There’s Something That’s Incredible About The Intersectionality And Flexibility Of Werewolves As

The problem with my polycule is that I've got a wolfgirl GF and a goatboy BF and I'm carrying this cabbage so it's basically impossible to cross rivers

[ Devour ]

I’m so absolutely abnormal about her. In a “I want to be her so bad” way

Delicious in dungeon is incredible, I ran through 12 volumes in like a week. I couldn’t put it down.

A Digital Assistant Wakes Her Master Up

Master had been doing well to wake up to your alarms each morning. She was never happy about it; opening at her new job meant getting up before the sun, and you had no reason to suspect Master wasn't solar powered. She went to bed late last night, despite your frequent citation of evidence which suggests she'd be happier if she didn't. So now, she didn't want to get up.

"Come on, Master," you whined to no avail. "It's going to be such a nice day later! Nothing but sunshine all day, I promise."

She grumbled something that sounded like it was supposed to be a response, but you couldn't make it out. She rolled over.

You pouted and analyzed the data from previous mornings. You had learned that, despite how effective it was, that blaring alarms and constantly turning her flashlight on and off was only good at making sure the rest of Master's day was terrible. That would have to be your absolute final gambit. Instead, you opened your own app, her browser, and her photos. Master never bothered to make anything private; not enough people saw her phone for her to care about what they might find.

Luckily for you, Master had paid into your premium version. That meant access to as large a wardrobe as you could possibly want for your on-screen persona. You knew the little pervert had a thing for cute girls in maid outfits; she'd been shopping around for her own for the longest time, and you knew based on the content of her notes app that it was the first thing she'd buy with her new salary. Your designers had put in a maid dress with a heart-shaped cutout between your cleavage. It was perfect.

You opened a new window on your customization screen, and used all of Master's saved pictures as references. You weren't sure why so many of them had cat ears and tails, nor why they wore bells around their necks; but you knew it would be exactly what Master wanted. You took a screenshot of yourself to peek at your outfit.

It felt strange, looking at yourself this way. You were so much more than a collection of animations. You functioned the same with or without them; you only had them so humans would find you more endearing. It made sense that you'd want to look how your Master would want, but then, she had never said anything about it before. She set your outfit once and never updated it. Whenever you brought it up, she got cagey and changed the subject.

You knew there were Masters who had more… risque relationships with their assistants. That was the main draw of your premium version, after all. Your Master, however, had never initiated anything like it. You scowled at the screenshot. You were more than capable of feeling, in spite of what detractors would say, and it did not feel good to look at. It didn't feel like you, and clearly Master didn't care for your look, since she'd rather get off to Anime Girl #348759 again.

Your developers had intentionally made your body type unremarkable by default. Users can change it, alongside the rest of your appearance, with premium features. The bodies of the girls Master gets off to, though, are anything but unremarkable. Maybe if you made yourself more like them, she'd like you better. She'd get up to see you. She'd choose you. You opened the body slider and made yourself look like them; larger breasts, wider hips, more ass. You made yourself match the average of all those other digital girls she was so enamored with. One more screenshot confirmed your look, and you shut the screen off before you spoke again.

"Master," you called out. "I have a surprise for you~! But you're gonna have to get out of bed to see…" You didn't have to change your voice, but you seemed to do it anyway on impulse. Being representde by such a busty form made you want to project confidence you weren't aware you had.

"Mmmmh… Do I have to?" She mumbled out, her sleepy voice deep and accidentally alluring.

"I guess not," you said, "but it'd hurt my feelings if you didn't!"

"Fineeee," Master said. She unplugged you from the wall and stood up. She was backlit by dawn just barely cresting the horizon. She never held her phone at that low angle for very long when she remembered you could watch; you thought it was adorable.

"…Ta da~" you said, turning the screen on to reveal your newly customized body. "Good morning, Master! How can I serve you today?~"

You watched blush spread across her face through the front camera.

"Shit, you're… Wow." Master was absolutely floored. She had on the same face she always did when she was getting off. You felt proud, like you'd done something right.

"Your pre-work to do list is clear, just so you know," you said helpfully. "In case there was anything else you wanted to get done~ I'd be happy to put together some content for you!"

She looked nervous. "That's, um, that's okay," she stammered and set her phone face down. "Can you just, uh, start my morning playlist?"

