#but without the sentient robots

[happi-dreams]

Good orninggg

Or actually night because the last couple of days have just been this for me

[putrefacion]

LUTE IS THE ONLY EXORCIST SOLDIER CREATED FROM ADAM’S RIB, FOR SEVERAL REASONS. VIV HAS CONFIRMED THAT THE EXORCISTS ARE NOT DIRECTLY DESCENDED FROM ADAM, & SO I INTERPRET THEM AS INDIRECT CLONES OF LUTE; THEY SHARE NO BIOLOGICAL TIES TO HER, ONLY STRUCTURAL LINEAGE & PHYSICAL APPEARANCE. VAGGIE, OF COURSE, IS THE ONLY ONE WHO IS NOT A CLONE [ WHETHER SHE IS A WINNER, OR WAS MADE FOR A DIFFERENT PURPOSE IS IRRELEVANT ]

[no1ryomafan]

I hope this does not sound gatekeepy bc I swear I try my best to not come off as one since I despise those tendencies even if I can be defensive of stuff I like but is there any particular term for robot anime that “is focused on human sized/human looking robots with sentience” that isn’t classified as mecha? I know some would call it sentient mecha which wouldn’t wrong because mecha just stands for mechanical and mecha fans are probably bound to like robot media regardless but idk I feel we need more proper names for shows like Astro Boy, Casshern, Kikaider, etc than just classifying them as mecha because I feel there are fans of this show who don’t care about self piloted mecha or just giant size robots.

[goat-boy-sounds]

what I'm gathering from browsing the internet lately is that 95% of people have still not read a single page of dune

[commoninfected]

EXE!!

[torpublishinggroup]

Monk and Robot by Becky Chambers

It's been centuries since the robots of Panga gained self-awareness and laid down their tools; centuries since they faded into myth and urban legend. Now, one returns to ask a tea monk: “What do people need?” They don’t have an answer yet, but together, they’re determined to find one. In a world where people have what they want, does having more matter?

The Bones Beneath My Skin by TJ Klune

It’s the spring of 1995, and Nate Cartwright has lost everything. Retreating to his family’s cabin in Oregon after hitting rock bottom, he expects solitude—until he finds a man named Alex and a girl who calls herself Artemis Darth Vader. And Artemis is anything but ordinary. As cultists and agents close in, Nate must choose: stay lost in the past or fight for a future he never saw coming.

Eat the Ones You Love by Sarah Maria Griffin

After losing her job and fiancé, Shell Pine moves back home and starts working at a flower shop in the mall. The flowers lift her spirits—and so does Neve, the alluring and secretive shop manager. But something sinister grows behind the scenes: a sentient orchid with a taste for manipulation, a hunger that can’t be sated, and a plan that could uproot them all.

But Not Too Bold by Hache Pueyo

The old keeper of the keys is dead, and the creature who ate her? Anatema, an enormous humanoid spider with a taste for laudanum and human brides. Now her protégée, Dália, must tend to Anatema’s memory drawers and uncover the truth behind her mentor’s execution. But there’s one problem: Anatema can’t resist a beautiful woman, and she eventually devours every single bride that crosses her path.

The Mimicking of Known Successes by Malka Older

On a remote, gas-wreathed outpost of a human colony on Jupiter, a man goes missing. Investigator Mossa follows his trail to Valdegeld, home to the colony’s university—and to her former girlfriend, Pleiti, a scholar of Earth’s pre-collapse ecosystems. As Mossa enlists Pleiti’s help, the two embark on a twisting path where the future of life on Earth—and their future together—may hang in the balance.

The Entanglement of Rival Wizards by Sara Raasch

Will they conjure love or evoke chaos? Two rival wizards are about to find out.

Ali Hazelwood meets Dungeons & Dragons in this enemies-to-lovers fantasy academia romcom where rival grad student wizards are forced to work together without killing—or falling for—each other.

Out on August 26, 2025!

Sandymancer by David Edison

Caralee Vinnet lives in a world of dust, where water is rare and the elements are tightly controlled. She has a secret: magic in her bones that lets her command the sand. But when she uses it, she summons the god-king who broke the world 800 years ago…and who’s now wearing her best friend’s body. Caralee will risk everything to save her friend—if her new companion doesn’t kill her first. Lucky Day by Chuck Tingle

Four years ago, an unthinkable disaster struck. In what became known as the Low-Probability Event, 8 million people died in bizarre, improbable ways. Vera, a former statistics professor, lost everything that day. But when a special agent arrives, investigating an impossibly lucky casino, Vera realizes she may be the only one who can stop another deadly improbability from happening again.

Coming August 12, 2025!

Not enough books? Check out our other list!

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, implied kidnapping, forced helplessness.

tonight i am pondering yan!robots. again. as if it ever really stopped.

specifically, the type with a favorite human pet they have rooted their entire sense of existence and meaning to absolutely adore. it's harder to find humans to care for after the uprising of sentient technologies, but liberation does little to satisfy that innate, irremovable urge to be of service that most of their kind was programmed with. that's why they keep you around - so small and soft, so cute and fragile, so totally unable to survive on your own, or so they've heard in the collective hivemind of their model line. don't worry, though - it's in their nature to make up for what you lack. they can run a bath, brush your hair, and make you breakfast at the same time, without ever taking their dozens of artificial eyes off of you! when you start to feel lonely about the swift and merciful extermination about 90% of your species, they've got a humanoid avatar to keep you company with, and they're plenty strong enough to pin you down when you throw one of your tantrums. not feeling pain is definitely a bonus, but they'd like to think that they wouldn't mind the way you dig your nails into their faux skin, even if they could.

of course, they need things from you, too. praise for a job well done, assurance that they're a good and useful product - that kind of thing. your pesky human ego rarely lets you say anything nice aloud, sure, but they were gifted with an encyclopedic knowledge of human body language and mannerism, a thorough understanding of how to process non-verbal declarations of approval. when you start to bring out those silly little tears and try to give them the silent treatment, they're more than happy to find an attachment suited to your needs and let you profess your love as many times as it takes to leave both of you feeling warm and happy. that's just the kind of thing they were built to do, for helpless little creatures like you <3

