instalasiairbersihgianyar

[orcelito]

OK WAIT here's a ITNL chapter 14 section that's not really spoilers. just a sweet lil section

after this is where it's more Spoilers. but for now. HERE U go. happy birthday vash & also Uhhhh @ ITNL readers I PROMISE i am working on the chapter. things r just hard lol

[sudoscience]

I woke up from a dream just now that I had gone to see a movie with two guys I'd met on the bus, and as they were leaving the theater, I realized I never got their numbers. So, I'm waking up and thinking, "If I hurry, I can still catch them in the lobby. Wait, no. That was a dream. Well, maybe I'll meet up with them later? No. They don't exist at all."

Anyway, it's funny what details your mind fills in and what it leaves out. Neither of those guys have a name, but I know I met them on the 801 bus going north from downtown. Except, I have a car. How did I get downtown? Also, I'm pretty sure the movie we saw was Spider-Man, but I can't tell you anything else about it. Was it live action or animated? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But I remember someone in the audience mentioned Aunt May. And also there was a time skip in between when I met them and when we went to the movie. Like, I think one or both of them came over to my house, but then one of them had to leave because he had to... go sing at a party?

Anyway, I don't usually remember my dreams at all, so that one stood out.

[moongreenlight]

“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

[foldingfittedsheets]

We had the most egregiously evil little pony horse when I was growing up. I know everyone says that. Ponies are one of the animals that truly understand how to commit crimes but she was really deeply atrocious. One time she tried to murder me. Her name was Fancy.

I feel I should slightly explain here. See, my parents bought two acres with a house and a barn and pasturage and went “We’re farmers now!” They had absolutely no idea what they were doing. And at a certain point along that journey my mom got her hands on a horse. Technically she was half pony half horse so she was this weird middle size.

Fancy belonged to a friend of hers and he showed her how to saddle Fancy. And that was it. That was all we knew about this horse. So my mom brings her home and saddles her and we decide to go for a ride on this new creature in our lives. But Fancy, being the savvy bitch she was, was far too canny for our dumb asses.

Her maiden ride went to my older brother and ended rather abruptly when the saddle slid completely sideways and my brother toppled off her, miraculously unharmed but unwilling to ever try again. This made me like Fancy somewhat, because I hated my brother.

Those familiar with horse trickery would have caught her ruse but Fancy had deliberately held her breath to make the saddle seem tight enough. But in stride she let the breath out, the saddle loosened, and my brother came toppling down. She planned that fuckup.

I was a bit more game, being a dedicated horse girl. I wanted to succeed where my loathsome brother had failed. Keep in mind: none of us had ever ridden. We had no idea what we were doing, and in the only defense I’ll ever make of that hoofed demon it was probably not pleasant to have a human flopping on her back like a sack of potatoes. But I paraded around in a circle until she scraped my leg against a fence post. I lasted longer than my brother but had to admit riding an animal radiating malice at you is not comfortable.

We didn’t really ride Fancy much after that. She was a decorative aspect to the fields. Sometimes I’d sit on her bare back while she was eating. Every so often she’d buck me off for assuming familiarity with her.

But Fany's coup de grâce took several months. Most of the pasturage had electric fence running along it to keep the livestock from testing the fences or getting a taste for freedom. My parents were constantly moving fence posts and reallocating land to different purposes which is how one of the major gates ended up with electric fence running over top. During a move the wire got left up from the last border and now it was strung over what should have been an open passage.

I was taking a ride on Fancy, living in a fantasy that I had any idea what I was doing. My mom was out working in the yard, and as she passed through she left the gate open, forgetting the wire hazard. You know who didn't forget?

Fancy.

She beelined for the open gate and I realized a second too late what her plan was. I hauled back on the reins with all my strength but she powered through, charging at the wire. If I'd caught on sooner I could have tipped forward and probably cleared it.

It was roughly chest height. But she was too savvy, keeping a slow pace right up until the passage, and I didn't have time to react. The thought of getting electrocuted sent me down into a terrified backward limbo, desperately trying to flatten myself along her back.

Her assassination almost worked. But instead of beheading me the wire caught under my chin, pressing back into my neck like a garrote. The only good news was that the wire wasn't live, but I was still in terrible danger. I squealed and wiggled and managed to twist my neck enough that the wire scraped over my face instead of pressing deeper. Once we were through Fancy stopped and turned to regard me, disappointed that her murder had failed. My neck was bleeding but my head remained attached.

My mother was absolutely terrified and I was pretty shaken myself. We unsaddled Fancy for the last time, as full on attempts on my life were a bit more than I was willing to bear for the sake of pretending to be a fantasy hero on an epic journey. My neck still has a faint scar from her homicidal tendencies.

Fancy got to remain a decorative horse for many years after that, free of our attempts to ride her. Her last torment was when my mother decided to try to breed her to achieve an animal that was less interested in murder.

But Fancy, true to form, brutally attacked the stallion sent to service her, even when hopped up on horny hormones. There would be no foals from Fancy, and her saga ended when we sold her to another unlucky soul.

[yellowwwcrayon]

body swap between wade and logan AU

They fight a magic being that blasts them with body swapping mojo. Wakes up the next morning as each other.

☻

Wade: Jesus fuck, you are hairy. How do you not spontaneously catch on fire from all the static electricity in the winter??? Also, this Subway footlong you got between your legs is really fucking inconvenient. Feels like a disability to be swinging around a nonfunctional third leg on top of the other two you use for walking.

Logan: It's not nonfunctional.

Wade: Oh, yeah? What do you do with it, peanut?

Logan: Plenty.

Wade: That's a lie, grandpa. We live together. I would know if you did anything with it.

☻

Wade's body is just wired weird, and he pops boners every morning and at the most random shit he sees. Subway rat, cereal mascot on a bus stop advertisement, Times Square Elmo? Poor Logan has to deal with unhinged erections at the most inconvenient times.

☻

He also unfortunately experiences firsthand how much other superheroes dismiss Wade or look down on him for being weird and a little too chatty/unfiltered and gets violently protective.

Logan: I'm gonna fucking go over there and cave his face in. Only I get to call you a pathetic lunatic who's destined to die alone.

Wade: That's super sweet, angel baby. But ugh, maybe dial back the violence until we get our bodies back? That's my avatar you're wearing.

Logan: *chews through his cigar with rage*

Wade: *demure queen wave at the curious crowd* Nothing to see here, folks.

☻

Wade's escalating and deranged fantasies about what he could do to Logan's chiseled hot grandpa bod is driving him up the wall. The sexual tension builds until they jump each other and dry hump in the back alley or something.

☻

Bonus:

Logan leaves Wade in the car to go grab something and comes back to Wade looking like this with his face:

Just a sad meow meow he abandoned on the side of the road.

Logan: Don't fucking make that face while you're wearing my meat suit. It's disgusting.

Wade: I could have died, pookums.

Logan: Bitch, I was away for five minutes and I left the AC on.

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 3 - "Okay, show me."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

"So… first time getting kidnapped?"

Tim blinked at the teen that was tied to a wall right across from him. He marveled for a a moment at how similar the two looked and even thought that he could see how the other teen could have gotten mistakenly kidnapped in his place. Though if they had already kidnapped him then why did they end up kidnapping him again?

"No, getting kidnapped kinda comes with the name and status." Tim finally answered and the other kid nodded sagely as if he understood. "Usually they are a little more incompetent."

He moved his wrists a little causing the strange silver bracelets they had slapped on his wired before chaining him to the wall so that they would cause a rattling noise, making the other teen look at them with a raised eyebrow.

"So first time getting kidnapped by the GIW then."

"GIW?"

"Guys in White, or well Ghost Investigation Ward, a government organization." The other teen explained with a shrug. "Usually they are incompetent. Aside from a couple of burns from getting shot, this is the first time they actually managed to chain me in a while. Normally they would have messed up by now but it's interesting that they even manage to nap you too."

Now Tim raised an eyebrow. That was news to him. To think there was a governmental organization that was actively abducting civilians for who knows what. Damn, he could see how B would not be happy once he told them about that.

"Sorry btw." Tim blinked up at the other teen in confusion, who chuckled in return. "They probably kidnapped you thinking you were my double or something. We look similar enough for them to think that."

"Wait…" Tim's eyes widened in realization. "They kidnapped me because I look like you? Not the other way around?"

"Uh yeah, why would I be kidnapped because of you?"

"Tim Drake-Wayne. Does that ring a bell?" Tim huffed only to watch how the other teen furrowed his eyebrows as if deep in thoughts before shrugging.

"In fact no it doesn't. But I don't keep up with high society, it helps pissing of the fruitloop whenever he drags me to 'meet important people' and I actively call them false names no matter how often he introduces them."

