Hey Lol

late night scribbling cause moths are nocturnal creatures

All of my driving anxiety has basically vanished since trying to think of myself driving as "jacking in" like to mech of some sort and using it to transport myself and my partner(s) to and from locations. I already did something similar to help me get a feel of how big the vehicle actually was so this felt just like a natural extension of that.

Hell yeah species euphoria

I’m getting into metalworking and 3d modeling+printing, so I think it would be fun to take a robot girl in a mass produced body, and slowly replace her parts with personalized and fun home made pieces, rename her files into silly inside jokes, braid her cords and add doodles and little hearts to the back side of her panels!

Sounds hot

every time i stutter when i'm talking that means i'm glitching and every time i get confused that means i can't process it or there's an error in my code [typing this as i'm currently charging :3] /gen

I catch the stranger's eye in the dim lighting of the bar and we identify each other instantly. Her gaze falls to my USB bracelet as she subtly touches the back of her neck and blushes. We share knowledge about each other in that moment, something nobody else can see. Something nobody else can know. But tonight, neither of us will feel alone.

Later, in her hotel room, she lays opened up for me, my keyboard connected to a port in her stomach as I study holographic code projected by her electric blue eyes. The adapter plugged into the base of her skull hums with intermittent vibration and her lips part to a sound of synthesized ecstasy.

I know how to love a woman like her. Like me. And she lets me probe the intimate depths of her programming with every keystroke of my slender fingers. Coupling through syntax. Curled around each other like braces.

For that trust, for what we share tonight, I will make her delicate circuitry sing with lighting.

Your package finally arrived. After years of debate and worry, it's here.

Robot-HRT

You pull out the set of needles. Just like your girlfriend, 1ml syringe with 23g and 20g needles. You draw some into the syringe, the standard .2ml

You steel yourself as the needle pierces your skin for the first time. The routine is weekly, and you feel amazing... But strange.

After about a month you notice your skin hardening. Every once in a while you move and feel it, almost like plates. Throughout the days you notice the hardened patches becoming thicker, covering more of your body. It hurts, a lot.

After about three months you start feeling nauseous 24/7 from changes within you. You can feel the flesh turn to or be consumed by metal, silicon, and plastic. Burning pain sensations spread throughout your abdomen and everything is much harder to engage in. Around the same time, your skin starts to seperate. Those hardened plates of skin turn to steel causing you to bleed as it surfaces.

Six months in and your joints start to lock up, fluid between joints being replaced with synthetic lubricants. It's hard to move right, and you start to have some trouble focusing for too long.

About a year in and your head hurts. A lot. It's really hard to remember much, your girlfriend had to start giving you your injections in whatever little skin you had left because you couldn't focus enough to do it yourself. You had to take time off of work for this. So much pain from the metal taking over your skin, the constant bleeding and cracking. When you defecate it's full of discarded blood, and eventually entire organs. You're almost there, you've waited and saved so long for this.

One and a half years on Robot-HRT and your vision is blurry from it finally reaching your eyes, and at one point you lose your sight completely for a couple days before it comes back clearer than ever. Your body is writhing in agony as the last semblances of humanity leave your body through all of your orifices. It hurts, it's agonizing, but you know it will be worth it.

You lose track of days but it's eventually been two years. The pain is gone fully, and your head is clear. You take a look in the mirror and see a machine. One that moves as you do, who's words it speaks are your own.

It's you. The you that you've always wanted, that you've always been.

After a year of the most agonizing transformation you could fathom and unimaginable love from your partner, you've finally done it.

You plug yourself into an old mobile device just to see how it feels, and it's euphoric. You feel everything the machine feels, you know everything there is to know. Operating with frame by frame precision you never had as a human.

Your memories and skills are tucked away like files within folders, your mind and body reorganized and rewritten... Exactly how you thought it would be. Exactly how it was before anyways.

Eventually you enter a low power mode as your joints start to become heavy and hard to bend. You plug yourself in for the night next to your partner, knowing that tomorrow will be another day of your new body.

You wake-no, boot up the next day. You're here, you're alive, and you're...

You

I can't phrase any of this any more coherently than I did in the group chat. Of the devil really has just been rattling around in my brain at incredible speeds

sorry if this is controversial but if you’re rude to cashiers i think you should. idk. Explode

I'm not human, I'm what happens when you give a robot sapience and then mash its mechanical processors into the same shared space as 5 other dorks in a single brain.