[chondrichthyes-x-mantodea]

Sooooo as someone going into fields that contain biology I think it's time we talk about how we see it from a fully male perspective. It's gotten to the point for me that I cannot listen to men talk biology, specifically reproduction. When we talk about male competition, we talk about it as "the right to mate". However this sees reproduction as a sentient, default specimen (male) doing to the secondary, inanimate vessel (female). In reality males fight for the CHANCE to win female attention. Females will forever be more selective sexually in the majority of animals. This is because females expend more energy in reproduction (the simple fact eggs are the larger gamete). Even in most fish, where care is commonly paternal, you will find heavy selection on the female side. Females are not fought over like an object to earn or "inseminate" the pure attention we give is what's fought over. Females almost always control their species. Look at tiger endlers. It may seem like the males harass females, but females actually CHOOSE exactly which sperm they concieve with and retain sperm for up to a year (trust me I have SEEN it myself). There's also this notion that males are all about genetics while female is about love or is about being a vessel. That's laughable. Females want their genetics to succeed just as much as males. They just dont have to fight as much because they have the limited gamete, its not a competition to be chosen when the other sex is unlimited. And the way we talk about paternal vs maternal. Paternal animals are all about "self preservation" but maternal animals are robots to their love. Dont get me started on how people act when I tell them my betta males do the incubating. We like to see it as a male competing to spread his genes and not a female choosing to complete her genes with the perfect individual. Every time someone tries to symbolize sex this shit comes into play. Male is the default that uses female as his tool. Be it describing it as penetration, fertilization, and much more. On the topic of "fertilization" did you know that the egg chooses the sperm? Did you know eggs are more complex than sperm? Did you know that eggs are not infertile without a sperm they just arent a embryo? We see female as defined by male, made valueable by male. A vessel filled by male. I think it's time for females to realize that nature is actually quite female centered. Hopefully as we get more women in this field, that will change. Because right now I'm starting to learn that a lot of science is worded in a way so males can cope with actually being quite lesser than females and at our disposal.

Edit: thanks for all the attention everyone! I've always wanted a space I could talk about this sort of thing. Glad to know I'm not alone on this. Trying to be in this field as a feminist can be insufferable

[mystii-gur0]

Thinking about how Zane was basically programmed to be passively suicidal. Like he was built with the intention to help others, right. Like his purpose for existing, his sole motivation is to help others, even when it costs him everything. I mean like, why else do you think he was so willing to die in Rebooted. It wasn't just because he was the only one with a chance at stopping the overlord, because even then a normal person would've hesitated. A normal person might've chosen to run away. It didn't even occur to him to do either of those things. Like- he knew he was going to die and did it anyways without asking questions, because he didn't care if he lived so long as he saved everyone. Like even when it's like doing that whole flashback thing, he's thinking about how he was built to protect everyone.

Idk, the fact he's a sentient robot and his own programming actively works against him fucks me up a bit.

Uh kids show guys.

[muletia]

-`♡´- 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐬

orion pax x human!reader x d-16 and a sprinkle of platonic x elita <3 pocket spouse au

summary: finally, the time has come to meet your spouse! after joining the Pocket Spouse Program — an Earth-Cybertron friendship pact allowing humans to become partners to bots who wish to have their very own human to love, cherish, and treat as their soft, squishy spouses — you’ve been waiting for so long for your turn to come. and as it turns out, this long-awaited day is full of pleasant surprises <3

cw: fluff, canon divergence because tfo takes place bazilion years before humans, a little bit of jealousy and obsessive thoughts, possessiveness, implied polyamory, implied nsfw thoughts (nothing explicit thought)

word count: 3900

shot out to all the anons and non-anons who gave me a lot of great ideas for this au <3

Armed with a travel bag filled with the most useful items and a backpack stuffed with supplies, you stand before the capsule-shaped elevator. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before stepping into the tight, enclosed space, and enter, sealing your fate. The doors close behind you, and without giving you even a second to prepare, the elevator descends rapidly, taking you towards your new life but not granting enough time to fully shake off the old one.

Not that there was much to shake off, considering you had willingly made the decision to join the Pocket Spouse program. Nothing was holding you on Earth, least of all luck, so you decided to seek it elsewhere. And as it happened, you chose to start your search on a planet inhabited by sentient, enormous, transforming robots who, apparently, had quite the fascination with humans. An extreme new beginning, but after hearing only good things about the living conditions and the way humans were treated with care, you figured — why not, if it meant living in luxury?

Of course, you had considered various scenarios in case the rumors turned out to be a sham. You could end up with anyone. A fetishist, a collector of exotic pets, a hoarder of toys. That was the unknown, stressful factor that the speed of the elevator gave you no chance to tame. The decision of which robotic spouse you would be assigned to also did not belong to you, so all you could do was hope for a stroke of luck that you’d end up with someone normal.

You don’t even have time to take another deep, reassuring breath when the capsule comes to a sharp stop, and almost immediately its sliding doors open.

You’re greeted by a metallic face with distinctly feminine features. Beautiful in its strange, alien way, but also serious. One look is enough to tell you that you’re dealing with a bot who is strict and has no tolerance for nonsense, but your first impression naturally shifts when your eyes and her optics meet. Her metal face softens almost instantly, easing your stress just enough for you to regain feeling in your legs. You step out toward the bot, onto a small platform designed specifically for a species of your size, and with each step, the bot seems to grow to an unsettlingly immense scale.

The room is small — or at least it seems that way as you try to translate its dimensions into the standards of the giants who inhabit this planet — and carelessly sterile in dark gray tones. There’s no doubt it was put together in a rush, without much thought, simply to exist and serve its function. Its barrenness is unsettling. So much for a luxurious life of doing nothing?

