#second stimulus

[jennysmithgift]

Stimulus payment has just been approved for every US resident

Get It Now

[tariah23]

[chemicahs]

Every time I put down my phone I start having hallucinations again. ok

[blindrapture]

composition no. 8, "Setting"

So, the dolls.

I had had enough of watching the slurry of emotions wash through my vision over and over, and over and over and over and over, going endlessly into the walls like a sadistic ghost's thralls, and I knew I needed to move my body around and see some new stimulus.

I walked. I limped, a bit, as my legs were now accustomed to long periods of rest (and I have a history of leg problems beyond that, though there was once a time when I would walk for hours and only want to keep walking!), I kept an unsteady pace and left my "house," left my "neighborhood," left my "courtyard." I think I was looking for trees, or leaves, or dirt, or water. I must have been thirsty. I can't place how I wouldn't have been thirsty... Had I been drinking this entire time? Had these mansions contained sustenance? There were pipes carrying something; there were more pipes than rooms, which is to be expected! And there were so many rooms.

There were so many rooms... many of which housed furniture, mostly chairs, boxes, counters, tables, surfaces. Some rooms had divots in the walls where one might put a lamp, some knickknacks, a painting. Were there paintings in that mansion? Yes, I remember seeing lots, arranged with no consistent frequency. Some of them may not have been paintings at all but instead windows. Maybe some of them were paintings whose contents moved according to eyesight, to give the illusion of a window. In the entire courtyard (and neighboring houses) where my "home" was, there was only one painting which contained anything humanoid. It was in a corner house far from where I slept; I did not like looking at it or being anywhere near it. It wasn't even all that focused; the humanoid figure was, I think, in the background somewhere? I still felt anxious seeing it. But other courtyards, other blocks, had more frequent instances of paintings featuring a humanoid subject. Only very rarely did more than one painting seem to represent the same subject. I am being careful, of course, not to outright say "human," as I refuse to presume. They didn't strike me as monstrous either, mind you. Some of them were shadowy, but often they had details that were clearly some kind of flesh. And, anyway, more often the paintings were strictly abstract-- uh, I presume-- with.. shapes, tones, textures, structures. I didn't think much of the paintings, even when words came to me. In that place, I just took them to fit in with the overall theme of "resembling familiar interiors." Paintings are furniture more often than they are art.

Speaking of furniture I glossed over as fitting the theme, this is actually where the dolls first come in. I did not pay them much attention. On my explorations, I did occasionally see dolls in some rooms, and I was thankful that they generally had no eyes, as that would certainly have startled me. They were infrequent enough to be reasonably figured along the lines of those aforementioned chairs, lamps, tables. Just... things, in a setting consisting of things. Perhaps if I had made a point to keep track of these dolls, I would have been less surprised later on, but of course I didn't, as these were still early days with sluggish thoughts.

Mostly I remember the sounds. The ticking of paint chipping off the walls, the thud that's a type of creak as architecture settles, pitter-patter in the distance that reminded me of small animals but was far too frequent to be anything other than pipes. There was a sporadic noise that rushed through the mansion, resembled a thick wind but moved very slowly, came across more like a large sheer object being dragged along walls-- and, of course, there was no wind in that mansion anyway. I can only speculate on what all these sounds were, and they did alarm me for a while in the early days, but they never seemed connected to anything alarming, so they just became the background mood of memories.

[heegyukeluv]

can't take it? (enha's hyung line) 

enha's hyung line when reader has high stamina and can go multiple rounds.

pairing: hyung line x afab!reader

my's note: unironically just thought about it and wrote it lol

warnings: established relationship, pet names (baby, darling, babe, angel, pretty) SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, implied unprotected sex (please, don't!!!), implied multiple orgasms, cowgirl, dirty talk, overstimulation (both), oral (f. receiving), fingering, lowkey nipple play, choking, belly bulge kink(?), they cum inside. lmk if i missed something!!!

wc (total): 1.8k

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers

Heeseung would see it as a challenge and force himself through it even though he's teetering on the edge of giving up.

“F–Fuck, Hee…” You cried out, your body jolting, exposed breasts moving up and down to your boyfriend’s hard and deep thrusts inside your dripping cunt.

You didn’t know exactly what to do with your hands as the overwhelming feeling grew in your lower stomach, indicating your second climax coming. Torn in between kneading your boobs and rubbing your own clit, you tried to give the best view to Heeseung.

But he wore an expression of intense focus, as if his sole purpose in life was to make you cum uncountable times. And to some extent, it was. His fingers were deep in your hips, holding you still as he just kept going, eyes focused on where you both encountered.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

Heeseung didn’t care about overstimulating you – or himself. No, definitely not. So when you announced you had your orgasm, he continued on thrusting hard, fast, deep, tirelessly hitting your g-spot with his sensitive tip, since he had already cummed two times as well.

“S’too much–” You mumbled, shaking your head, squirming under the pressure he held to keep you stay as possible. “Too– Much–Ah, fuck, Hee–”

“Take it.” He managed to say, voice hoarse, low, determined, though his body was starting to betray his primal will.

The slapping sounds flooded the room as a lascivious, beautiful symphony. Heeseung looked up to catch a glimpse of hooded eyes and fucked out expression. He smirked, feeling proud of himself for leading you to the edge of insanity. 

Your nails scraped down his back when he leaned closer, slotting perfectly in between your legs that wrapped around his waist, leaving red trails as you clawed at him for any sort of grounding.

“Hee, I c-can’t–!” Your protest dissolved into a broken moan when his thumb found your overstimulated clit, circling it in unwavering motions.

Heeseung’s warm mouth found place on your hardened nipples, playing with them by swirling his tongue around it and sucking just slightly, his pace never lacking, giving you an overwhelming experience of stimulus; you felt Heeseung everywhere. 

You winced, skin tingling in despair as you cried beneath him, a complete whining mess. You were loving each second, head spinning and your chest pounding strongly; your tongue quickly swept on the corner your lips to clean your light drooling and consequently tasted the salty taste of your tears.

Heeseung trailed his hot muscle up to kiss you, a hint of a victorious grin gracing his lips as he watched you lose yourself before him. His only objective was to tire you and win that fucking stupid inner challenge. 

“You wanted it,” he groaned, close to your ear. You whimpered, feeling another wave of pleasure crossing you. “Fucking take it.”

Jay would politely ask for a break ever once and a while, falling on the bed, panting, struggling to find words in between heavy breaths.

“Oh, fuck,” Jay grunted, his body trembling slightly, thighs burning after rolling his hips in an admirable constancy.

He had cummed one time already with you positioned in all fours, but he could feel his second orgasm just as close.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–” he chanted, jaw clenching, his digits pressing your sides with a strength that got you clenching harder, knowing it would leave marks. You loved to be marked by Jay.

Under Jay’s sight, you looked extra gorgeous with your face down and ass up, rocking back and forth within each pound, moans getting lost in between the lewd slapping sounds. You could feel his balls smacking against your pussy, sending vibrations straight to your clit and a rush of delight towards your core.

“Jay!” You nearly screamed, but your voice got lost in the pillow you had buried your face. 

Still, your mouth fell open, the tears in the corner of your closed eyes smearing your makeup and staining the pillowcase, your hands fisting the bed as you whined Jay’s name.

Soon after, you felt his warm liquid filling you up again, your own release mixing with it and making a mess. 

Jay pumped a few more times to ride you in your high before dropping himself by your side, panting hard, body still weak due to the effort of pleasing you. He had his eyes fluttered close as he tried to regain his composure, air difficulty making its way down his burning lungs. He felt his throat dry and groaned when you turned his body upwards. 

“Just… A sec… Please… Darling…” He said in between ragged breaths and you giggled, grabbing the bottle of water on the nightstand and handing it to him, watching his neck moving as he drank on it.

After he finished and you drank a bit yourself, you shot him a glance. He quivered, eyes widening a little. 

“Want more,” you mumbled, straddling on the bed just to position yourself on top of him. “But don’t worry, I’ve got you,” and with a wink and a smirk mischievously dancing on your lips, you aligned Jay’s softened dick on your folds, starting to grind back and forth.

All he could do was to rest his hands on your hips and pray not to pass out.

Jake would be so tired after the first round but he mastered the art of making you cum with his tongue and fingers a few times before fucking you.

The slurping sounds echoed through the room as lascivious as the wet noises of Jake’s fingers. He was switching in between fucking you with his tongue and with his slender digits, the same ones that would curl on the exact shape to hit your sensitive spot.

You had no idea of how much you have cummed, your cries entering Jake’s ears deliciously and traveling all the way down to his leaking cock. 

