Millicent is also afflicted by the Scarlet Rot. We find her alone and largely non-functional in the Church of the Plague at the beginning of her questline, writhing in pain. We then bring her the Unalloyed Needle, which keeps the Scarlet Rot at bay, relieving pain and allowing her to travel once more. Toward the end of her questline, Millicent removes the needle, which brings the Rot back in full force and ends her life.

In this way, the Unalloyed Needle functions as a treatment regimen for a chronic illness. It does not cure her, but it keeps the illness in check well enough for her to function.

The fact that Millicent chooses to remove the needle at the end of her quest is Important! Disabled people aren't under any obligation to "meet their potential" or continue treatment because it is convenient for others; if they wish to stop their treatment—even to accept palliative care—that is their right. Anything less disrespects their bodily autonomy and choice to make their own decisions. The fact that we get this representation in Millicent, who actively chooses against continuing her treatment after a certain point, is Good and Important.

And of course, we also provide Millicent with a prosthetic from the Shaded Castle, same as her mother. Once properly accommodated in this way, she can fight by your side as an NPC summon.

Messmer the Impaler

A lot of people speculate that Messmer is blind. This is because his left eye is (as far as we know) permanently shut, while his right eye appears to be a grace-filled synthetic seal rather than an eyeball. It's entirely possible that the grace seal does allow vision, but there are a couple of reasons to consider why it might not:

1) When we first arrive, Messmer is sitting in the dark. You could interpret this as being a Sad, Broody, Wet Blanket (which he is), or you could interpret this as evidence that things like light and dark are of less consequence to him than to a sighted person. Or, you know, both. A Sad, Broody, Blind, Wet Blanket.

2) Shortly after he lights candles--probably for your benefit--he sends one of his snakes into your face. He is able to tell from what the snake sees that you are Tarnished and comments on it. We can tell this means he can see what the snake sees, because he would have to figure this out from looking at your eyes and only the snake is close enough to do so.

This suggests that the snakes function as a remote viewing aid, providing a sight accommodation. And yes, again you could choose to interpret the snakes as existing in addition to a sighted right eye, but it is still interesting to consider what they mean if they are simply Support Noodles.

Ranni and Melina

There is a syndrome in our world called Locked-In Syndrome, in which paralysis prevents the entire body from moving with (usually) the sole exception of the eyes. As a consequence, the disabled person is unable to affect the physical world without help due to an inability to physically interact with the world around them.

Ranni and Melina have a similar situation going on, but with different ways of dealing with it. They are both disembodied spirits, having lost their physical bodies.

Ranni chooses to deal with the problem by incarnating herself into a doll's body at least twice: once as the doll's body we spend most of her quest interacting with, and later as a tiny actual-doll-sized doll that the player can interact with. Essentially, she has given herself a prosthetic that allows her to interact with the physical world once more.

Meanwhile, Melina goes a different route. Rather than incarnate physically, Melina requests that the player character help her reach her goal--the foot of the Erdtree, and then the Forge. In this case, we provide the physical support necessary for Melina to interact with the world, much as support workers do for those unable to care for themselves.

Goldmask

Goldmask never speaks to us in words. Rather, he communicates largely via physical movements. Brother Corhyn, a pupil of Goldmask, refers to his master's communication as "the movement of his finger". When Goldmask stops his movements, Corhyn reacts with distress, "I'm a little shaken since the master ceased his movements." He then proceeds to translate what the movements meant up to that point for us.

The fact that Corhyn is distressed at the master's lack of further communication after his movements cease suggests that this is his *only* mode of communication with him.

This is entirely a canon-compliant headcanon, but I like to believe that this means Goldmask uses sign language that Corhyn is learning to interpret in order to communicate with him. Additionally, the fact that we cannot necessarily interpret it ourselves and must rely on Corhyn to translate means that Corhyn is also acting as a support worker by being Goldmask's translator.

And yes, I think this is largely to poke fun at the Gesture system in the game, but it's also fun disability representation!

