#human interfaces

[feisty-yordle]

wake me up when #ffffff stops being a default background color

[rungssparemodelpieces]

Megatron, Ultra Magnus, and Rodimus at the morning meeting

Human, shows up: “Good morning! If I may, I’d like to say something to start this meeting.”

Ultra Magnus: “You may.”

Human, clears throat and proceeds to state something in Neocybex

Megatron face palms, Ultra Magnus is glaring at Rodimus, and Rodimus is laughing uncontrollably

Human, confused: “What did I say?”

Megatron: “You asked if could interface with us. Though the… offer is appreciated, most of us will not accept. Where did you learn that from?”

Human, not skipping a beat: “Oh, Roddy taught me.”

All glare at Rodimus

Rodimus, nervous now: “… well, I think that’s it for the meeting so I’ll be heading to the bridge now!”

Rodimus takes off, followed by a pissed Human and Ultra Magnus and a smirking Megatron

[autiacorart]

dancing with the enemy for @lilaccadenza <3

[moeblob]

[tomwambsgays]

skin to skin

[frankedz]

For @rk1k-prompt-week's event

Prompt: Interface

[geekgirl750]

Fine you cowards I'll fucking say it:

Stephen Moffat wouldn't have done this to us!

[storytellering]

forced interfacing ⭕️

[marlynnofmany]

Fools, Fauna, and Music Appreciation

“I don’t like this place,” Paint said over the wind. “I feel like the bushes are yelling at me.”

 “Are they?” I asked from my position at the other hoversled. The blueish shrubs on either side of the footpath were making a staticky kind of rustling, but I’d assumed that was just the leaves brushing together.

 “It’s fauna,” said Blip, pushing my sled.

 “Small fauna,” added Blop, pushing the other.

 “Bugs in the bushes, then,” I said. “Makes sense. As long as they’re not yelling because they’re going to jump out at us.”

 Paint scrutinized the bushes as we passed, her lizardy face intent. “I’d like to think that there would be a warning at the spaceport about that.”

 “Probably,” Blip said.

 “Probably,” Blop agreed. “Though this site is pretty new.”

 “I saw at least two roving safety patrols,” I pointed out. “I think they’d notice if there was that kind of hazard right outside.”

 “Probably.”

 “Probably.”

 Paint was still looking around. “I got the impression that they were searching for something.”

 “Well, it probably wasn’t the yelling bushes,” I said. A corner was coming up, so I steered us a little closer to the center of the path. Bugs or no bugs, I didn’t want to end up in the shrubbery. The sleds were full of expensive batteries (airbus size), and neither delays nor a coating of alien cicadas would have reflected well on us.

 “The yelling just sounds so hostile,” Paint insisted.

 “I guess,” I said. “It kind of reminds me of the crowd at a rock concert.”

 “A what concert?” asked Paint.

 At the same time, Blip asked, “Your rocks sing?”

 “No, that’s just the name for a kind of music,” I explained.

 Blip asked, “One made with rocks for percussion?”

 “No, it’s — I don’t think that translates well,” I said. “I probably used the wrong word. In my original language, we use the same word for the hard things from the ground as for the side-to-side motion.” I tried to rock back and forth while I walked.

 Paint cocked her head. “So, swaying music, not stone music?”

 “Eh, kind of? Swaying sounds too calm. This is loud and fast.”

 Blip nodded. “Like beating rocks together.”

 “Sure. Like that. Though nobody does that to my knowledge,” I said. “But it could make for an interesting background rhythm if someone wanted to try.”

 It was at that point that we rounded the corner, and discovered what the safety patrols had been looking for.

 Two honest-to-goodness bandits on horseback.

 One pointed an energy sword at us, his blue frills flapping in the wind. “Step away from the goods, and we’ll let you live.”

 The other one was silent, aiming a vibro-knife at Paint. It looked like the kind that could launch and regrow the blades a few times. Paint was already retreating, not wanting to find out how many blades were left.

 I stepped back too, but Blip and Blop weren’t eager to admit defeat. They shoved the sleds aside and stomped forward, yelling and flaring both frills and muscles. Their outfits today were the tight-fitting kind, so those muscles were easy to see. The clothes offered zero protection from blades, though. That didn’t stop them.

 “Cowards, trying to be tall! Using little food-toasters instead of fists!”

 “Weaklings! That’s no way to fight!”

 It wasn’t really working, since the bandits were simply holding their ground and shouting back. Nobody had launched any blades, though. Maybe the weapons were just for show. But that sword looked dangerous enough.

 I scrambled for ideas, moving out of stabbing range. There were no rocks on the ground for throwing, and no easily grabbed branches in the shrubs. A handful of whatever alien bugs were making the noise might have startled the bandits or their mounts, but I wasn’t about to go digging for those.