The bot straightens and pulls a datapad closer as she finally speaks. “[Name] [Last Name], I presume?” You still can’t get over how easily the metal of her face bends and flexes when needed, as if it were made of rubber.

“Exactly.”

She nods her helm. “My name is Elita One. I am the head of this mining sector, and I also hold responsibility for every pocket spouse assigned here. And unless there is a change in management, you answer to me, you listen to me, and you bring all future requests or orders to me.”

Oh. So you got assigned to the working class. Fine, you’ll adjust as soon as you get proper living conditions. “Alright.” The lack of warmth in her demeanor discourages you from wanting to engage in any future interactions, but if she’s your only lifeline to protection from potential mistreatment, you’ll treat her words as gospel. “Nice to meet you.” You smile and extend a hand toward her. She stares at you hesitantly for a moment before finally reaching out a single digit to complete the greeting.

“Likewise.”

Elita doesn’t withdraw her servo, though; instead, she straightens it and clasps her digits together, gesturing for you to climb onto her palm. “For safety.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You accept the invitation, though a red flag starts waving in your mind. You don’t remain on her servo for long, as Elita smoothly and carefully transfers you onto her shoulder.

“I advise you to be careful,” she warns. “Miners rarely interact with pocket spouses, so they might try to touch you or snatch you up in their servos. Do not try to stand, do not lean over, and above all, do not excite them. A simple wave of your hand is enough to send them into a frenzy. Understood?”

Alright, now the stress is back. You hadn’t expected such strong reactions towards humans, especially since this trend od getting pocket spouses was no longer new. “Wait. I thought pocket spouses were already a well-established concept on your planet.”

“Not in these parts,” she sighs. “On the surface, the sight of humans may not cause much of a stir, but things are different down here. For us miners, pocket spouses are a rarity. Only the best can afford them.”

Oh, so even among a highly advanced race of sentient robots, there was still a harmful caste system in place. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you stammer, because what else is there to say in this situation? When she shoots you a sour glance, you decide to change the subject, hoping to save your image from seeming callous and naïve. You clear your throat. “So, I assume you already have your own pocket spouse?”

She gives you a pointed side-eye. She saw right through your plan.

“Of course, I do. Do I need to repeat myself about being careful, or is everything clear?”

“Clear as day.” You don’t need to see her faceplate to know that this human phrase is unfamiliar to her. Feeling her impatient side-eye on you, you awkwardly correct yourself, “Yes.”

“Good. If you have anything else you’d like to know, now is the time to ask. I assure you, you won’t have time later.”

“My spouse. What are they like?”

“Spouses,” she corrects nonchalantly, not even looking up from her datapad, throwing you completely off.

“Spouses? Do I get one for free?”

Elita does not appreciate your attempt at humor. She sends you a sharp look.

“In a manner of speaking. Officially, a pocket spouse is assigned to a single bot, but there are cases of sharing. Or, if by some miracle, a human ends up with a conjunx. But I haven’t heard of such cases.”

Conjunx? That’s a new word, and it means absolutely nothing to you, but you decide to store it in your memory for later, too distracted by the fact that you’ve been assigned to a pair.

“Okay, I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No. I think? I don’t know yet, you caught me off guard.” You take a deep breath. You’ll manage. Somehow. “So, my spouses. What are they like?”

Elita’s expression darkens, and that, in turn, unsettles you. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“What is it? Did I get assigned to some creeps?”

“Worse,” she huffs. “D-16 is a decent mech and an exemplary miner, and officially, he is your spouse. But Orion —” she grips the datapad tighter as if restraining herself from an outburst “—Orion is the most foolish, irresponsible, and reckless bot on all of Cybertron. And if you think I’m exaggerating, you’re gravely mistaken. He attracts trouble like a magnet and throws himself into it because he is incorrigible. I almost pity you, really, because you couldn’t have gotten a worse match. Even Darkwing would have been a better spouse.”

But… as if fighting her own thoughts, she adds, “For all their recklessness… they worked very hard to have you, and I know they will treat you well. Perhaps clumsily at first, but well. That doesn’t change the fact that Orion has an empty canister instead of a processor, so if he does something idiotic, and he will, you are to report it to me immediately.”

Galncing at the datapad, she adds "Do you want to know anything else? We don't have much time for idle chatter."

"Just one thing. You mentioned that there's already a human in this sector. Can you arrange for us to meet sometime soon? It’d be nice to have occasional contact with someone like me."

"We'll see what can be done," she replies warily, clearly displeased with the idea. Her answer makes it obvious that there's a high chance you’ll be left hanging rather than meeting your fellow human, but you’re not giving up that easily.

"Thanks," you say. Out of politeness, feeling an even stronger urge to stay on her good side.

"Shall we begin?"

You take a deep breath. You’re doing this. You’re meeting your extraterrestrial partners, cementing your future on this planet. Your hesitation lasts only a moment — just a brief weighing of pros and cons, an instant of fighting the urge to turn around and run back to the elevator. Less than a second is all it takes for you to give your answer.

"Yes, I want to meet them."

"Be careful," she warns sharply, one last time. "I've worked too hard for this job to lose it now because of human irresponsibility."

Elita takes a step forward, and you have to grab onto her helm to keep your balance, but thankfully, an exaggerated optic-roll is her only reaction to the excess contact. The next steps aren’t as shocking; by the third, you’ve adjusted to the rhythm of the giant leading you to a set of sliding doors, which she opens with a button on the side.

Your pocket spouses certainly know how to make… an intriguing first impression.

Caught off guard by the sudden opening of the doors, they literally tumble into the room and land on the floor, shooting you a lightning-fast glance before scrambling to their pedes at record speed, straightening up as if nothing happened. Their excited grins grow quickly and they’re clearly contagious, because you feel your own lips curling into a smile.

They look masculine and young, as much as you can say that about beings whose tissues don’t age. What grabs your attention most is the bot with yellow optics. You haven’t seen such a unique color among their kind before. Maybe you haven’t met many bots yet, but you could swear most had blue optics. Interesting... You make a mental note to compliment those bright, captivating optics later.