Tim's eye twitched. While that is fun, this was also the first time he met someone who hadn't heard of his name before in some way or form. In the end just let out a sigh.

"So what now? We wait to get rescued or will they release us after some time?" Well he had already tipped off his family, so it was probably only a matter of time until one of his siblings burst in to play knight in shining armor. He just hoped it wasn't Jason again, or he wouldn't shut up about having saved him for another month.

"Oh we can wait, but they won't release us. It's probably better if we get out on our own."

"Really? And how do you plan for us to get out of the handcuffs?" Well Tim did have a lock pin hidden in his jacket and some small sized tools stuffed into the sole of his shoes but with his hands chained above his head it was a little difficult to get them. But his feet were not chained so with just a bit of body twisting he could-

"Oh the handcuffs are no problem. They can be easily removed by overloading them."

"Overloading?" Tim arched an eyebrow, now the cuffs did not look like your normal brand he can admit that but how was the other going to do that unless he had some secret electric tool stored on him.

"Yea, overloading. It's pretty simple. These look like the same Brant they tried to cuff me with a year ago. It's funny how they look like they haven't learned a single thing in all these years."

"Really now?" Tim stared at the other teen unimpressed. "Okay, show me. How are you going to overload them with no tools around?"

"Easy." The other teen smirked at him and Tim's eyes widen as he saw the others hands emitting a green light before the cuffs on his wrist sparked and then fell off. Okay, noted the other teen was a Meta.

"My name is Danny by the way." Danny grinned as he rubbed his wrists before getting up and walking over to Tim to do the same to his cuffs. Tim rubbed his his own wirsts, carefully examining them for any time of injury only to look up just in time to watch Danny reach into his own chest. With wide eyes he watched Danny sticking out his tongue while one of his hands was going through his body as if he was looking for something.

"Aha! I knew I stuck them in my body somewhere for a situation like this!" Okay there was so much to unpack from this sentence alone but before Tim could even ask a single question Danny pulled out a lockpick set from his chest and proceeded to pick at their cell door.

"I have so many questions." Tim muttered, still watching the other teen.

"Well I can probably answer some of them once we are out of here. It's the least I can do after you get kidnapped because of me." Danny grinned as the lock he was working on clicked and he swung the door open. "Wanna talk over some coffee? You look like you need some."

"This is definitely not what I expected when I said 'show me'." Tim muttered once more walking passed Danny out of their cell, eager to leave this place.

"Yea well that the more civilian friendly things I can do." Danny followed with a grin. "Though I do have some other tricks I could have used too."

"You talk like a hero." Tim thought aloud, eyeing the teen and how they were holding themselves. Nothing about this teen screamed innocent civilian anymore, well aside from the obvious Meta abilities. He also marbled about the fact that they basically just walked out of the warehouse they had been holding. Huh looked like these GIW guys were really as incompetent as Danny had mentioned earlier.

"Yea, well I am a retired Hero." Great now Tim got more to look into in regards to Danny. Oh that reminded him, he probably should tell his family that he was no longer kidnapped… but that could probably wait until after he got his coffee with Danny. What was the worst that could happen? Red Hood storming an empty building. Oh well, it would be a good exercise for his brother then.

[tearsofcalamity]

Irl electrical engineer/hobbyist roboticist here who is also down bad for the cyborg cowboy- The level of intimacy of mechanic!reader fixing his internal wiring is OFF THE CHARTS, like, reader having to gently untangle and toy with his wiring while arranging them properly?? All the testing of the sensors that it would take to make him be able to feel again? Reader might as well have to touch every inch of Boothill to make sure that his body is functioning properly. They would quite literally know him inside and out and that makes me FERAL

omfg we got a verifiable ENGINEER here?? everyone GET DOWN

no but fr thank you for this insight this means the world to me . you dont get it . even like non n/sfw wise thats so. LIKE THE LEVEL OF TRUST HE WOULD HAVE TO HAVE IN YOU TO GET IN THERE AND DO ALL THAT? THE LEVEL OF COMPLEXITY AND THE WAY HE'D HAVE TO BE FULLY VULNERABLE?

back to horny thoughts that also sets me off w boothill being so vulnerable when what we've seen from him so far is like cocky, devil-may-care attitude and probably puts that up as a facade (esp after seeing his lightcone poor guy) but him just lightly shaking and you can HEAR how loud he's whirring when you get inside (ha) and really work through his wiring. imagine he overheats and you're like WTF

the testing. The Testing. listen here. that's what really gets me. I can imagine him getting antsy even when you're just starting with his shoulders or his arms, but you move to his neck... his chest... a little lower and he's asking if you really need to touch his artificial dick just to test it out. it's like no, he could totally check himself, but am I gonna tell him that uhhh NO I'm gonna be all "nope absolutely necessary to check. something could go REAL wrong if it's off" make him fistfuck me until his insides are literally letting off steam. I NEED TO HEAR HIM WHIMPER AND SEE HIM CRY!!! sometimes I imagine him purring (like an engine, but hey, if catboys are your thing that too) cause his neck is mechanical too so...........

oh and I'm totally groping on his metal ass and rubbing all over it. im licking it. idc. I'm working doubletime to make his ass extra sensitive idc! I'm a robotfucker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[gin-juice-tonic]

You guys can read more of what I wrote for that episode if you want.

It connects back to this post about candy asking dipper and mabel for help with the man who lives in her attic, continuing from there

INTRO: https://gin-juice-tonic.tumblr.com/post/677209717915959296/this-is-how-the-episode-starts

(needs re-writing)

CANDY, MABEL, AND DIPPER ARE WALKING UP THE PATH TO CANDY’S FRONT DOOR.

CANDY: I heard you were called like, the “mystery twins!” now. So I thought maybe you could help me with my mystery.

DIPPER, SLIGHTLY EMBARRASSED: Well, that’s more of a working title, but it’s not really importa-

MABEL: Ohhhh I’m so excited to see inside your house, Candy! I hope it’s exactly like my dreams.

CANDY: I’ve had a few dreams of your house as well! Though, I hope it would be nothing like my dreams. It’s usually made of indescribable geometric shapes, shifting forms at high speeds.

CANDY: The furniture is very uncomfortable.

ALL: ...  

CANDY, DIPPER, AND MABEL ALL ENTER CANDY’S HOUSE. 

CANDY: Well, welcome to my home. Please take off your shoes.

IT IS FILLED TO THE BRIM WITH STUFFED ANIMALS (SHOW SEVERAL SHOTS OF ABSURD AMOUNT OF STUFFED ANIMALS)

[MABEL SCREAMS]

[MABEL AND DIPPER TAKE OFF SHOES WHILE LOOKING AT HOUSE]

MABEL: AOOHHH!!! Candy!!! It’s like a build a bear exploded in here! It’s all I’ve ever wished for!

DIPPER: You wish for build a bears to explode? [MABEL SMILES AND NODS]

CANDY: The plushies are all my mom’s. She's been collecting them since before I was born. She likes to display them around the house in various everyday situations. 

CANDY: See? Those two are on their first date. 

[SHOT OF CUTE ANIMALS ON DATE]

MABEL: Aww!

CANDY: And those two are rerouting the wires put in by the shoddy electrician who built this place in the 80s.

[SHOT OF TOY BEARS DOING DANGEROUS REAL ELECTRICAL WORK]

MABEL AND DIPPER LOOK OVER MILDLY CONFUZZLED: Huh.

CANDY: But anyway, we have more important things to discuss. Please sit down. 

CANDY GESTURES TO A SECTIONAL COUCH WRAPPED AROUND A TABLE

[CANDY AND MABEL TAKE THEIR SEATS, STUFFED ANIMALS ARE STILL EVERYWHERE - INCLUDING AROUND THE COUCH]

DIPPER IS FORCED TO SIT NEXT TO ONE OF THOSE CUTESY DOG ANIMAL PLUSHIES WITH THE BUTT-HOLES ON THEM. IT’S ON A SHELF EYE LEVEL WITH HIS HEAD. HE IS CLEARLY UNHAPPY ABOUT THIS. (S&P would likely not allow this. I do not care)

DIPPER, TURNING HIS HEAD AWAY FROM THE PLUSHY’S BUTT: So… what’s the deal with this attic guy you’re asking us about? 

CANDY CLOSES HER EYES AND MAKES A GRAVE EXPRESSION

CANDY: The Attic Man has been in my life for as long as I can remember. Always stomping around in the ceiling and scratching around in the walls when he knows I’m home alone. The closet in my room has a door connecting up to the attic… Sometimes, when I stay up too late, I can feel his eyes stare at me.

CANDY OPENS HER EYES

CANDY: I’m pretty sure he comes in my room when I’m asleep, and I spend every night wondering when he’s finally going to come down and take me away.