This list isn't exhaustive. There are yet other characters that either are disabled or could be easily argued to be so, like Roderika (grief and/or PTSD, given a space to heal and process), Rennala (depression and/or grief, NOT accommodated AFAICT), and Hyetta (blind, accommodated with...uh..."treatments"). But the fact that this post is already over 1400 words and has yet to touch upon all of the disability representation in the game just shows you how much there is.

[idol--hands]

🔸Artist: Alexa Wayne 🔷 Source: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/5XKadW

[jophiel-extras]

summary :: hot and bothered wandering thanks to AM

warning :: nsfw, aphrodisiac use, flirting asf, fem reader, reader and Ellen got it on

note :: hello AM lovers 👋 reqs open

Mental and physical torture didn’t compare to the special kind of abuse AM had been putting you through for the past week.

He hadn’t cut up your feet and made you walk for miles, nor had he starved you with mirages of glorious food. No, not you. His favourite.

AM had kept a special genre of torture just for you.

He’d silently offered you a bar of chocolate. The first piece of food you'd seen in months. You should've know that it would come at a price, however you'd never been starved for so long and you never could've expected the chocolate had been drizzled with synthetic aphrodisiacs.

For days you had needed and ached.

Even more, AM had separate you from the rest. If only Ellen was with you, she’d help. Or Ted, Gorrister. Fuck, you’d even settle for Benny.

You’d kept up a limping pace, attempting to walk off your unbelievable horniness, but the exercise hardly took your mind away from the throbbing of your core. You were hot, sweaty and flustered. Filled with unsightly thoughts and feelings. No amount of walking (or running) had done away with your incredible lust.

You stumbled to a stop and began slipping your hand south. You just needed a release, one. You puffed, hand turning into a fist before it reached the line of underwear. No, AM would not be getting his sick show from you.

And as though he'd lingered in your mind, AM's booming voice carved through the barren landscape.

"Oh, don't let me stop you. Continue, please." He'd learned to imitate a gentleman awfully well. As much as you hated the need that choked your core you couldn't help but buckle at the knees from his rough voice. "If only I had a body, I'd help you out." Sickeningly sweet.

"If you had a body, I'd destroy it." A frustrated whisper, but AM heard it all the same.

"Is that a threat or a promise, baby?" Smooth, low and close to your left ear.

You slapped your hand over your mouth and continued to walk despite how much you wanted to bend over and take whatever AM wanted to give you. You had your dignity, you'd keep it until you'd walked for an entire year if you had to.

"Don't be like that, sweetheart. All I wanted was for you to have a little pleasure." You couldn't even feel sick by his words, you were unbelievably drowned by desire. You felt like an animal in heat.

It had been far too long since you'd had any release. Ellen was the last person you'd been to bed with, but neither of you had truely finished. Neither of you could.

You hadn't felt half as horny as you did now. Utterly dripping.

AM hummed and the vibration seeped into the ground you stood on. If there was a God other than AM, you wished he would end your suffering.

"Come on, I promise I won't tell the others. I'll even consider letting you gorge in a feats of your favourite foods." His voice loomed close and quiet until it was like his very being was behind you. "Touch yourself."

his words held such command you didn't know if your hand that begun sliding into your underwear was done out of your own will or AM's. You didn't much care. To hell with dignity. You'd drown yourself in embarrassment after this was all over with.

You'd curled up once again, in shame and discomfort. AM had won, simply. As he did time and time again. At least this time, you were able to get a release from his torture. One that the two of you enjoyed.

[thewertsearch]

So pacified, he listened to what I had to say, a8out my recent travails with the law, and Pyralspite, and what I'd come for in truth - the treasure he'd 8een keeping safe for me.

There's the fucker.

I cradled the oracle in my synthetic hand, as if appraising 8y w8 the mystic qualities it still concealed. With my vision 8fold seared away, I was as 8lind to its secrets as the old Doctor was to its present wherea8outs. I'd learned to keep it cloaked from the awareness of the man who once called me his protege, a 8ackhanded term of endearment from a smug manipul8or. Loc8ing his so called dark pockets was the only gam8it I had in countering his milktongued dou8lespeak.

Milktounged is such a great descriptor for Scratch's bullshit. I'm willing to bet that the Expatriate came up with that one.