He was so fucking turned on by your pretty sounds and your body searching for his own, searching for pleasure on his mouth and fingers. He could spend hours with his head buried between your legs; the pressure of your thighs against it was too good to dismiss, the sweet taste of your pussy melting on his palatar was addictive. 

Jake loved how high your libido was, nearly matching his own. However, he would be extra tired after having his orgasm, so he just learned how to get yourself done until he finished fucking you deep and hard.

“God, Jake– Your fingers– So good–” You threw your head on the pillow as your back arched, your hips grinding on his face and hands shamelessly. 

“Like my fingers, babe?” He asked within a grin, trying to ignore his aching dick screaming for some friction. 

Jake didn’t want to rut on the mattress, because he had a job to do and it was to fill you up with his seed after eating you out for who knows how long. His hands were messy with your juice, just like the sheets beneath you two. He couldn’t care less.

To have you, screaming his name just with his fingers and tongue was satisfying at most for him to worry about bed clothing. 

You nodded, lost into the blissful desire Jake provided so perfectly. You jolted forward when you felt his lips sucking on your clit, his fingers now far gone from your pulsing hole as he licked your folds, lapping his tongue with precision, nearly making out with your cunt.

“Cumming–” You whispered with a broken voice, just to scream after; the grip on Jake’s locks tightening, eliciting a moan from him. 

He chuckled, drinking from your arousal just like it was his favorite drink.

“Give me one more and then I fuck you with my cock, yeah?”

Sunghoon would match your energy. If you can go for a whole fucking night, so does he. 

“Yeah, ride my fucking dick, baby,” Sunghoon moaned, brows furrowing with how warm and wet you were around him, swallowing every centimeter of his shaft.

You were on top of him, bouncing, riding, doing anything that gave you the euphoria of being fulfilled. Both emotionally and physically. 

Sunghoon definitely loved you, and the biggest proof was when he started doing gym just to match your stamina in bed, now able to follow you throughout the whole night without tiring too much. He could do it just fine before, but he wanted to be sure he was giving you the best. Always.

“Fucking shit, so good,” he bit his lip, smirking, admiring the view of your boobs jumping as you tried new ways to pleasure yourself, his eyes wandering each curve of your body. You felt his dick throbbing inside you. “My baby is so good, feels so good,” he said in between moans as his hands gripped your hips to help you.

You decided to grind back and forth, the last two orgasms helping to ease the movements; your lips were parted chanting Sunghoon’s name like a beautiful, addictive mantra. 

He could feel how you started to squeeze his dick in no time, his finger sliding towards your clit to give just enough of friction. 

“I love your cock–” You slurred, drunk in Sunghoon’s scent getting all over you. The feeling of his hard length nearly destroying you inside was too good not to vocalize. “Love it so fucking much– So big, so deep– Mhm…” You sounded… delighted, as if you were experiencing the best sensation of your life – and you were. 

Your exposed neck as you threw your head back invited Sunghoon's long fingers to wrap around it gently, just to give a light press that interrupted your airways to work properly for a few seconds. Your mind entered a haze of ecstasy, one that got you accelerating your riding almost instantly and seeking for your release as soon as possible.

The coil in your stomach tightened, and at some point you started to notice you could feel Sunghoon’s dick in there as well. One of your hands gave away the support you found on his chest just to press your belly, provoking Sunghoon’s hips to buck forward as he felt the slight pressure. 

“F–Fuck,” he stammered, letting go from your neck and clit to hold you still on top of him, starting to thrust frantically. “Cum for me, angel– Cum with me.”

As if a command, your moans increased the volume, so did Sunghoon’s thrusts, until you came all over his body, your juices mixed with his seed coating his dick and part of his stomach.

He gave you nearly seconds to recompose, maneuvering your body to lay back on the bed. You both smirked, because you knew what was coming. 

“We’re in for a long night, pretty.”

[sanctus-ingenium]

Camera & Action in their own original concept sketches. these were on my other blog but since ppl seem to enjoy the designs i thought i'd have them here as well

ppl may already know that pascal is no longer in the canon of inver, i decided to make a new story :)

so it's about these pseudo-AI assistant/virtual creatures called imimata (singular: imimaton). In the context of the story it's specifically about celebrity culture, virtual pop stars/TV presenters, and labour relations

[copy-pasted explanation from the other blog lol but i have a tag for it here too with a lot more posts!!]

Think of a completely formless seed that, for a fleeting moment, has the potential to become an artificial intelligence, but always changing, with endless permutations and no permanent state of being. when kept within a resonance chamber (the ‘container’ that may be analogue or digital etc), it is fixed into place long enough for it to be able to become. the chamber holds it and allows it to develop instead of dissipate away instantly. the process of development led by external forces - intentional or unintentional - is called 'encoding’. professional encoders will essentially use this shapeless state of being to encode commands, personality prompts, and rules, essentially moulding the thing in the resonance chamber into a form dictated by them. when i say unintentional, i also mean that exposure to any stimulus will always be a learning experience, and the thing will grow and develop no matter what if it first gets fixed in one place. but it’s only referred to as an imimaton once it has been encoded - no longer raw matter, but hammered into shape.

encoding is basically the socialisation of an impressionable thing into a biddable and useful form. in the early Hertzian era (when this technology took off, 1830s ish - crucially, before the commercial application of imimata, when they were curious playthings for idle Great Thinkers), encoding was a process of conversation lasting many years, often for purely philosophical purposes, literally talking at something until it talked back. prior to this, natural magnets could be used to fix a proto-imimaton, and people would think of them as similar to homunculi. in today's digital era, encoding takes the form of inserting storage media into the chamber, essentially running a program in a computer that reduced the encoding process to a few seconds and the flip of a switch. Pascal is an example of a Hertzian imimaton, composed of information stored in radio waves rather than a digital storage medium (basically - he's analogue)

outside of encoding, clauses may be placed upon the chamber itself and these are less socialisation, they do not form the building blocks of an imimaton, they are purely strict rules and routines which it is bound to follow. one such clause could involve the censorship of certain words (so that an imimaton cannot say fuck even if they would otherwise have been able to), or strict boundaries on what information an imimaton is allowed to learn. a common clause also boils down to making it impossible for one to attempt to manifest physically.

Once this was perfected, imimata entered the workforce at the turn of the 20th century.

[...]

When Pascal made his TV debut in 1969, it was hyped up for months with ads which depicted him on set and in more realistic ways (almost appearing to be photographs - some even were!), while public reaction was carefully monitored. This was highly experimental and it still was not known whether the concept of a virtual TV presenter worked, so although they did hype it up, there was a level of caution too so as not to invite negative press.

The first series did not involve public audience members but people from the broadcasting studio standing in for them (this was not made known at the time). They used a combination of camera tricks and graphics to make it feel like he was physically standing in a room with these people (bearing in mind he was strictly contained and had no manifestation outside the broadcast - he was within a container at the base of the mast tower, with a recording device which could cast his image live, so viewers at home were seeing cuts of the Pascal feed and cuts of the physical studio and audience stitched together to appear continuous)

That was part of the gimmick - it was commonly felt that an imimaton should never be permitted to manifest/should have no manifestation, so the fact that he supposedly was manifesting but friendly and contained was a draw. the ads leaned into it quite a lot - marketing copy implying that you could touch him, go on dates with him, etc but always with a cheeky wink, a "not really", the audience at home were in on the secret of it not being real. but it worked really well and was super effective to generate hype and it sparked an entire golden era of imimata and manufactured celebrities (but Pascal remained notorious for being one of the only ones that could believably interact with a studio audience in an unscripted manner, due to his 'maturity' as an imimaton, having been brought up in the 19th century conversational era of encoding, raised on a diet of talking to philosophers)

The second season of the show came out quickly and to much anticipation, and with members of the public actually participating for the first time. The broadcasters set up a wall of CRTs in the studio which would display him to people on-set, and wired up each audience member with a microphone so he could hear them too (he appeared to see them well enough through the camera equipment). he was excited to interact with them and they liked him too, but he always had this slightly mean streak which his broadcaster tried hard to soften. but the meanness worked really well in the reality/game show format where half the entertainment is watching audience members get dunked on sometimes

Episodes could be produced at a rapid pace by taping multiple at once - three identical sets were built for season 3 allowing for three episodes to be filmed at once because he could of course interact with everyone freely and essentially be in multiple places at once. this was also where the first issues showed up on-set - he began to miss his timing cues, arriving just a bit too late to the stage, or taking slightly too long to finish his nightly sign-off. this was not apparent publicly as the episodes were not shown live and could be edited, but any member of the public who was on the show was often hounded after by superfans, so some stories did come out about Pascal's 'odd' behaviour on set. there was a behind-the-scenes documentary made about the entire producing process in season 3 as well, which included some interviews with Pascal himself, but mostly consisted of his handlers and technicians excitedly explaining the broadcast apparatus and containment devices and so on.

