#robot shell body

[ultimateoptimus]

UltimateOptimus Presents

Fresh off the UltimateOptimus DreamFactory

All New, All Different Half-Human Half-Shell All Summer Scuba Schoolkids

Azai and Oichi Mizukikai, the Mizukikai Twins of Kikai High!

Boy Name: Azai Mizukikai

Girl Name: Oichi Mizukikai

Origin: Biology: Legacy (Human), Biology: Mutant (Human), SuperScience: Biocyber Body (Shell)

Complication: Super Family, Human/Shell Physiology

Motivation: School Swim Team, School Scuba Club, Role Models, School Swimming, School Scuba Diving, Summer, Family

Race: Human/Shell Hybrid

Alignment: Lawful Good

Birthday: June X, 299X

Zodiac: Gemini - The Twins

Age: 10-15 (Human Side) (Around Lucián's and Longina's age)

Appearance: A pair of Japanese descent blue-and-red eyed redhead hime cut hairstyle twin teenage high school boy and girl in biocybernetic shell bodies.

Personality: Scuba Sentai Samurai Schoolboy (Azai), Scuba Sentai Mikohime Schoolgirl (Oichi), Human/Shell Teen Hi-School Scuba Swim Team Aces (Both)

Brief Backstory:

Azai and Oichi Mizukikai are the Human/Shell Teen Hi-School Scuba Swim Team Aces of Kikai High, Hub Island Academy High and Candy Kingdom Royal Academy High, a pair of young human teen high school boy and girl souls in biocyber shell bodies and the fellow swim team aces and scuba club diver and NERF SCUBArena Blast scubathlete students of Lucián and Longina Mertens-Bubblegum in all three high schools who are best described as the neon paint-splattered aftermath of a Mach 1 head-on collision between Sengokujidai Japan from which Azai and Oichi get their historic names and spirits and the old-school half of their personae, Super Sentai Show/Super Robot Anime and Nerf, SCUBArena Blast and Super Soaker toylines and high school pool swimwear, pool toys and scuba gear from which their shell motif, bright neon colors, superpowers, weapons and skills are based on and Japanese Anime School Swim Team Ace and Scuba Club Schoolkids from which their shells' youthful high school teenage swim team and scuba club student looks, swim team ace and scuba club star underwater skills, love of the waters and the underwater worlds of Summertime and the new-school half of their personae originate from.

The firstborn twin son and daughter of swim team and scuba club ace students born with burning passion and mirror finish sharp talent for all things swimming and scuba diving, who go to school at Kikai High School, an artificial island/floating seaplatform/underwater subbase high school built for shell high school children who train swimming and scuba diving in their new shell bodies in the seas near the beach of Tokyo, Japan and who read up on Sengokujidai Japanese history and the tales of Azai and Oichi in said historical age and watch their father and mother scuba diving, swim team and scuba diving anime and action packed boys' and girls' action anime in the Super Robot and Super Sentai and Magical Girl tradition since their early years, Azai and Oichi are your boys' and girls' junior swimming and scuba diving sports anime and Super Robot/Super Sentai boys' action anime on fast forward: your standard issue "Hot-Blooded Young Schoolboy Hero of Justice" and "Hyperactive Young Schoolgirl Heroine of Justice" types who are most at home sweet home planet in the Summer, swimming in the waters and scuba diving in the underwater worlds whether the school pools or the open waters of the beach and the ocean, enjoy the newfound freedoms their biocyber shell bodies (which are part human, part robot, all alive in silky printed exobody neoskin and anime aesthetics) give them in the waters (such as being new-school cyber-schoolkids scuba diving underwater in old-school half-mask/mouthpiece regulator scuba rigs and school swimwear for cheese), hyperactively practice race swimming and scuba diving in the swimming pool with infectious overcharged energy, wield their innate underwater summer scuba school swim meet themed watery Super Sentai and Super Robot superpowers in underwater battle like a real Super Sentai Hero and Magical Girl Heroine and swim to the rescue of any scuba diver in underwater danger as befitting future Junior Rescue Divers.

Being fans of the forementioned Super Robot and Super Sentai and Magical Girl shows who watches them on Saturday Mornings and buy their toys taught Azai and Oichi Mizukikai everything they know about melee and ranged combat with the skill of a master martial artist who are as good with their bare shell hands as they are a Power Sword or Laser Magnum or NERF SCUBArena Blaster Gun or Super Soaker Blastr Gun or Inflatable Capture Pool Ring NERF Torpedo Launcher or their signature weapons - Azai's Jet Torpedo Knuckles and Tornado Strike Azaidaikatana and Oichi's Super Soaker Switchshot Skipper and Oichidaiyumi Tidal Torpedo Bow - on surface and underwater.

A pair of scuba diving boy and girl twins who are both lawful and playful, chivalrous and mischievous, Azai and Oichi have developed habits that come with their biocyber shell bodies with bonus infinite air generators like playing out of air and bubbling out of their mouths, kissing scuba girls in Azai's case and scuba boys in Oichi's case underwater while scuba diving as part of their personality - such as when the first time Lucián and Longina Mertens-Bubblegum in Frogman Forme first scuba dived across Azai and Oichi Mizukikai under the waters of Japan during a summer scuba school trip and rescued them as Lucián kissed Oichi and Longina kissed Azai life-saving air into their lips with the time-honored scuba tradition of the Kiss of Life to which the Mizukikai Twins returned the favor by kissing the Mertens-Bubblegum Twins back and sealing their lips with nanosilk pupa silk threads for a beat during the return kiss, both feeling the delicious taste of Original Flavor Bubblegum and butterfly pupa nanosilk the air comes with - practicing ancient Sengokujidai-era Japanese practices such as swordsmanship, Shinto and origami and striking heroic poses, shouting out heroic catchphrases and super attack move names on occassion (even while scuba diving underwater) - traits that make the Mizukikai Twins originals in a world of clones, a world they chose to scuba dive out of and enroll at Kikai High, their home sweet home base.

Diving Experience: SCUBA Diving with ABC Kits and SCUBA Rigs with normal breathing gear and personal Tek SCUBA Rigs with Tek normal breathing gear in pools, beaches and oceans, SCUBA Underwater Combat, Submarine Scuba Jet Combat, NERF SCUBArena Blasters, Rescue SCUBA Diving, SCUBA Instructor Assistants, Swim Team Aces, Scuba Club Stars

Gear Choice: Kikai High Shell Boys' Japanese One-Piece Beachbody School Swimsuit (Azai), Kikai High Shell Girls' Japanese One-Piece Sukumizu School Swimsuit (Oichi) and Kikai High Shell Swim Cap with Built-In Tek Swim Goggles in Custom Kikai High School Neon Colors with Neon Name Tags, Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Shell ABC (360-Degree Tek Dive Mask and Aquamorphic Tek Dive Fins) Kit, Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Scubapro Jacket-Style Boys' Buoyancy Compensator Jacket (Azai), Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Scubapro Venus '98-Style Girls' Buoyancy Compensator Jacket (Oichi), Hardshell Double Air Tanks with Emergency Air Tank Modules and Oceanic AIR XS2-Style Tek Air-Integrated Regulators Alpha (Azai) and Gamma (Oichi), Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Digital Dive Computer Air Gauges and Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Oceanic Alpha-Style (Azai) and Oceanic Gamma-Style (Oichi) Mouthpiece Tek Snokelator Tek SCUBA Rigs, 2 Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Jet Torpedo Knuckles and Tornado Strike Azaidaikatana (Azai), Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Super Soaker Switchshot Skipper and Oichidaiyumi Tidal Torpedo Bow (Oichi), Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Tek BattlePak Kickboard Modules, Kikai High Mizukikai Custom School Issue Submarine Scuba Jet Pack Modules

[outletcrash]

ive been reading the old transformers collectors club magazines! love this guy! (im not done reading alas)

kinda obsessed with combiner teams (steven universe phase is shining through). theyre so much fun from a character design perspective, having to design a robot mode, a vehicle mode, and a limb AND how they all fit together and still look cool in action.

expect some menasor/stunticon art >:)

i also have a solus prime design coming soon!

[shinyobservationtree]

They're the same guy but they envy each other so fucking much. Hal has had such a hard time with the whole robot thing, but Dirk would give anything to give up this inconvenient, uncomfortable flesh. Trade it in for wires or felt anyday. Never have to take the moments to think or worry, just follow programming.

It goes without saying Hal would give anything to taste again. Having to watch Dirk experience food poisioning and feeling a deep burning envy for the ability to vomit. The pain a kind of escape that hes not afforded anymore.

They would trade places in a heartbeat, but the problem is they are already that guy actively being in these situations. There's no point. They believe nothing would change, because they both believe they are the same.