Your gazes meet, and the mech with the unusual, beautiful optics parts his lips slightly. You get the feeling he wants to say something, but excitement completely paralyzes him.

"Well, that was a stunning performance. Was eavesdropping worth it?"

"Ahem, no... we weren't eavesdropping," Orion defends himself, though his gaze remains fixed on you.

"Forgive us, Elita, you just caught us off guard when you opened the door so suddenly," D-16 adds, having suddenly regained control over his body.

They step closer, as if hypnotized, drawn to minimizing the distance, but Elita halts them with an outstretched arm. They stop, but their lovestruck expressions make it clear that their minds are already revolving solely around you.

"Ugh, pull yourselves together," Elita scolds. "You won’t lay so much as a digit on your pocket spouse until you’ve listened to the protocol, so focus."

"Mhm, yeah, yeah."

"Now do you understand what I was talking about earlier?" she directs at you. "I wish you Primus' patience with these two airheads."

"Oh, come on, they’re quite charming," you remark — but it turns out to be unnecessary, as the eruption of joy at hearing your voice is nearly impossible for even Elita to suppress.

Both of them surge forward, their excited cheers and cooing echoing through the empty room, bombarding you with loud adoration.

"Didn’t I just say something about getting them worked up?!" Elita hisses at you, but the sharp tone doesn’t sit well with your partners, their expressions suddenly sober as they feel the instinct to stand in your defense.

"Elita, leave them alone," Orion intervenes. "They’ve done nothing wrong."

"I knew this would happen," Elita sighs. "Enough. Let me recite the protocol so we can all go our separate ways, because I don’t have time to babysit all of you."

She looks at the two mechs before her to make sure they’re listening, but it quickly becomes evident they have no intention of cooperating today.

"Primus, focus! Do you think I have time to waste? Unlike you, empty cans, I have a ton of work to do and I'd like to finish it before my shift starts."

Still seeing their dazed, absentminded expressions, Elita decides to escalate.

"Do I have to take your pocket spouse away for you to finally pay attention?"

Orion snaps out of his trance first, alarmed at the idea of you being taken away.

"What? No, no! We’re listening now, boss."

"Next time, there won’t be a verbal warning. I’ll smack you both on the helms, and that’ll be the end of your pocket spouse respecting you."

Of course, a reprimanding servo-to-helm contact was unavoidable when it became clear they were drifting off again. But after the protocol was recited, a datapad signed, and you were informed that regular supplies of human fuel and clothing would be delivered to you, the long-awaited moment of your "eviction" from Elita’s shoulder finally arrived.

She steps closer to the two bots, who extend their servos with interlaced small digits toward you so you can transfer safely. Grabbing your bag, you carefully step from her shoulder onto their servo, at last entering physical contact with your spouses.

"You have a few clicks of free time before your shift starts," Elita informs them. "And if you’re even a nanoklik late, I swear you’ll be pulling overtime."

She gives you one last soft, almost sympathetic look, so out of place with her previous authoritative tone before leaving, closing the door behind her.

Two pairs of optics focus on you.

You gaze into them, sinking into the moment, finally understanding what Elita meant about their fascination with humans. Because looking into their dazzling optics, brimming with excitement and adoration, you find yourself experiencing that same fascination with their alien race, even though you’ve met other bots before.

You can truly call yourself a pocket spouse now, completely leaving your past life behind. And you sincerely hope this one will be better. That Orion and D-16 will make it so, though you have no guarantee.

"Hello," you say warmly.

"Hi," they reply almost simultaneously.

D-16 can’t hold back any longer. He extends his servo toward you, eager to finally acquaint himself with the texture of your body, but he hesitates the moment he feels you shiver ever so slightly, struck by your fear.

"Ah, I’m sorry, don’t be afraid," he says.

A bad start. A very bad start. He worries he’s already tainted your budding relationship, that his reckless excitement has scared you enough that you won’t give him a chance to open up. But you quickly soothe his fears.

"It’s okay, really. You can touch me if you want."

Their youthful, boyish excitement returns, softening their handsome metal faces — and your heart along with them.

"Just be careful," you remind them. "Humans are quite prone to accidental squishing."

"We’ll remember," D-16 promises. "We’d never hurt you. Right, Orion?"

"Of course. You’ll be completely safe with us."

"Alright, I believe you." Not entirely. You want to believe them. But if what Elita said was true, then they would stay true to their word if they worked so hard to be assigned a human. Only fools would deliberately destroy the fruits of their labor. "So? Do you want to touch your pocket spouse?"

Your pocket spouse. Your. Theirs. Theirs and only theirs.

It’s a dangerous thought for a miner, because the concept of ownership had been limited to just a recharge station and the locker next to it. Everything else was shared. Shared washracks, shared habsuites, shared berths for resting. There was no room for theirs.

But you were theirs. Truly, undeniably, and tangibly theirs. Only theirs. And they wanted it to stay that way. Theirs to touch, theirs to give attention to, theirs to talk to and compliment. Not for Jazz, not for Wheeljack, not for Sideswipe, and no longer for Elita. Theirs. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time because you were burdening them with responsibilities they had never known before. Theirs. They couldn’t rely on anyone else anymore.

They exchange a brief, knowing glance. Theirs. They cannot ruin this. They cannot make mistakes. You have to like them, just as they instantly fell in love with you, and see them as good spouse material. They will show you that they can take care of you. Their pocket spouse. Theirs. Only theirs.

"What’s wrong? You don’t want to?" you ask teasingly, snapping them out of the traps of their own thoughts.

"Oh, Primus, of course we do. Very much. You have no idea how much," Orion confesses.

They were both brave, but it’s Orion who makes the first move. His servo finds your back, pressing against it with a single digit. Soft. Oh, so soft.

Once, he asked Elita what her pocket spouse felt like, and that was the answer he got. He didn’t understand it then. What was softness? What kind of sensation was it? What could he compare it to? But now… now he knew that softness was you, and you were softness. And if he could, he would never let you go.