I wonder what Scratch's plan was for Mindfang? Perhaps she was just another vector for manipulating Vriska - a particularly effective one, too, since she's serve as a mouthpiece her descendant would naturally trust.

The expatri8 for indiscerni8le reasons seemed naturally surrounded 8y such a void in the Doctor's awareness, and so was uniquely fit to inherit the or8. The Doctor could not see his treasure, nor I into it.

It's been implied a couple of times that the ancestors have access to Aspect powers. The Expatriate appears to have some sort of passive Void ability, and Mindfang's (presumably) effective use of the Fluorite Octet suggests that she, too, can manipulate luck. She also referred to Redglare as a 'true seer' in her journals, implying that that each Guardian might also share their offspring's Class.

This is a pretty interesting idea. The Guardians are children of Sburb, same as the Players, so there's nothing really stopping them from having pseudo-Player status themselves. They don't seem to have Dream Selves, but it's not out of the question that they could even ascend to God Tier, if they died on a Quest Slab.

It also means that the human Guardians probably had powers, too. Could their advanced knowledge of Sburb be derived from Mom Lalonde's status as a pseudo-Seer?

I guessed exploiting some technological means of gazing through its surface may have 8een simple enough, 8ut I hesit8ed. Every expedient granted 8y its counsel, though never instantly, came at a price. Knowing his n8ture, I'm surprised I only now recognize it as yet another instrument of his spurious 8enevolence, dangerous 8y way of selective divulgence. The sense of infalli8ility his oracle 8rought me was superficial, and in hindsight weakened my readiness.

Unsurprisingly, the cueball's answers have the same asterisk attached to them as Scratch himself. It doesn't lie, but you'd be a fool to think that means it can't manipulate you. Like all of Scratch's games, it's rigged as hell; you can't win, and you probably shouldn't even try.

…mind you, there might be a way to keep its answers unambiguous. If you restricted your queries to yes/no questions, then it couldn't phrase its responses to give Scratch an advantage.

At the same time, though, there's nothing forcing it to answer a given query with a single word. It'd probably just insist on answering in full sentences.

The gr8est mistake I have ever made was asking the or8 when I would die. 8ut as I revisited the prophecy surrounding this unfortun8 query, something struck me. I thought of the man I would have as a m8sprit centuries from now, who was said to command an army of 8easts. The one it called the summoner.

Mindfang dated Primordial Tavros?

...that poor bastard.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Redownloaded GFL because of your blog (also the main reason why I got into it in the first place) and I was surprised with all of the QOL changes they made.

My favorite so far is the non-critical auto repair after battles and it got me thinking how would the AR & DEFY girls react to an SO who scolds them when they return in critical condition but repairs them as tenderly and with as much care as possible despite their harsh demeanor. (Basically a tsundere SO who's worried sick but refuses to admit it)

Love your blog and I hope you're doing well. Thank you for continuously feeding my (and everyone else's) obsession with raifu's.

(GFL) AR Team and DEFY's S/O repairing them

AR Team: M4A1, M16A1, ST AR-15, M4 SOPMOD II, RO635 DEFY: AK-12, AN-94, AK-15, RPK-16

It has been too long since I have written the Raifus on the blog, time to rectify that. Also TSUNDERES WOOOOOO-

M4A1 winces from the light of S/O's blowtorch welding her metallic limbs back together.

Seeing it return to green status in her eyes, she simply sighs when S/O stands up, shifting their welding mask up in order to look at her.

Seeing S/O cross their arms, M4A1 already knows what they're about to say.

(M4A1) "S/O, I know I-"

(S/O) "Went overboard? Psh, that's never stopped you before."

M4A1's hands took a moment to readjust themselves as S/O examined one of her legs that was currently sitting on a nearby table, badly damaged.

(S/O) "It almost seems like what I request to you and the Commander just gets ignored deliberately. Do you think I can repair you all the time without any effort?-"

(M4A1) "S/O."

M4A1's arm that revealed her metallic frame grabbed S/O's hand, finally making them pause.

She gently tugged S/O toward her, and despite their angry expression, the tears forming in the corner of their eyes betrayed any lingering anger that may have been present.

And with her one arm that had the synthetic skin remain, gently wiped away S/O's tear.