 The mounts, though. They looked uneasy. They weren’t Earth-style horses at a second glance, though the similarities were there. Brown, four legs (paws, not hooves), and long heads with eyes on the side in classic prey animal fashion. The way they were turning their heads to keep Blip and Blop in view, flinching at abrupt motions, told me that they might be the weak link in this hold-up.

 I crouched behind the hoversled, thinking furiously while Blip taunted the one with the sword. Paint was whispering urgently into her communicator. I didn’t expect those safety patrols to get here quickly enough, but it was worth a shot. In the meantime, I’d just had a brilliant idea.

 My hair had been getting pretty long, and I kept it tied back in my usual braid. I undid that now, finger-combing it loose and flowing, and tucking the hair ties into my pocket.

 Then I dashed forward to where the horses could see me, and headbanged for all I was worth.

 The alien horses reared and stumbled back, dumping their riders in what was probably a glorious sight to see. I was busy whipping my head back and forth, so I had to imagine it. When the horses thundered off down the path, I stopped.

 Yup, there were the two failed bandits, groaning in the dirt and getting their weapons kicked out of their hands none too gently. The sword guy had already dropped his, but Blip kicked him anyway. Then she picked up the hilt, made sure the energy blade was turned off, and kicked him again for good measure.

 Blop claimed the vibro-knife. “This doesn’t even launch. You absolute failfish.”

 Paint called over the sleds, “Is it safe?”

 “Sure is!” Blip told her. “These idiots are going to stay very still, right?” 

 Two pained groans were answer enough.

 “Great; the safety crew are on their way.”

 I put a fist in the air, and my other hand on my neck, which was already sore. “Woo! Go team!”

 “Nice work with the animals,” Blip told me. “I did not know your head fur could do that.”

 “Right??” Blop added. “That’s a threat display I’ve never seen before.”

 “Not a threat,” I said, fishing out a hair tie. “Music appreciation.”

 “What?”

 “From those rock concerts.”

 The Frillians exchanged looks. “Of course it is.”

 I made a ponytail, then began braiding it. “Some music is meant to be appreciated quietly, and some with vigor. See, even the bushes are cheering.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[transformers-spike]

Yeah separately because that is. A whole can of continuity-hopping-worms that I’m not ready to open. I just want to bang the old men!!!!!!

As the pole dictates, I'm going for Alpha Trion in his alt mode. Consider this a prequel to Solitude. Will I ever do the TFA Ultra Magnus soft femdom? Probably someday, I already started writing it.

“Okay?” he asks, muzzle pressed against your cheek. There’s a slight mechanical warble to his words, but the English is nigh impeccable. It’s been a few months and he’s already grasped more than you did studying German for three years. His pronunciation has rapidly evolved, going from techno dial up noises to something almost human if not for the digitized waver in his voice. For someone so huge, let alone made of metal, he’s awfully gentle with your squishy human body. You kiss his snout, sending a wave of crackling energy to his horn and tail. “Yeah, I’m good, no need to fuss over me,” you say with a smile on your face.

You climb the last steps of the human-sized stairs up to his bed. The fabric is notably similar to a non-sticky gym mat, uncomfortable to sleep on, sure, but manageable when your goal is to get your rocks off. There’s no time for a strip-tease when he’s been insistently brushing his muzzle against your sex for half an hour, purring poorly translated but no less sweet praises. Naked on all fours, feeling all kinds of vulnerable in this new position, you brace yourself on your arms, arching your back to show your ass in what you hope to be an attractive display of your goods. Your heart is pounding in your chest like you're teenager waiting for "dessert" after a date , and no matter how many times you do this, he makes you feel like an utter virgin. He props himself over you, half standing on the bed, half on the ground; his hands (or paws if you want to get technical) pressing into the soft mesh of the mattress. Yes, he could fall down and crush you. But you trust him not to, because if none of the Primes have, there's no way in hell the chillest member is going to put an end to your life when he has the focus and self-control to create near-perfect sand replicas of your ships.

“Ready?” he asks to be sure, to which you reply with a quick “Yep!” and push against his panel. The feeling of his snug cock brushing over your sex and stomach sends a fire to your loins. The pace is slow and passionate, member languidly (and carefully) stroking sensitive nerves that make you shudder with delight. The blue fluid coating your thighs is warm and welcome next to the chilly air. His vents breathe excess heat onto your back, and you barely get the chance to thank him between moans when he finds the perfect angle to make you lose it. You grip onto the bed, ass up, face down, bucking against him pathetically. Ah, dignity. It’s been months since you lost her. “Like this?” he asks again, angling his head to catch an awkward glimpse of you under his frame. You give him a thumbs up and cheekily reply “I need you to fuck me like I owe you money.” A bit too jokey of an answer, because now he’s looking at you like you just spontaneously grew an extra head. “Yes,” you confirm, “like this.” He complies immediately, maintaining the perfect (and probably uncomfortable in his case) angle, pressing against your sex so pleasantly your knees are shaking. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, crying out his name as you’ve done many times before, legs buckling underneath you. He doesn’t seem to mind having you rest on his member, and he leaves you a few minutes to collect yourself before he pulls away and transforms back into his normal form. You roll over and spread your arms out welcomingly when he reaches over and takes you into his hand. Then, he sits back down on the mattress with you in his palm. “May I?” he inquires for the final time, gesturing at his hardon, terribly polite for someone who sounds like he’s on the brink of losing it from sexual frustration. “Please do,” you answer with proverbial popcorn in your lap, stroking your sex as he starts pumping his member.