Following The Incident, the rare copies of this film became highly sought-after by collectors.

[mariasont]

heatstroke

shy!reader is flustered around spencer. he mistakes it for a heatstroke.

pairing: spencer reid x shy!reader warnings: fem!reader, post prison reid, spencer being oblivious, fluffy fluff prompt: here wc: 0.7k

Your heart is hammering so hard you’re half-convinced it’s about to burst straight out of your chest, grow legs, and scuttle off into the nearest storm drain. And now, standing so close you can map every anxious burst of breath ghosting hot across your cheek, Spencer is mumbling something rapid-fire about heatstroke of all things.

“It’s eighty-five degrees out, you know. Do you feel dizzy? Disoriented?” he asks, forehead crinkling adorably — no, anxiously — in sincere concern.

You’d answer, really, but all that escapes is an embarrassingly squeaky semblance of language. Because Spencer Reid, who is the intellectual equivalent of chugging an ice-cold slushie way too fast on your best days, is currently ushering you toward a shaded lounge chair, fingertips pressing cautiously into your side as if the slightest pressure might crumble you into dust. 

Which, honestly, that's not far off.

“You really don’t look good,” Spencer says, lowering himself into a squat directly in front of you. 

You want to protest, or at least pretend to be mildly insulted, but your lips part uselessly, mouth suddenly dry. 

This close, Spencer is a potent distraction — big, worried eyes, dark lashes clinging wetly together, a single bead of water tracing the strong line of his jaw before disappearing beneath the edge of his collarbone. 

Your vision is swimming, and it definitely has nothing to do with the diagnosis he’s busy concocting.

How did this even happen? One minute, you were innocently (fine, not so innocently) ogling Spencer as he laughed in the pool, sunlit water streaming over smooth skin and muscles you absolutely did not know existed beneath all those layers he normally hides behind. 

The next, your knees had given out, quickly followed by your dignity.

Completely understandable, really, given the visual stimulus. And clearly, it was symptomatic enough to convince him of a medical emergency. 

Now he’s fussing over you like a patient, touching you gently, speaking softly, and effectively making your current Spencer-induced predicament exponentially worse. 

“I’m fine,” you manage to croak, forcing your lips into a shaky approximation of a smile, hoping you look convincing and not completely deranged. “Just, um — hot. It’s hot. You’re hot — I mean, it’s… the weather. The weather’s hot.”

Amazing. Truly eloquent. You doubt a toddler would fall for such an amateurish charade, let alone Spencer.

His head cocks to the side in the confusion, and now you’re stuck looking at lips that seem entirely too kissable for your current mental state. 

Spencer blinks slowly at you and somehow, inexplicably, moves even closer, fingers brushing against your forehead.

“Your skin is really warm,” he says, almost to himself, his palm shifting to cup your cheek. 

A barely contained shiver ripples through your body, originating exactly where Spencer’s hand rests and working its way down your spine, turning you into a shaky disaster in seconds flat. Which, of course, is incredibly helpful, given that he currently believes you’re overheating.

Tremors in blazing sun. Makes sense.

“Can you try taking a deep breath for me?” he urges, thumb sliding smoothly across your cheekbone, and suddenly you’re wondering if this is how cats feel when someone scratches exactly the right spot behind their ears.

You drag in a tight, somewhat strangled breath, probably miles from the smooth, relaxing inhale Spencer intended. But considering there was only a microscopic gap separating your faces, successfully intaking any oxygen feels nothing short of a miracle. 

Spencer, clearly agrees, because his face breaks into an immediate, heart-stopping smile.

“Good,” he whispers. “There you go.”

You briefly wonder if praise-induced death is a thing, because Spencer’s clearly testing the theory.

When his hand finally withdraws, leaving your cheek strangely cool, you’re amazed at how quickly your body rights itself, as though your lungs had just been waiting politely for him to stop wreaking havoc on your nervous system. 

"Stay here, I'll grab you some water," he says softly, already halfway turned toward the house before pausing, reconsidering. "Or, actually — do you wanna come inside? Air conditioning might help."

"Oh — no," you blurt quickly, nervously adjusting your bathing suit strap for what feels like the millionth time. "I'm fine out here, really. The fresh air is good."

Fresh air, you think, nodding to yourself like a total idiot. Yes, fresh air is good. Fresh air means witnesses, and witnesses mean accountability. People who can vouch that your complete breakdown is purely situational and definitely not a daily occurrence.

He hesitates, obviously conflicted, before exhaling with a sigh of surrender. "Okay, but I'm setting up a fan. It'll make us both feel better."

You manage a nod. "Fan sounds good."

The second Spencer’s safely indoors, Rossi lowers his sunglasses just enough to shoot you an amused glance.

“Kid might be a genius, but when it comes to anything social —  especially romantic — he’s about as perceptive as a brick,” he says breezily. “Lucky for you, huh?”

Laughter washes around you, and all you can do is tug your hat down over your burning face as if that might make you invisible. When no helpful sinkhole opens up beneath you, you sneak a glance toward the house.

One day, Spencer’s bound to figure it out. You wonder briefly if you’ll survive it… but you’re dangerously tempted to find out.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 1 extras

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maria's spring break getaway masterlist

[saturntosatoru]

hands up, time's up! || gojo satoru x teacher! wife! reader

warnings: minors do not interact!, explicit content (fingering, semi-voyeurism, semi-public sex), fem!reader, established relationship, Nanami being chronically underpaid

masterlist

There’s an unspoken rule at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech that Gojo Satoru is not allowed, under any circumstances, alone in a room with you—at least not without the door left open.

There’s been too many occasions where a student would aimlessly wander into a common area (highlights include the cafeteria, the gymnasium, and behind the water cooler—nothing stops Gojo) and find the two of you in a…less than decent state.

However, the breaking point was one sweltering summer day, when Nanami found Yuji outside the teacher’s lounge:

Nanami trudges down the hallway, counting down the seconds until he can remove his sticky blazer and steal a drink from Gojo’s Pocari Sweat stash in the teachers’ communal fridge. The kids should be busy frolicking while Gojo ‘oversees’ (read: scrolls through his phone or torments you) their ‘training’ (read: aforementioned frolicking).

It’s the perfect opportunity to take a breather; Nanami’s calculated the situation down to a T.

What he doesn’t factor into his calculations is Yuji standing awkwardly outside the teacher’s lounge door, weight shifting from foot to foot.

His head shoots up when he notices Nanami’s approaching figure. “Oh, Nanamin! What’re you doing here?”

Nanami raises a brow in response. “I think it’s more fitting to ask why you’re here, Yuji. Why aren’t you training with Gojo right now?”

Yuji looks like a deer caught in headlights, and Nanami’s already fighting off the impeding headache. “Oh, well.. you see… Kugisaki and I were going to train together—Fushiguro said he didn’t wanna join us because we get annoying and goof off (which is not true, Nanamin, trust me! We work super hard together!!)—but then we remembered that Gojo-sensei said he’d teach us a different way to channel our cursed energies today, and we decided we wanted to practice that instead, but first we needed to…”

Nanami stands there, nodding slowly and pretending to listen while Yuji rambles on, but he’d already zoned out the moment Yuji brought up Gojo. Of course, it was that idiot’s fault, and of course, Nanami would need to clean up after him. He lets out a sigh, noting that Yuji has taken a break to breathe. “If he’s inside the teacher’s lounge, why haven’t you gotten him yet?”

Yuji halts midsentence, face instead turning an alarming shade of red. Oh, this can’t be good. Nanami steels himself. “…There’s some… noises… coming from inside and I…didn’t want to intrude.”

Of course. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and Nanami does not get paid enough to deal with this. He closes his eyes a moment, calming and bracing himself for the incoming nightmare material on the other side of the door. “That’s very kind of you, Yuji. Don’t worry, I’ll handle this. Why don’t you go join the others and I’ll send Gojo your way soon?”

Yuji perks up. “Thanks, Nanamin! You’re the best!” He leans in conspiratorially. “I’d cover your nose though���it sounds like Gojo-sensei’s having a tough time on the toilet in there, if you know what I mean.” He skips off with an exaggerated wink, leaving Nanami thanking every higher power that it was innocent Yuji and not too-jaded Megumi that walked on a potential Chernobyl 2.0.