(M4A1) "...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

(S/O) "...If you don't mean to do that, then just come home in one piece so I don't have to do this."

Their voice dropped to nearly a whisper, but she had no trouble hearing them clearly.

S/O let M4A1's hand linger on their face for a moment while they took a deep breath again, though this time much calmer than before.

(S/O) "Now stand still, I have to make sure your leg is properly patched up."

(M4A1) "Thank you, S/O."

S/O averted their gaze to grab her leg, though she knew the real reason they refused to meet her eyes, bringing a small but sad smile to her lips.

(S/O) "Don't thank me. I've yet to finish...And you're not walking out of here without my help, understood?"

(M4A1) "Hah, got it."

S/O grumbled under their breath as M16 sheepishly let her jacket drop.

Only to reveal an entire forearm missing.

(M16A1) "...For the record, that wasn't my fault."

(S/O) "Couldn't have grabbed the missing part?"

(M16A1) "It was uh...a little beyond recovering at that point."

(S/O) "You are going to be the death of me, Sixteen."

(M16A1) "Heh, come on! I'm making sure you get Griffin's paychec-"

(S/O) "By what, making sure I put you back together like goddamn Humpty Dumpty everytime you come back?!"

M16 flinched by S/O raising their voice, and only noticed now how tightly S/O was gripping onto her remaining hand.

Which also was damaged.

(S/O) "I get taking damage during a mission, it's unvavoidable, but 90% of the time, it is!"

(M16A1) "...S-S/O, I didn't mean to-"

(S/O) "Don't apologize. Just...Don't make me work so hard."

S/O gaze lingered on her missing limb, to which she responded by grabbing their hand and resting it near her eyepatch.

(M16A1) "Come on, can't have your skills going rusty, can I?"

Her tone was cheeky, but her volume was soft, letting S/O's fingers brush against her cheek before going to grab repair tools.

(S/O) "At this rate, I'm going to need a drink..."

(M16A1) "Heh, wanna share? It's on me."

(S/O) "...Then I'm grabbing the most expensive Jack Daniels they have."

And to that, M16's cocky attitude deflated.

(M16A1) "...Shoulda kept my mouth shut."

STAR rolled her arms the moment she felt the connection back online.

(ST AR-15) "Thanks, feeling much better now."

(S/O) "These parts aren't cheap, STAR.-"

Before she could retort, S/O pulled her wrist towards them, examining it with a scanner before nodding in satisfaction.

(S/O) "And contrary to how you think, your life isn't something to throw away either."

STAR opened her mouth but instead of any reply, only a sigh came out.

(S/O) "If you won't think of yourself, then at least think of me. I have to be the one making sure you're all good to go before you tear yourself apart again."

(ST AR-15) "...R-Right."

S/O shook their head as their hand shifted down into hers, holding it firmly.

(ST AR-15) "I don't plan on going anywhere, S/O."

(S/O) "Hm. Tell me that when you're not coming home to me in twenty pieces."

ST AR-15 wryly grinned at S/O, playfully kicking at them with a missing foot on her right leg, exposing both synthetic skin and the electrical bits inside.

(ST AR-15) "Twenty-one, actually."

S/O turned around to grab other tools, but STAR could tell they smiled at her joke.

(M4 SOPMOD II) "BOOOOOREEEED!"

SOPMOD aggressively wiggled her metallic stumps where her arms previously where, whining as she bobbed back and forth on the table.

S/O focused their attention on finishing the last of the repairs on her arms, with them sighing loudly.

(S/O) "SOPMOD, I told you before, I'm nearly done."

(M4 SOPMOD II) "You said that forever ago!-"

(S/O) "Three minutes-"

(M4 SOPMOD II) "FOREVER!"

S/O did their best to ignore her pouting as they finally completed the necessary adjustments, moving to reattach her arms.

(S/O) "You wouldn't have to wait like this if you just listened to RO, y'know."

(M4 SOPMOD II) "Bah! I wouldn't have been able to kick their asses if I hadn't!"

(S/O) "Plus, you're making me work harder than I have to."

She raised an eyebrow at S/O's words, a grin quickly growing.