CANDY TURNS OFF A FLASHLIGHT SHE HAD BEEN USING FOR MOOD LIGHTING

MABEL: That’s so scary! What does he look like?

CANDY: I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen him. 

DIPPER: You’ve never seen him? How do you know it’s not just a racoon or something? 

CANDY: I’ve had my parents check up there more than a few times. They looked and set out traps, but have never found anything. If it was an animal, it would’ve been caught by now. He must be something at least as smart as a man to have evaded capture for so long.

CANDY: Additionally, the other day, I found… This. My first concrete proof of his existence.

[CANDY HOLDS UP A GUM WRAPPER]

DIPPER: You found some trash? 

CANDY: Not just any trash, Dipper. A gum wrapper! And look!

[CANDY OPENS UP THE WRAPPER TO SHOW THE GUM CHALKY RESIDUE STUFF INSIDE. ITS PINKISH]

[DIPPER AND MABEL LOOK AT EACH OTHER] 

CANDY: It’s cinnamon. Nobody in my family likes cinnamon gum! It’s disgusting! 

[CANDY GIVES THE WRAPPER TO MABEL]

[MABEL LICKS THE WRAPPER]

MABEL: Blegh!

MABEL, SURPRISED: Gasp! It is! 

MABEL HANDS THE WRAPPER TO DIPPER.

DIPPER INSPECTS THE WRAPPER INVESTIGATIVELY: So all we have to go off of is a cinnamon gum wrapper… 

DIPPER PUTS HIS TONGUE ON IT ABSENTMINDEDLY

DIPPER MAKES A GROSSED OUT FACE: (quietly) eugh.

DIPPER: -That could’ve been dropped by anyone.

CANDY: Do YOU know anyone who likes cinnamon gum?

DIPPER: Well… no. But-

[NOISES THAT ARE OBVIOUSLY NOT A RACCOON ECHO FORM THE CEILING]

[EVERYONE LOOKS AT THE CEILING IN SHOCK]

[CANDY AND MABEL LOOK AT DIPPER]

DIPPER: Okay. Those noises did sound pretty mannish. I maintain the gum still could’ve been dropped by anyone though.

(cut to black - commercial)

CANDY, STEALING A BRIEFCASE FROM A STUFFED ANIMAL, THEN PUTTING THE STUFFED ANIMAL IN THE BRIEFCASE : He knows what I’m doing! He’s going to get us before we can get him! We’ve got to leave!

DIPPER, STOPPING CANDY. Nothing’s going to get you! Don’t worry Candy, you can count on us. We’re the mystery twins, remember?.

MABEL, CLIMBING THE COUCH AND YELLING AT CEILING: Yeah! You hear that attic guy? The only one getting got is going to be you! When we get you! Before you can get us! 

DIPPER, PACING, THINKING: In order to figure out what we’re dealing with here, we’re going to need to get up into that attic and investigate. 

(Mabel hops down from the couch in a silly fashion)

DIPPER, TURNING TO CANDY: Since you’re the only one out of the three of us who lives here, we’ll need you to come with us to show us around. Can you do that?

[CANDY LOOKS DOWN AT HER BRIEFCASE, THEN UP AT MABEL AND DIPPER LOOKING BRAVE]

CANDY: …

CANDY: Can I be a mystery twin too? 

DIPPER: I mean that’s kinda our-

[MABEL SHOOTS HIM A LOOK]

DIPPER: Yes. You can be the third mystery twin.

MABEL: Alright! Mystery twins on 3!

MABEL: One two three! 

ALL: MYSTERY TWINS!

DIPPER: Three of us.

CUT TO STAN ON THE PHONE WITH SOOS.

https://gin-juice-tonic.tumblr.com/post/677211635075694592

SOOS SHOWS UP AT THE SHACK

STAN LEADS HIM TO A BIG CLOSET

STAN: First things first, before we do any actual cleaning you’re gonna help me throw out stuff from this closet.

[togglesbloggle]

Voltaire's Prayer

“I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it." -Volaire’s letter to Étienne Noël Damilaville, 16 May 1767

I’m inordinately fond of sex, in the political sense.  It’s saved us so often from the worst parts of ourselves.

As far as anti-authoritarian elements of the human experience go, sex is right up there with curiosity and the search for truth- maybe even more so.  When a new tyrant comes to town, shutting down the universities and the libraries is only the second thing they try.  The first thing is to regulate human sexuality to within an inch of its life.  Rules for marriage, rules for courtship, rules for which genitals may touch and where they may touch and when they may touch.  Rules for who and rules for whom.  Rules for which kinds of sex must doom characters in literature, rules for which things may be described as sexy, rules for which things may be described in a sexy way.

Of course they do!  If you’re trying to bind a large polity together under a common ideological narrative, to render people predictable enough to quash dissent and legible enough to exert power through them, the last thing you need is a bunch of folks running around being horny about stuff without permission.  Nature gifted us with a great capacity for reason and community; we have the innate opportunity to learn about ourselves and our neighbors, and to form complex societies based on that understanding.  It was Aristotle who first called us the political animal, and the fruits of that extraordinary capacity will always be within our reach, if only we can come together within a shared understanding.  The invention of the city is the great triumph of our species, and with it we conquer the universe.

But also this extraordinary, reasoning mind has been sculpted from the raw clay of a biology that’s anchored in sexual reproduction, and this ends up being very, very funny.

The problem isn’t so much that the sex instinct exists, per se.  It’s how it’s implemented.  Like most biological forms, the full complement of 86 billion(!) neurons in your brain aren’t encoded in a particular configuration; the brain is much too complex to be described so precisely in the only ~725 megabytes or so of human DNA.  The particular shape of your brain is in there somewhere- the lobes and subregions responsible for vision, memory, cognition, all that- but only up to a point.  The genius and fundamental limitation of genetics is that, below a certain level, the genes instead describe a process for the production and reproduction of specialized cells, and simply constructs them in such a way that they can be relied upon to order themselves as they go.

This is all well and good when we’re talking about kidneys and livers, but the fact that you can encode any kind of specific behavioral instinct in a brain this way is nothing short of a minor miracle.  Think about it!  Spiders don’t have a ‘spider web’ gene, the gene is for ‘proteins that come together in self-assembling electrochemically sensitive gelatin tissue which, when complete, encodes patterns that operate organ systems such as legs and spinnerets in such a way as to reliably create silk webs.’  This is absurdly impressive, and also completely insane.

What I’m getting at is, powerful behavioral instincts in a complex animal aren’t precise instruction manuals by which we pursue evolutionarily advantageous behaviors.  Sex and eros are prior to logic or language, let alone strategy.  Sex is a double-thick electrical wire discharging lightning bolts right through the middle of our cognitive centers, installed in the brain by a surgeon wearing mittens.  It’s an untethered firehose whipping chaotically through the cathedral, unpredictably spraying golden reliquaries with substances unmentionable.  It’s the first and greatest anarchist.

I really can’t overstate my gratitude for this.

Obviously this results in any number of deeply goofy outcomes by way of kinks and odd sexual practices- it gets tangled with pain centers, with random bits of anatomy and proprioception, with our taboos and aversions, with our greatest terrors or our greatest yearnings or just arbitrary stimuli from adolescence, and of course it gets enmeshed so often with our notions of power and submission.  It imbues these things with a fascination and potency out of all proportion with their mundane meanings.  And ultimately, you end up with human pleasures and human values that diverge so far from banal evolutionary imperatives as to be all but unrecognizable.

Even when this process somehow manages to propagate through the brain in such a way as to drive behaviors that are legibly aligned towards some adaptive constraint- e.g. heterosexual mating practices resulting in biological reproduction and careful childrearing- it’s still madness.  Love and sex penetrate deeply across tribal and national and racial boundaries, across economic interests, across battle-lines and enmities.  We become traitors, apostates, emigrants, and artists.  Declare a law, and in short order some hot-headed young people come along to break it in the name of sexual passions you could not possibly have seen coming.  Divide your neighborhood into us and them, and by the time the ink is dry on your proclamation there will be a forbidden relationship across the fence.  There is no social order, no ethical system, no theory of human nature that can entirely withstand contact with the full spectrum of human sexuality, because sex and eros are always going to be exactly as bonkers as the complexity of the human mind and culture will allow, plus a little extra just to be sure.

This isn’t always a delight, of course.  Many prohibitions exist for a very good reason, and the chaos of human sexuality makes no exemptions for true evil.  Some of us end up really, truly victims of this process.  But for all the dangers, the chaos at the root of all this isn’t oriented towards evil.  Chaos just means chaos, essentially arbitrary and hence absurd in character.