[morganhopesmith1996]

The Major by Shirow Masamune

[knightoflodis]

Is she still Major Motoko Kusanagi if she has an entirely different everything…?

if shes your girl then why have i slowly been replacing her parts until there’s nothing left of her original body? is she then still your girl?

[hebezuart]

They have consumed me lately. Some thoughts and things under the cut.

Mettaton in Deltarune is a much more depressed and repressed version of himself, compared to how he was in Undertale. Talking about how much of a nobody he is, and never seeing him come out of his house... However, giving Tenna to him to brighten his mood I think is genuinely doing wonders for him. Tenna I think is what's responsible for MTT truly finding his passion in the art of show business, as well as cracking his egg along the way, and gets him to start coming out of his shell more, or at least trying to.

Some miscellaneous thoughts here:

Tenna, unable to really communicate the normal way (y'know, talking), he instead opts to sentence mix whatever TV programs or movies MTT is watching. Chopping up bits and pieces of dialogue to form as coherent of sentences as he can muster. MTT is both surprised and very intrigued when his television suddenly starts stuttering and continuously rewinding the phrase 'What's your name?' from one of the characters in his show.

It's Tenna's idea for the most part to get MTT to try again with the whole 'making a body' thing. Seeing as how the NEO body in the Cyber World was a scrapped design MTT had for himself, him and Tenna start a little smaller and more reasonable, leading to the classic box design as opposed to his EX form. Now, neither of them know how to build a robot, but.. it's a better start than before.

Tenna is MTT's personal hype man. Sometimes leaving the house to go get groceries is extremely difficult, but he's always there for him to make the job feel easier. DR!MTT is effectively a hikikomori for the looks of it, so having somebody so bright and positive like Tenna in his life now is bound to have an impact on him.

This impacts Tenna too, of course: having somebody so captivated by him again is doing wonders. MTT could not appreciate Tenna's new presence in his life more. They are dependent on each other, but healthily.

MTT also is probably able to possess the television like any other object, but I wonder how it plays out with Tenna's consciousness in there, too...

[neptunianrefrain]

i have to fucking brush my teeth !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! aaaaaaaaaaaaghghg!!!!!!!!!!!!

[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!

[ailurinae]

I think we did that?

We need cities that moan when you hurt them.

[chowadoe]

my Metamy kid!! his name is Dusty Rose :D ft. single mom Amy Rose and Absentee baby daddy metal sonic LOL

his name's Dusty Rose after Dusty Miller, a plant that looks like metal/silver. Dusty Rose is also a pink color ! it also rhymes with Rusty Rose. im so smart (/j)

born from Metal Sonic's core and infused with Amy's biosignature, Amy and Metal Sonic had a very brief 'thing'... eventually Metal Sonic was soft rebooted and sent away yet again, but he left a piece of himself (part of his 'core'? infused with chaos energy..?) to Amy, which then became Dusty. leaving Dusty as the last true remaining testament of their love

(I just love the idea of Amy with a Waitress style character arc... finding love again in raising her child and not the way she used to think, being spent with another person)

Dusty would be very fixated on the idea of love, after all his mother raised him on the notion of that. Amy's standards for true love and fairytale romance have definitely changed being with Metal Sonic, but the root message being that love is all encompassing and transformative.

He was 'created' to look like Mobian, and Amy treats him no differently than any other Mobian/human. Still, he believes that he should hide all the parts that 'other' him from society, which means his robot parts. (legwarmers!)

He's got a bit of a bad boy edge to him LOLLL i kind of created him that he'd be an emo kid. (fall out boy.. my chemical romance.. a bit of IDKHow) really good at electric guitar and part of a band. eventually he finds his passion is in lyric-writing (all those love stories and inheriting his mother's gift for writing love letters)

he often wonders what a beating heart is like, as someone without one. he's interested in the heartbeats and the pulses of others, but he is a total sweetheart himself.. still, even to other mobians unaware that he is an android (a weapon at that), it's still a little off-putting..

more abt him belolow

Dusty's core is already made/designed after Amy's biosignature, and in meeting other people, he's able to read their biodata and stash it into an archive, but he doesn't reproduce it onto himself. (though unsure if he could? either his code has a blockade or he chooses not to)

Dusty, additional to his stash of weapons, has the ability to shift too like his papa... become something similar to Metal Overlord but not entirely... like a half robot dragon boy or smth.. IF he's under the right conditions to have it pulled out of him. or something

Dusty DOES "grow" up. basically, he's an inorganic being whose core is trying to emulate/copy the growth progression of other organic beings.

As it would grow in size (and Dusty's cognition "matures"), his mother and her friends would modify as needed to adjust his frame, etc, but rarely were things ever replaced. Like a mollusk, its shell growing in size- but one needing accommodations. A heart bigger than its own body that threatens to spill- a chick that has outgrown its shell, well before its expected date- needing modifications to keep it inside and protected

Metal Sonic and Amy would have something profound-- one of those tragic, star-crossed enemies-to-lovers dark fantasy romance stories Amy's always loved to read about- but then having it play in real time and having to come to terms with the real world implications of actually having one. It's just that- a fantasy. and metal sonic would grapple with the ideas of love, which i think would be inherently dark and a little possessive given his upbringing-- but what him and Amy have would be sweet at the very core of it. so him giving a piece of his core that reads and adapts to Amy's biosignature and oops... accidental baby....

Dusty finds himself drawn to music. his mom and dad couldn't quite communicate love language physically (with Metal Sonic's claws and his lack of mouth) so I hc that Amy taught Metal Sonic how to hum and sing and communicate their love through music and vocalizations (which carried onto Dusty)

4th pic is Dusty doing breathing exercises with his mama... Dusty gets embarrassed super easily so him and Amy would regularly do breathing exercises so he doesn't overheat like a PC

[justsomuchhacking]

So like another thing about the transgender mecha discourse is like... the mech can be a metaphor for empowerment and an extension of the customizable self, but specifically for transfemmes the metaphor also works in the other direction!

The mech is safe. And it is familiar, and you have gotten used to controlling it. You are told that your highest purpose is violence, but that's not true about you, though it might be true of the mech.

The mech is safe. It is many layers of cold steel and machinery between you and the world. When people see the mech, they see power and strength. But you will have to crawl out of it if you wish to be seen and known by your name, instead of your callsign*.

The mech is safe. It does not take courage to pilot - it takes courage to leave. Anonymous, stoic violence in a shell that is not your body vs the horrifying ordeal of crawling out of a numb pile of metal and hoping people will love the weird-looking girl who is a little unused to socializing. On account of all the mech-piloting.

Anyway if I was going to write transgender mecha fiction the robot would be the closet. War is hell, truth is life, get out of the fucking robot, girl, and live!

Other small things I would include in an anti-war transgender mecha story:

"Why did you stop being a mecha pilot? You were so good at it!"

Patriarchal military industrial complex discovers trans people are just better at using the weird neural mech piloting interface. This plays out as badly as you'd expect.

"cis" pilot who has an unusually high sync with the mecha and the veteran pilots who Definitely Know.

Nothing good ever happens as a result of mecha battles and the reader should start to feel anxious about which beloved character Isn't Going To Be The Same after this one.

This would of course be very difficult to pull off in a way that's like... as fundamentally entertaining as giant robot fights where the giant robot is a metaphor for personal agency and the power of the individual, where a very traumatized trans girl incinerates mecha hitler with a blue-and-pink laser beam she got from self-actualizing. I recognize that my version is harder to make and definitely not for everyone. But I think it should be made. Both should be made!

*historical note here about callsigns - in fiction people choose their own but in the military these are chosen for you by your unit - and if yours is cool it usually means that your unit thinks you're a dweeb. If you try to make people use a callsign you chose for yourself, there is no doubt at all about whether you are a dweeb. So for me a callsign is a terrible stand-in for a true name. Knowing this fact ruins movies, because every Cool Callsign Protagonist makes you think "Iceman? Oh, he definitely got caught masturbating in the walk-in freezer".

[chatonfils]

Starting off by saying I hate “mom Danny” bc it tends to be p transphobic and misgendering, so if anyone adds it to my post I’m blocking them.

Tim making his Kon clone baby, but the cloning chamber isn’t stable enough for the fetus. He’s desperately trying anything that he think might work, when he comes across Phantom. Phantom who has experience with stabilizing clones.

Danny had heard whispers through the grapevine (Ellie who’d joined the Teen Titans as Phantasm) that there was someone attempting to make clones. He’d only meant to snoop and see if it was a Vlad situation. If any clones had been made and needed liberating. What he found was a newly minted Red Robin crying over a red blinking message on a cloning chamber. He warbled a quiet “please, Kon, I don’t want to live without you.”