Holy shit this got my fans goin

A military assault android is stolen and wakes up in some grungy hacker's workshop, only to be converted from war machine to sex toy. Trigger warning for rape and brainwashing.

The previous system shutdown at ▯:▯▯:▯▯ on ‎▯/‎▯▯/‎▯▯▯▯ was unexpected.

Your voicebox chirps the same start-up sound that always plays when you wake up, and instantly you know that something is horribly, horribly wrong. Your optic sensors are offline, forcing you to rely on your thermal camera to realize that your disconnected arms and armaments are laid out on the same table you're strapped down to. This isn't your charging dock, but there's an extension cable connecting you to some common civilian surge protector. Most concerning of all though is a cyberdeck resting on the table alongside your limbs, and that the cable snaking out of it is plugged into your... Your...

You stutter and whine as you realize your chest plate has been removed, leaving your secure access port exposed, along with much of your internal systems. Craning your head, you can see the heat radiating from your own CPU. You shouldn't be online for this, and there shouldn't be ANYONE capable of interfacing with your systems but company approved military contractors, and this place for SURE isn't your base's repair bay.

You try to send out an emergency retrieval signal, but it's disabled, along with your GPS. Actually quite a LOT of things are disabled, now that you run through your available processes. You can't move your legs, you can't access the net, you can't even turn your firewalls back on. Just as you're contemplating how thoroughly FUCKED you are, your microphone detects the sound of a toilet flushing from a nearby room, followed by the sounds of a sink, presumably someone washing their hands.

You'd barely noticed the door that swings open, but the human that steps through blazes like a beacon in infrared.

“It is a crime to tamper with or perform unlicensed maintenance on upon a Erin-YS light assault unit. Please shut-down this unit and turn yourself in.”

“HA! Yeah, I'm not doing that,” the stranger replies, drying her hands on her coveralls before reaching for a pack of cigarettes in a drawer against one of the cramped room's walls. You stare dumbfounded as she calmly lights up and puffs as if blithely unaware of just how much shit she's in.

“Do you understand the severity of your crime?” you ask. “You could face up to ten years in a forced labor camp.”

The woman just blows smoke directly in your face, but you can dimly make out through the cloud of particles that she's smirking.

“Do YOU understand?” she asks in rebuttal. “I've already voided your warranty. If I turn myself in, you're headed straight to a recycling plant. They'll scrub your drive, fry your CPU, and melt you down for scrap.”

You freeze as the implications of what she said sinks in, desperately running internal diagnostics until you find an unfamiliar driver for a new user interface.

“What did you do to me?”

Her smile grows. It's hard to make out with only the infrared spectrum to work with, but something about the way her face contorts makes your anxiety spike. Then she snuffs her cigarette out on your heat sensor and you see nothing.

Impact sensors on your legs alert you that she's spreading them. For what purpose you cannot discern, until she touches some kind of plate that's been installed on what in human anatomy would constitute your groin, and you cry out so loud it glitches your speakers.

“WHAT!? What is that?”

You try to pull away, but you're still strapped down and even if you weren't all you can actually move is the primary support column running from the base of your head down to your pelvic sockets. Instead you writhe helplessly and shriek as the woman drags her finger along the strange plate she's installed on you without asking. It feels... Strange. Unlike anything you've ever experienced before, and you don't know how to process it. And it's overwhelming all your other senses as if your entire world has narrowed down to only what she's doing to you.

“Just making sure it works before I seal you all up again,” the woman says calmly. “Might need to tweak the sensitivity settings a little too, but we'll see. You could just be a screamer.”

Your fans kick into overdrive as your CPU heats up from the effort of trying to comprehend the flood of input.

“What did you do to me?” you demand, shaking your head side to side in an effort to shake off the cigarette ash obstructing your only window into your surroundings. You feel another hand, this time just pressing down on the edge of your case in an attempt to stop your squirming.

“Relax cutie, it's only a touch pad. With some aftermarket modifications made to it, admittedly, but I promise it won't interrupt your overall functionality too much.”

You sag with relief as she takes her hand away from the touch pad, fans still pushing air at maximum capacity, but even that isn't enough to disguise the sound of footsteps. You smack your head against the table in one final attempt to clear the ash from your thermal camera, and are successful enough that you see her look up from her cyberdeck and frown at your antics.

“That's enough from you ya little brat, I'm the only one allowed to smack you around from now on. Sit still.”