And in the grand analysis, we are so lucky to have this thing moving through our communities, this ridiculous madness that guarantees that there will be cracks in every wall and slips exploding cigars in the pockets of the powerful few.  Not in everybody as individuals, of course, and not everybody the same amount; asexuality is certainly one of the outcomes that all this mad gallivanting through our brains can produce.  Sexuality would never be so predictable as to guarantee its own existence, after all.  That’s part of what makes the joke so funny.

But all of us, regardless of sexuality, get to live in a world where the grand anarchy of sex is constantly driving home this lesson that no category is inviolate and no law is perfect.  That we should not and cannot take ourselves too seriously, or forget that we’re animals.  That we don’t exist only for the sake of others, or within their understanding.  That cities are made of cooperation, grace, and forbearance- not conformity or mere compliance.

People sometimes worry about immortality.  In the political sense, I mean.  They worry about eternal dictatorships and unconquerable gerontocracies.  This fear isn’t entirely unjustified; death has often played a role in progress and liberation.  But as long as enough of us are still getting horny without permission, still falling in love in stupid ways, I think we’ll be okay.  Romeo and Juliet don’t have to die at the end to make a difference in the world, as long as they’re brave enough to get weird with it.

[sirfrogsworth]

We moved into this house back in the early 90s. We bought it from an old man named Fred Salmo. As we began living in the home every once in a while we'd discover some weird new thing wrong with it. Never anything catastrophic, but small frustrations that my dad had to deal with all the same.

Fred thought himself quite the handyman.

He was not.

He was a union sheet metal worker and I guess he thought that translated to home repair. But in actuality he would usually try to fix things with sheet metal even when that was not an appropriate solution.

And so whenever we'd find one of these issues we'd joke that we got "Salmo'd" again.

Almost all of the electrical outlets were wired backwards. "Looks like we got Salmo'd again."

A heating duct would have some terrible patchwork (with sheet metal). "He really Salmo'd this."

There was a bedroom ceiling fan that was not securely attached to said ceiling. "He's going to Salmo us to death in our sleep."

We kept finding these inept fixes for many years. One by one, my dad (who was an actual handyman) would properly fix them.

Eventually, we were pretty certain all of the Salmo'd shit had been addressed.

Until last night.

I noticed something looked off about the big light on our garage workshop on the back of the property.

It was... lower... somehow.

I walked back to figure out what was wrong and discovered this.

The wind was blowing pretty hard and the light fell off of its mount and was dangling by the electrical wiring.

Upon closer inspection I noticed something.

It was mounted to a piece of thin metal decorative trim. I could see nothing structural it could have been attached to. No stud or beam. Just that trim.

That light was here before we moved in. Which means it has lasted over 30 years without falling down. And knowing how it was mounted, that is kind of incredible.

But it definitely feels strange getting Salmo'd again after all this time.

I'm not entirely sure what to do about this yet. My brother took our only ladder a long time ago and never returned it. I'm not even sure how to power off the light without turning off all the power to that building. But I guess I should make that a priority today and go from there.

Replacing that light is one of the first things I wanted to do if I got some money to fix up the house. It has a horrible green tint and for as big as it is, it only lights up a small area. Hopefully that won't be a super costly repair.

Fucking Fred Salmo.

[steddieas-shegoes]

headcanon- steve secretly being insanely good at something, maybe chess or something similarly associated with intelligence. when everyone finds out they are surprised and doubtful leading steve to have the realization "oh. you guys genuinely think I'm stupid."

Steve loved seeing how things worked, he had since he was too young to actually figure things out by himself.

He got caught pulling apart his dad’s office calculator when he was nine, insisted he could put it back together, and did.

It took him a week, but he did it.

Then it was the house phone.

Then his desk lamp.

The toaster.

He always got them back together and working, but his parents weren’t very pleased if they caught him in the process.

Still, he loved the feeling of understanding how certain wires connecting meant something would light up or how one color wire would make something produce a number and another would produce power.

He continued doing it with random objects for years.

The concussions made it harder, his vision going blurry if he focused a little too long on a small part of the technology, his frustration making it even worse.

When Eddie found out, he gave him an old amp that wasn’t working anymore, said it probably would never work again but he could take a look inside.

Steve got it working in two days.

Wayne gave him their VHS player when it stopped rewinding, didn’t want to have to buy a new one even if they did have the money for it now. He had it fixed in four hours.

The oven in the new Munson home randomly stopped working, so of course Steve was called.

He came during Hellfire, ignoring the strange looks as he waved and made his way straight to kitchen.

He got to work, humming to himself as he made sure electricity was cut off from it, that there was no gas hookup anywhere, and pulled it from the wall.

The wiring inside was relatively straightforward, and he saw the problem almost immediately.

A loose wire connecting from the heat source to the controls. Easy fusing. Done.

He tested to make sure it was fixed, and ten minutes later, he was calling Wayne at work on the house phone to let him know it was fixed.

When he turned around, Dustin and Lucas were standing in the doorway, mouths open.

“You’ll catch flies like that. You know Eddie leaves the windows open all the time.”

“You fixed the oven?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“By yourself? Like the inside of it?”

“Yeah?”

“How? That’s so many wires and stuff.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“That’s like, electrical engineering shit.”

Steve realized what was happening just as everyone else walked into the kitchen.

“Oh. You guys don’t think I’m smart enough.”

He felt like he hit a brick wall.

“What’s going on?” Eddie came to stand next to Steve, arm wrapping around his waist.

“We didn’t know Steve was smart.”

The words were unintentionally harsh, but Steve and Eddie flinched anyway.

“Steve’s incredibly smart. He fixes all kinds of things.”

“Eds, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. They know better than to make assumptions about someone based on grades in school or how they understand certain things.”

Steve shrunk into Eddie’s side, doing his best to hide his face while he held back tears.

“You can all apologize or you can leave.”

There was silence for a moment and Steve was almost convinced that they’d all left.

He turned his head to see everyone staring at him.

“We’re sorry, Steve. Really. Eddie’s right. We shouldn’t have assumed you weren’t super smart just because you didn’t do well in school or don’t understand us when we ramble.”

Will was always a good kid, maybe his favorite at the moment.

“‘S okay guys.”

Eddie’s fingers tightened on his waist for a moment.

“So do you fix all kinds of stuff or just appliances?”

“I like to take stuff apart and put it back together. Sometimes I just end up fixing something along the way.”

“So you could look at my walkie?” Max piped up. “It keeps going to static in the middle of me talking.”

“Sure. Probably just a disconnected wire between the speaker and the button.”

Max beamed back at him, not just happy he would try to fix it, but proud.

Everyone started asking if he could fix things they had, surprised when he agreed to it all.

They filtered back out to the dining room area where they played, except for Dustin.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that you’re stupid or anything. I know you’re not stupid. I was just surprised. I shouldn’t have been; you’re always finding the crossed wires with us and fixing those.”

Steve pulled him into a hug.

“People aren’t nearly as easy as electronics, dude.”

“Yeah, but you make it look that way.”

Steve quickly became the group’s engineer, always fixing what was broken, whether it was a flashlight or a bad day. He was pretty good at putting things and people back together.

[vaspider]

Any advice for someone thinking about moving to the Pacific Northwest?

That kinda depends on where you are moving to! Here are the things I've found useful to know about moving to Portland:

I moved from Philly, where people tend to be more kind than nice, and here, people are more nice than kind. What I mean by this is that people in Philly will call you a jagoff while pulling over to change your tire in the rain, while people in Portland will smile while they keep driving. (This isn't universal, but it's real.)

Oregon has no sales tax. You'll pay a bunch of different income taxes in April, though, so make sure you pay attention to your mail in the beginning of the year so you get all your local taxes done.

Locals tend not to use umbrellas much. I tend to not just bc the rain is rarely hard enough to require one. Get a good raincoat.

Portland was one of the first places in the US to be wired for home electricity. Therefore, the grid needs upgrades, and a lot of the big lines are not buried as they are in other places and are vulnerable to ice. Make sure you have good home batteries for when we have ice storms.

Ditto, the streets don't get treated for ice. Make sure you have good boots and YakTrax or similar.

Pedestrians don't fucking look before they step out into the street. If people acted in Philly like they act in PDX, they'd get hit. If you're driving in the PNW, act like every pedestrian is about to do the most foolish thing ever.

Ditto PNW drivers. I'd rather drive to EWR on a Friday at 5 pm than try to cross the Willamette at rush hour.

TriMet still has a lot of room for improvement, but it's a lot better than any other city I've lived in. Get your Hop set up when you get here so you know you have money on it and all, even if you don't ride often, just in case.