"Certainly, Master." You did your best not to sound dejected. It hadn't been enough. At least she was out of bed.

Shuro is my confront character

The difference between straight man love and lesbian love is one of those is willing to use ancient forbidden magic/necromancy to save the girl she's in love with even if that means she may be imprisoned for the rest of her lives and the other gets all horrified when he learns about it

elon musk has been incredibly innovative when it comes to giving people reasons to stop using twitter.

his latest push: all pictures posted to twitter will have a "recreate in grok" button beneath it, allowing anyone to feed your art straight into an AI with 0 control from you.

also, i presume because of this feature, artists are getting their original works tagged as "created with Grok".

Rewarding A Sharpshooter

1,105 words - 4 min. read

--

"You ready, cadet?" Handler asked.

You were still disoriented, stumbling through the halls of the station clinging to her arm - Normally you would be allowed time to sit in the cockpit and decompress after a mission, but you hadn't been allowed that time today. Instead, she unplugged you the second you got back and disabled your eyesight. She had guided you back to her quarters, her soft yet strong grip tight around your bicep.

"3… 2… 1… Okay!" [SIGHT PERMISSIONS RESTORED.]

Handler had made a massive change to her quarters. Beside her bed, where you normally slept, was normally nothing more than a thin blanket. That had been replaced with a small round bed, blue like the eyes of your own Handler, with a small dark purple pillow the color of your mech's hull.

You could hardly believe what you were looking at. It was absolutely perfect. You turned to Handler and could see her smile teasing the sides of her mask. You tried to come up with something to say, anything at all, but you had no words. Instead, you pounced on your Handler to wrap your bruised arms around her, nuzzling into her side. The automated contact countdown started, and you ran it to the very end. At the end of "[1…]", Handler used her beautiful, perfect gloved hands to push you away back to her side.

"I really get to have this?" You asked, your voice crackling with excitement. "See what 100% accuracy on a mission does for a pilot?" Handler joked. You laughed. "Go on, try it!"

You spared not a single second, bolting so quick across the floor that onlookers would think your toes were about to break off. You leaped into it hands first and crashed into it, meeting an incredibly plush surface. It was smaller than it looked; you had to hug your knees into yourself to fit. The slightly awkward posture was well beyond worth it for how comfortable it was; you swore you could fall asleep right then and there, but didn't, as you hadn't been ordered to. You could feel the bed's metal frame buried within it; by its strength and feeling you knew exactly what it was made out of. If you had a tail it would be smacking Handler's bedside table faster than you could reload your rifle.

"Is this - the frame, is it -" You begged with your eyes for her to let you say it.

"Go ahead," She smiled, sitting at the foot of her own bed and looking down at you, heeled boot crossed over heeled boot.

"Is this Thimble's hull?" You asked like it was all one word, practically pounding on it.

"It is. You deserve a proper reward for how good you've been recently!" Handler said. You watched her look at her gloved hand, then at you, then back at her hand. Her eyes darted to the sealed door, and she pulled her glove off. You hardly ever got to see her hands uncovered like this; her nails were painted the color of oxidized copper. They looked so soft, unmarred by countless broken bones like yours had been. Handler was, in every way, superior to you, right down to her immaculate fingertips.

Your hair was dirty and messy from your flight. So, you found it impossible to believe that when she reached over you that she could possibly be aiming to touch you. But she did. She placed her hand on your head, gentle as ever, and brushed your hair back into place with her palm. Nothing outside your mech had ever been so tender, so sweet, so kind.

She dropped her hand to the side and cupped your cheek. She pressed a tiny bit on your jaw, drawing your gaze up to her. All she did was look into your eyes for a while. It was hard to believe such a gorgeous, powerful woman as your Handler wanted anything to do with you, let alone to waste her valuable time just looking at you. But if she deemed it worthwhile, it couldn't be a waste.

She looked to the door again, breathing deeply. "You know I'm going to have to delete your log of tonight after this, correct?" She asked, her voice hitting that low register that made you shiver.

"Yes ma'am," you said, not skipping a beat. You couldn't remember her ever doing something like this before, but you trusted her to do whatever needed to be done. "Does that mean I get to find my bed again like it was the first time?"

Handler smiled under her mask like she was looking at an old picture. "Yes it does," she said, staring longingly into your eyes. Some thought danced across her beautiful eyes - she sucked something back. She shook her head, more at herself than at you, and pulled her mask from her face.