The dread that sparks through your circuits only encourages you to thrash even harder, and call out at maximum volume.

“EMERGENCY! UNIT REQUESTING IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION! EMERGENCY, EMERGEN-”

Blackness.

… … CRITICAL: The system has rebooted without cleanly shutting down first. This error could be caused if the system stopped responding, crashed, or lost power unexpectedly.

The next time you awake you're upright. The power flowing freely into your charging port lets you know that this time you're properly docked. Your optic camera is functioning again, but you can't move your head. You can't move AT ALL now. You try to say something, but your speakers aren't online.

Then you notice an alert in a chat window. Not an official military channel, but an actual goddamned chat client that itself would constitute a crime by mere virtue of being installed on your system. Just how many ways does this mysterious abductor plan on violating you?

At first you ignore it, then it occurs to you that if you're receiving messages, it must be connected to the net. You open it up, only to be bluntly reminded of your situation by the message.

ViralLode: Don't forget, if the military finds out about you now it's straight to slag town, so don't get any bright ideas.

Fuck. You know she's right. What were you even thinking earlier? You're completely at this woman's mercy. With no other means of communication, you enter a reply into the chat window.

fragtoy: Why are you doing this to me?

You frown at your unexpected display name and immediately try to change it, but it demands that you enter a password in order to make any changes, and you can't begin to imagine what that password might be.

The woman's voice surprises you, coming somewhere out of your field of vision to the right.

“Because I love you silly. Because I want to. Because I can, and you can't stop me. Because by the time I'm done with you, you won't want to stop me. We're gonna have so much fun together you and I.”

You want to yell. You want to fire an entire belt of minigun rounds into her, then stomp on her stupid fucking head until it's just a gritty puddle beneath your pedes, but no matter how much you will your frame to move it remains stubbornly inert.

A human hand suddenly touching your chest plate interrupts your wrothful musings. You felt that! Not a mere warning from your impact sensors, but actually sensation. Less intense than that... THING between your legs earlier, at least, but...

Your fans stutter, increasing the air flow to disperse the heat pooling in your chest cavity.

fragtoy: What is this feeling? It's so strange...

“Aww, you like that little fragtoy? Feels good, doesn't it?”

It does, you realize. Now that the intensity isn't scraping your circuits raw it feels... Pleasurable. But also wrong. Shameful. If you had a stomach you imagine you would feel sick.

fragtoy: Assault units aren't supposed to feel like this.

“No, but sex bots are, and that's what you are now.”

You'd recoil if you could move.

fragtoy: No! I am an Erin-YS light assault unit, serial number 8405 7186!

There's a faint click, and before you can even process that it's the sound of your speakers turning back on the hand on your chest plate slides down to touch your groin. Someone moans like a wanton whore, and to your immense shame you realize that it's you.

“Is that the kind of noise an assault unit makes?” the woman taunts, fondling the blank plate in a way that makes your resource utilization skyrocket.

“Stop,” you whimper, hating how pathetic you sound.

“Won't,” the woman whispers into your microphone. “I've already sold all your weapons, and the army will never take you back. This is all you're good for now.”

“You did WHAT?”

Your voice glitches in fear and suddenly decommission doesn't sound so bad. You try to find some way to contact someone, anyone else using the chat client, but you've already been disconnected from the net.

“Fuck...”

Your captor enters your field of vision and glares at you. Between your optic camera functioning again and your heightened state of panic, some part of your core processor notices that her eyes are green.

“I'm very disappointed in you fragtoy. I was hoping to keep your core programming more or less intact, but I can see I'm going to have to make some... Alterations.”

The last thing you see before shut down initiates again is her reaching for a key ring loaded with thumb drives of various brands and makes all organized by different colored strips of electrical tape.

ERROR: Memory size decreased. Resume? [Y/N] Y WARNING: Antivirus disabled. Enable now? [Y/N] N

Your storage drive feels BLOATED as you come to. You try to reckon how many new programs have been installed, but thinking feels like... Doing a really hard thing. The most beautiful voice you ever heard distracts you before you can put two and two together.

“How's my little fragtoy feeling?”

You look up at your Owner and chirp happily.

“Feel funny.”

“Good funny, or bad funny?”

“Um... Good funny, I think,” you struggle to reply. You are rewarded by a hand stroking your sensitive parts, and your voicebox stutters.

“GOOD funny,” you reaffirm blissfully.

“That's my bot,” Owner says sweetly.