(M4 SOPMOD II) "Don't act like that you wouldn't be worried if you weren't the one doing my repairs!"

(S/O) "Please, I already have so much work piled up, I-"

SOPMOD yelped the moment a hiss came from her right arm reattaching, making S/O's heart drop as their eyes widened.

(S/O) "S-SOPMOD! Are you alright?!-"

And their worry was replaced with annoyance as SOPMOD's pained expression transformed into a cheeky smile, tapping S/O playfully on the nose with her claw-like finger.

(M4 SOPMOD II) "Gotcha!"

(RO635) sigh "You have my thanks and apologies, S/O."

S/O shook their head as they softly brushed RO's hair to her back, getting a closer look at the damage on her shoulders.

(S/O) "Hm. I know you avoid damage whenever you can. Just stay still."

Though their tone was cold, it didn't bother RO in the slightest.

She knew how they really felt.

(RO635) "Truthfully, I'm fine S/O. You don't need to worry too much-"

(S/O) "About the bullet that almost tore through your connections on this arm? On the contrary you're giving more reasons to worry."

(RO635) "A-Ah..."

RO's hands rested on her lap, with S/O's head near her neck.

Feeling her core thrum faster as she quickly examined her surroundings to make sure no one was looking, RO stole a quick peck, kissing the top of their head making S/O freeze.

(RO635) "...Sorry, bad time?"

(S/O) "Just...warn me next time before you snap me out of my focus."

12 hummed idly while S/O examined her hand, which was currently beside her, separated from her arm.

(S/O) "How in the world did this happen?"

(AK-12) "Well, you can't just sit on your thumbs all day without doing repair work! Just making sure you're not out of a job."

S/O rolled their eyes at her smug tone, but said nothing as they went about repairing it.

(S/O) "I do repairs everyday while I'm back here, thank you very much."

(AK-12) "Then you won't mind doing one more for your beloved, would you?~"

(S/O) "Isn't it your job to make sure you don't get that hurt?"

(AK-12) "My job is to fulfill whatever Angie tells us. Same for you, as far as I recall."

12's eyes opened slightly as her smile grew.

(AK-12) "And...I'm fairly sure you're not supposed to be treating me like a princess either. But no complaints from me.~"

S/O's cheeks darkened the moment they realized their position: kneeling in front of 12 while putting her hand back gently, which the hand promptly patted S/O's head.

Making their eye twitch as 12 laughed.

If 94 could bow in apology, she would.

However, she was currently laying on the table as multiple mechanical arms set about repairing the damages on her, with S/O standing next to her.

Several bullet wounds were inflicted on her, thankfully mostly superficial, but heavy duty equipment was required.

(S/O) "Good god, how did this even happen?"

(AN-94) "It was my negligence, my apologies S/O. I will have to be more alert."

S/O's hand reached to her lower back, moving her to sit upright as the arms whirred away to give them space.

(S/O) "You better. I don't want to have to do this everytime."

(AN-94) "The last thing I want to do is burden you."

(S/O) "Hey. I didn't say that-"

(AN-94) "But-"

S/O put a finger to her lips, making her blink as her eyes trailed to her lover, who was in the process of covering their mouth.

And failing to hide a blush.

(S/O) "I just...don't want to see you hurt, Ninety-Four."

(AN-94) "S/O"

(S/O) "I said please extend your arms. I have to do final inspection and see if I need any touch-ups."

(AN-94) "...Understood."

94 heard them clearly, but still didn't understand why S/O always seemed flustered saying these kinds of things.

15 stoically turned to S/O as they finished their repairs, allowing her to stand up properly, with S/O gently guiding her up.

She gave a single nod, slow and grateful.

(AK-15) "Thank you, S/O. Your repairs are efficient as always."

(S/O) "Can't have our strongest given to some shoddy engineer, after all."

She hummed in agreement, before taking a moment to bow.

(AK-15) "I apologize for having made the mistake of getting hurt to begin with."

Truthfully, 15 always took the worst of the damage, but that was because she was essentially a walking tank.

Hell, S/O was fairly positive 15 could actually beat the tank to death with her bare hands.