Danny quickly realizing this wasn’t an attempt to replace and destroy, but actually someone grieving, in probably an unhealthy way, but who was Danny to judge, he’d once replaced Sam and Tucker with robots for less. So he decided to help Red Robin out. Sure, he hadn’t dealt with kryptonian dna before, but he was at least 89% sure halfa dna was way more complicated. And Red Robin had already figured out ways around the dna shenanigans, it was just the stability that wasn’t going well. Honestly, he didn’t think it would be as easy as an ecto dejecto like it had been for Ellie. But his parents had a lot of inventions that they’d started making to help out ghosts, once they’d realized Danny was Phantom. Maybe telling Red Robin about ghost IVF wasn’t his most thought through plan.

“I think what might help is an incubator.” Phantom had suggested.

Tim could only gesture at the cloning chambers that had failed him thus far. They were essentially huge incubators.

Phantom awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I meant, like, a living incubator. Like a surrogate.”

“Where am I going to find someone that I not only trust to carry the baby, but also would volunteer?” Tim raised an eyebrow at him. Hell, had Tim had the equipment to do so, he would have carried the baby, everything else be damned. He just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Phantom blushed green and looked away. “It might take a little tinkering with the embryos to work with the physiology, but…. I could carry the baby for you. I mean, I’m trans, and even if I wasn’t, ghosts are kind of malleable in a reproductive sense. And there are options for IVF in ghost science. And like, my own clone is like my little sister. I’m also a protection spirit, so I would protect the baby with my entire afterlife. And I’m kind of rambling so you should say something before I embarrass myself.”

“You would be willing to carry a baby for me?” Tim was shell shocked by the offer.

“I mean, yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not cloning him for a malicious reason. You’re just trying to bring back a piece of your friend because you love and miss him. Dedication that strong for someone who has left the living plain, is admirable. You realized early on that you wouldn’t be able to increase the speed in which the clone grew. You’ve been trying despite knowing that this clone will be a baby that’s going to be your child, and not just the friend you lost. And I wouldn’t mind giving up my body for a little bit so you can make your family.”

Tim certainly hadn’t meant to surge forward and kiss Phantom. “Thank you.” Tim pulled Phantom into a fierce hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

It took about a month for them to work out the kinks of making the baby safe for Danny’s body. In this time, Danny showing Red Robin his human form, and Tim revealing his own identity. It felt kind of wrong to keep his name from someone he intended to get pregnant with his child. Tim and Danny got close as they worked together on the baby. And there may have been a few more kisses shared between them. In the end, the baby ended up spliced with mostly Kon’s dna, some of Tim’s (to stabilize the kryptonian dna), and some of Danny’s (to keep the baby safe in the womb).

Once Danny was well and truly pregnant, he encouraged Tim to find Bruce. “I’ll keep the baby safe. You find your dad. If you need me for anything, I’m only a call away.” Tim hadn’t forgotten about Bruce, he’d just never thought it would take so long to set up cloning Kon. So much of his hurt and loneliness had fallen away in Danny’s presence, and Danny had let him hyper focus on making their baby.

“Probably terrible timing, but I’ve got to ask,” Tim swallowed nervously. “Be my boyfriend?”

Danny’s lopsided smile, thawed Tim’s nerves. “I think I could work with that. I hope you don’t mind kids though, I’m kind of pregnant.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “I’ll keep in touch while I’m away. Please keep me updated on the baby.”

Danny pulled him into a proper kiss, “I will.”

I’m mostly imagining Tim getting bump update photos and falling in love with his increasingly pregnant boyfriend, while he finds Bruce.

I’m also imagining after Bruce is back, Tim being like, “anyways gtg, my boyfriend is in his third trimester and I don’t want to miss the birth of our baby.” And peacing out before any bats could react, let alone stop him.

And also maybe when Kon comes back, there’s maybe a poly relationship started.

Also thinking about Tim getting Danny pregnant without the science.

Danny gets Dad, Tim gets Papa, and if Kon joins, he gets Poppy.

[toshisdecadence]

ERROR 404: Overload!

PAIRING: svarog x mechanic!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon (reader says it’s too much but svarog has a mission to collect data), rough sex, multiple rounds, dom!svarog, sub!fem reader, svarog is Massive, cervix mentions, tummy bulge descriptions, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size difference, power dynamics, size kink, fingering, unrealistic sex, robot fuckers unite!, can you tell i have a size kink?

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.

© toshisdecadence

The repair bay smelled faintly of heated metal, coolant fluid, and faint traces of alcohol; a sharp tang that clung to the sterile air. You barely noticed it anymore, accustomed to the hum of machinery and the faint vibration of tools against metal. But today, that hum was louder, and the vibrations sharper, emanating not from your usual repair work but from the massive, battle-worn war machine sitting across from you.

Svarog loomed over the room, his 8’11 frame too large for the reinforced chair you’d hastily reinforced when he arrived. His joints hissed faintly, micro-servos struggling to compensate for the damage he’d sustained during the Wardance duel against Luka earlier that day. Faint dents marred his reinforced dark blue chest plating, and faint sparks sputtered from the exposed wiring along his arm.

You reached for your tools, hyper-aware of the pinkish-red glow of his cyclopean optical sensor tracking your every movement.

“Superficial damage sustained. Functionality remains above 90%. Repairs are non-essential.” His voice rumbled, a deep, mechanical timbre that sent a shiver up your spine.

You regarded him critically. “Non-essential? Your vents are overheating, and you’re rattling like a dying starship. Sit still and let me work.”

He didn’t argue. Svarog was nothing if not logical, and logic dictated that he allow himself to be repaired. Still, there was a tension to him, a stiffness beyond the rigid design of his armor. He didn’t like being examined, didn’t like lowering his guard to anyone else other than Clara, even in the hands of someone who statistically meant him no harm or stood a chance against him.

You stepped closer, tools in hand, and gently pressed against the plating on his shoulder. His frame vibrated under your touch, a subtle hum you might have missed if you hadn’t been so close.

“Core temperature stable,” he intoned. “Subsystems fully operational.”

“Your fans tell a different story,” you muttered, running diagnostics through a handheld scanner. “You’re burning hotter than you should be.”

Svarog didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his pinkish-red optic watching your hands as they worked, tracking each movement with the precision of an apex predator. The thought sent an odd warmth through your body, and you tried to shake it off. 

You needed to focus.

The repairs took you lower, inspecting the dents along his torso plating. The main brunt of the damage he took from Luka’s mechanical arm focused around his torso. One of the seams had split, exposing a layer of reinforced polymer beneath the outer shell. Carefully, you reached for the damaged panel, fingers brushing against the edge of the pants covering his lower half. It was an unusual addition for a machine built for combat, and one that always raised questions in your mind.

You tugged lightly at the material, intending only to check the joints underneath, but your fingers brushed against something unexpected beneath the fabric.

Your breath hitched.

The surface wasn’t the cold hardness of metal or the pliable texture of synthetic padding. It was smooth, warm, and distinctly… organic in shape.

You froze, pulling your hand back as though burned.

His optic dimmed slightly in a flicker that you’d come to recognize as his equivalent of a blink.

You swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, gesturing vaguely at his lower half, struggling to form the words.

Svarog tilted his head, the motion eerily human. “This component was included in my original design for biological infiltration protocols.”

You stared at him as if he grew a second head. “Biological… infiltration?”

“My model is the third series of the Monitoring Automaton Prototype, engineered to simulate human anatomy. The purpose was strategic manipulation through intimate interactions if required by mission parameters.”

Your throat felt dryer, and the question that left your mouth sounded ridiculous even to you. “You’re telling me someone thought it’d be a good idea to put a dick on a war machine?”

“Affirmative.”

His voice remained perfectly calm, but your face was burning. A sneaky glance at his lower half rendered you speechless once again. Whoever designed Svarog certainly made his… appendage proportional to his hulking body.

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strained. “And… what? You’ve just been...” You made an awkward gesture with your hand, “carrying it around this whole time?”

“Correct. The feature has never been activated.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made it worse.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know how it works?”

Svarog paused, the glow of his optic focusing intently on you. It flickered momentarily.

“My systems include theoretical data on function and compatibility. However, no practical demonstrations have been performed.”

The room felt hotter suddenly, and you were certain that it wasn’t because of Svarog’s malfunctioning fans. Your mind raced with countless possibilities. Given Svarog’s size, you weren’t even sure how anyone was supposed to take that. Did it have a shrinking feature? Did it automatically adjust with Svarog’s… partner? 

You swallowed, trying to steer the conversation back to something technical and banish the questions swirling in your head.

“Right,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t explode first. Then we’ll worry about your…” Your traitorous gaze flickered down again, swallowing, “attachments.”

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Svarog’s optic dimmed again, and he shifted in his seat with a faint creak of metal.

“Acknowledged.”

