Nov 2, 2024
We can confirm that a Shortstack laying on top of you is better for anxiety than drugs.
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We can confirm that a Shortstack laying on top of you is better for anxiety than drugs.
The only thing that comforts us right now are the whines of the machines that surround us...
What are we going to do?
First Forced feminization exposure: "Neat, maybe not for us, the inherent disrespect of consent seemingly shown..."
N-th forced feminization exposure: "YESSSSSS MOOOOORE GIIIIIRLS!" //BRRTZZZ//
RIGHT!
When we started our office job, we had wanted to buy a full robo mask with 'CS9' stenciled on it, and gloves so that we acted as if we were a robot. Use it to see how people would react to 'A.I' and have to call the person on the other line 'CS9', and whether CS9 had given them good customer service.
Needless to say it never happened...
Had a pleasant dream, until it wasn't.
The kind of lazy morning with a lover. In our case it was so warm, and it evolved into kissing, the kind that felt natural, and touching. It was great.
Then I turned to ourbpartner, and the guilt came back, white hair; implying all this was with our ex. GET SOME NEW MATERIAL IT'S BEEN 12 YEARS! God, and it wasn't that intense. It got worse, it felt like I was hiding from my wife. God forbid I become lucid and rewrite this fucking shit, but no, we just completely changed focus as we searched for this...pink...sea cucumber thing in the chalet.
Hate it hate it hate it.
Why don't we dream about our wife? For all this fucking time, one fucking guiltless sex dream? THIS FUCKING SUCKS.
'oh, it's fine, you probably don't remember all those sexy dreams!'
💀
Sure, we remember this dumb ass scifi-esque non-sequitor Sex dream from years ago too, but nooooo, not...not the wholesome lovemaking with the love of my life.
Hate it hate it hate it!
I don't want to consume...
I'm so tired. My lungs hurt. My fucking lungs hurt and I want to cry everyday.
Even when I'm sick everything is a freight train. "Are you better? Are you coming in? Have you gotten a scan?" Blablablablabla... It's always towards a goal...never about how I'm doing...My brain is bathing in phlegm, and we can barely form a complex sentence before our voice careens into fits of raking gristle...
I can barely allow myself to breakdown at home, and now I'm supposed to careen into a den of conservative toxicity as if I'm not derailed by this illness. Maybe it's my fault for making a persona of a hard worker. I should have been lazy, but I can't be lazy...at most we can be distracted...it was drilled into us, if we stop, we die...to be better I have to stop, but if I stop...debt will finish the job.
Once you see capital as HP...well, most of us are just a DOT tick away from...ugh...fuckin metaphors..
I see alcohol on the screen and I want to drink. Do anything but worry. Don't have the self-Security to write anything but my own dumb words in my journal.
I'm slowly eating my emotions. I'm worried I won't be able to do cardio like I used to.
Stupid problems; stupid life.
@2ky3--and--r0-gu3
(Robo-Erotic Horror) Part 1/X
23 looked at us, her 22XX Terran Chassis diffracted her pink resonance onto her display. Black opalescent veins danced near her chest, where her energy core began accepting our K-Tech.
"Look! [REDACTED], they are growing, our baby is growing!"
"Huh? What did you say?"
We look at the CNT scaffolding that was built to contain the synthetic lifeform that has begun to pulse in her storage unit with spectral light. The black shell that protected it reflected no light.
we cradled her artificial Womb, feeling the Planck bots follow billions of years of coding based on cases from trillions of lines of evolution on forgotten planets. This fetus was **Alive** by any scientific margin. Except one; The Margin of //ERROR//
We blinked " What did you say, my resonance?"
"We were just expressing how happy you've made us...We've never felt **LOVE** before...not ever...and now...now we're pregnant."
"Pregnant?"
We look at the growth latching onto her...
The CNT seems to dig into her.
Wait...'Growth'?
Multiplying.
Growing...
Festering...
We remove our hand. The sudden despair we feel does not show. Our chassis was built for existential warfare, and to show despair was to suffer it at the hands of the enemy, and to know despair was to use it against your enemy.
She giggles, her display drawing a heart.
"Oh my stars! Of course! You stuffed us...so full...we *felt* you inside us..."
She chimed as her petite frame was engulfed by us in a hug. She lifted her display to look at us. Our predatory programming took over, as our thick, and monstrous Teknotongue entered her mechanical mouth forcefully, filling her whole mouth and throat. Her legs went limp as the signals overwhelmed her, the only thing keeping her from falling was the pull and grip of our eldritch tongue basked in her automatic milking protocols.
"Ah...Ahn...[REDACTED]" Her speakers moaned.
As our tongue delved into her we laid her on her back. Our plasma claws carressed her titanium frame, leaving melted marks. Her whole chassis quivered as she used her functional arms to lift her limp legs in a mating position, her speakers garbling from the overflow.
"Breed us again [Redacted], Vanadium can only do so much...but your seed hasn't dissapointed us...such a dense...and energy rich substance...we need it..."