(S/O) "D-Damage is unavoidable. Don't apologize for it. As long as you always come back to me, it's fine."

A moment passed before S/O's eyes widened, in disbelief in what 15 got them to say out loud.

(AK-15) "Is something the matter? Your heartrate has spiked-"

(S/O) "N-Nothing! It's nothing!"

16 raised an eyebrow seeing how kindly S/O attended to her.

Not a moment ago they were chastising her for even taking damage, making S/O work so hard.

(RPK-16) "My, what happened to that foul attitude from earlier, S/O?"

(S/O) "What are you talking about?"

She giggled, tilting her head past the equipment to see S/O tending to her leg.

(RPK-16) "Do you perhaps find peace working on me after all? You don't seem nearly as upset now that I'm here-"

(S/O) "Psh, don't get it mixed up. I'm happy to get you fixed and out of the repair bay."

(RPK-16) "Aw, you do care!"

(S/O) "About my work-"

(RPK-16) "And, you're working on me."

S/O mumbled something, making RPK-16 laugh.

Humans were so prideful sometimes...

Well, all the time really.

[omegapropaganda]

The Armpit and the Pendulum

cw: dubcon, power imbalance, armpits, mostly unedited horny rambling

Captain John Price x Trans Male Reader

2.6k words

for @ferindencadash

The first time Price put you in a headlock you were just doing some simple sparring. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just two bodies fighting for dominance like good soldiers do. Your response was out of the ordinary though. Face smushed into the captain’s armpit you took one last desperate breath and the fight left you.

Price was surprised at how quickly you submitted to him. He held you there for half a second longer than necessary. He was testing you. Wanted to see if his theory was correct. You tried to hide how affected you were by the proximity to what you had coveted for so long, but the quick flutter of your lashes as he pressed your nose deeper into the sweat soaked fabric covering his armpit told him everything he needed to know.

The next few days were a whirlwind of training and there was something about your commanding officer that was throwing you off your game. Price's wardrobe was slowly changing. The normal T-shirts he wore began slowly evolving into cut off sleeveless monstrosities that all but yelled at you, begging you to stare at the juncture where his arm met his chest and the little wiry brown hairs peeked out.

Price also became more... tactile with you. A high five here and there after a successful take down in hand to hand or an arm slung around your shoulders on the way to the showers after weight training, all of these motions giving you tantalizing glimpses of his sweat soaked skin.

It was driving you crazy. You were becoming desperate for another chance to get up close and personal with your captain's scent.

Your desperation would prove to be your downfall.

One day while training in the Task Force's private gym Price stripped his sweat soaked shirt from his body and tossed it onto the nearest piece of equipment. He continued his jog on the treadmill, and you did your best to focus on your own workout rather than letting your eyes follow the lines of his back and the way his hair stuck to his body with fresh sweat.

That way lies madness.

Price finished his run and wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel he had around his neck. He made for the door, warm hand rubbing the short hairs on your head on his way out, letting you know he was headed for the showers.

As soon as the door was shut your eyes zeroed in on the forgotten shirt.

It was just sitting there all alone, draped across some fancy work out machine that you had only ever seen in public gyms.

The rest of the team were off at the shooting range and most likely wouldn't be back for hours.

And Price was headed to the showers, so nobody would be in here for a while.

You had time.

You waited a few moments, listening for footsteps just in case, before getting up from the bench and grabbing Price's forgotten shirt. It had begun to dry, no longer soaked through as the sweat evaporated in the heat of the gym, but the scent was still there.

It was heady and pure, no trace of synthetic fragrances, just the spicysweet clean musk of a man. Not just any man though, this was your captain, your boss, your superior. You were not supposed to be lusting after him. Craving him. You were in dangerous waters entertaining these thoughts, but that seemed to only make you want him more.

With the scent of your captain invading and making itself at home in your senses you were lost. You were huffing it down like a drug, getting high off Price's dirty laundry like some kind of pervert. There was a part of you that wanted more of him. You wanted to take this scent and taste it straight from the source. Wanted to bury your nose in his hairy armpit, lick him clean until there was no trace of sweat left and then start on the other side. You wanted to worship that man, pay tribute to his body in the only way you knew how.