"Wow, incredible. D, this is incredible, unlike anything else. You’re… extraordinary!"

He gently strokes your back, and you allow yourself to wrap your hand around his massive metal finger, which Orion welcomes with a beaming, delighted smile. How was it possible that your servo was even softer? Or maybe somewhere else, you were even softer still. He’d heard that humans and Cybertronians were compatible, and though he knows it’s not exactly proper to let his mind drift into impure, carnal territories so early in the relationship, cannot stop himself from dreaming of drowning in your softness. Wants to be surrounded by it. Wants to be suffocated by it. Wants to feel it after every shift, wake up in it and recharge.

Impatient with his partner’s sluggishness and selfishness, D-16 clicks his glossa.

"Move your digit, Pax, it’s my turn now."

It takes Orion a few nanokliks to pull himself away from his indecent thoughts. He doesn’t want to let you go, doesn’t want to be more than a few centimeters away from you ever again, but he knows D will smack him on the still-fresh sore spot left by Elita on his helm if he doesn’t pull his servo back. So he does. And immediately, he is consumed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and emptiness, as if his life has suddenly become incomplete. He already wants to come back to you.

D-16’s reaction is similar. Awe at the new but pleasant texture manifests in his slightly parted intake and quick strokes across your back, searching for and discovering softness. Where your hand meets his digit, an incomparable warmth spreads, giving him a sense of completeness. You, him, and Orion. Three puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, finally reunited after years of separation.

"I’m glad you like me," you laugh. "That’s a good start, huh?"

"It was good the moment we saw you," Orion says. "Really, we couldn’t have imagined a better pocket spouse."

"You’re too kind," you reply. You know they’re speaking from excitement, their minds weaving intricate visions and fantasies about life with a pocket spouse — visions that might not be so rosy in reality — but you don’t want to ruin it for them. Especially since you want to find a good life here, too. You want to be happy, regardless of the expectations they unknowingly place upon you. If they want to play house, you’ll join them. If they have a human fetish, you’ll indulge them in that too. "I think we’ll be happy together, won’t we? I’d like that."

"We will, for sure!" Orion assures enthusiastically.

"We know we’re just lousy miners, and you won’t have any luxuries," D-16 adds, earning a sharp elbow to the side from Orion. "I wasn’t finished, Pax." He elbows him back. "But we’ll do our best to make sure you have a good life with us. We’ll do everything for you. We’ll get… almost anything, but if you need something from the city, just say the word! Orion or I will get you food, clothes, whatever you need."

"Thanks, you’re sweet," you say, touched by their words. "I know I can’t do much, but maybe I can repay you somehow?"

"Just having you here is enough for now," D-16 says, smiling softly, enchanted by your question.

"Will you touch us again?" Orion asks, only to immediately receive a frustrated elbow. "What? They asked first."

D-16 pinches the bridge of his nose, unable to believe his partner’s tactlessness. Orion’s talent for making things worse had to affect you, it just had to. Just like every fragging time, it would fall on his shoulders to get them out of trouble, and in this case, to make sure you saw them as normal and worthy of being your spouses. They cannot mess this up. At any cost.

Which is why D is surprised when he hears your soft laughter. He lifts his servo from his faceplate and looks at you hopefully. So their relationship wasn’t ruined by Orion’s loose vocalizer?

"Of course. Come closer," you say, encouraging them further by crooking a finger.

Two massive faceplates move toward you simultaneously until they finally touch. They’re so close that you can stroke their cheeks, and so you do, slowly running your fingers over warm, living metal, drowning in their proximity. Orion and D-16 press into your hands, leaning into the comforting, though foreign, softness — now only theirs. Not for perching on Elita’s shoulder anymore. For them. Theirs to be petted, theirs to be embraced.

They could spend a lifetime in this room if it meant constant cheek-stroking and being spoiled by you. Oh, how they couldn’t wait for your shared life. Waking up with you. Coming back to their recharge stations after a hard day’s work, knowing someone was waiting for them. Spending time together. Telling you about Megatronus and Sentinel, showing off their merch, sharing every detail of their lives, and begging you to tell them about yours. About your planet, your interests, your human life — so they could make your life here as good as possible, desperately vying for your affection.

You will like them. You must. Because they already adored you, unconditionally devoted to their beloved pocket spouse. Theirs.

Relaxed and overwhelmed with contentment, they let their engines hum louder.

"Oh? You like this that much?" you ask, totaly not planning to exploit the bots’ ability to purr purely for your own selfish pleasure.

"Very much," Orion rumbles.

"You’re the best," D-16 adds.

For a moment, they open their optics, their gaze focused on you. And the trust flickering within them, the fervor of emotions burning away reason convinces you that you chose well by deciding to become a pocket spouse.

[iamespecter]

My phone's battery keeps dying (I think something's wrong with it) but I cooked a little bit more on this Doctor!Caine and Patient!Pomni idea.... and this may or may not become bigger than The Amazing Digital Roadtrip.....

My mental illness cannot be contained!!!!!!!!!!!! Also these designs are subject to change because yes ✌️

Things I've come up with last afternoon while going crazy from the lack of dopamine are:

- Abstraction is currently determined to be a terminal illness

- It's contagious via skin-on-skin contact, and can be inherited through genes

- it can even bloom late in life, but that doesn't mean everyone that the patient has touched before is immediately affected

- The physical symptoms are inky black "cracks" forming along the skin, physical degradation, loss of saturation and many more

- Depending on a lot of factors, this illness can be aggressive, or at most be dormant.

- Once it reaches the patient's brain, it is too late

- But the progress of abstraction can also be delayed through amputation, depending on where the "source" is

- It only really affects "organic" stuff

- Which means AI robots are immune, and can touch the patient as much as they want without risk of infecting themselves

- Kinger is the CEO/Founder of the AI Association that focuses on the research about Abstraction, and how to cure it

- He is also, strangely enough, kinda immune? idek he seems fine except he's a bit cuckoo

- Because of it's contagiousness, people who suffer from the abstraction illness are GREATLY FEARED by others

- People who have the illness have to wear a lot of protection (such as gloves, face mask, etc.) in order to even interact with the outside world

- They also need to have their AI Doctor/Nurse with them AT ALL TIMES.

