#ramayttra

[yore-donatsu]

My two first “illustrations” (hermmmmm that’s more sketches) for the art challenge by @gunk-ice-tea  🥰

[darkeiya]

RaMAYttra, Day 31: Free Space [Finale]

What would happen if Ramattra ascended into being a God AI in order to fulfill his original directive of leading omnics into battle?

This challenge has been a fun time! Thank you all for the support in this endeavor!

[kindaaaverage]

raMayttra challenge day 1: awakening

[samcrowblack]

Day 5: Skin feat. Genji and Zenyatta

Ramattra was asking about a sun burn Genji had on his face  

Twitter

[gunk-ice-tea]

Little something i did for twitter, might as well post it here

[korpuskat]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

For gunk-ice-tea's RaMayttra prompts, Day 26: Gentle. Rating: Teen, fluff/angst. WC: 600 Warnings: References to violence in excess of canon, references to PTSD, Ramattra is probably too soft here and you can fight me about it.

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“I love your hands,” You say, dragging your thumbs across each silver, rounded joint. The sensation is strange, he’s still not used to it, still doesn’t know how to respond to your little comments. He didn’t make them, hasn’t particularly upgraded them in any way to make them his own design. He’s repainted them a few times, but with the way your fingers move across his plating, dipping into the openings between, he knows that isn’t what you mean.

“I’m glad.” He decides on. It’s true, he is happy you like his form.

It’s also not what he thinks about when he sees your soft fingers squish against the back of his hand.

Across the purple enamel, little smudges emerge in the wake of your exploration. Perfect whirls of your fingerprints left in oil, evidence of your touch. So rarely does he leave his own oils on you- usually only after a maintenance, after inspecting a joint that’s been flagged by his system.

You have never seemed to mind; he cannot hold your prints against you, either.

You turn his hand over- and he could resist. In the rote data of his servos he can see how much force you’re exerting to make his arm turn. A tiny green sliver of total force the actuator can output at any given moment. Your fingers slide down his forearms, onto the broad plate of his palms and over the textured rubber inlays. Your nails trace the outlines of each and Ramattra suppresses a shiver.

Extra grip. Rubber holds the stock of a rifle easier, less likely to damage components if there’s a bit of give. Easier to grapple with; humans can be elusive, could wriggle their ways out of grasps that weren’t yet tight enough, especially when slick with sweat or blood and-

You’re squeezing his hand. His optics refocus, dispel the memory file that has opened over top his display. Your thumbs dig into the circular rubber pad of his palm, pressing little circles into the sensors there.

You’re looking up at him, a peculiar expression on your face. His HUD flashes, concern.

Even if he has never sought their company before you, Ramattra has spent the majority of his life not killing humans, even more of his sentient life.

His HUD doesn’t know this, of course; his combat sensors are too deeply rooted in his systems to be plucked out entirely, to be toggled on and off. Ramattra dismisses the box that reminds him distracted targets are easier to kill.

“Where did you go?” You ask. You know, he thinks. You’ve spoken enough about what he’s done, what he’s seen. It’s not a bleak curiosity, it’s an invitation.

“Far away.” Is his answer. The geotag on the memory says 2,366.2 kilometers, east by south-east.

You hum and accept his avoidance. “Should I stop?”

“No.” Almost verging on distress, he responds much too quickly. He had not meant to disturb you with his thoughts and offers both hands in apology. “Please, continue.”

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” You ask carefully, resuming your soothing trace over his knuckles.

He should be examining reports coming in from the bots in Paris. Right now, he can't bring himself to even run a cursory glance in his background processes. “I can rest for a while longer.”

You smile and his circuits feel like they’re overclocked, running hot and overcharged. When you reach up and touch his jaw, he shutters his optics, dismisses another round of caution alarms, and thinks only of the soft press of your lips to his faceplate.

[samagram93]

Defeat

[beings0]

Rivalry of the bug lol