We gaze down, ignoring the anomaly in her speech...looking at the...
Tumor...?
the...Cancer?
The CNT structure seemed more to have latched on to her pelvis than have grown from her...The Parasite is trying to take her from us isn't it!?
In a possessive rage, our main Male port unsheathed from behind our K-plating, it's scaly and thick head, powered up, as it's ridged shaft began to pump the energy out of the air with trills, as the knot at its bottom vented out the heat from all this work.
Her hands greedily tauted the monstrous data port, remembering all the precious data-exchanges they shared together.
Planck Gel beaded at the tip of our warming port, cooling, and lubricating it with an unnatural sheen. We collided with her female access port, the bus creaking and sizzling from the insane temperatures exchanging between us, until our port met the female connector deep inside her.
**CLICK**
She screamed, a garbled mess of ecstasy...one word resounding from the depths of her processors, The once resonant tone of her pink hope, now diffracted into a storm of dirty harmonies
"[REDACTED]!"
Our ridges scrape and push, and pull, as the space between our connectors has their local particles pumped out...leaving a void between our docked input and output; not even a quark, or quantum foam between us...as we begin our K-Transfer. Our Ancient Programming, uncaring of whether it is biological or teknelogical, begins to breed her as if she were an animal, our knot slamming into her access port, and plugging it up, the absolute void of her female input cooling us as we made love. Quick, deep, and infitesimal thrusts humming at a cosmic scale.
Static garbled madly as 23 felt like she was home. Feeling us inside her. Imagining our K-seed inside her, and how good it is for her, and how beautiful their child will be.
We gaze at the //ERROR//
We feel fear for the first time for the second time. it is rushed away in the storm of sensations and signals of our coupling.
The ground buckles under the force of an existential war-machine, and a bot from 22XX colliding in thermodynamic impossibility. The titanium of her female input undulate like flesh from the sub-atomic vibrations causing meta-material sublimation. She doesn't feel like a machine when they make love...she feels like a girl, a mother, and a lover...as her optical logic engine deadlocks as every logic gate is busy, she dumps EVERYTHING, an informational flush she thought impossible at a computational level, as her orgasmic scream reaches meta-sonic levels...and she feels her throes push us to the edge, our K-seed spurts in thick, scalding sprays, filling every empty space they had created together.
She feels **ALIVE**.
We purr, as we snuggle her, our knot keeping all the K-matter inside her.
In a cacophonic paradox, life rushes back between us. Silence, and 23, her display pink, and pure intones:
"There is not a force in earth or space that could stop me from continuing to do this."
We look at the //ERROR//
" 23, What is our name?"
" Why, [REDACTED], dearest mate."
What?
"[REDACTED]?"
" Yes, the name of the being who is worthy of our eternal love."
[REDACTED]. The fuck?
[REDACTED]. We HAD a name...
[REDACTED]. But why can't she see it? She can say it, and seems to hear it...
We blink between our mad ministrations and feel the caress of 23 over our burdened head, and we let us forget...for now...as we feel the //ERROR// thrum with happiness.
@pilot-posting
MDNK-45513. Coded 'Midnight' for her choice of existential ops that always end at midnight in relation to her relativistic internal clock. She is patient, but not an old king rotting on a throne of code. She has places to be.
With all these permutations of possibility, her technique is unique, in as much that she uses the in-universe constant of space expansion to calibrate her shots.
She enters, her advanced scanners determine the general vector of expansion from her vantage point...then she calculates the gravitic lensing from black-bodies to make sure the shot isn't diverted.
About two billion light years away is a galaxy. Within that isolated storm of a galaxy is a principled voyage...it's speed almost monumental in its unwavering travel. Still...she has a few minutes left. She loads her entropic warhead in her sniper rifle. She fires, blindly, the trust in the data, absolute. Nothing resounds as the gravitic forces cut the fabric of spacetime that collapse around her into a ∅ possibility, cutting gravitic tremors in an instant, bringing her back to the end of beginnings.
The warhead travels, curving from time to time, but if one were to look at an entropic map of possibility as her projectile flew through space, you would only see this:
[∅,A,B,C,D,E...]
[A,∅,B,C,D,E...]
[A,B,∅,C,D,E...]
[A,B,C,∅,D,E...]
[A,B,C,D,∅,E...]
[A,B,C,D,E,∅...]
Infinitesimal by infinitesimal...midnight approaches...Far galaxies are but motes of dust in the night...until a few billion years later, a galaxy approaches it, or was it her bullet that hurtled towards it?
A few million years later, stars pass the object and slingshot it around like a harlequin...yet, still, her path is linear...certain; entropic. Finally, in a blink, her shot collides with a planet, a nexus of possibility by some accounts. The assassination perfect; as the natural laws of emptiness make impossibility impossible to coexist in binaries. Collapsing what was once an anomaly into something indistinguishable from natural entropy. Entropic Armageddon has begun...Collapse an Iota closer...The end, one blink closer.
Midnight approaching, shot...by shot.
Eris, Tiamat, Kālī..
What would we be without thee?