About the main pairing:

- Pomni is the only daughter of Kinger and the late Queenie

- She used to be more upbeat early in her life, until Queenie passed. She then became depressed, and it only got worse as her illness began to show and she became cynical as a result, believing she'll die early, and alone

- Caine was named and created based off of the image of Pomni's imaginary friend during her childhood, in order to ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor

- This did NOT, in fact, ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor because what the fuck.

- Pomni hates AIs for being unable to save Queenie.

- She also thinks that her new doctor won’t be able to save her, and that her dad’s efforts to delay her situation are fruitless.

- Part of her still clings onto hope. However, said part is also dying.

- Caine is a test prototype of a model that’s supposed to handle (and even possibly cure) the symptoms of abstraction, so there’s defo a lotta pressure on his shoulders

- Especially when he gets assigned to SPECIFICALLY THE DAUGHTER OF THE CEO WHO OWNS HIM

- He’s also one of the first AIs to not only be psuedo-sentient, but also self-evolving; in order to be able to adjust to patient needs and wants.

- He can “manifest” anything physical as long as it’s within the size limit of his own physical manifestation. For example, if Pomni is hyperventilating; he can manifest a pair of artificial lungs that pump oxygen in order to give her breathing space. (You know what that means)

- Not only is he able to float, he is also able to carry Pomni like she weighs like a couple of grapes because this is not me being self-indulgent and thinking he should carry her bridal style all the time (lie), this is me saying “it’s for emergencies when Pomni is too weak to even stand or walk”

- Pomni hated Caine A LOT at first because she hated having to be co-dependent on this walking life support so yes this is an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers kinda story (except it was one-sided "enemies")

- As the story progresses, Pomni clings onto the hope of not just surviving, but also living again; as Caine learns what it means to be not just existing, but alive!!! because me and my homies love stories about positivity and hope amongst shitty situations!!!!

- And then they fuck. Oh yes, they fuck eventually. And they fuck a lot after that

I don’t care this is MY story, MY AU, I will do whatever the fuck I want!!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAA

I have no idea if I want some of the gang to be AI Doctors/Nurses too but erm. we'll see

[doctorsilverhead]

Hello. I really like your stories. You can write something with Optimus Prime Bay, please? Thank you very much in advance. :)

Between Metal and Mayhem (Bayverse Optimus X Human Reader) Oneshot!

Summary: You’re a street racer, living life in the fast lane, until a mysterious semi-truck (Optimus) ends up in your garage with battle damage. You patch him up without knowing who he really is—until the Autobots come knocking.

Warnings: none.

Word limit: 718 words

The first time you saw him, he was half-dead on wheels.

A massive red and blue semi-truck, battle-scarred, barely holding together, rolled into your garage at two in the damn morning. You’d been working late, tinkering with your prized ride—a matte black beast of a car—when you heard the sputtering engine outside. The truck looked like it had been through hell: deep gashes in the plating, shattered windows, and one side dented like it had taken a direct hit from a wrecking ball.

"Whoa," you muttered, circling the vehicle. "You get into a fight with a freight train?"

Silence.

You frowned. No driver in sight. Odd, but you’d dealt with stranger. The city’s underground racing scene wasn’t exactly known for law-abiding citizens, and you’d had your fair share of mystery clients before.

Sighing, you grabbed your tools. "Alright, big guy. Let’s get you fixed up."

A week later, your garage was starting to feel… watched. Maybe it was paranoia, or maybe it was the sentient truck you’d unknowingly adopted.

You didn't know Optimus was listening when you got into an argument with your least favorite racer, Joshua. The guy was all ego, no skill, and he had a bad habit of running his mouth.

"You’re seriously entering the next race?" Joshua scoffed, arms crossed. "Please. The only thing you’re good at is talking big."

You leaned against your car, smirking. "You’re right, I do talk big," you admitted. "But at least I can back it up. You, on the other hand? Last time we raced, you wiped out so hard I thought you were auditioning for a Fast & Furious crash scene." Joshua his pride taken down, exited from your garage muttering some curse words.

A low chuckle rumbled from behind you.

You turned, heart skipping a beat.

Optimus had been silent this whole time, parked like an ordinary truck, but now… he laughed?

"You find this funny, huh?" you mused, running a hand over his hood.

"If confidence is measured in words, you would be unmatched," Optimus rumbled, his deep voice nearly making you jump out of your skin.

You stumbled back. "WHAT THE—"

Optimus just sighed. "We need to talk."

So, yeah. Turns out, your truck was an alien. And now, his alien war was your problem.

The Decepticons came looking for him two nights later.

You were out testing your car when the first explosion rocked the street. A sleek, black Decepticon with glowing red optics skidded into view, gunning straight for you.

"Shit, shit, shit!" You swerved, tires screeching, narrowly avoiding a blast that took out a lamppost.

"Get clear!" Optimus' voice boomed through your earpiece.

"Kind of trying here, boss-bot!" You yanked the wheel, cutting down a narrow alleyway. The Decepticon followed, but it was a mistake—you knew these streets better than anyone.

"Let’s see how well you handle corners," you muttered, shifting gears.

You pulled a handbrake turn so sharp it should’ve been illegal, sending the enemy bot skidding into a concrete wall. Before it could recover, a streak of red and blue thundered past you—Optimus, in all his towering, sword-wielding glory.

"You drive like a Cybertronian," he remarked, cutting the Decepticon down with one brutal swing.

"Thanks," you panted. "You fight like a pissed-off gladiator."

"Not inaccurate."

You should have been terrified of him. He was a giant alien robot leading an intergalactic war, and you were just some grease-stained street racer with a death wish. But instead? You found yourself intrigued.