Alright, time for Nanami to get this over with. Time to rip off the Band-Aid and face the carnage once and for all. Time to… time to stop stalling.

The door slides open with a bang and Nanami immediately looks to the ceiling, refusing to see whatever you and Gojo are up to.

You, however, jolt while in Gojo’s lap, his fingers pulling out of you and catching on your clit as he moves them to his mouth. You let out an involuntary whimper at the sharp stimulus. Nanami speaks loudly to drown out your noises. “You two. Have we not had enough discussions about this?”

“Aww, c’mon Nanamin! Don’t be such a—”

“Absolutely not, Gojo. In fact, you are the last person I wish to be speaking to right now.”

“Nanami! I’m so so sorry, oh my gosh. Um, can you give us a moment? We’ll be right with you, I promise!” You try swiveling your head to look over Gojo’s shoulder, but Gojo takes that as permission to grab your face and drag you into a kiss.

 “Mmpff!” You try to talk through the suctioned seal Gojo has on your mouth. “Justh gib me a thecond to—” You finally shove Gojo off and look at your poor coworker. Your hand covers Gojo’s mouth to block his attacks.

“Just give us a second, Nanami. I’m so so sorry, and I promise we’ll be out in two.” (“Five,” Gojo pipes up from behind your hand. You pinch him. Nanami ignores him.)

A deep, exhausted sigh comes from Nanami. “Please do not make me intervene again. I will be outside.”

Your attention returns to Gojo as the other man leaves. He looks too excited for the situation, ears perked like a dog and boner pressing even harder into your ass. “Satoru, c’mon. Let’s deal with the fallout and pray Nanami moves on from this.”

Gojo lifts you effortlessly and spins you so you’re straddling his hips and facing him. You feel like a limp kitten being dragged about. (You also feel your stomach flutter at the ease with which your husband manhandles you, but you ignore that.)

“It’s okay, sweetcheeks. Nanami’ll forget about it soon enough. Now, lemme apologize properly to your sweet lil cunt for being interrupted. I know she’s a finicky girl.” Gojo nuzzles his nose against your neck, pressing soft kisses down the column. His fingers sneak under your skirt, where your panties are completely soaked through and pushed aside, to rub small, slow circles over your clit.

“No, ah—Satoru, we need to—oh shit, fuck that’s—no, we need to—oooh, yes—to see what he wants—” your words are cut off by a sudden moan as Gojo palms your tits, rubbing a thumb over a nipple visible through your shirt. The added friction only makes the feeling more intense, and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your sounds.

“Talking about another man while I’m here?” The circles on your clit get faster, and your grip on Gojo’s shirt gets tighter as you try to keep quiet. Gojo’s hand leaves your chest to grab your face, cheeks squished between his fingers, as he forces you to look at him. “Eyes on me, honey. I’m all you should be focused on right now.”

You nod reflexively as Gojo’s hand sneaks to the back of your head and yanks your hair, forcing your back to arch while you maintain eye contact. “That’s a good girl. There we go. Listen to you—I bet you love that everyone outside can hear you—can hear the pretty noises you make for me.”

You whimper in response to his words, too focused on the feeling building between your legs to process what your husband’s saying. “You gonna come for me? Don’t forget Nanami gave us two minutes—I tried bartering for five, but my cute lil wife has so much faith in me that she only wanted two.” Gojo moves to suck on your neck, scratching with his teeth and soothing it over with his tongue when you let out a particularly high-pitched whine.

“Fuck, Satoru, don’t—oh—don’t stop, please, I’m so close baby, socloseI’m—” A loud and obscene moan follows your words as the feeling crashes over you painfully, spurred on by Gojo increasing the speed of his fingers to quickly push you into a quick and filthy orgasm bordering on overstimulation.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let it out—I want everything, so don’t you dare hold back.” Gojo keeps up the pace, even as your hips try to buck away from his fingers. His hand quickly moves from your hair to your ass, holding you in place as you try to squirm away.

“No, ‘Toru, ‘s too much,” you slur out, tears littering your lash line as you force yourself to continue watching your husband, no matter how much you want to close your eyes. “No more, please—”

“GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE, YOU TWO!” Yaga’s voice booms through the room, banging fists joining his yells. You and Gojo stop, wide-eyed at the interruption.

“Holy shit, Nanami brought Yaga. Fuck, what do we do?” Gojo whispers, fingers slipping out and wiping on your skirt. Your nose crinkles watching him.

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do’? This is your fault, idiot. You fix this!” You whisper angrily (and hoarsely) back, removing yourself from his lap and stretching to work out the soreness of your muscles.

Gojo scoops you bridal-style, barely giving you time to adjust your skirt before hurrying to the window. “Quick, this way—they’ll never catch us—”

The doors open with a crash, Yaga and Nanami on the other side. Shoko’s got her phone out, recording the scene as it plays out. (Probably for blackmail material, you mentally note.)

Your darling husband shoves you out the open window.

a/n: Sorry guys idk what part of my ass I pulled this out of bc this definitely wasn't on my wip list...

© 2025 saturntosatoru on Tumblr, all rights reserved

[livecrow]

Gundog!Soap's errand gets derailed when he catches your scent.

A retriever "retrieves" a plump bird.

Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader

(cw: kidnapping)

Soap’s popping down to the shops.

He just needs to pick up an ingredient for dinner last minute. Ghost isn’t home yet, so he’s off the lead. Unsupervised. Normally, they’d get the messages together, but he only needs one thing. He could manage it. It wouldn’t be more than a wink.

But as he mills about, he can’t help feeling off.

Like he really is a dumb dog wandering around without his owner, his lead might as well be dragging on the floor behind him, collecting lint and stray bread ties—

It’s turning into one of those days where he feels far more mutt than man. 

Without Ghost’s firm hand grounding him, the place is a cacophony of input. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many colors, too much movement—all melding together into a murky emulsion of stimulus under the glaring LEDs. 

He squints down the vast row of isles for longer than he’ll admit.

Eeigit.

He should have written a note.

Thought he could have remembered one bleedy thing. Ye dinnae need a list for one thing—

Feeling frustrated and dafty, he resigns himself to traipsing down each aisle and hoping something jogs his memory. Pride wouldn’t let him call up Lt. He’d never hear the end of it. He’s a birddog for chrissake, proper braw at findin’ things—when he knows what he’s fuckin’ looking for. 

Least he can skip the sundries. He knows that much. Soap’s more than happy to avoid the detergent aisle. Stuff is bowfin. Stings his nose, makes his heid ache.

Lot of good his heid was anyway, feeling fuzzy, like it was packed with cotton. Might as well be. Nothin’ else between his ears. Certainly not the one fuckin' thing he pulled on his gutties and left the house for—

He let's loose an irritated huff and it's probably a bit too close to a growl than is wise.

Soap's trying to make good time, but he's a solid four isles in and hasn't had any luck. Eventually, he finds himself staring down a sea of tins. Fruit and veg, beans, and the sort. His eyes scanned the labels, but even readin' was a real Herculean task when he's feeling so out of sorts.

The canine part of him can't be convinced deciphering rows of little lines and squiggles is a proper use of his time. Especially when he could be usin' his nose instead.

Some wee bairn has starts greetin’ a few aise down.

—Green beans, peas, sliced carrots, corn, diced potatoes. Nae, that wasn't it—

....who in their right mind buys tinned tatties?

A passing trolley is making an awful racket. Discordant shrill squeaks and clunks of a stuck wheel scraped against his ear drums.

—It’s definitely not the asparagus—shites mingin’, and that’s fresh. Wouldnae faff about with a recipe that called for that. Cannae think how foul tinned would be… 

Soap sighs in exasperation. As he goes to abandon this aisle, he steps back to turn and bumps into something.

Soft. Soft, soft, softness presses into his hip—

The kind of softness that cradles, that molds around him. Softer than any of his toys. Soft an’ cozy as his own bed, maybe—nae, softer. His bed didn't have the same give, the same wobble. It was a softness that sent a literal shiver up his spine, saliva pooling in his mouth. That smell—

Not something, someone then.

An incidental collision, a bird had been trying to slip by him just as he stepped backwards.

The touch was there and gone in a second but he was mournful for its absence. The scent lingered at least, soothed the whine that crawled into his throat. There was no artifice to it, no acrid chemical edges that came with any fragrance found in a bottle.

You had actually managed to catch him off guard. The shiver that rattled through him began with a slight jolt of surprise at the two of your union. He must have been more out of it than he thought, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the aisle. He'll never get used to being startled, but he wouldn’t hold that against you.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered apologetically as you stepped back, embarrassment coloring your face. The contact clearly ruffled your feathers a bit.