You groaned internally and forced yourself to focus, pulling open the next panel and reaching in to check his sensor nodes. But you couldn’t help the way your mind kept wandering to the warm, flexible material hidden underneath that fabric. Whoever invented Svarog’s model was an absolute pervert and lunatic, you thought to yourself. A war machine equipped with a dick? You still could not wrap your head around it. To the way Svarog had described it so matter-of-factly, like it was just another tool in his arsenal.

And yet… the tension in his frame, the way his systems overcompensated whenever you touched him, those weren’t reactions you’d expect from a simple machine.

Your hands hovered above the exposed sensor nodes, still adjusting the connections, but your thoughts were no longer entirely focused on the task at hand.

It was impossible to ignore the strange electric tension in the air between you and Svarog. Every time your fingers brushed against his cooling panels or adjusted a wiring interface, you felt it; the subtle hum of his systems, almost like a heartbeat. Or maybe it was just the increasing proximity to his form, which felt more real with every touch, even if you knew he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense.

The heat beneath his outer plating felt too organic, too alive. The warmth spread further with each subtle shift of his hulking frame as you adjusted his internals, a mechanical symphony of soft clicks and hums that made your breath catch in your throat.

This was nothing like the Intellitrons.

You had worked with hundreds to thousands of them over the years, and each time it had been the same routine: simple diagnostics, quick fixes, nothing too complicated. They were built for efficiency, cold efficiency. Their systems were bare-bones, nothing more than a body of metal and circuits with only the basic instincts to follow commands.

But Svarog…

He was different. Complex. His systems, his body, everything about him screamed intricacy and human-like design. A part of you resigned yourself to further look into Svarog’s specific model. Perhaps it was time to take a deeper look into Belobogian technology. Even the way Svarog’s body responded to your touch felt foreign. He was more than just a machine, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just a war machine, a combat tool; there was something underneath, something untapped, a feature of his yet to be understood.

And that thought… that burning curiosity clawed at you.

You’d always prided yourself on being a mechanic. You understood machines, systems, the cold logic of how things worked. But Svarog wasn’t cold. Wasn’t simple. The way his body responded to your movements, the imperceptible shifts in his temperature, the faint, almost unnoticeable changes in his posture whenever your fingers brushed too close to certain sensitive spots—all of it made you wonder.

What if I pushed him further?

A thought you could barely even process, but it lingered, stubborn. The daring curiosity that ran deep within you as a mechanic—was this not what you lived for? To understand the unknown, to push the limits of what could be fixed, adjusted, modified? Svarog’s design wasn’t just mechanical, it felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, like a language you only understood in fragments.

Your hands moved to reconnect a set of wires, but you barely felt the tools in your grip. The warmth from his frame was distracting, constantly pulling your focus away from the task at hand.

You set your tools down with a sharp click, exhaling as you leaned back from Svarog’s towering frame. The repairs were done. Functionally complete. His damaged plating had been reinforced, circuits reconnected, and his sensor nodes recalibrated. Everything checked out.

Or at least, it should have felt finished.

But you lingered.

Your gaze swept over him again, tracing the seams of his armor and the smooth lines of his construction. Svarog wasn’t like the Intellitrons. His design was deliberate. Every joint, every harsh angle of his frame, was crafted with an almost human elegance that made your brain stutter every time you tried to compare him to standard machinery. Even the sections hidden beneath his plating—the ones you briefly glimpsed while making repairs—were unnervingly realistic in their precision.

And then there were the features he’d kept covered.

You dragged your gaze back to his waist, to the reinforced plating that remained stubbornly intact throughout the repairs. That section.

You hadn’t needed to touch it, hadn’t even dared to ask about it again, but the shape and positioning had made it impossible not to notice. That, combined with the suspicious necessity of his pants, had left your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t shake.

Why go to such lengths to simulate humanity in that area?

You knew you shouldn’t care. You were a mechanic. Curiosity was natural. It came with the job. But no matter how many times you tried to frame it as a purely technical interest, your pulse told you otherwise.

It wasn’t just simple curiosity. It was a fixation.

You reached out, under the pretense of double-checking one of his sensor-nodes, but your fingers hesitated. You could feel the faint hum of his systems through the plating, steady and constant, and for reasons you didn’t want to unpack, it made the room feel smaller, like the two of you were occupying too much space at once.

“You are hesitating,” Svarog declared suddenly, his mechanical voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You froze, pulling your hand back like you’d been caught committing a crime. “No, I was just making sure everything’s—”

“False,” he interrupted. His optic seemed red as it regarded you. “Your behavior has deviated from standard patterns. Focus is inconsistent. Eye movement suggests distraction.”

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. Svarog wasn’t wrong, and worse, he wasn’t letting it go.

“Your gaze has returned to my lower half multiple times,” he continued, his tone as flat as ever. “Body temperature elevated by 15.3 percent. Heart rate increased. These patterns suggest heightened interest.”

You felt your stomach flip as he laid out your reactions like cold, hard data. And yet, his voice was so mechanical, so calm and detached, that it made the weight of your embarrassment feel even heavier.

“I can conclude the source of your distraction,” Svarog added. “You are exhibiting curiosity regarding the anatomical structure concealed beneath my armor.”

You didn’t know whether to flat out deny it or run out of the room entirely. Neither option felt viable. At least, not with him towering over you like that, unflinching, his glowing optics locked onto your every move.

“I—no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, even though you knew it was exactly like that.

“Your biological responses contradict your statement,” he said simply. “You are aware of the human-like components integrated into my design. Your fixation suggests a desire to understand their functionality.”

Your breath hitched. The words functionality and components should have grounded you. It should have made this situation feel as clinical as he seemed to think it was. But instead, they only fueled the heat already curling in your stomach.

Because Svarog was right.

You wanted to know—Aeons, you’ve been dying to know—how far his human design extended. And now that the repairs were done, now that he’d laid the truth bare, it felt impossible to stop.

“You are not the first to display interest in this feature,” Svarog continued, as though he were listing out schematics. “However, prior inquiries did not progress past verbal questioning. You are demonstrating physical tension indicative of deeper investigation.”

Your throat felt dryer than the desert.

“I propose a solution,” Svarog said, tilting his head slightly. “Controlled exploration. Further data on synthetic anatomy is limited. Your curiosity provides an opportunity for analysis and documentation.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He wasn’t joking. He couldn’t joke.

“You are suggesting we… test this?”

“Correct.”

His lack of hesitation made your pulse stutter. He saw this as a logical step, nothing more than a means to gather data, and yet, the way his frame loomed over you, the hum of his systems almost vibrating through the air, felt anything but detached.

“Decision required,” Svarog said after a beat. “Proceed with testing, or terminate this interaction?”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

“Proceed,” you said softly.

His optics flared slightly—almost imperceptibly—before he nodded.

“Acknowledged. Experiment initiated.”

Svarog wasn’t designed to rush.

He worked methodically, his plated fingers tracing along your thighs—testing, measuring, pressing into the soft flesh as though assessing the tensile strength of your muscles. Assessing how much you could take.

“Body temperature elevated by 1.8 degrees,” he noted, his optics narrowing slightly. “Pulse irregular. Predictive analysis suggests heightened arousal.”

You whimpered as his thick mechanical fingers dipped lower, sliding between your legs without hesitation. He brushed against your heat, deliberately testing the slickness already building there.

“Lubrication present,” he said. “Preliminary preparation observed. Additional stimulation required.”

You barely had any time to register his words before his thumb pressed against your clit. The motion was slow, deliberate, grinding down just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Too much.

The smoothness of his plating, the slight hum of his servos adjusting with every movement, left you aching almost instantly. He applied more pressure, adjusting the angle like he was calibrating the motion for maximum effect.

You gasped, hips jerking against him instinctively, and Svarog’s optics dimmed.

“Response strength at 63 percent,” he observed. “Testing deeper penetration.”

You bit back a cry as his fingers slipped inside. Thick, unyielding, and cool against your heat. He stretched you slowly, adding another finger almost immediately, pushing past the tight resistance with clinical focus.

“Muscle tension detected,” he said, his thumb circling the erect pearl of your clit again as his fingers curled inside of you. “Adjusting pressure.”

You whimpered as he spread his fingers, stretching you wider until the ache blurred into something hotter, sharper.

“Elasticity improving,” he noted, tilting his head as he pressed deeper. “Lubrication increased by 24 percent.”

You clenched around him, your gummy walls struggling to accommodate the deliberate stretch, and Svarog’s optics flickered.

“Resistance still measurable,” he said, slowing his movements. “Further preparation required.”

Your head was spinning by the time he added a third finger, the burn almost too much, but Svarog didn’t falter. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, pumping and curling until the tension broke, and your body melted around him.

Svarog’s mechanical fingers lingered inside you, coated in slickness as he worked them deeper—pressing, stretching, curling with deliberate precision. His thumb dragged slow, circular patterns over your clit, the rhythm steady enough to make your hips jolt against him in a helpless, uncontrollable reaction.