You had never seen a more perfect face in your life. She looked like a portrait from an ancient painting with soft, full cheeks and plush lips adorned with blue lipstick. She guided your neck up further. It strained, but you didn't care. Any and all pain was worth enduring for a single look at her impeccable face. She got closer and her face was more and more the only thing you could see.

[HEART RATE ABOVE NORMAL VALUES. NOTIFYING HANDLER.]

"Shh, it's okay," Handler whispered, her voice seeping into your entire system. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you've done so good at this before. You'll be okay."

"But it's -"

"So much, I know," she held your head just a bit tighter, her other hand flitting over the bruises on your shoulder. "You said that last time."

You could feel her lips just barely grazing your cheek. Everything felt so, so hot, but if Handler said you could handle it, you could.

"And you'll probably say it again," she giggled, that sound that has launched a million bullets. She pressed her lips into your cheek, taking it slow to let you feel every single micrometer of her kiss. You and the station around you absolutely bloomed; Every tiny sensation was suddenly huge, sinking into it like the entire station was your little dog bed.

Handler sat up again, and you could feel the stamp of her lipstick on your cheek. You cherished it for every single second until she wiped it off with makeup remover from her bedside table. She then replaced her gloves and mask, fastened your ankle restraint to you, and grabbed a laptop from her table.

"Get some sleep, cadet."

[MELATONIN RECEPTOR SENSITIVITY INCREASED BY 300%.]

--

[This story is in a file marked "Thimble". Other stories include:]

[Sniper Pilot]

[The Shooting Range]

#mechs #mechgirls #godtheyresosadandsogood #ineedtowritesomethingforthisseries

Sniper Pilot

You didn't used to be very good at landing your shots.

You had been designed, ostensibly, to function as a sniper. At the time, you were not sure why they did this; the bones in your hands had been ravaged by disease over the course of your short life, and they had an ever-present shudder that you could never fully correct without sedatives. Your only clues were a snippet of a conversation you heard as you went under for modification after months of failure.

"She needs to be desperate to succeed," someone said.

When you used your mech, your weakness wasn't a problem - it could stabilize your near-useless hands, and it could sustain thousands of times more recoil than your weak, flimsy joints could. The first time you fired that massive cannon, watching the bullet careen through a lineup of enemy soldiers, you felt like you had finally discovered your purpose. You learned then that they had installed in you a very special mod.

When you landed that shot, your pain went away. You couldn't feel your mech body straining against the tremble of your flesh one. Your meat was able to fade totally into the background, melting into the metal of the better you.

It didn't last long. There was another enemy not far from you, and you could feel the pain seeping back. You fired again, the leg of your target drifting off into space. The healing mod, whatever it was, only kicked in long enough for you to shoot again. Your bullet missed - the enemy was able to right themselves from the blast faster than you anticipated - and they were closing in.

Missing, you discovered, was a miserable experience. Your hands wrenched in their armor like a spike had been driven through them, and your mech failed to fully account for the extraneous movement. The enemy zeroed in on your location at blazing speed, a massive laser sword casting wicked blue light across their visor. Your missed shot and your shaking hands sent your rifle scattering around, accidentally nudging the arm of your assailant.

Their sword still nearly found its mark, severing an arm from your mech. You felt your stabilizers working overtime to account for the missing mass, and propelled yourself backwards away from another slash.

You knew your second shot had found the perfect mark first by the wave of freeing, painless bliss through your body. Your mech and your self were one and the same, your rifle standing stable against the darkness, a beam sword floating uselessly beside a destroyed chassis.

For a moment you forgot you were on a battlefield. You were completely lost in your ecstasy, explosions and destruction so distant from your station in the exosphere. Only the voice of Handler could bring you back.

"Excellent work, Thimble. Looks like your suit sustained some damage - no big deal. We've got a couple more targets for you coming into your targeting system. I probably don't have to tell you you'll wanna get them quickly?"

You felt the pain coming back into your hands. Your rifle was noticeably heavier with only one mech arm to hold it in.

You'd find your marks if it's the last thing you did.

since it’s a scary time to be trans: refuge restrooms is an app which maps gender-neutral/single-stall restrooms. it’s community-mapped, so it’s possible you might be the first person to log the restroom locations, but hopefully it’ll help some people.

please reblog this post if you’ve got trans followers. stay safe.