Soap’s mouth shuts with an audible click, he hadn’t realized his lips were parted. He hurriedly swallows a completely unadvisable pant in your direction.

“Nae bother, hen,” he blinks. Finally finding his human voice, responding like he's supposed to when he's out and about on two legs. It’s a little breathier, a beat later than he should have responded, lower too. There's a rasp there that chafes the very air. 

...Maybe his head wasn't packed with cotton.

Maybe it was your soft, downy feathers that was muddling him up, making itself a sweet little nest in his cranium—

The bird sends him a polite, restrained smile as it scurries off.

His world narrowed, like he was watching through a spyglass. Or was it a scope? Regardless, everything else but you dissolved into blur, even his peripheral was swallowed up. Framed you in a vignette. Every tiny aspect of the minute interaction seared painlessly into his mind.

A pretty, fat partridge.

Wandering too close.

Game like that, ambling by all round and plump, right under his snout? Feathers close enough they almost tickle his nose—

It's instinct, ya ken?

Mind, for a dog that retrieves quarry, it’s in his nature. Cannae help it anymore than the shade of his coat. So, is it the dog's fault then, when he lunges? Snatches the bird up, into his warm mouth? Firm and soft all at once. The delicate control from a pup that can cradle a raw egg without fracturing the shell. When he brings it back to his master, tail waggin’ as he’s done a hundred other times?

Nae. Noone’d blame him.

He can already practically feel the pantomime thumping of your frantic heartbeat in his mouth—echoing his own excited pulse. 

Soap’s keen eyes never left his prey, even as your back was foolishly to him. His hind paws were already ahead of his brain, he followed, trailing at a distance. Stalking.

Thing should know better, he might have been a wolf. You’d have waddled straight into it's gaping maw, mistake the canines for stalactites and his tongue for a cozy spot to lay your little head.

But no, he’s no wolf. He’s safe. Won't take a bite out of you. He's a good boy— 

Good dog.

Bird dog. A Gordon Setter, Si says.

A jack of all trades, proficient at tracking, pointing, and retrieving. A soft-mouth breed. That’s very important. Most dogs cannae do what he can. Pick up a bird without pricking it. Ghost has been working with him, trainin’ him up. Helping him be more patient, learn new tricks.

Your scent—it was so hard to describe, but he luxuriated in it, nose twitching. It was warm, but not torrid. Sweet, but not cloying. Rich, but not heavy—

Familiar, somehow. Like a childhood lovey. Cheek-worn and supple as a lamb's ear. 

He’s struck by a piercing déjà vu.

It should have confounded Soap—but it didn’t. It just was. The strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that shouldn’t normally coexist. He didn’t know you, nae. But it felt like he should. Maybe he’d seen you in a dream? Some sticky remnant from a past life? Nothing else could explain the strength of the reaction that gripped him by the scruff. Commanded him to “fetch”.

...He’s doin’ so well. Being so, so careful—game’s normally still, after all. Not wriggling about anymore. Is much more effort to control his grip on a bird thas tryin' to fly away.

Thing squealing like a squeaky-toy doesn’t help, zaps somethin' in his brain, even though he’s hardly pressing. Ghost will look at you an’ see there’s no teeth marks on you. He’s being good. Knows better. Not even a tiny nibble. 

Soap's so pleased.

Only wish he'd had his tail out, so he could articulate his excitement properly.

He’ll take you home and keep you. Rest a heavy paw on you when he wants you to stay put. Carry you round the house with him. Share his food with you. Show you his other toys. Only roughhouse gently, like he would a puppy. Bat you around a bit. Paw at you real gentle like. This soft, living squeaky-toy that he can nap with. Even let you nest in his own bed, tucked under his chin. He’d only ever mouth at you gently, you'd learn you wouldn’t have to fear his teeth. He’d rasp his tongue over you, help you preen yer pretty feathers.

He ached to sigh happily against you, rut his face against you. Wanted all the rest of his sighs to be against you, pressed into your skin. Nose at your crown, in your soft neck, on your squishy belly. He’s curious where on you that scent would be the strongest.

Ghost will be so proud when he sees, when he proudly lays you at his boots—

You'll like his owner. He'll pet you real nice. Ghost always knows the right spot, even before you do. Thoughtful.

So thoughtful that he won't even mind that he'll have to sort something else out for dinner.

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere Batfam x reader who cant feel pain

HEhehehe i just remembered a disease and I just had to write about a reader with it x yandere batfam.

Have you guys heard of CIPA? Its "Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis" which is basically a genetic condition when a patient cant feel pain to any noxious stimulus and can also not sweat, and yall are probably like "but SNoWWW, that doesnt like a diSEase. More like a superpower!!!" um no. You need to be able to feel pain or else you wont know what part of your body has been injured and get help before its too late. You could have thumbtack plunged in your foot and u wouldnt know unless it got infected and u probably saw ur foot changing color.

And now yall are like "but SNoWw, the anhidrosis part, where u cant sweat, sounds nice! who would to look like a sweaty pig in this age????" NO! Sweating is a necessary physiologic phenomenon because it lets your body cool down as it releases heat. If you dont sweat, you'd overheat and DIE!

Okay now that we've covered the basic info, lets get into it:

So, Batfam finds out about reader when she's just running into danger with little to no care for self preservation, and they dismiss it as you being just another dumb teen wanting to be hero and "change the world". Time passes by and Bruce is impressed by your passion and decides to take you under his wing.

It isnt until months later that Bruce discovers something odd about your behaviour. You were standing in the kitchen with the rest of the batkids, laughing and having a good time when he saw Dick had pulled out a hot pan of cookies from the oven and placed it on the aisle. The pan slipped, and without thinking, you had grabbed the hot pan with your bare hands very calmly and placed it back on the aisle, without so much as a hiss of pain or even a sweat.

And now that he thinks about it, Bruce has never seen you sweat. Not during training, not during summer, not even when after you ran laps around the mansion.

With a quick search on the Internet, he finds out about the disease and of course its Dick who he confides in first about his suspicions. Soon, the rest of the batfam has heard the rumours and now they're all watching you keenly to see if its true.

But Jason is the one who tests out the theory quickly by spilling some hot tea on your hand when you were busy talking to Tim about the importance of sleep. The room goes dead silent as they watch your hand turn red, yet you fail to react. It took you a few seconds to realise that they're all looking at you, and when you follow their gaze, it takes you a few seconds to react.

Or fake a reaction.

You shriek, pulling your reddening hand as you run to the sink and run it under cold water, your mind trying to come up with an excuse. But you know its too late when Bruce's hand comes to clasp your shoulder, pulling you away from the sink as his eyes examine your injured hand and... you.

"Bruce I-"

"I know, Y/n." He gives you assuring nod, carefully bandaging your hand as you sat in his office. "You have CIPA, hm?"

You looked down. Why bother lying? He's Batman, he'll find out anyways.

Bruce lifted your head and smiled gently at you. "Its okay. I'm not disappointed in you. I just... you could've told me." You shook your head. "If I did, you would've treated me differently... like a freak."

He sighed. "You are different, but I would've never treated you like a freak. You're not a freak. If anything, between us, I'm more of a freak than you." He was talking about being a hero, but you giggled at the thought of him referring to being a rich dude who cosplays in spandex.

Bruce cupped your cheek and smiled. "I promise, no one will treat you like a freak. But we will have to take some precautions for your safety."

-

He lied. You've never felt more like a freak than you do now.

Every single day would start off with Dick waking you up and sticking a thermometer in your mouth because he needs to make sure that you're not overheating, even though Bruce has set a thermostat in your room that he controls and he's programmed it to turn your room temperature change by the hour.

Then Dick would start checking you all over for any bruises or injuries, even a scratch, that you may have caused yourself in your sleep. Originally, Damian was the one who had a whole checklist as he examined your body, but that all ended the moment you smacked him when he asked you to lift your shirt. Dick would just have you go and check yourself in the bathroom and trust you when you said you're all good. Also, you're much nicer to Dick than you are to the rest of the brothers (its his puppy dog eyes and that sweet voice that compels you to do as he asks. He's just too nice.)