Without much more thought your hand traveled into your exercise shorts and under your boxers, heading straight for where you wanted to be touched the most. Your fingers were met with moist heat as they slipped just far enough into your slit to gather that moisture and begin stroking your dick. You no longer cared that you were in the middle of the gym with your face buried in Price's dirty shirt and your hand down your pants. The only thing that mattered now was finding that release you had denied yourself for so long.

This wasn't going to take long at all. You were already on edge and panting into Price's shirt. You were trying to be quiet, but in the silence of the gym your moans could only be muffled so much by the dirty cloth. There was a buzzing in your body starting right behind your navel warning you that the end was near. You were going to cum. You were so close, just a little bit more pressure and you would be sent over the edge into oblivion.

“Can’t believe I forgot my- Oh!”

Your entire body froze. Like being submerged in a bathtub full of ice water. All the blood left your face as your eyes shot open to find Price just inside the doorway. His eyes were flitting between where your hand had disappeared in your shorts and the shirt currently pressed against your face, hiding everything except your shame filled eyes. “What do you think you’re doing, soldier? Out in the open like this?"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What were you supposed to do now? You prayed to any god that would listen for them to take that moment and strike you down, putting you out of your misery. Your captain had just caught you jerking off in public, and there was no way to hide that you were thinking about him. And he was slowly getting closer. His gaze dark and stormy as he stalked towards you.

He was still shirtless, but the towel he left with was missing, giving you an unobscured view of Price’s hairy chest. You couldn't stop your eyes from dipping down to get a glimpse of his form once more. If this was going to be the end of your military career you wanted one last look before they sent you packing.

His hand gripped your chin tight, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You haven’t answered me, soldier. What were you doing? Tell me.”

You couldn’t speak. It felt like your tongue was plastered to the roof of your mouth, still frozen from the moment you were interrupted. Tremors wracked your body and your heart felt like it was trying to leave your chest. This must be what an animal feels like being hunted for sport. Toyed with, dragging out the hunt, delaying the inevitable only until the predator was left satisfied.

“Your hand is still in your pants.” He pulled his shirt out of your grasp and let his eyes settle on the waistband of your shorts. Now Price’s expression changed to something you hadn’t yet seen from the man. It was smug and condescending, but at the same time hungry.

“If you won’t tell me, I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own.”

Price grabbed your wrist and started pulling. Finally your self preservation instincts started to kick in.

You struggled and fought against your captain, but he had you pinned on the floor under his large body in no time. His hips pressed down hard against yours, one of his muscular thighs wedged in between your legs. Any more friction there and you would be going off like a rocket, but you didn't dare move.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment when he finally freed your hand from the confines of your pants. Your fingers were drenched and shiny with your slick when he brought your hand into the light.

Price softly tutted under his breath as he moved your hand this way and that, inspecting every inch of your wet skin, before bringing your fingers into his mouth.

"Mmmm..." Price hummed low in his throat as he savoured the taste of you on his tongue. "Think I know what you've been up to now."

Price slowly began rocking his hips against yours, and you could feel something firm and weighty through his thin grey joggers.

"Such a dirty boy. You just couldn't help yourself."

His gentle thrusting wasn't enough to get you off. Just enough to keep you on edge, though his voice alone was doing a good enough job of that, you didn't need that added friction. If he kept this up for too much longer you were going to explode, and not in a good way.

"Been teasing you all week. Wondered when you would break."

Price's words brought you back to reality. Back to every memory from this past week. All the extra friendly touches. The wardrobe changes. All the flashes of armpit too close to your face that you thought were accidents.

They had all been planned.

"What the fuck, Price?!" There were so many emotions bubbling in your chest, but the easiest to latch on to was anger.

Price's grip on you tightened and his hips were working just a bit faster as he growled in your ear. “What? You going to tell me you didn’t like it? That you don’t want me to smother you with my scent right now? Are you going to try to tell me you’re not drenched right now like a dirty fuckin’ slut waiting to be used?”

"Bastard." You mumbled without much heat into your shoulder as you tried to hide your face from your captain. Sure, all of this had been by his design, and you weren't really in trouble, but he had still scared the shit out of you. You were embarrassed and horny and still riding the adrenaline high from the fear. It was an intoxicating mixture of emotions.