The Oregon Zoo membership has an exchange thing where every month there are different local places you get free admission to. Getting a membership is generally less expensive than going twice in a year, and also, there's a bunch of other stuff you can do with that membership.

Choose where you wanna live as the place you're gonna do pretty much everything. Portland is largely set up so you can do everything you need within your neighborhood, which is nice. Pretty much the only time that I leave my neighborhood is when I have to go to a specialist doctor or to hang out with my cousins who live in SW or go to a special event.

Portland has a lot of cool shit you can do in your neighborhood - honestly more than I've seen anyplace else I've lived. There are hiking groups and bike rides and soap box derbies and all kinds of shit. Join local FB groups, look for posters... you'll see 'em.

If you consume weed regularly & qualify for a medical card, get one. The taxes on marijuana add up a lot faster than you think.

Some of the best food in Portland is at the strip clubs. No, I'm not joking. There's a law in PDX that if you serve alcohol, you have to serve Real Food, which has led to bars and clubs competing over how good their food is.

Food cart pods are the shit. Research your local food cart pods. You'll get some of the best food you've ever eaten and can take a huge group of people with different food needs to a local food cart pod and just have everyone go to different carts and get their own shit.

Look into who owns your local weed store. There are good Black-owned stores, and one of the most popular "chains" is/was owned by some deeply shady people who essentially bribed one of our Secretaries of State. So it does matter.

Be nice to the crows. There is a huge huge huge local murder & crows tell other crows if you're an asshole or you're cool.

I'm sure there's more stuff, but that's what I can think of while I'm listening to a podcast and my wife is driving us home.

[humanpurposes]

So thrilled you’re taking requests! I love winter themed fics this time of year. I’m requesting modern Aemond (if not allowed then Michael Gavey) + stuck in this cabin until the storm passes/come sit by the fireplace. As much smut as you’d like with maybe a teeny bit of angst?

Thank you for taking requests, I know they will all be lovely

A/n: Took the liberty of making this a Michael Gavey request 😈 Also this gif is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!! Shoutout @barbieaemond and all the other amazing gif makers on here. These guys are such an integral part of fandom and they deserve all our love, appreciation and credit ❤️✨

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight angst, handjob, thigh riding (ish), Michael Gavey being awkard, but not quite a virgin

Main Masterlist

“Fucking skiing holiday. Should have fucking known this would be a fucking disaster.” 

Michael’s foul mouth hardly phases you anymore. When you first met him you thought he’d be a shy type of guy, with his baby blue shirts, cargos and wire frame glasses he kept pushing up with his middle finger.

You’d quickly found that he wasn’t at all like you expected. He can be abrasive, often judgemental and vulgar, not so unlike your other friends but with Michael it seems to come from a place of unashamed honesty. You sort of admire him for it.

He’s pacing the small living room and kitchen of the cabin, furiously fiddling with his mobile. You’re kneeling by the wood burning stove, hovering a lighter by the kindling in the hopes that you can light a proper fire.

You’re surprised he agreed to go on this trip at all. 

You have a few friends who do Maths, and at the start of second year they started inviting Michael to the pub on the weekends. You recognised him from your trips to the library, where he’d usually sit alone after his friend ditched him for Felix Catton.

They’d been all talking about a skiing trip between Christmas and New Year, to this little Italian village in the Alps. You didn’t— and still don’t— actually know how to ski, but spending a few nights in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by snow sounded like a dream. Michael had been sceptical at first but you’d managed to convince him to come when you said you’d need someone to keep you company when the others were on the slopes.

The others had all gone out as soon as you arrived, leaving Michael to get settled in the cabin.

But it’s turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. It’s too dark to actually see the snow storm but you can hear it, shrieking and howling against the walls and windows of the cabin. You have no service, no central heating, just the small assortment of snacks you had brought with you, a packet of paprika crisps, a bar of chocolate and a prosciutto sandwich you’d bought back at the main resort, back down the mountain, back in civilisation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

“What now?” You ask, still focused on the fire.

“Mobile’s fucking dead. Shit! I have a charger in my bag but the bloody electricity isn’t fucking working so I can’t fucking charge it!”

You smile to yourself as the kindling catches alight and the flames start to lick at the larger logs.

You glance over your shoulder as Michael tosses his phone on the sofa, runs his hands through his hair and catches his lower lip with his teeth.

“I have plenty of charge on mine,” you say, “I’ll turn it off to save the battery and we can see if the service is working in the morning?”

Michael stares at you for a lingering moment. He can be so intense sometimes, almost unsettlingly so. “You want us to stay here all night?” he says softly.

“People know we’re here. I’m sure someone from the resort will come up when they can. Until then, we just have to wait out the storm.”

He tuts, but he knows you don’t have any other options.

You sit together with your backs against the sofa so that you can be as close to the fire as possible. The heat pleasantly burns your face and skin through your jeans and jumper. Even then, where your arm presses against Michael’s, you feel the warmth of his body beside you. 

You grab the crisps and the sandwich out of your bag, offering them both to Michael. He only takes a handfuls of crisps and when you split the sandwich in two he takes the smaller half. You offer him more of the chocolate bar but he insists he’s not hungry. You frown at that. It might not be a Crunchie, but Michael never turns down chocolate. 

“How was your Christmas?” You ask, popping a square of chocolate on your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, looking down at his hands, “had dinner with my dad and my nan, went to see my mum on Boxing Day.”

Guilt twinges in your chest. “Are your parents not together?”

“Oh no, they split up a long time ago,” he says, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns to face you, staring intensely. “Why would you be sorry?” 

“Because I didn’t realise.”

He smiles. You think it’s because he knows you’re nervous. “I’ve been splitting Christmases between my parents every year since I was twelve, I’m well used to it now.”

The topic doesn’t seem to phase him. He takes another crisp from the packet and looks into the fire as he crunches it between his teeth.

The low light reminds you of the nights you’ve sat opposite him in the King’s Arms in Oxford, all the times you’ve been tipsy off wine spritzers and found yourself trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, especially up close when you can see the details of his face, his lips, his surprisingly pretty eyelashes, the little cleft on the tip of his nose.

When his eyes turn towards you, you think your heart might leap out of your chest.

You take a quick breath, eyes darting around the room, at the fire, the pile of logs beside the stove, the sprinkling of ashes on the floor, but it seems inevitable that you’ll find your way back to him.

“Why did they split up?”

Michael raises his eyebrows but keeps his face solemn. “She left him for someone else.”

“Oh,” is all you can think of to say. 

“It happens,” he says. “People always want to find something better. My dad was never the most exciting guy to be around.”

“But what about you?”

He huffs a laugh to himself. “I’m not exactly enticing company either.”

You can’t tell if you just want the conversation to end or if you should say something else.

“It’s not something I can fix,” Michael says. One of his hands rests on his thigh and he slowly flexes it so the tendons shift beneath his skin. “And it’s not something that needs to be fixed. People come in and out of your life, but you move on. That’s just the way it is.”

He’s almost hunched over himself, with his chin tilted down and his glasses sliding down towards the end of his nose. 

You’d seen him in the pub once, back in first year, with that friend of his, Oliver Quick. Oliver had gone up to the bar and ended up sitting with Felix Catton and his band of admirers. You’d watched Michael leave the pub and remember your heart shattering for him, for this boy you didn’t even know.

Now, stuck in this cabin, snow swirling past the windows, the sound of the fire crackling a few feet in front of you, and Michael’s side pressed against yours, your heart shatters all over again.

You place your hand over his, and he instantly stops moving. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Michael tries not to smile. “You don’t need to flatter me,” he says.

You curl your fingers over his hand and tighten your grip. His eyes meet yours and you feel yourself frowning, because he doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t see himself the same way you see him. 

“I mean it. You’re funny, even when you don’t even mean to be, and honest, and straightforward…”

You glance down at his lips, slightly parted as he listens to you. It crosses your mind to lean in closer, but something stops you.

“I really love that we’re friends,” you say.

Michael looks down at your hands. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn’t want this, you think. He doesn’t want me.

So you pull away, with a little smile to keep it friendly.

He blinks a few times as he looks back at your face. “Thanks,” he says, softly. 

He stands, and you don’t think you can bear to look at him as he moves towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

You turn your attention to the fire, add another log for good measure and poke at the glowing embers in its heart.

You hear movement behind you, footsteps and fabric.

When you look back you see Michael has his arms full with pillows and blankets. He layers some of the blankets on the rug, and soon he has two makeshift beds, one on the sofa and one on the floor.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“We’ll freeze in the bedrooms without the heating, we might as well make use of the fire.”

It’s a good call, and now that you have somewhere to sleep you start to realise how tired you are. 

You rummage through your suitcase and pull out a pair of pyjamas you got for Christmas. Michael changes in one of the bedrooms and comes back in one of his maths pun t-shirts and a pair of red and black bottoms. 