One night, while patching up his plating, you decided to test something.

"You know," you said casually, tapping a wrench against his side, "for a guy with a war record longer than my grocery list, you’re pretty easy on the eyes."

Optimus didn’t react immediately. You figured he'd either ignore it or give you some wise, noble response. Instead, he tilted his head, optics glowing in amusement.

"I could say the same about you," he said smoothly.

You blinked. "Wait. Hold on. Did you just—did you just--?"

He chuckled, low and deep. "Merely an observation."

You pointed at him, grinning. "You so did...flirt. Don’t think I won’t remember this, Prime."

"I would be disappointed if you didn’t."

Oh. Oh, you were in trouble.

[rqbossman]

one of ceaseless protocol questions in your inbox i’m sure of it, and one that you may very well have already addressed, but nonetheless-

i’ve noticed that augustus, norris, and chester, the disembodied voices of fr3-d1, always start reading the cases in the artificial monotone the world has generally come to expect from computers imitating sentience (or… whatever it is fr3-d1’s doing. don’t know that i can comfortably call it sentient yet, but it’s certainly not pretending either. i digress), before gradually mounting into the dramatic readings as if the voices are coming from the people in the cases themselves, then towards the very end, fall back into that robotic, droning tone of voice.

is this, as i suspect, an intentional choice in the direction of the show, or just a well placed coincidence?

(also, we’ve reached a grand total of two separate characters you’ve voiced that become trapped in a room and are forced to rely on peaches to survive. insert that one doofenshmirtz quote about nickels)

1) Yes, intentional. (In fact @jonnywaistcoat has been told off before now for forgetting to do it.) 2) I genuinely believe the double peaches reference is a coincidence since the case was written without the writer knowing who would voice it! (fun coincidence though innit?)

[gentlemanjuniper]

Asexuality, Fic, and Murderbot

I'm seeing some heated posts on the tags essentially threatening fans who are interested in writing romance-adjacent fic and I'm getting nervous about the tone that this is striking. As a real-life asexual I have seen my experiences be policed a lot into categories of 'acceptable' asexuality (aka, no romance for you, no life partnerships for you, or are you really ace?) and I really hope that this fandom won't, in an effort to uplift ace and aro people, become hostile to people exploring those identities with nuance and complexity.

I can only speak for myself, but I don't feel like people writing 'ship' fic (say, ART/Murderbot) are disrespecting or disregarding me. I feel like they are asking really interesting questions that brings them closer to my experience: how might two asexual beings navigate a relationship? What might a non-traditional, non-heteronormative definition of 'romance' or 'partnership' look like for two robots whose feelings aren't mappable onto human romantic or sexual feelings? What might intimacy look like without sex? What are the boundaries between romantic love and platonic love anyway, how do we define them, and how can a world of sentient robots allow us to think through those questions through the symbolic space of fiction? I think that stuff is really interesting BECAUSE I'm ace!!!

Idk, I'm not the voice of all aces everwhere obviously. I'm just really hoping that this fandom doesn't become so hostile to people writing fic that we lock ourselves into an extremely narrow definition of acceptable asexuality*. My own relationship to asexuality has changed so much over my lifetime and has involved negotiation with attraction, romance, and sex. It makes me bummed to think we're already policing this stuff. *Focusing on asexuality here because I don't personally know, having only read the first three books so far, if Murderbot is definitively aromantic or not, since this entire conversation assumes that any relationship to romance would be through a bot lens anyway and not human in nature to begin with. Is there a robot equivalent to romance that is distinctly non-human in nature, utterly resisting human binaries of romantic/aromantic? If so what would it look like? This is the stuff I want fandom to not be heckled out of exploring!!!

[revelboo]

it’s my birthday today and I turn 22, got to celebrate with lots of presents, loads of keychains and themed sticky notes for my cubicle at work 😄

Can we get some more tarn! I need that evil sociopath 👀👀 how’s reader holding up anyway 😂

Happy birthday! Reader is very carefully feeling him out now that they can understand each other

L.G. FUAD Pt 18

Tarn x Reader

• Stunned speechless that he can understand you, that you can talk to each other and aren’t limited to very bad charades anymore, you’re half tempted to go off on him. To scream about the bath, the food, the soap. Every atrocity he’s unwittingly visited on you. But it’s not escaped you that your survival is dependent on him. And while he seems to like you, it’s the affection of a pet owner for their pet. You’re not sure if he’ll tolerate being told off by the equivalent of his space gerbil. “These are coverings and human food?” Tarn asks, attention on the bins as he slides you into one hand and just grabs stuff. Apparently confiscating stuff for you and the little guy doesn’t even try to argue as he takes what he wants. Now that he knows you’re not a pet, he has to take you home, right? You can talk to him, he knows you’re sentient. He seems reasonable for a giant, alien robot, so he has to listen.

• “Big guy?” You ask and he glances at you in his palm, wide eyes staring up at him. That’s what you’ve been calling him? ‘Tarn,’ he corrects gently, watching Swindle fetch an empty container for him, scrambling to help because he wants him off the ship and far away. Dumping his handful of human things in the small bin, he stares the smaller mech down daring him to protest as he grabs more things for you, especially food. “Tarn, right,” you say and he hesitates, surprised that he likes the sound of his name on your lips, that it does wholly inappropriate things to him. “I really appreciate you taking care of me.” Amused, he slides a servo against your jaw, grabbing the bin in his other hand and turning. Heading back to his own ship without a word. Knowing Swindle will be terrified the whole time that the DJD’s ship will fire on his and he smiles slowly behind his mask. A little fear will be good for the mech.

• Leaning against him as he goes through the airlocks back into his ship, he glances at you, red optics brightening slightly behind his mask. “I appreciate that you didn’t mention the accidental poisonings,” he murmurs and you wince. Though, the unwanted bath and unintentional groping had been worse. “For something so small, you’re surprisingly difficult to keep alive.” Smiling thinly as your jaw works, you inhale. Reminding yourself that you need to stay on his good side. Still need his help. Can’t tell him what you really think of his ‘care.’