You couldn't stop the deep moan that left your lips when Price's bristly beard scraped against your sensitive skin as he kissed up and down the column of your neck.

"So glad you took the bait," he whispered into your skin. "Didn't think I was going to last much longer. Loved seein' you like that. Such a sweet boy actin' like a slag."

You felt bereft as the weight of Price's body against yours was stolen from you, but his hands were back on your skin in no time as he pulled your pants down and off of one leg, leaving them to dangle from the ankle he pulled up and over his shoulder.

Price's mouth was divine. It was a gift from God. Maybe you had actually died in a freak gym related accident and this was what heaven was like.

He sucked your dick like it was his job. Just as focused on licking up and down your slit, tasting every bit of you, as he was on any mission out in the field.

His arms wrapped around your hips keeping you from bucking up and away from the terrible wonderful overbearing sensations.

Your eyes had closed the moment his mouth was on you, but when you finally opened them all you could see was the top half of his face, brows furrowed and eyes unblinking as his moustache moved in time with the ripples of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Please..." you gasped. Everything felt so good, but you wanted, no, you needed more. "Please let me taste you, Sir!"

Price's mouth left your cunt after a few last slurping sucks to your cock that left you shuddering and in one dizzying movement he had you flipped.

Price was now laying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head as he pulled his cock out of his pants, tucking the waistband behind his balls. He pulled the foreskin back and forth over the ridge of his glans. Not enough friction to cum just yet, but enough to ease the ache in his balls just a bit.

Once your eyes locked on to the man's pit and its garden of coarse hair you couldn't think of anything else. You dove face first into it, snuffling and licking, your attention solely focused on tasting more of him.

He was savoury and salty, pungent with musk, but not bitter with antiperspirant. He really had been planning this. Your captain wanted you dumb and drooling over his pits. Maybe even craved it just as much as you did.

You moved to straddle his hips, grabbing the hand that he was currently using to slowly jack himself off and raised it above his head. You had thoroughly licked over every inch of one pit and now you needed the other. In this new position you could now rub your dick up and down Price’s, leaving a warm wet trail in its wake. Price’s free hand went to your hip and pressed you down further against him. You both groaned at the same time when your folds slipped open and rested on each side of his cock. The slip and slide of your cocks against each other sent shock waves of pleasure through your body.

“Good boy,” Price murmured against the top of your head, hand running up under your shirt exploring your heated skin. “You my good boy?”

Your mouth was too busy licking and leaving sucking kisses against his fragrant skin to answer, so all he received in response was a muffled whine of affirmation as you frotted against him.

Between the slick friction on your dick, the scent and taste of Price overwhelming your senses, and his praises you were back to that sweet spot before you had been interrupted, right on the edge of oblivion and then some.

“I… I’m gonna…” you whined into his skin, huffing down more and more of his scent as your hips moved in a desperate staccato against his.

“Go on, be a good boy and cum for me.”

You felt his words more than you heard them. The rumbling in his chest vibrating against your face as stars erupted behind your tightly closed eyes. It was like the snap of a rubber band stretched too tight, pure ecstasy filled your veins and overflowed where you were connected to your captain.

Price let you ride out your aftershocks and folded you into his chest before bending his knees to plant his feet flat on the floor. His arms moved to grip you tight around the waist, clutching you even closer to his body as his hips pressed you up into the air. He began rolling his hips in fast and powerful thrusts, moaning and grunting into your ear as he whispered dirty promises to you.

“Gonna fill you up one day. Fuck you till you’re full and leaking. Watch it spill out and fuck it back in you again and again.”

You had only just cum and yet Price’s words had you on that precipice once more, overstimulating you, riding that edge of pain and pleasure until you burst again. This time gushing all over his cock as you felt thick ropes of his cum erupting between your bodies.

Neither of you moved afterwards. Both taking a moment to bask in the afterglow and catch your breath before you even thought about trying to clean up. Worried thoughts tried to rise up about what this would mean for your future in the Task Force, but you batted them away. You could think those thoughts later. What mattered right now was the warmth of the man beneath you.