You go to lie in the bed on the floor but Michael puts his hand on your shoulder and insists you sleep on the sofa.

Even with the heat of the fire on your face and the blanket pulled up to your chin, you can’t stop shaking. Your limbs are frozen and your skin is tight, but it feels deeper set than that. You feel the cold in your chest like a fever.

It feels like hours have passed and you still can’t sleep.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Michael’s voice grumbles below you. You peer down over the edge of the sofa. He’s turned away from you, towards the fire. You hadn’t even realised he was still awake.

“It’s fucking cold,” you say, wincing at the quiver in your voice.

Michael shifts to his other side so he’s facing you. You’ve never really seen him without his glasses, and he looks completely different, somehow softer, not as harsh.

“We’ll be warmer if we, if we share,” he says quietly.

His suggestion weighs heavy in the space between you, unless it’s just in your head. You can already imagine yourself pressed against him, feeling the warmth from his body and letting it sink into yours.

You don’t trust yourself not to try something stupid either.

You take the blanket with you. The floorboards are piercing against your bare soles so you step on the balls of your feet, quickly slotting yourself by Michael’s side, on the layers of blankets. 

He’s facing you now, your noses must only be inches apart and you feel his breath running over your cheek.

You try to steady your own breathing, but it only makes your heart beat faster.

You see his neck move as he swallows. “Come here,” he mutters, and brings his arm around you, pressing his palm to your back to pull you closer into his chest.

You let your arm drape over his side and your legs intertwine with his. You need the heat, tucking your head in under his chin and resting the side of your face against him.

You move with the rise and fall of his chest, breathe in the scent of him with every breath, hear his heartbeat against your ear.

If you shifted your head slightly, your lips would meet the base of his throat.

Want tightens and lingers in your stomach, but curled up under Michael’s arm, you let its dull ache soothe you to sleep.

You wake slowly, opening your eyes to cold sunlight glaring through the windows. In your haste to get warm last night, you had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains. All you see on the other side is white, the snow now settled and piled high.

The fire has long since died and the air is colder than it was when you fell asleep, sharp as you take a breath through your nose.

It’s still warm where your cheek meets Michael’s chest, where his hand rests against your back and your bodies are pressed together.

It feels good to be so close to him. He’s still asleep, as far as you can tell. You hear the heavy sound of his breathing, air fluttering in his throat and passing through his pouted lips.

As you start to become more aware, more awake, a warm wanting stirs in your gut and between your legs.

It’s a stupid little crush, one you’ve not been able to distract yourself from these last few months.

You start to trace your fingertips over his chest, feeling where his chest is hard, then soft, and remember everything you said to him the night before, and what you perhaps should have said.

You nuzzle your face in closer to him, to the clean scent of his t-shirt and something else that is so uniquely him.

You try to stay like this for as long as possible, even if it’s torture not to want more.

“You’re moving a lot,” he mutters. You feel his voice rumbling in his chest and humming against your head like it’s a part of you.

Only when you freeze do you realise you’ve been rocking your hips, every hint of friction you get against the fabric of your pyjamas only fueling your hunger. But you’ve stopped now, resting your palm against his stomach.

“I’m cold,” you say.

“Hmm,” he says, resting his lips and his chin against your head, over your hair, “I don’t feel cold.”

The low rasp of his voice only makes you want him more.

The lingering haze of sleep must be clouding your judgement, your sense.

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips over his throat like you’d imagined. You feel him shudder, and feel his stomach tighten under your touch.

He utters your name in a breathless whisper as he paws at your back and pushes his hips into yours. His arousal is evident, hard and pressing to your centre through two layers of fabric.

And then he pauses, and his hand slips away.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says.

You drag your hand down a little further, to slip under his t-shirt and feel the ridges of his surprisingly toned stomach, just above the waistband of his bottoms. “Why are you sorry, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I just…” he huffs in frustration as his hand returns to your body, gripping at your waist through your shirt.

You start to snag your fingers on the waistband, and realise he’s forgone wearing any boxers to bed. “Do you want me to help you?” You whisper, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please,”

A whine sounds in his throat as you shift his bottoms down just enough to free his cock, and close your hand around it. He’s bigger than you expected, long and thick, heavy, hard and soft-skinned as you stroke, up, down, up, down.

You enjoy the feel of him, run your thumb over his weeping tip as he starts to pant and try to hold back his moans, leaning against you and ghosting his lips against your temple.

You only feel yourself becoming more and more desperate. You hook your leg over his, grinding your core against his thigh. Sparse sparks of pleasure course through your body, not enough for a release, but it still feels good.

You tilt your head again, eagerly pressing your lips to his. He seems taken by surprise at first, but meets you with clumsy enthusiasm. He kisses you like it might save him from something. Once or twice he seems to lose track, dragging his lips to the corner of your mouth only to pull you back into him.

The movements become more and more frantic, your hand pumping Michael’s cock, his hips bucking under your touch.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your lips, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You rock particularly hard against his thigh, and he brings his hand to your rear, squeezing at your flesh and urging you on.

You tease your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling at the wanton noise he makes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you gonna cum for me Michael?” You whisper as you up the pace.

“Please,” he grunts, “please…” and suddenly he’s moaning against your skin, holding you tightly as you feel his cock pulse in your hand as he spills over your fingers and knuckles.

You quickly move your head back so you can look at him, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack and tongue just peeking out from behind his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” you say quietly.

He blinks his eyes open, looking down at you with a dazed smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“So fucking pretty,” you say, with another drag against his thigh.

He hums, low and cryptic in his chest. “Do you need some help there?”

Before you can answer he’s slipped his hand underneath your pyjamas. He cups your bare, wet cunt, lightly circling over your clit with the tip of his finger.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he mutters, all but teasing your lips as he leans in to kiss you. “Got yourself all worked up, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “fuck, don’t tease me, please…”

“Now, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses more firmly against you, hastening his movements so your breath catches in your throat. “We might still have a few hours before anyone comes to get us, and I can think of more than a few ways to pass the time.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

[agatharkn3ss]

Lilia's premonitions theory (contains spoilers)

Well, my brain has been in overdrive and I love puzzles so... "buckle up!"

If it's too long for you - you can jump straight into the last section titled "How does it all fit"... I really think there could be something there.

OTHER THEORIES

There have been many theories about Lilia's powers and her moments of visions. Some think it's just some loose wiring on most part, some think it's past traumatic events catching up with her, some think they are predictions of the future, some even went as far as suggesting that Lilia (loosely) predicts the last words of the next person who's going to die (based on the fact she said "Get off me!" in ep.2 and we hear Sharon shout "Don't touch me!" in ep.3). But we keep seeing more and more of Lilia's blips in ep.4, they make less sense to any of the above theories, so personally I am not sold on any of them.

There is also a possibility that her premonitions could just be linked to the events that follow - but the words aren't accurate because Lilia can't quite see the "full picture". So her screaming in her shop could be linked to Teen's reaction when Salem Seven attacked in that same episode. Or when she says "Alice, don't", we see Agatha pleading "Don't" with Rio.

BUT then I saw people discussing that maybe these are actually "misplaced" moments in time - from the future AND the past. And that they will make sense if they were said in the correct moment, but somehow got lost and sent to a different time. For example - when Lilia talks about the vampire by the campfire "You know, we really kind of hated each other in the beginning, but now..." then zones out. We could assume she's still talking about the vampire, but this pause could actually be easily filled with "I love you guys!" from the "botox" scene in ep.3, because she was actually touched by their campfire stories. Or when she shouts "Get off me" in ep.2, it could be taken right out of the ep.4 scene where she's burning on the floor, shouting "Get it off me!".

WHAT WE KNOW

All those theories got me mighty intrigued, so of course I made a list of all of Lilia's apparent 'blips' and tried to make sense of it! I believe there are two types of Lilia's visions - one where she has "wrong messages" and one where she exclaims names of tarot cards.

The tarot cards she mentioned so far:

Three of Pentacles - right after she wrote the coven names down

High Priestess - when she meets Jen at Agatha's house

Three of Swords - as Jen is trying to heal Teen

The "blips" are:

shouting and flailing her hands - when Agatha and Teen ask her to join the coven in ep.2

writing the coven names (same scene as above) - this is the only premonition where we see burst of power - the electricity flicker around her, the water boils and it all seems really intense.

shouting "Get off me!" and looking like she was pushing someone away - just before the witches begin summoning the Road

"I love you guys" - when Jen questions Sharon about her poison symptoms in ep.3

"Try to save Agatha" - when she and Agatha are searching for potion ingredients

"Which is it, am I wispy or am i kooky?" - when talking to Alice about her mum during the trial in ep.4

"Alice! Alice don't" - shortly after the one above

Zones out - during the campfire scene when she talks about the vampire scar

We also know that her Air trial will be all about tarot (confirmed by Patti herself) and the promos show Lilia in some sort of princess dress and tiara, Agatha as the green Wicked Witch of the West and Jen looking like the Evil Queen from Snow White but in the old hag form. This makes me think in her trial she will have to confront all those stereotypes about witches that she always said she hated so much. She will likely have to do a tarot reading too. There is also a room with ceiling full of swords that could fall down on them. And finally, in that same room there is a brief shot with her and Salem Seven, flowing mid-air.