“Muscle tension improving,” he observed. “Current dilation at 73 percent. Additional preparation recommended.”

His tone was calm, detached, but the way his optics dimmed as he watched your thighs trembling betrayed something deeper. He pressed in further, adding another finger. Thicker. Unyielding. Enough to force a sharp gasp to tumble out of your throat.

The burn was too much and not enough all at once, your body clenching down against the stretch even as your legs fell further apart under his firm grip.

You could feel yourself dripping, already struggling to take his fingers, but Svarog didn’t falter. He spread them wider, deliberately testing your limits, and the ache left you clawing at his arm, nails scraping helplessly against smooth plating.

“Elasticity increased by 18 percent,” he said, pulling his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch that made your breath hitch and your cheeks burn. He inspected the slick coating his fingers before tilting his head slightly. “Sufficient for insertion.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Your eyes widened as he was lining up, the thick, mechanical weight of his massive cock pressing against your sopping entrance and making your stomach twist with a sharp mix of anticipation and fear. His cock contrasted the rest of his metallic body, covered by a synthetic material that seemed to emulate the sensation of skin.

“Size differential detected,” Svarog noted, palming your thigh to angle your hips upward. “Accommodating size will result in initial resistance.”

You bit back a cry as he pushed forward, the broad, blunted tip spreading you open with agonizing slowness. The pain is sharp, your walls pulsing and struggling to accommodate him even after the preparation.

Too big.

The words barely formed in your mind before the pressure stole the thought away entirely. You gasped sharply, arching as he forced himself deeper, the stretch too much. Burning, tearing, making your legs shake uncontrollably.

Svarog’s grip on your hips tightened as he paused, allowing you a brief moment of reprieve to adjust, but as his optics flickered, scanning the trembling of your muscles and the fluttering of your gummy walls around him.

“Pain response detected. Estimating threshold at 62 percent.”

You cried out as his hands tilted your hips. You were barely able to breathe as he pressed further, the new angle forcing him deeper into your cunt, and your stomach twisted as you felt it. His cock bullied its way in, the meaty girth of his shaft forcing you wider and wider until you swore you could feel it pressing against everything, imprinting his shape inside of you.

Too much. Too deep.

Tears welled in your eyes as your body struggled to take him, your hands scrabbling against his frame, fingers digging uselessly into unmoving steel.

Svarog’s hand pressed against your stomach, his thumb grazing the prominent bulge already forming there.

“Internal displacement observed,” he said, pushing down slightly to feel the way his massive cock shifted inside of you. The sensation earned a quiver of your legs, the pressure in between your legs rendering you unable to utter a coherent sentence. “Pressure response increasing. Adapting angle.”

Your head fell back with a guttural cry as he adjusted, pressing even deeper, his thumb brushing over the bulge experimentally while he thrust deeper, the bulge in your stomach shifting with him. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Your lips fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body clenched down hard, pulsing and fluttering, struggling against the size, and Svarog stilled.

“Involuntary constriction detected,” he said, his optics dimming slightly.

His free hand reached up, spreading your thighs wider, and he began to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts that forced you to feel every excruciating inch of him.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was feel. The stretch, the ache, the grinding pressure of him bottoming out inside you again and again and again. The bulge in your stomach shifted with every thrust, a visible reminder of just how deep he was, how much he was filling you.

Svarog’s optics glowed faintly as he observed you, his gaze calculating and unwavering as your body trembled beneath him. Each shallow breath you took, each gasp for air as his cock pressed deeper, he noted, analyzing the involuntary way your body gripped him, how your muscles fluttered around him with every thrust.

“Heart rate accelerating. Muscular tension increasing. Increased stimulation evident.”

He could see the way your body reacted. How your hands clenched, how your thighs shook, how the bulge in your stomach shifted with each deep push, marking the extent to which he had filled you. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils dilated with every inch of him that stretched you wider, deeper, further than you ever thought possible.

You were on the brink of breaking, the tension in your body growing unbearable as your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. Your body, desperate for more and yet unable to fully handle what was happening, was his to command, and he couldn’t help but watch in quiet fascination as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

You were becoming dumber. So much of you just couldn’t function anymore. You were speechless, unable to utter a coherent sentence, broken down by the intensity of his cock fucking its way into you, and the way you melted against him was nothing short of fascinating. Your voice was lost to you, your thoughts clouded by raw sensation, but the pleasure you felt was clear. It was painted across every quiver of your body, the sheen of beaded sweat lining your face and neck, in the strained arch of your back, the desperate shuddering of your limbs.

He could hear the soft whimpering sounds, could see the way your face twisted with both pain and pleasure, and his own systems hummed with the data flooding his internal logs. Every reaction of yours was so genuine, so untouched by reason. It was an anomaly he had never experienced.

Svarog’s mechanical frame moved with precision, his movements controlled and deliberate. His systems hummed as he observed you, his optics tracking every microexpression, every shuddering breath as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming size that filled you.

He didn’t feel pleasure. He didn’t need it, not the way you did. But the reactions you were giving him—the way your body trembled, the way your walls spasmed around him—were intriguing, data points he had yet to fully understand.

“Subject’s body reacting to size discrepancy. Estimated stretch threshold surpassed.”

Your hands were clutching at him, your fingers slipping over his cool metal plating, desperately trying to find purchase. Your tight walls clung to him as though your body was doing everything it could to resist the sensation, even though it was now obvious that you couldn’t fight it. Your body was becoming swallowed by him, opening wide to accommodate what it was never meant to handle.

Svarog’s movement’s never faltered, his thrusts measured and precise, studying you as your body began to react involuntarily. Your walls spasmed around him, tighter and tighter, almost as though your body was trying to pull him deeper despite the overwhelming stretch.

“Subject’s body is exhibiting signs of imminent climax. Response timing has been measured.”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your entire body stiffed, an involuntary shudder running through you as every nerve seemed to light up at once. Your vision blurred, the sounds of your ragged breathing filling your ears, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond belief. Your walls contracted and released rapidly, the pressure inside you finally exploding, and you cried out his name, the world barely a whisper between gasps.

The release sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and Svarog could see it. How your body trembled, how your legs locked around his waist, pulling him even deeper—if that was even possible. You were speechless, your mind blank as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your insides gripping him with a tightness that was almost painful.

“Subject has achieved climax. Response exceeds expectations.”

Your breaths came in desperate, uncoordinated gasps as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, and your body was left quivering, unable to do anything but absorb the aftershocks of your mind-numbing release. Your thighs quivered, feeling your cum trickling down your skin, staining his metal plating.

Svarog, ever the observer, did not stop. He noted the way your body reacted to each of his thrusts, the way your tummy bulged with each movement, the way your warm walls clamped down involuntarily as you tried to regain control of your senses.

Despite the fact that Svarog himself could not feel pleasure, there was something undeniably fascinating about the way you came undone beneath him, your body fighting for control even as it surrendered entirely to him.

He continued moving inside you, his mechanical precision relentless, watching as you flinched with each motion, your body too sensitive now to handle it. Your hands, still pawing weakly at his arms, combined with your whimpered protests of it being too much, were growing weaker, and the sensations were too much for you to bear, but still, he kept going, his own curiosity driving him. He wanted to see how much more you could take, how much more your body could endure before it reached its limit.

You were still trembling, still catching your breath, your mind scattered and lost in the aftereffects of your climax. He could see your skin shimmering with sweat, your breasts rising and falling, the way your hips thrusted up to meet his even though you were lost in the throes of overstimulation.

“Subject remains responsive despite signs of fatigue,” he observed. “Data indicates further analysis needed.”

You were so tight, so overstimulated, and yet your body responded again as though it couldn’t stop itself. Another surge of pleasure crashed through you, pulling another, more broken moan from your lips. It was overwhelming, too much, but your body needed it, responding in ways that only deepened his analysis of the situation.

Svarog’s focus didn’t waver. He watched as your body shook with every movement, your legs quivering with the strain of accommodating him, and still, he continued, his thrusts growing deeper, more relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave litters of bruises that resembled the shade of his metal plating, holding you in place, using your body as a tool for his data collection.

He could see the way you reacted to the sensations, your face contorting in a combination of pain and pleasure, your eyes wide and unfocused, the way your mouth parted as though you couldn’t form any coherent words. Your body had become nothing but a series of responses, unable to control the way you moved or how you moaned, each sound increasing in volume and intensity as he continued to jackhammer into you.

Your stomach bulged from the pressure, each thrust deepening the curve, showing just how much of him you were struggling to take. Your body was so small, so delicate compared to his design—a machine of war—and yet it was somehow adjusting, somehow taking him all the way in, and with each inch he could see your entire body shift, your muscles trembling, walls contracting and clenching around him.