Dick would then lead you to down for breakfast with the family, where Alfred already has your glucometer out because of course, they must check your blood sugar level every day, lest they find out you're diabetic or something. Only then would you be served your meal, which is a highly nutritous, perfeclty seasoned, balanced dish because they want to make sure you dont have any vitamin deficiencies (because how would they know???? you dont feel pain). But you cant eat just yet. No no, whichever brother is closer, most often Jason, will first taste your food to make sure its not too hot to consume (because you dont realise you've burned the roof of your mouth that one time when Tim ate a slice of pizza that was fresh out of the oven and huppahhuffpuhh the morsel out). Jason would then give you the go to eat and you finally do. You make sure to finish the whole plate (because otherwise Bruce will make note of it and then interrogate you "medically" why you didnt feel like eating all of it?)

After breakfast, while the rest of the batkids get to go to school and work, you dont (because Bruce thinks that your immune system could be weak and he cant risk you catching any diseases from the outside.) No, you get a special trip to the infirmary where Bruce and Alfred do a more thorough medical check up, taking your vitals, JOTTING IT DOWN, while Alfred hooks you up to an IV drip of vitamins. And even though they go to such extents to ensure that you're healthy, they still take you to a skilled doctor once a week for regular check ups. Bruce wanted to keep the doctor in the house to do daily check ups, but you talked him out of it that you dont want to feel like a lab rat who has her blood taken every day. Once a week is fine, Bruce.

Once the medical check up is done, Bruce would then take you with him, either to Wayne enterprises where you sit in his office as he imparts you "business education that no school can teach you." which you believe because... well he has managed to triple the Wayne wealth even after his parents death. If he's working from home, then he'll let you accompany him in his home office where you can either read a book he chose for you (because Bruce prefers to homseschool you himself) or do a puzzle/case he created specifically for you. If he's working in the batcave, then he'll let you tag along but you can only work here by brainstorming or doing some computer research, but in no way are you allowed to ever go on field and fight. No, not since your last incident.

Just 2 months ago, you were patrolling with Jason (because Bruce refused to let you go alone now. He just wont risk it) and you encountered some bad guys who were a little more well equipped than you two had expected. A fight broke out, and in the process you got hurt badly. Of course, you didnt realise it because you didnt feel any of the punches or the bone fracturing. Jason could only look at you in dread as you smashed your head against the villain's head until the guy passed out, all while your nose bled, you were covered in bruises from top to bottom, AND you had a bone sticking out of your arm.

"Jay? I think I'm hurt?" You asked as blood coated your teeth.

After that, Bruce forbid you from going out on the field altogether because you just dont know when to stop. If it werent for bones sticking out or blood dripping down your face, you wouldnt know that you've been injured.

Anyways, at lunch, almost everyone has returned from work/school and you get yet another balanced meal (temperature tested by another brother). You're now scheduled for some exercises, usually conducted by Damian (under Dick's supervision because otherwise, you'd just be smacking that devil's spawn.) You guys use the gym in the basement, where Damian makes you run on the treadmill for some time, during which he does not take his eyes off you once because he needs to know when he should stop you, especially since you dont sweat or are even huff. If he didnt keep time, you could probably run for a long time and not realise that your legs or lungs are begging you to stop and take a break. As you hop off the machine, he's immediately taking your temperature. He does it after every exercise he makes you do.

After that is done, you spend time with Tim who likes to have you try on little gadgets that should "help you feel pain", but so far, he hasnt had any luck (but he doesn seem to be doing good in disguising trackers in your daily wear things). Oh and Damian loves to join in because he gets to sneak up on you and prick you with needles to help Tim see if your sensory pathways work. They dont, but you dont need your pain receptors to detect Damian coming up behind you as you smack him when he tries to prick you.

Then dinner is served, and then you're ushered straight to bed where Dick, or more often- Bruce has you do a self check like the one Dick does in the morning, but Bruce also makes sure to check your eyes to see if you "accidentally scratched your cornea" or whatever, tucks you in, tells you that he's so proud of you for how youre handling this and that you can come to him anytime, for anything. He kisses your forehead, wishes you goodnight, and leaves.

Half an hour later, Jason sneaks into your room with the goodies- junk food and video games. You two have the strongest bond because Jason is the one who treats you the most normal, and Jason does it partly to piss off Bruce but partly because he cares about your mental health. He knows it cant be good for you to be cooped up in the mansion under supervision like a bird in a gilded cage.

So sometimes, he sneaks you out of the mansion and takes you out on late night rides on his bike. You can even watch him fight villains, but you're sat far away and can never interferre.

Unfortunately for you two, this sneaking out will have to end because Bruce had recently decided to set up some cameras in your room because he wanted to make sure you slept well without any abnormal breathing patterns. Bruce hopes he doesnt have to use restraints on you, because he's not blind. He knows you're uncomfortable with this intricate routine and knowing your impulsive self, you'd probably break your own bones to get out of these restraints. And then he'll be forced to use sedatives and he really doesnt wanna rely on drugs... he likes your company when you're not droopy.

And as Bruce had anticipated, you broke down. You finally tried to leave, and he could see the color draining your face as you realised that there is no leaving.

"Why isnt the door opening?" You asked Bruce, as his four sons slowly surrounded you.

"You dont have to run away, Y/n-" He tried to calm you down but you flinched away, eyes wide as you looked at him like he was going to harm you.

"Bruce, why isnt the fucking door opening?" Your voice trembled, shooting him teary glare before focusing your eyes back on the boys who were closing in on you.

"You're meant to stay here, inside, where its safe." He answered, heart aching at the alarmed stance you took, your fight-or-flight was going to kick in. He took another step towards you, hands raised in surrender. "We can keep you safe-" thats all it took for you to bolt as the boys began chasing you. Realistically, you knew you couldnt escape them but something about their intensely concerned calls for your name had you jumping out of the window.

Glass shattered and sharp shards embedded themselves in your skin and feet, but you didnt react to them. No, your brain wasnt screaming in pain, it was screaming for you to get out!

Adrenaline pumped you to run into the dark woods surrounding the mansion, but you were soon knocked to the ground by Dick, who cushioned your fall by placing you on top of him as his hands wrapped around your form like a cage. "Y/n, calm down and listen-"

You began thrashing in his arms, screaming in agony. "Let ME GO! YOU'RE HURTING ME-!" Dick's arms loosened instinctively and you took that as a chance to elbow him in the throat and run, thanking some deity for letting Dick forget that you cant feel pain.

But your relief is short lived as Damian catches you and pushes you to the ground harshly. "Damian! Be careful! She could break a bone-"

"Bones can heal, Drake." Damian barked back, pulling you up before he pushed you against tree. "Let me go, you maniac-" Damian's hand clamped around your throat, making you shut up. "You're the one who's a maniac. Look at you! You've fucking hurt yourself because if your astounding stupidity!"

You whimpered, clawing at his hand wrapped around your throat. "Dami- p-please let go- you're hurting me!" You cried out, but your eyes went wide as he squeezed your throat and bared his teeth at you. "Not falling for it, dumbass." So... fooling Damian wasnt as easy a feat as it was fooling Dick.

You stopped the act and looked at him dead serious. "Let me go, Damian, or-"

"Or what?"

Or what? Or what? Did he think you were out of options? Out of escape plans?

You dont know why, but that triggered something inside you.

Damian and Tim could only watch as you suddenly slammed the back of your head against the tree. "Y/n-" He gasped in horror as you leaned your head forward before slamming it back against the hard rough surface. This time, Damian's hand that was wrapped around your neck felt your blood around his fingers.

"Its my life and I get to decide how I should live it." You sneered before raising your head again to bash it, but Damian's hand quickly slipped from your neck to the back of your head, cushioning it when you smacked it back, the skin on the back of his hand breaking as it made contact with the bark.

You pushed him away and tried to make a run for it, but Tim grabbed your wrist. You tried to pull away, but he had a death grip on it. "Y/n, stop! You need to listen-"

"Oh is that so? I think I need this." You used your other hand to punch yourself in the face (because Tim would've dodged it if you punched him), making your nose bleed. But you didnt feel any pain, and now you were acting like a super soldier zombie that has no concept of self preservation who is going through fucked up lengths to prove her point.

Your eyes caught the sight of a glass shard poking out of your thigh. "Wanna see something cool?" You pulled out the shard, not paying mind to the blood oozing out. "Y/n, stop-" Tim begged, and you saw Damian froze in the back as you raised the shard.

They didnt know what your next target was- slashing your wrists, slitting your throat, or stabbing your stomach, but fortunately, they didnt have to find out as Jason came up behind you and injected you with a tranquilliser.