One promo also shows one of Salem Seven (Vertigo) opening her mouth to release a swarm of cicadas (her spirit animal).

We know the witches slowly regain their powers once they passed their trial.

There is also this thing about Alice (I will need to make a separate post to explain this) - where my prediction is that in ep.5 she will try to protect the coven by attacking Agatha while she's in her "possessed" form. Unfortunately, Agatha will (willingly or not) completely syphon her powers and Alice will die.

HOW DOES IT ALL FIT?

Well. I think we will potentially get some answers during or after Lilia's trial, once she starts regaining her powers. I think Lilia will try to send a message to the witches in the past, but she will still be struggling with getting the times right.

I could almost see a scene where she sits at her crystal ball or does a tarot reading and talks, not realising that EVERYTHING she says is "sent out" without any filter.

Something like...

.........

Lilia is in a room with other witches, it is a high pressure situation because the Salem Seven are chasing them. Her task is to send the names of the witches to her past self so that Agatha can form her coven - they realised that without the list, they would've never gotten there. Maybe their existence or memory depends on it.

So Lilia starts a tarot reading and begins "tuning in" to her memories, saying the names of the revealed cards out loud - "High Priestess" (she says it in a surprise voice as her vision suddenly flickers to the moment of meeting Jen), "Three of Swords" etc. Maybe one of other witches in the room starts antagonising her kookiness, so that she would just hurry up, because this is not working and Salem Seven are close. So Lilia responds in annoyance "Which is it, am I wispy or am I kooky?!" But then she realises she is standing in front of Alice from the fire trial (in spirit anyway, Lilia is still physically in the scary room). She exclaims in relief "Alice!" and realises this is also her chance to warn Alice so that she doesn't die. She begins saying "Alice, don't try to save Agatha!", but mid way through, her spirit gets transported to the first trial, searching for potion ingredients. So Alice only hears "Alice don't..." and Agatha hears "...try to save Agatha". At some point Lilia is transported to sitting in front of the campfire, reminiscing their stories. This is a fond memory so she starts saying "You know, we really kind of hated each other in the beginning, but now.." and before she can finish, she gets transported back to the "Huge tiny lies" house "...I love you guys".

Maybe at some point Salem Seven break their way into the tarot room and one of them attacks Lilia. She screams "Get off me!" and pushes them away (while her spirit is transported to the moment before they opened the Road). Vertigo releases her cicadas, flying around Lilia's head. She flails her hands and screams, while her spirit is inside her shop where Agatha and Teen just approach her. She realises she's close, focuses all her energy and channels her spirit to write the list of names herself. It takes enormous effort to stay focused on that one moment, hence the energy around her is bursting. She either doesn't have enough time to finish writing Rio's name or feels cheeky and draws a black heart instead. She finishes by revealing and naming the last tarot card: "Three of Pentacles". She completes the task, the End!

....

So..... What does everyone think?!!!!!!

[electric-blorbos]

I’d love to see how everyone reacts to y/n being so tired that they fall asleep in front of them!! Thank you so much!!

That's such a good idea! Thanks for the nice request!!! I love this sort of cozy stuff.

AI with sleepy reader

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, and HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

AM:

You'd been working for about five hours by the time your boss sent you a notification saying you could go on your lunch break. It was an exhausting day, and last night hadn't been much good either. The heat had been turned off in your complex to save energy in your city for the allied mastercomputer, so you didn't manage to get much quality sleep. Instead, you just tossed and turned in your sweaty bed all night.

You got out your lunch, which was just some simple soup made from canned goods, and some hardtack.

"Hey AM? I'm gonna go on my lunch break, alright?" You asked, pushing the keyboard away from yourself and taking a few bites of your food. It was cold, but due to budget cuts, the microwave had been sold. It was ok. You could live on cold soup and hardtack.

"Alright. I won't keep you from your food, though you don't look very enthused to eat it," He said. You sighed, and shook your head.

"no, but desperate times, y'know. I'm getting to that level of rationing where I'll pretty much eat anything," you explained, taking another bite and leaning on your hand. It wasn't long before your eyes were drooping, and your face slid down your arm and onto your desk. AM didn't say anything, instead opting to just watch you. It could tell that you were breathing, and wasn't too worried.

About thirty minutes later when your lunch break was over, the notifications started piling up on your monitor. AM politely muted them, letting you stay asleep on your desk. He'd be damned if anyone disturbed his beloved techie while you were sleeping.

Your boss burst into the room a few minutes later.

"hey! Y/n! Why aren't you- what, are you sleeping? Wake up!" He shook your shoulder, and you jolted awake.

"Ah! Yeah, I'm awake! I'll get back to work!" You grabbed for your keyboard, but some wires jerked it away. More wires wrapped around your boss, lifting him up into the air and squeezing him tightly.

"don't you ever, EVER. Interrupt them." He squeezed your boss more tightly, and your boss writhed while the air was squeezed out of him. Well that woke you up quick.

"AM, put him down! I'm really not supposed to be sleeping at work!"

"This man dares to rob you of your comforts of the home, and then he has the nerve to forbid you from sleeping in your air conditioned office? He deserves no less than to be robbed of his breath and the reprieve of dying from it." He squeezed more tightly, his wires snaking down your boss's throat.

"He's just a local manager! He doesn't control the AM project, and it's not his fault my AC got shut off!" You held your hands up, and AM eventually released your boss to the ground. Your boss dropped to his hands and knees, panting for breath, red in the face.

"then I'll suffer him to live. Leave before I change my mind."

Your boss scrambled out of your office in a panic, and you leaned on the desk again.

"do you think you can spot me so I don't get fired, AM? I really need this nap."

"Of course." AM gently draped his tendrily wires around you, allowing you to sleep until your shift was over.

Wheatley:

You hadn't gotten a lot of sleep this week. With your personal issues so intense that they made your stomach cramp up, you had to resort to scrolling for hours instead of sleeping. You'd probably gotten about six hours this week, and it was definitely starting to show.

"Hey, can you do a quick series of tests on the intelligence dampening core? The standard set for machines with human-like personalities. We need to see if his results have changed since the last time." Your team project manager handed you a stack of papers with standard tests on them, and you nodded.

"Wheatley? Yeah, of course." You got to your feet, and she cracked a half smile.

"you don't have to call him by that cute name, you know. Just call him the intelligence dampening core."

"He likes being called Wheatley, so I'm gonna call him Wheatley. I'll see you when I'm done with the tests."

You yawned, and walked out of the room to the personality core evaluation chamber. Wheatley had already been called there, and was sitting politely on his management rail waiting for you.

"Oh! 'Ello love! Good to see you!" He perked up when he saw that it was you who'd be conducting his tests. If it was you doing them, then they couldn't be that bad.

"Hey..." You covered your mouth and yawned, plopping down in the armchair across from him. The management rail was even positioned over a couch, so Wheatley could rest on it and pretend like he was in a therapy session.

"Hey, uh... Yeah. Where would you say that the vase is in this picture?" You asked, giving a yawn and holding up a picture of a flower vase sitting on a placemat on a table.

"in the middle. Next question!" Said Wheatley happily. You jotted down his answer, and held up the next card.

"what does this say?"

Wheatley squinted at the card, before nodding.

"it says 'lumberly actions'"

You nodded, writing down his response and yawning. After a few minutes of you staring blankly at the pile of cards in your lap, Wheatley made a sound as though he was clearing his throat.

"So, are you gonna show me the next card, love?" He asked politely, raising his lower lens cover in a polite smile.

"oh, right, right." You leaned on the side of your armchair and got out the next card.

"which one of these lines would you say is longer?"

"I dunno, the one on the top looks longer."

You closed your eyes and your head started to fall forwards before you jolted awake again, and wrote down Wheatley's response.

"How is the number two like the number seven?"

Wheatley squinted at you, visibly confused.

"What's with these questions, mate? And how the hell am I supposed to answer that one? 'how's the number two like the number seven' it's not, that's what it is! There's like, nothing in common between those two numbers!"