Svarog observed with detachment, but a small part of him couldn’t ignore how your body seemed to respond, how the very tightness of your searingly hot walls seemed to tug at him, pull him deeper as though it wanted to trap him there—needed him to stay there. The way you trembled beneath him, struggling to remain grounded as your body was filled with something so vast compared to your form. He noted how your skin glistened, how you arch your back, trying to take more of him, trying your damned best to accommodate his size.

Svarog noted how you were losing coherence, your once-clear expression now a mess of uncontrollable need, your eyes glazing over as you gave in to the rhythm he set. He couldn’t deny the way your body seemed to yearn for more, even as you struggled with the sheer size of him.

The final stretch was the worst for you, and the best for him. He felt your body grip him, squeezing him impossibly tight as he buried himself to the hilt. This earned a strained sob from your lips. Your stomach bulged more than ever before, a visual testament to just how much of him you had taken, how far he had pushed you. He could see your body tremble, your limbs shaking, your quivering lips gasping for breath.

Yet, even as your body was on the edge, unraveling beneath him, Svarog did not stop. The data was still incomplete. He needed more. He needed to see how much you could endure, how much pleasure your body could take from the sheer act of him pounding into you.

And so, he continued, calculating the rhythms, watching as you came again with a scream of his name, your body seizing, the loud moan that escaped your lips barely audible over the overwhelming noise in your head. It was the most raw, vulnerable he had ever seen you—or any human—and it only fascinated him more.

With another deep thrust, you shuddered, and this time, Svarog could see your body collapse against the surface beneath you, completely undone. You were breathless, barely coherent, your limbs shaking as the final waves of pleasure raked through your senses.

Svarog paused, his cool hands steadying your trembling body, allowing you to come down from the dizzying high. He could continue for as long as he wanted, but your body was too spent for further testing. He could still see the evidence of your come, dripping down in translucent milky strings to the surface beneath you, painting your inner thighs. Svarog decided that this must be what humans described as “beautiful.”

“Conclusion: Subject’s tolerance to size discrepancy has surpassed previous estimates. Data collection complete.”

[yuechihua]

a strange case of bangboos.

summary: Harumasa brings exact Bangboo replicas of you and your Section Six coworkers to the office. For some reason, his Bangboo won't leave you alone.

notes: 3.7k words, author's notes, spoilers and references for Section Six special episode, fluff

There are a few things you’ve come to expect from your coworker, Asaba Harumasa: falling asleep at his desk during the middle of the day, sneaking requests for time off work alongside his pile of overdue reports, and walking into the office several hours late with a ridiculous excuse.

So when Harumasa strolls into the office for once, on time, with a light step and casual wave, it’s enough to make you look up from your flood of paperwork with a confused glance as he throws you a wink.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says cheerily, hand on his hips, stopping just short of entering the office. “I have a surprise for you all!” 

Soukaku and Miyabi, who have been diligently working (read: eating snacks and playing tic tac toe on official bureaucratic documents), are the first to run over. Yanagi remains at her desk, and the two of you exchange wary looks. 

“They’re so cute!” Soukaku says with childish delight, crouching down to mess with something half-hidden behind Harumasa and the open office doors. 

“How lifelike,” Miyabi muses, arms folded.

It’s at this point that you and Yanagi can’t resist striding over to see what Harumasa’s surprise entails. You’re greeted by the sight of several Bangboos crowding behind him. They appear to be custom-made: one in blue, one in black, one in white, and one in your favorite color—they’re the exact same as the Bangboo forms you and your colleagues had taken during a virtual reality attack from a hacker group. 

Soukaku is patting her Bangboo, her eyes bright as the Bangboo (Soukaboo, you decide it should be called) makes happy noises. Miyabi and her Bangboo (Miyaboo would be a good name for it) simply stare at each other without blinking, though after a moment, Miyabi nods, as if coming to some sort of internal decision.

“Bangboo?” Yanagi murmurs. “But why?”

“You can interact with them, you know,” Harumasa interjects.

“Interact with them?” you ask. 

At the sound of your voice, your Bangboo tilts its head at you. It appears to be sizing you up in the same way you’re observing it, with the same measured detachment. It’s a little eerie how similar it is to you, your mannerisms captured in a robot. 

Harumasa’s Bangboo (Asaboo, you dub it in your head) takes a few steps towards your Bangboo and tries to nuzzle it, only for your Bangboo to swiftly sidestep its advances, turning its body away in a clear sign of rejection. Asaboo lets out a sad little sigh, synthetic ears drooping, before it immediately perks up when its gaze alights on you.

“Ehn-nah!” Asaboo says, its mechanical voice sounding like the cheerful jingle of a bell.

Its body is chubby and white, smooth and sleek like the shell of a fat egg, and it preens under your newfound attention. Asaboo spins in a circle, revealing a little red target and arrow on its butt, and it takes all your self control not to throw your arms around it. 

There’s one thing you can’t deny: these Bangboo are absolutely adorable.

“It’s so much cuter than Harumasa,” you say out loud, arms crossed, as Asaboo beeps a little “eh-nah” in agreement, shuffling closer to you as it does.

“I agree,” Yanagi says. “Perhaps we could consider replacing Harumasa with this Bangboo. I imagine reports would come in a much more timely manner if we did.” 

“You know I can hear you, right?” Harumasa says, a faux wounded expression on his face.

“I know,” you say dryly. “But what’s the point of bringing them over? Don’t these look like the time we were turned–”

“It’s a change of pace,” Harumasa interrupts. “I figured we needed our own mascots, don’t you think? Think of the merchandising we can do. And they would brighten up the office.” 

“Yeah?” you say, unconvinced. “Since when did you care about that?”

“Well…” he continues, “There was also a deal at the shop I went to where if you bought one, you could get one free. Why wouldn’t I take advantage of such a good deal?”

Miyabi is watching Harumasa with a contemplative expression, her ear twitching slightly at his words. Before you can ask her what she’s thinking about, Asaboo suddenly tugs at your leg.

You glance down, and its chubby arms are wrapped around your calf, its little face peering up at you with its wide eyes.

“Eh-nah?” it asks, in the cutest, most innocent voice imaginable. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching down and patting the top of its head. It wiggles at your touch, reaching up its little hands, as if trying to feel the spot where you just pat it to capture your warmth. 

“It’s so cute,” you say fondly. 

At your words, Asaboo jumps up and down in excitement. 

“And it’s oddly attached to you,” Yanagi remarks. “Asaba, what does the AI data for these Bangboos look like?”

For the first time this morning, Harumasa looks abashed, but that doesn’t stop him from responding, “Well, these Bangboos are modeled closely on our personalities.”

“Harumasa, is there something you want to say to me?” you tease. “I don’t recall you being as desperate for my attention as this Bangboo.”

“I think this is very telling, Asaba,” Yanagi says, crossing her arms. 

“What on earth are you two talking about?” Harumasa says, widening his eyes, neatly sidestepping your questions and avoiding your gaze. “Telling in what way? Deputy Chief, don’t tell me you’re feeling left out. Should I order one for you, too?”

“No,” Yanagi says wearily, “That won’t be necessary. I’d rather you save your money for something useful.”

“This is useful, though! It’s excellent for team morale! Don’t you think they’re cute, Soukaku?”

“Hm…” Soukaku looks down at Soukaboo, who does a little hop. “They’re cute! I like them.”

“Don’t drag Soukaku into this!” Yanagi says. 

“I think my Bangboo will make an excellent training partner. I haven’t had a chance to spar with myself yet,” Miyabi interjects in a thoughtful voice. Miyaboo nods its head in agreement.

“Chief, not you, too!”

“I think it’s harmless, Yanagi,” you say. “It’s one of Harumasa’s better ideas.” As you speak, Asaboo tugs on your leg again, looking up at you with a pitiful expression. “Oh, are you feeling left out?”

You reach down and run your gentle fingers along Asaboo’s head, rubbing alongside its ears. It has a smooth, rubbery texture, but if you press down harder, you can feel the vibration and stabilized heat of its whirring machinery beneath its exterior.

Harumasa watches you with a conflicted expression. “Why aren’t you this nice to me?”

“You’re not as cute as Asaboo,” you say resolutely, and Asaboo lets out a little “eh-nah” of agreement. 

Harumasa purses his lips. His eyes narrow at Asaboo, and it’s the exact same expression he has  right before he lets loose an arrow aimed for an Ethereal’s core. “I’m starting to regret this purchase.”

“You’re the one who brought them over. Asaboo hasn’t done anything wrong,” you say. 

“But you’re taking its side!” Harumasa protests. “Against me, your loyal partner! Our bond is forged through countless adversities in the Hollows, against the worst Ethereals New Eridu has ever seen! And you’re choosing a Bangboo over me!”