[scipunk]

Detroit Become Human (2018)

[rungssparemodelpieces]

Ratchet, being interviewed: “I’ve seen the horrors of war. I’ve seen countless bots die in the battlefield, in space, in my arms. I’ve see bots being blown up, eviscerated, decapitated, drawn and quartered, tortured, beaten, and vivisected before my optics, but there is one thing I fear above all else.”

Human, coming in for the fourth time that week with an interfacing related injury: “Hey, Ratchet, it’s your favorite patient!”

Ratchet: “Primus, if you exist somewhere out there, take me now…”

—

Meanwhile, Rung in his office alone: ”Hmm? Oh strange, I thought someone called for me…Oh well.”

Continues his work from before.

[gorgynei]

went to a wolf talk (cutting edge research on california wolf packs by leading wolf guy in the state. very fun) and he talked about werewolves. i always win

[mars-ipan]

what is lovemaol

i do not know how to even begin to explain something that i can barely comprehend

[bird-is-deranged]

I do love standard valveplug, chefs kiss, but also I just want to get weird with it.

Alien robot with alien parts………………

a HC, too, that cybertronians can minimally transform/change parts of their root modes, usually for cosmetic reasons. Maybe the spike/valve doesn’t even have to be static, maybe they can adjust it as needed for the situation?

[marlynnofmany]

Starseed Apples

“Here you go,” I said, putting down the last box. “Uncut fabric, plumbing supplies, and three cases with a fungus biohazard label. Do I even want to know what’s in those?” I cast a curious look at my fellow human as I handed over the signing pad. She was shorter and rounder than I was, dressed in a crisp uniform of a type I didn’t recognize. Big pockets everywhere.

She signed with a wry grin. “Those are dirt.”

“Dirt?” I repeated, looking around the admittedly spotless loading dock of this particular space station. “Dirt warrants a biohazard here?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she said, handing the pad back. “Organic mulch that could contain anything from decomposed animals to fungus to poop? With uncountable amounts of bacterial life and potential germs? We’re lucky they only focused on the mold aspect!”

“Hm, good point,” I said.

Zhee, who was busy moving boxes off the hover sled, muttered something disparaging. I expected him to complain about how gross it all was, since he was always the first to point out when humans did something to offend his bug-alien sensibilities, but it sounded like he was griping about the strict station rules this time.

The human continued. “We have to keep a clean room between the greenhouse area and everything else. Even there, most things are in pots. We’ve got a great crop from Johnny Starseed right now!”

I’d heard that name before. “Oh, was he the one who sells little potted—”

“Apple trees, yeah,” she said. “Tiny and convenient, but they make an impressive number of apples as long as you feed ‘em quality dirt.” She bent down to pat a box.

Zhee finished freeing the sled. “Reasonable business plan,” he said, sounding almost complimentary.

“The guy named himself after Johnny Appleseed,” I told Zhee. “A human from centuries ago who got famous for traveling around and setting up apple orchards on Earth. Everybody likes a guy who brings food wherever he goes. And drink — I think some of those apples were supposed to be the cider variety.”

Zhee flicked his antennae. “Sounds like a very human thing to do,” he said drily.

“Have you tried the Starseed Reds?” the other human asked. “They’re very good.”

“No I haven’t, but I’d like to!” I said. “I’ve heard good things. I was kind of hoping to cross paths with him at some point. I wouldn’t mind a tiny apple tree in my quarters. Of course, the cat might get at it, and I’d probably have to find a grow lamp…”

She opened a boxy hip pocket, and pulled out the shiniest red apple I’d seen in a while. “Here you go.”

“Thank you!” I said, taking it eagerly. “That’s very generous!”

She waved it off. “Like I said, we’ve got a big crop. And I’ve got a different one that I’m saving for when I get off shift.” From another pocket, she produced a red apple with distinct orange stripes. “Which should be as soon as I get the supplies back to base.”

I laughed. “Is that the booze kind? I didn’t think those were real!”

“Oh yes,” she said with relish, putting it back in the pocket. “Starseed Cider Apples, no fermenting required!”

Zhee cocked his head, faceted eyes looking at both of us. “Poisonous apples?”

“Alcoholic apples,” I corrected, knowing full well that he considered that to be the same thing.

Zhee pushed the hover cart back toward the ship with a dramatic head tilt and antennae swirl. “Now that sounds like a human thing to do.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” I said with a smile. I thanked the other human and followed him, taking a bite of my non-alcoholic apple. It really was good.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!