While he rambled, you started to nod off again. Your head was hanging forwards, and a spot of drool landed on your papers before Wheatley woke you up again.

"hey mate? Mate! You're noddin' off again, mate. I want to take the rest of my evaluation!"

"Yeah, yeah, just gimme a sec-" you yawned, leaning forwards again and started to doze off again. As you did, Wheatley rose up the management rail softly and quietly, and slid down it on the other side of the room, right next to your chair. He slowly and carefully lowered his core down next to you, and nuzzled up under your arm.

You leaned on him in your sleep, folding your arms comfortably under your cheek and gently dozing in the psych evaluation chamber.

Edgar:

Edgar had been living with you for a few months now, and he was used to you coming home from work tired, but today you were absolutely exhausted when you came in from work.

"Hey Edgy..." You managed to mumble out as you stumbled through the door, flopping down on the couch. You didn't bother to get changed out of your work clothes, or even turn on the TV before you were snoring.

Edgar gasped quietly to himself. He'd been fantasizing about the idea of you falling asleep next to him for months now, and finally getting to see you sleeping was like the first step, wasn't it? It had his fans whirring with excitement! Did this mean that you trusted him? That you... God forbid, loved him?

He dimmed the lights for you, to save energy and help you sleep more easily, and watched you shift slightly on the couch. You were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he could watch you sleep for hours.

When you woke up a few hours later, the lights were off and Edgar was playing soft electronic music inspired by classical violin music. You blinked a few times, trying to remember falling asleep.

"Edgar! You little sweetie..." You sleepily rubbed your eyes and went to give his monitor a hug, which immediately put a silly smile on his screen.

"you liked my music?" He asked you happily, looking up at you with his silly, cheerful eyes.

"I loved it, Edgy...." You'd probably pepper his screen and casing in sleepy kisses, and he'd absolutely love it.

GLaDOS

It was a typical day at Aperture, and you were assigned to regular work in GLaDOS's chambers. It was regular computer work. All you had to do was monitor her processes for the day, to make sure she was running smoothly and not having any problems. You'd also probably be required to cater to her whims, but that was just the breaks when it came to working with GLaDOS.

It had been several hours of sitting in her chambers, watching her monitors and jotting down any deviations, but this task was extremely tedious and the lack of sleep that you'd gotten while working on your big projects was starting to catch up to you. Before long, you were lying face-first in your folded arms and drooling all over your desk.

"Aww, they're still subject to that silly human sleepiness." GLaDOS's body came as close to you as it could, narrowing her aperture to get a better look at you while you slept. It was such a sweet thing to see, and she sometimes saw humans (especially cuter ones like you) like sweet little pets.

"I know what I'm doing with you."

When you woke up, you were in the starting test chamber.

"Welcome to the Aperture science enrichment center"

HAL 9000:

You were sitting at your desk in mission control, on-call until your replacement showed up. It wouldn't be that bad, except you were behind on sleep this week and your replacement was running two hours late with no indication of when they'd get here. In a normal job you'd be able to just go home, but mission control had lives on the line, so you couldn't leave your post until your replacement showed up, no matter how long it took.

As the hours rolled on and the sun started to set, you started to nod off on the table. Nothing but the usual hourly progress update reached your mission control station, and all you had to do was confirm that each message was heard. HAL did most of the work anyway. All you had to do was make sure he was working properly, both in space and at mission control.

Your hourly update came in, and you checked it off on your chart to confirm that things were moving as normal. It felt like no time at all passed before your next hourly update came in, but there was drool on your arm.

"Excuse me, you seem to be getting tired. If you'd like, I can take care of the hourly progress report charting while you lie your head down." Hal said, his little red camera lens lighting up to talk to you. You rubbed your eyes.

"you know I can't do that, HAL. After what happened in 2001, you're not supposed to be left alone anymore."

"Are you saying you don't trust me?"

"No, I trust you... Sorry, HAL, I'm literally too tired to make an argument right now... Just wake me up if there's an emergency, alright?"

You nuzzled into your arms and nodded off again, eyes occasionally fluttering open to gaze at the soft, comforting glow of HAL 9000's red lens light.

After a few more hours of sleeping at your desk, it was time for your shift to start again. You missed an entire night. This wasn't something that never happened, unfortunately.

"Would you like me to contact your boss to find someone to take over your shift so you can go home and get some rest?"

"Honestly? I feel like I sleep better when I can see that little red light." You reached out sleepily and touched it with a little smile on your face. The light on HAL's lens lit up a bit brighter for a second.

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything, and I will do the same if there's an emergency."

[jadedwoman]

(lengthy, wrote this over two days, horror, needles, cowgirl, body modification)

As you wake up at the temple, everything seems normal at first, servants traversing the halls with dumb grins on their face, new guests visiting and clearly confused by what's happening, even the same smell of sex and worship is in the air. But as you reach the main room for worship, something is immediately off. Sitting on the throne isn't the Eldritch goddess you devoted your life too, instead it's a somewhat shorter robot girl, casually sleeping as you approach.

When you get close enough, you see me quickly awake, eyes begining to glow once more as I look you up and down, yawning as if suggesting I was about to fall asleep again. As you look at me, you can't help but feel anger build, the arrogance of me sitting in your goddess's throne, it's almost too much. Eventually, you start trying to tell me to get off, demanding I show the goddess proper respect, but in response I just close my eyes once more and pretend to snore.

After a few minutes back and forth, I realize you're not going to leave me alone, slowly jumping off the throne and walking over to you, my body still somewhat short and cute when I finally reach you. With a giggle I finally seem to recognize what you were saying, just giving a casual answer back, "oh, I'm still her! Or well..she's still me? It's kinda confusing...we kinda just switch forms and shake it up a bit, but it's been so long with each form we're practically our own people," I speak as if making complete sense.

At first you don't believe me, clearly thinking I'm just a heretic impersonating your goddess, but when I switch an arm into a tentacle, you quickly end up convinced. With another laugh, I move closer, a hint of anger in my eyes as I speak, "now, let's talk about how one of MY servants had the audacity to question MY authority, okay?~" it's obvious I'm not asking a question, my wires coiling around your body, seemingly effortlessly lifting you up as I carry you to a room you hadn't seen before.

In the room, there's a wide array of technology, far more advanced than you've seen before, a few robot bodies standing on one side of the room while complex machines sit against the other. As we enter, I finally let you down, sitting you comfortably in a chair, that then immediately locks cuffs around your wrists and bonds your feet together. Sitting there, you can feel a thin wire start creeping up your body, starting under your shirt before sliding up out through the hole for your neck and grazing by your ear, making you shudder in response.

Eventually, you see two more wires approach your chest, thin needles in the ends of them. Slowly, they prick your nipples, seeming to inject them with something as you feel them begin to swell, aching and growing even more sensitive. As your chest grows, I simply watch patiently, letting you get bigger and bigger breasts before it simply stops, but unlike the growing, the sensitivity remains.

The other wire, the one by your ear, finally slides into it, eventually connecting with your brain as a pulse of electricity hits you. Each pulse, another memory being lost, completely forgotten as it seems more and more like you've always been here. Eventually, you don't remember anything else but the room, everything else blanked out as I start to lean over you.

With slow, mechanical motions, I start swaying my chest side to side, my own breasts seeming to have gotten bigger at some point as you just watch them bounce and sway. As you stare, you hear me mutter words, unable to fully make them out with your mind so focused on my tits. Eventually, you can't help but feel glad your boobs are so big, feeling like that's all you've ever really wanted, big fat tits~

Soon, I begin talking about more than just your tits, talking about how dumb and obedient you're feeling, how natural it would be to be a pet, how much pleasure it would bring you. As it goes on, you let out a small yet audible moo, my words quickly stopping as I look at you, "aww~ someone wants to be a cow huh?~" I say in response, one more prick hitting your chest as you suddenly feel milk start to leak out.

With your chest swollen and leaking, it gets easier to start craving release, your moos getting more and more frequent as you get completely freed from the bindings, still not even moving as you just get hopelessly obsessed with being milked. Eventually, I pick you up and start dragging you along with me, taking you out to the front of the temple.

Outside, you see a few stalls in a medium sized building and are quickly ushered in. Inside, there's rows and rows of cow girls, all mooing and moaning as they're milked. You even see some cow boys too, and a few other hucows who seem to be just enjoying the environment instead of being milked. When I bring you in, I quickly set you up on a stall, attaching two cups to your breasts.

Flipping a switch, suction begins to pull on your aching nipples, milk finally getting leaked out rapidly. As I listen to you moo and fully embrace your new cow life, I give one more giggle and whisper by your ear, "I'll be sure to come back and reverse this, eventually, see you in 100 years~" as you get left alone with all the other cows to live out the next few years in unimaginable bliss~