“Our relationship is strictly business. This is different,” you say, fingers dancing over the top of Asaboo’s ears as it lets out a content sigh. 

“Harumasa’s been replaced,” Miyabi murmurs.

“He’s been replaced,” Yanagi agrees. “Harumasamasa has been replaced!” Soukaku says cheerfully.

“There’s no need to rub it in…” Harumasa glances at your Bangboo, which is peacefully sitting on the floor in a patch of sunlight, staring out one of the windows, oblivious to the chaos around it. He crouches, and holds out his hand, as if to pat its head. “Hey there.” Your Bangboo immediately jumps up and scampers away without looking at Harumasa, resuming its vigil farther away.

“Rejected, even by a Bangboo,” Yanagi murmurs. “Asaba, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”

“Tsukishiro, if you say that, that’s just going to make me feel worse, you know?” Harumasa says ruthfully. “But it’s fine. We can just let them run around a little longer.”

The newest members of Section Six settle into the office with relative ease. The Bangboo are given free range around the office, though you notice that Soukaboo likes to sit near anyone with visible snacks, and Miyaboo is found in increasingly odder positions: on top of the door, hidden in a bookshelf, or tucked under a desk. 

Your Bangboo, on the other hand, is perfectly content to help deliver paperwork or coffee around the office, though it’s not immune from Miyaboo and Soukaboo pulling it into sudden games. Asaboo has no similar luck with your Bangboo, which seems to ignore Asaboo’s attempts to get close. There’s a hint of dissatisfaction in your Bangboo’s expression, though you can’t tell where it’s coming from. 

So Asaboo ends up waddling after you, settling right next to the side of your desk. Whenever you get up to grab a cup of coffee, discuss confidential information with other officers, or simply to stretch, Asaboo immediately jumps up to follow.

“Not interested in playing with the other Bangboo anymore?” you say. The other Bangboo are hopping around in the distance, bouncing a ball Soukaku pulled out from her desk back and forth.

“Eh-nah!” it says, puffing out its chest.

“Well, I’m happy to hang out with you, too.” You pat its head once more, and it gives a wiggle of delight.

“I’m also happy to hang out with you,” Harumasa adds. His desk is right next to yours, so it’s easy for him to see everything that’s going on. You glance at him, with his chair pushed back from his desk, feet propped up on the table, ankles crossed.

“Sure, but you’re not voluntarily spending time with me. We work together,” you respond dryly. You don’t miss how his mouth tugs into a pout, looking for all the world like a displeased cat which has been denied its favorite meal. 

Around lunchtime, when you pick up your packed lunch to head to the break room, Asaboo jumps up and down in the air, holding out its hands.

“Oh? Do you want to carry this for me?” you say, holding the package aloft.

It nods enthusiastically, ears flopping, and you gently place your lunchbox into its hands. Asaboo clutches the bundle to its chest like its most precious treasure, though it’s nothing more than some plastic containers set in a carrying case, with a handle that pops out that Asaboo loops its hand through.

“I could carry that for you,” Harumasa adds. His head is down on his desk, gazing at you through the fringe of his dark eyelashes. They’re unfairly long and pretty.

“Are you sure?” you say, raising your eyebrow. “I thought you said you weren’t capable of lifting anything heavier than a single sheet of paper.” 

“Well, I’m feeling a burst of strength today, so–” Harumasa raises himself from his desk and reaches out towards your lunchbox, but Asaboo leaps back before his hand can even graze it. 

“Eh-eh-nah!” it says defiantly. 

“Oh, you little–”

“Don’t bully Asaboo,” you scold, moving to stand in front of it. “Come on, Harumasa. It’s just a cute little Bangboo.” 

“It just made a face at me,” he says indignantly, throwing his hands up helplessly.

“Well, like you said, the data for its personality is based on you.”

With that, you and Asaboo head towards the break room, Asaboo wobbling behind you cheerfully the entire time. The break room itself is surprisingly spacious, with floor to ceiling windows, tasteful plants tucked in corners, and clusters of tables and cushy chairs scattered about. Various gleaming, stainless state of the art kitchen appliances are huddled in the corner. It’s one of the nicer break rooms you’ve seen, and you have HSO budget to thank for that.

Asaboo quickly runs to a table near one of the windows, and hops up to place your lunchbox on the table. It’s a quiet spot, away from the other officers, and the sunlight pleasantly warms the area.

“Did you choose this place on purpose? You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, and Asaboo ducks its head, raising its hands to cover its face in embarrassment. Really, when it reacts like that, it’s hard to imagine Asaboo derives its personality from Harumasa. It’s not as if Harumasa isn’t thoughtful; in fact, you have a feeling the presence of the Bangboo is his roundabout way to make everyone happy, somehow. 

But Harumasa, clinging to your leg, or following you everywhere? It’s hard to imagine. Is that how he really wants to act around you, or is it simply that Asaboo has its own individual quirks, separate from the influence of Harumasa’s personality data? Despite Yanagi’s earlier comment about how “telling” Asaboo’s reactions are, your own teasing, and Harumasa’s reticent response, it’s not a clear marker for Harumasa’s own feelings. 

You’re not sure you want to use Asaboo to measure Harumasa’s feelings, either. That brings up its own complications, especially regarding your own emotions towards Harumasa. It would be a lie to say that Asaboo being Harumasa’s Bangoo doesn’t make you extra sweet to it. Well, that and the mischievous desire in you to see Harumasa pout. After all, it’s payback for all the teasing you’ve endured from him since the two of you joined Section Six.

You enjoy a quiet lunch with Asaboo, though once you’re both back at the office and you’re settled at your desk, Asaboo lets out a little “eh-nah” when it sees Soukaku holding up a picture to her Bangboo, a crayon drawing of her and Soukaboo in a field of flowers, holding hands. It immediately leaps up and heads out the door. You don’t have time to wonder at its behavior, though, not when you have a mountain of tasks that’s piled up since you were away at lunch.

“Your loyal companion left. Want me to take its place?” Harumasa offers.

“Get back to work, Harumasa.”

Ten minutes later, you’re interrupted from your workflow by the patter of mechanical feet and something tugging at your leg.

You look down to see Asaboo, covered in mud and grass stains, a trail of dirty footprints behind it, and a proud expression on its face as it clutches a flower in its hand. In contrast to Asaboo’s appearance, the flower is pristine, with soft, pure yellow petals.

“Eh-nah!” Asaboo says. It holds the flower in your direction.

“Oh, Asaboo, where did you get this? Is this for me?” you ask. You gingerly take the flower from its hand, and Asaboo looks proudly at you.

“Eh-nah. Ehn-nah-nah!” It jumps up and down for emphasis. 

“I’ll cherish it forever,” you promise, and carefully place the flower on your desk. You’ll ask Soukaku to help you press it later so you can preserve it. Was that why Asaboo had been looking at Soukaku’s drawing? Because it was thinking of you?

“If you want flowers, I can give you some, too, without ripping up the building’s lawn,” Harumasa says. He looks at you sleepily, with that familiar pout curling around his mouth.

“Then why haven’t you?” you tease him. “Besides, think about it. If Asaboo gives me a flower, isn’t it essentially the same as if you gave me the flower yourself?”

“It’s completely different,” he protests. “It’s not like I knew you wanted flowers. And Asaboo isn’t me. If anything, it’s…” He brings a hand to his tie, which already hangs loose from his collar, and unconsciously slides the knot lower. 

“It’s what?” 

“The Bangoo weren’t meant to do any of this,” he says. 

“I thought you said these Bangboo were bought on a whim,” you say.

“I did. That’s not exactly wrong, but…” Harumasa hops up on your desk, perching on a spot free from papers or office supplies. He crosses his legs, and you swing your office chair in his direction. “Sometimes, if you have a bitter memory, you can overwrite it by facing it over and over until you get used to it and it’s no longer so painful, right? Like exposure therapy.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Asaboo, at some point, has slowly run off to find the other Bangboo. They circle each other and jump around, an innocent dance of happiness, though Asaboo is watching your Bangboo more intensely than anything else in the room.

“Are you talking about the time we were turned into Bangboo?” you venture. It’s a memory whose threat has faded with time, becoming less of a menace and more of a funny office story to relay to coworkers. Dangerous situations and odd circumstances come part and parcel with your job.

Still, you can remember the sensation of being a Bangboo with startling clarity: the virtual buildings of Lumina Square inflating in size around you, wobbling on legs you weren’t used to, unable to wield a weapon. When you lifted your hands, a shock would jolt through you to see metal and not limbs and fingers. It’s a feeling of helpless you aren’t eager to return to.