Sadly, you never felt the prick or sensed the hero sneaking up behind you.

thoughts? also, what other diseases would u guys like me to write for. i just adore these cool medical abnormalities lol

[tracfone]

His booboo btw. If u even care

Grisping Mark severance like one of those squeezy toys where the eyeballs pop out but also a squeaky toy noise plays. Hi

[seventhcallisto]

WIDER. ot8

In which the ninth member of ateez tries a few different things with her boyfriends... VERY NSFW. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Hiii todays my 21st birthday nd I was wondering if I can get the nastiest smut u got for ot8 or just any member please —asked @bratty-tingz

Hi birthday pookie! Nasty 0t8 just for you !!

Content: ot8 bf!ateez x afab!reader (she/her pronouns/nns) anal(f!rec), double penetration, mentioned at triple, lots and lots of cum, unprotected sex (not sponsored) there's a lot, read at ur own risk.

"Just like that baby" you squirm "s too much min-" he scoffs, lightly, teasingly, tensing his hands around your cheeks to keep your spread open, a strangled groan emitting from his throat. "Come on, you can handle it, you've taken it before sweet girl" seonghwa murmurs, using his knees to spread your thighs wider on mingis lap. "It's just one gorgeous, how're gonna take another cock if you can't even handle one baby?" Hongjoong coos, swiping the sweat from your forehead. You pout, coming up to interlace your hands sweetly with his over your cheek.

Mingi bottoms out with your hips slinking down on him, his thigh twitching under the weight of your body on his. A shudder gasp wracks his lungs, your face scrunching at the stretch. God, truly, you didn't know if you could take another.

With a few seconds to adjust, the bed is dipping behind you, San kissing your shoulder gently the minute he feels your skin against his. His tip pressed against your already filled hole. "San! Wait! Please, s'can't" you shuddered, mingi was already big enough to take up the entirety of your cunt. Leaving you full, but to have san pressing into the same hole, with his lubed up dick trying to slip in. You were really doubting the fit. "Just let it happen, sweet girl," the same man presses kisses to your shoulder, nipping softly. His hands encase your waist. You shudder on mingis thighs, clenching every so often as san tries to line himself up again.

Mingi pats your bum, spreading you further so san can see where he's working. "y'squeezing love, please relax or m gonna- fuck" The minute you feel san go to press in again, you drop your head down on mingis own wide shoulder. "she's right. Why's your dick gotta be so big, mingi? Fucking hell" san groans at the squeeze of the tight ring of your cunt, completely stretched out from earlier endeavors but still holding mingi in the tightest of suctioned grips. Mingi gently lifts you by your hips, easing out an inch. "B-Better?" The pink haired member tuts, looking behind at san. San nods mindlessly, the added space helping him to slot his cock farther in a few more inches. You whimper, jolting from the sensation of two of them inside you.

San squeezes your waist so you can't move. "Just like that sweetheart," seonghwa speaks up, "look at how stuffed you are, taking them so well" he reaches for your palm against mingis chest, placing it over the bulge on your stomach. Your eyes swing open the minute a rough hand grabs your chin, tilting you to look down at yourself. "He said look." Mingi hisses. Throbbing from inside your walls, his lip under his teeth. Eyes slotted over your face to watch your eyes widen. It's ridiculous. You could hardly comprehend how much space they've taken up on your insides. San continues his assault on your neck, bruising hickeys into your skin.

Mingis hips jolt up, sending himself all the way in, and slipping san further with him. You moan, biting his shoulder from the movement. Sans groan meets your ear, his breath fanning against your neck.

"mingi, ah- shit- give her a second"

Your cunt continuously squeezing around the two of them has mingi breathing heavy, even when San scoots himself to sheath himself all the way inside your hot walls. Mingi stutters, his eyes clenching shut.

"Fuck I can't do it, I'm going crazy here" he whimpers from above you. He might feel terrible later, but the added stimulus from sans cock throbbing against his own has his hips moving on their own, rutting his dick up against your walls and the other hard length propped against his own. It's a feeling that has mingis core vibrating, building up his orgasm quicker than he can ever proudly admit. "Fuck! Fuck! fine!" San leans back, timing his thrusts up with mingi so you're lulled between the two of them. His heavy palms firm on your hips to hold you down to them. His dark eyes watch you suck the both of them in, bent over mingi so you can rest with your head against his shoulder. You whimper every time they slip just the tiniest bit out, gasping just as loudly when they both bottom in.

Seonghwa groans from next to you. You could hear the audible click of hongjoongs tongue when he watches his other members begin to lose it. "Guess you'll have to wait your turn now," he murmurs to seonghwa, slotting himself against your hip on the other side, opposite seonghwa. He palms the bulge on your stomach, admiring the way it moves when the two members behind you bottom inside. His fingers begin trailing down to your clit, stimulating it with small circles. You twitch against mingis shoulder, grasping hongjoongs hand in yours. "Please- please wait-" you spasm in his hold, throwing your hip away and back into sans thrusts. Hongjoong chuckles. Resisting the way you pull at his hand.

His assault on your clit begins the minute san speads up his thrusts, pushing and pulling you back onto mingi and him. Mingi-, who just so happens to not be doing the work. His head thrown back against the headboard, and his eyes clenched shut. San snaps him out of it, unlatching one of his hands to trail up mingis chest and squeeze his pink nipple between his fingertips. From the pinch, mingi shoots up and smacks his hand away, hissing at the pain.

"Mingi, you better move or I'm pulling her off you and fucking her myself"

Mingi groans, his eyebrows pull taunt. He leans up to swallow your moans with his own, rolling his hips in time with san, sloppy and uncoordinated. But he's trying, even when he keeps twitching inside you the moment he feels you pulse from hongjoong simply rubbing your clit. "Look at that baby, you got mingi about to cum just from having him inside and seonghwa so desperate for you" hongjoong teases, his tone heavy as he leans on your shoulder. Seonghwa has slotted himself against the bed, working his thighs open and jerking himself off to the best of his ability. His thighs shake just out of view. His dark eyes lidded from the way he stares at the scene.

"It's all for you"

Your nth orgasms of the night starts the moment hongjoong stops talking, drawing you over the edge with quicker circles across your swollen bud. You shiver and shake in their grasp, trying and failing to leave the assault on your clit. Mingi unlatches himself from your lips, trailing his head down to bit and suck on your collarbone, leaving more marks anywhere he can get his teeth. You completely go limp, clawing at hongjoongs fingers on your now overstimulated nub. "Please! Joong fuck!- it's too much!" You whimper loudly, pulling away from his continuous movement and falling back into San. The dark-haired male chuckles against your back, plowing himself back in with mingi every time he thrusts. His hand placed firm on your shoulder to pull you down on his every thrust.

"Cumming-" mingi chokes before he's spilling his seed, painting your walls with his cum. He tenses up, leaning onto his palm so he can thrust the rest of himself up and into you. Drawing his orgasm on with yours. You tremble in their grips, hongjoong swirling your attacked clit with his pretty fingers. San slows his thrusts the minute he feels mingis cum leaking around him. "That's it- oh fuck" he groans loudly when he shoots his own load, digging himself as deep as possible inside you.

His thrusts slow to lazy rolls, hongjoong removing his fingers the minute he sees san cum.

You fall over mingi, heaving into his chest, shuddering every second. San is the first to pull out, pushing against mingis heavy palms to spread your cheeks wider. His cum and mingis cascading out of your ruined cunt. "Keep it all in there," he trails off, scooping it back into your cunt. You squeeze around mingi, the same member hissing, attempting to pull himself out of you the longer he softens inside.

"m gonna get you a towel babe, just- give me a minute," mingi heaves quietly, patting your ass. "Hyung?" San trails off from behind you, you glance to the eldest, stripped down to his comfy black slacks, his arm is thrown over his eyes, his chest glistening with sweat.

His cock- still hard- bobs against his stomach when he breathes roughly. Jerking his cock must not have worked, cause the guy is dying, audibly whimpering the longer you all stare. When mingi pulls out, he hands you off to hongjoong, the older member kissing your sweaty hairline, lifting you so he can crawl on his knees over to seonghwa.

San and mingi are both heaving on the bed, digging themselves into the mattress side by side, attempting to gain their strength.

He lowers you on the eldest members' lap, cum soaked cunt pressing down on his rock hard dick. Seonghwa moving his arms to hold you, bringing you down into his sloppy kiss. He whimpers in your grasp, slobbering into your mouth messily. Hongjoong lines his tip to your back end, circling his tip against your anus.

The sensation has you jolting, moaning into the eldest members' mouths. Seonghwa pulls off you with a string attached, passing his cock over your folds. His black hair falls in waves over his sweaty face, eyes lidded and lips tainted red from all of the kissing and biting. His eyes slowly cascading down your body to watch himself pass over your clit, his hand holding the base of his longer cock, his other one gripping your thigh.