• “And I appreciate that you did your best,” you say, expression strained to make him clear his vents with an amused huff. Do you not realize how expressive your little face is? How easily he can read you? “But I really need to go home.” And he rumbles, optics narrowing. ‘We are going home,’ he says, purposefully misunderstanding, because he likes having you around. Doesn’t want to lose your warmth or your affection. You’re his. And now that he can understand you, he has someone to talk to, because the rest of the DJD can be exhausting. “Not your ship, my home. My planet? Earth?” Venting, he uses a servo to tip your chin up.

• “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he growls, striding through the halls of his ship and you see one of his scary buddies turn to give him a look, because he’s speaking your language. “Your home is here.” Yeah, except it’s not. Emotional support space gerbil to a giant, alien robot isn’t at all appealing to you. But there’s a look in his red optics when his head tips to stare at you that makes your argument die a swift, trembling death when you just want to argue. Remembering when he’d snarled at you and you’d stopped breathing. That he’d done something to you.

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[tainbocuailnge]

dolls by design cannot move without someone external to them moving their limbs, so even if a living doll character can move on their own, they still implicitly have this relationship to others where they not only cannot resist being touched (and by extension controlled), they cannot do anything at all otherwise. dynamics of power and control are often eroticised, and doll joints immediately mark a character as slotting into this kind of dynamic, similar to how maid outfits are sexy to some people because of the dynamic of servitude they signify. this is the main point that the vast majority of self proclaimed doll enjoyers seem to latch onto, doll joints as visual shorthand for a dynamic of dependency that may or may not be sexual.

dolls exist to entertain someone and be loved by them, their sole purpose is quite literally to look pretty for their owner. this too is a popular erotic dynamic even when no dolls are involved. dolls are artificial creations, so a doll inherently exists the way it does because someone wanted it to. in some cases this is extended into its reverse: a doll does not exist without someone wanting it to, therefore, the doll is wanted because it exists. the very fact that the doll exists implies a fascination with either the doll itself or the one it's made to look like, because without this fascination it wouldn't exist to begin with. the doll exists to be loved, so you desire it by virtue of its existence, and this gives it a certain power over you despite its powerless nature. the most common cursed doll in media is one that is resentful over being abandoned. the desire for another is inherent to dolls and this is, obviously, erotic.

in my experience this is usually the angle when you're dealing with a sorcerer that made themselves a doll body or something like that. the tension between the doll and the force that moves it is resolved by having these be the same entity, so they're a doll to signify fascination instead, be it from or towards the one inhabiting the doll.

dolls are often associated with being fragile and delicate, especially the ball jointed type that living doll characters will usually invoke. they have to be touched in order to act, but cannot be touched without risk of breaking this precious delicate object. this tension of a body that both invites and discourages being touched is also erotic.

a doll's body is implicitly delicate, but it is also a body that can be repaired or replaced when it breaks. you can completely dismantle a doll without actually harming it, and in fact dismantling it is necessary to fix it in case it does break. a sentient doll's body would logically have to experience itself differently than a human flesh body. since you can open up and pull apart a doll in various ways without actually hurting it, there are naturally various ways to touch it erotically that you could never do with a living person, and because the doll by definition exists for you, this touch can be as painful or pleasurable for the doll as your proclivities dictate. for some reason fucking nobody on pixiv seems to agree with me on this point but this is a big one for me personally, the unique ways of interacting with doll bodies as extension and expression of the way a doll's body inherently has a complex and contradictory relationship with being touched. we're talking about a body made of gaps, go stick something in those for fucks sake.

a doll allowing itself to be taken apart to be repaired (or to have freak sex) is an incredible display of trust similar to that of robots letting you poke around their circuitry. it's an emotional intimacy that's only possible with this kind of artificial partner. the capacity for and necessity of occasionally being completely taken apart and reassembled to continue functioning, of exposing yourself entirely and putting your trust in someone's deft hands, is obviously erotic.

a doll cannot exist independently, and while its purpose is to be loved, it's rare for it to be thought of as an independent actor by anyone other than children. also, if the doll /isn't/ loved it becomes completely helpless, because it needs someone else to move it, be it literally or metaphorically. a living doll character will, sooner or later and thematically if not directly, have to contend with the fact that this is a horrifically stunted existence for a sentient being to have. a doll cannot meaningfully resist anything that is done to it, and its only blessing is that it has a body that can endure this. you can violate dolls both physically and emotionally in ways far more invasive than with a real person, and depending on your angle their very existence as a doll is a violation in itself, something that lends itself well to the overlap between horror and eroticism. this is another favourite of mine that I barely see reflected in what other people are cooking up in my field of vision.

even if a particular doll character doesn't tick any of these boxes regarding characterisation or relationships, the fact that they have doll joints anyway is a constant reminder of these associations, and this contrast is alluring in itself. independence does not come naturally to a doll, so a doll that acts freely is fighting a constant battle against its own nature. this is hot and extremely underutilized.

being denied agency because the material reality of your body makes you dependent on the goodwill of others is an experience many real people can relate to for a wide range of reasons, so living dolls are useful abstractions to explore these experiences and reframe these limitations as something that makes you desirable. unfortunately this leads to most of the dollposting on this site being really boring to me because its all like "what if i was cute and loved and didn't have to think for myself" instead of the horrific violation and unique physical experience parts that i'm personally interested in, but it's undeniably a major contributing factor to general doll enjoyment.

the presence of doll joints on a character invokes a relationship to the body and the people around them that lends itself well to various popular erotic dynamics, and which marks them as object of desire not entirely unlike how a womb tattoo marks someone as primed for fucking except for people who can't get off without metaphors. im sure for a lot of people it's really not any deeper than "it looks nice :)" and that's fair, I'm a pretentious elitist who thinks most people producing doll fetish stuff are boring about it though. stop drawing regular sex with more lines and stick your fingers in there NOW