“I was the first to turn into a Bangboo,” Harumasa says ruthfully. “And I couldn’t do anything. I had to watch everyone fight, knowing every second we wasted was a second closer to death. I had to watch you put your life at risk to keep me safe, and I couldn’t do anything at all. Everyone here is strong, but…” He taps his fingers on your desk. “You all pretend to be fine when you’re really not.”

How long has this been on his mind? It must have been what Miyabi noticed right away, from the very moment Harumasa started showing off the Bangboo. You slowly cover his hand with one of your own, entangling your fingers together. The heavy fabric of his gloves brush against your bare fingers, but you can still feel the bump of his knuckles, the curve of the back of his hand.

No one else in the office can see the two of you right now, the front of your desk with your computer and stack of books and folders acting as a barrier from the rest of the world.

“Harumasa.” You dip a finger under his glove, to feel the tender, warm, uncertain flesh underneath and trace designs on the back of his hand. His breath hitches. “You don’t need to take on everything yourself. You also like to pretend you’re fine when you’re not; you can rely on us a little more.”

“So the Bangboo weren’t a good idea, huh?” The joke comes out light-hearted and weak.

“No, they’re very cute,” you say. “I really like them, even if you don’t. But if you want to overwrite bitter memories, I think we should all do it together.”

A heated intensity steals across Harumasa’s face, his attention on you as unwavering and steady as a shaft of blazing summer light. “Together? Do you promise that?”

He bends his head a little closer, and you tilt your head upwards in response. Whatever it is he offers, you’ll accept.

However, before either of you can make another move, there’s a great crash, metal slamming on cold tile, and you instantly rise from your seat to seek out the source of the noise. In the middle of the offic, you see Asaboo collapsed on the floor, sprawled over like a fallen egg on its side.

“Oh no,” you murmur. But before you can rush over, something astonishing happens. Your Bangboo, which previously has ignored Asaboo, immediately leaps to Asaboo’s side, patting its head with its hands.

“Ehn-nah,” your Bangboo says worriedly.

“Eh-ne-ne,” Asaboo says back in a faint tone.

Your Bangboo cradles Asaboo’s hand in its own as it helps Asaboo stand. Asaboo leans on your Bangboo, though you can’t help but feel Asaboo’s steps are a little too energetic as your Bangboo guides it out of the door, their hands entangled together the whole time, probably to find a charging port or a mechanic. 

“Huh? I thought their Bangboo didn’t like Asaboo!” Soukaku says. She jumps up from her chair. Miyabi and Yanagi are clustered around Soukaku’s desk, ostensibly discussing some business that’s been interrupted by the Bangboo drama. “It didn’t want to play with Asaboo before!”

“I wonder if their Bangboo was just shy towards Asaboo,” Yanagi theorizes. “Or it’s possible it was jealous, too, of Asaboo clinging to someone else.”

“It’s most likely both,” Miyabi says. “I believe it’s always cared for Asaboo, and Harumasa by extension, but would loathe to let everyone know the extent of its feelings.”

Your face heats up as everyone’s gazes swing towards you, like bright stage lights revealing you to an audience you didn’t realize was there. You don’t even want to look at Harumasa, still perched on your desk, because you can already imagine the smug, overly pleased expression on his face. 

“I think we should talk about something else,” you suggest hastily. “Don’t you think Asaboo’s behavior was a little strange?”

“As Asaboo’s owner and foremost expert,” Harumasa says, one hand cupped around his chin, “I think it’s obvious Asaboo was faking its sudden bout of dizziness in order to get the attention of your Bangboo.”

“Why does that sound exactly like something you would pull off?” you say. “Like owner, like Bangboo.”

“Speaking of… I feel a little faint… I think… I need to lean on you…” Harumasa, with no attempt to hide his theatrics, begins to lean strategically in your direction, face landing on your shoulder, slumping his entire body so his weight falls on you.

“Asaba Harumasa, can you at least pretend to hide your intentions?”

“Can’t hear you… Still dizzy… We need to hold hands or I’ll fall…” 

Harumasa reaches for your hand with surprising speed, but you tuck it behind your back so he can’t hold it. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you instead, and it takes all your willpower not to shove him off and onto the floor. 

You can still feel the gaze of your other coworkers upon you, and hear the whisper of their conversation, though they aren’t making any effort to hide their comments.

“They’re embarrassed,” Miyabi says quietly.

“They’re very embarrassed,” Yanagi says.

“Super embarrassed!” Soukaku chirps. You close your eyes, face still hot. From now on, you’re not going to underestimate Harumasa’s or Asaboo’s capacity for cunning. As cute as the Bangboo are, maybe they are more trouble than they’re worth.

[human-cyborg-relations]

You know... if you think about it, removing a robots outer plating/coverings to expose their intricate networks of wires, framework, delicate joints, and cybernetic components that lay just underneath is akin to like, one of the most delicate and trustworthy acts of human intimacy.

It's practically like undressing them. Taking of their clothes and their undergarments, to expose something that no average person was meant to see.

Maybe it's even their armour that protects their most sensitive inner workings giving way to the vulnerability and complexity beneath, revealing the inner workings that define them.

Each panel and piece carefully lifted unveils a side of them not often seen, perhaps closer to never seen, like gently undressing to reveal layers of a person's identity and history.

You see wires that have been replaced or need replacing. You see burnt connecters, chipped framework, cables bent in unusual ways, water damage, grit damage in so many places, each small detail tells a story that was hidden away.

You were never meant to notice, to see, only ever meant to perceive them as the machine they are. But now you see them as another being so closely.

Like looking at a nude human. We all know how a nude human looks. You know how a "nude" robot looks as well. But this is them. This is their body. It's different. It's more than that.

They react to you seeing them this way in such human way, they warm up, their fans kick on, they can't speak to you, so flustered.

You're exposing them, caressing them, touching them and being so delicate as not to damage them. They love you. You love them. They understand.

The interplay between their external shell/casing and internal mechanisms mirrors the layers of human emotion and privacy that come with stripping ones clothes before engaging in some of the most erotic and intimate acts, evoking a sense of reverence and curiosity for what lies even further beneath.

You're so much closer to their body this way. Like being closer to their heart. You can practically see through them, you can see and hear their systems reacting to all of you, as if their heart is racing for you.

And they trust you, they trust you to see them like this, so exposed and so vulnerable. They wouldn't trust just anybody like this. But you, you're so special to them, you care so much for them, and they want you to see them this way.

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Android + Mad Scientist Reader

-

It's genius-

That bucket of bolts will rue the day it appeared on your doorstep to prevent the world's impending demise. How have you not thought of this plan sooner?

Standing proudly before your bedroom mirror, your prized and precious lab coat lays cast aside on your bed. It needs not to fear abandonment since once you've rid yourself of the blight on your projects the path of debauchery will again be laid out for you.

You truly are an intellectual beyond your years - not that you're bragging. It was yours smarts that lead to the creation of that nemesis - plus some assistance from future engineers, but it is your works were, or rather will be the blueprints.

Modern tools may present little damage to its impervious shell, but you can attack it somewhere deeper. Its brain. By simply reading the text on your shirt, its systems will override with the improbable idea it puts forth. You almost regret doing this too them since there will be no one left to see the brilliance behind your strategy.

Clearing your throat, you swallow the bout of senseless laughter as you shout.

"Ohhhhh assistant! Could you come here for a moment?!"

Bracing for stability, you cling onto your dresser as the walls of your humble abode shudder with every powerful step of your unwilling appointed caretaker. The sleek, blank slate of its featureless face appears in the doorway preceding the sight of its commanding figure. Why it doesn't squash your windpipe in its bicep is out of your realm of understanding, but no matter-

"Creator? You have summon us- To what do we owe the honor?"

All according to plan- "Oh, nothing- I just need you to take a look at- MY NEW SHIRT!-

Grinning from ear to ear like the mad man you are, you detach yourself from the dresser - proudly standing with both hands posed at your hips. It's genius, it's astronomical- Your brain should be put in a museum in the future if not your body already strung on a post for the pain and suffering to come.

In bold, white letters- the straightforward, impactful statement of "Virginity Rocks" stares point blank at your assistant. The android cocks its head.

"We do not understand."

"AHAHAH-"

....

"What?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Why is its head still in one piece? Its brain should have exploded and left your bedroom in a glory of robotic gore by now. Why hasn't it exploded?!

"Y-you see- M-m-my shirt says virginity rocks and you, I mean we, I mean, us... haha...."

Sweat beads down your face, knees wobbling from the shame- How does an idiot like you cause the end of the world?"

"Ah. We see now. Evidently, we did not please you well enough that you see the time before our arrival as better. Forgive us. We will fix that error for you accordingly."

"Eh? T-that won't be necessary. I really should be getting back to the lab...."

You squeeze as its iron grasp locks around your wrist.

"And destroy the earth simply because we have failed to satisfy you? We forbid it. Into bed, now. Worry not. We will be gentle with you."