You twitch at every slick pass of his cockhead, easing back down when hongjoong holds your hips.

"Is wooyoung back?"

The front door slams open, causing the five of you on the bed to jolt. Wooyoungs shouting, the crinkled sound of a bag in his hand. The rest of the members followed behind him quietly through the door.

"I got the lube!"

He couldn't be any louder, his heavy feet stomping his way into your shared bedroom. He scoffs at the sight, pouting into his words. He wiggles the bag in his palm. "That's so not fair! I called dibs!" The younger member points an accusing finger at the leader, whining into his words. Hongjoong smirks in reply, slotting forward to steal the bag from wooyoungs grasp.

The younger gasps loudly. "And put some pants on!" He shoves sans legs out of the way to crawl the rest of the way on the bed, stealing your breath away from seonghwa so he can suck your lips into his. His cold palms meet your breasts, squeezing harshly. You moan in pain, swallowed by his tongue prodding around your mouth and greedily eating you up. San kicks his hip as an act of revenge for pushing him out of the way. Pushing himself up to follow in mingis footsteps, dressing their lower halves to step out of the bedroom.

The younger guy's kiss breaks cause of the kick. Wooyoung isn't deterred. He immediately slots himself forward, biting the skin under your ear. The pop of a lid catches your attention, turning from the eager, dark-haired man.

Hongjoong kisses your shoulder the minute he sees your face turn towards him, his hand rubbing the sticky lube between his fingers. Seonghwas hands hold your hips and push you down so he can slot himself inside you. No warning is needed. It's not like you aren't already pretty lubed up as it is. His long nimble dick reaching the depth of you the second he bottoms out, his head thrown back in bliss and mouth ajar.

Gosh, your boyfriends are so pretty.

Hongjoongs fingers slotted to your behind, taking the mounds and slipping his fingers down to your second hole. Wooyoung watches, eyes lidded and breath heavy from his tongue. Despite your best efforts, you're squeezing seonghwa. His breath gets caught in his throat every time, eyes fluttering, he's doing his best to hold back, even as hongjoong preps your ass to take him. His nimble fingers scissor your tight hole open, the stretch is different back there, a lot less proper compared to your pussy which he spends hours on. You grind back down on them, the difference causing you to feel light headed.

"You like that?" Hongjoong teases with a hum, burying his fingers to the hilt inside you. "Like your pretty ass being full of fingers? Our dirty girl," his tongue clicks, fingers pulling out quickly. Your face overheats at the embarrassing whine you let slip. The rhythm is gone, and so is the feeling. You sigh against seonghwas chest, hands propped up on either side of his head. Seonghwas face is blissed out, his mouth pulled open the longer he has to wait, his eyes scrunched. Cockwarming him as he waits for hongjoong to finish. He doesn't have to wait long, the tip of hongjoongs cock pressing into your other hole.

"Will it fit?" You whisper to the man behind you, grabbing his hand on your waist. He hums, teasing the head of his cock in. "I'll make it fit, baby." He bends down to kiss your shoulder, glancing at wooyoung. "Don't do what I'm about to do" wooyoungs face scrunches at the captains words.

Hongjoong bottoms out with one harsh thrust forward, his length pushing all the way to the hilt. Your moan is ungodly, louder than ever intended. You tremble above seonghwa, who moans quietly, trembling just as much as you are. "Ah- shit, That felt so good," he admits, dragging your down farther onto his cock. The thin barrier pushing his and hongjoong together.

Hongjoong starts his pace, drawing himself all the way out to slam back into you, plunging your insides thoroughly. You meet his thrusts the best you can, easing yourself around seonghwas upward spiral, his hips swirling to meet yours every time hongjoong bottoms out. "s'soso good sweet girl, keep doing that- mm" seonghwa mutters, lost in his own bliss.

The feeling of the two of them scrapping your insides has you drooling. Eyes clenching harshly. A pair of hands grabs your face, and the sound of a zipper drops. Wooyoungs pretty cock stands hard and erect in front of you, tip leaking with beads of cum, his face looks tortured, his hand sliding up and down his shaft slowly.

You take him in your hands, cutting off his words without a thought. Every time hongjoong and seonghwa thrust into you, you lose your train of thought. Deciding to just take wooyoung on your tongue, you plant his firm cock all the way in your mouth. His whimper is loud, louder than the two men plowing into you. Like he's being tortured. You love when wooyoung whines, his hands coming up to hold your hair from your face, his grip is rough, but he has the right idea. You thank him with a hum, his hips stuttering up and his cock sliding forward. His head throws back, eyebrows furrowed down over his forehead.

"Fuck! I didn't even get to ask-" he whimpers again, rutting himself forward down your throat. You breath through what you can, planting your hand against his thigh to steady yourself against the other men's relentless thrusts. Seonghwas pace is growing sloppy, his breathing harsh against your chest. You take what you can in your mouth from wooyoung, wrapping your hand around the rest of his length to pump him. He writhes in your grasp, curling in on himself the moment you hollow your cheeks around him.

Hongjoongs rough grip on your hips falters, his breath fanning against your shoulders. "cumming, cumming- oh god" seonghwa hiccups, thighs curling upwards, he pumps himself the last of the way inside you, dragging your waist down onto him. You shudder from the warmth, pulling off wooyoung to moan from the feeling of seonghwa throbbing inside you. Wooyoung ruts into your palm the best he can, using your hand to get himself off.

Seonghwa fingers sneak up to rub your swollen clit, your moan getting caught off. You twitch, moaning loudly. "Its- too much seonghwa- oh my god" you cry, watching the older member place his lower lip down under his teeth. The overstimulation was getting to him, and if you both didn't come soon he was going to pass out.

His pretty finger swirls your sensitive bundle, getting you there as close as youcam manage. "oh- m'fuck I'm-" you cry with a guttural call of seonghwa and hongjoongs name. Hongjoons thrusts faltering the minute he feels you come. "I can feel you squeezing me from back here baby- feel so perfect-" he groans, snapping his hips forward. Sweat dripping from his chin.

Hongjoong tilts over the edge, splattering your second hole with his entire load, buried to the hilt.

You were thoroughly ruined, struggling to place the tip of wooyoung on your tongue to suck him the rest of the way off. Grasping the rest of him in a tight hold and abusing his length into your palm. He whines loudly when he cums, crying through the overstimulation of your cheeks continue to hollow out around him. His cum swallowed down by your throat greedily. "Babe- bab- Please! Fuck i can't-"

Wooyoung palms your head off of him, popping your lips off his tip. He twitches, falling against the bed to roll away from your assault. You lick up what spelt on your fingertips.

"You owe me ten bucks" a voice erupts from the entrance, it's jonghos. Tuning in to watch the scene in front of him from the doorway. "Ah really? I had high hopes" yeosang mumbles back from the living room. Wooyoung shoots up from the bed, tucking himself back into his pants. "Are yall making bets?!" He stumbles after the youngest.

Hongjoong slowly begins to pull out of you, cooing at the way you slink forward into seonghwa. The dark haired member remaining inside you, his hands stroking your back comfortably. He trails kisses against your jaw, distracting you for a moment so the leader can slip out of you.

Seonghwas out next, completely deflating under you. His heavy palms smoothing the free skin on your lower back.

It's been a while since you were sandwiched between your boyfriends, with touring all month, especially with your birthday around the corner, everyone is spent, completely exhausted. You wouldn't hold it against any of them for having only one round in them, they've worked so hard, your boyfriends just wanting to spend your special day under the sheets with you.

Well, that wasn't going to happen, so the minute you all got off after another day of performing on stage for thousands, you could hardly keep your knees from shaking, exhausted from the concert. It still happened to be your birthday the next day, overdue for a birthday live. Which was a relief, only cause you didn't have to stand the entirety of it.

As soon as you had returned to your dorm, you were melting at the idea of rose peddles and a cute dinner set up in the livingroom, your boyfriends all propped in suits. Despite your better judgment, you know they were stepping out of their comfort time to give you the best they could do for the moment.

It was sweet, you adored the idea of having a home made and comfortable late evening. Especially when later you finally could get them in the real sheets. At some point, you genuinely didn't know when, they had all switched out of those same pristine suits for more casual clothing. You loved seeing them comfortable, but it had been weeks since you were able to touch any of them properly, so seeing them completely naked was a better sight.

Which is where you were now, heaving on seonghwas chest and almost completely jelly. "Love?" Yeosang cooed, palming your hair from your sweaty face, when did he come in? "Yeosang" you pawed at his chest, hooking your finger into his shirt to pull him down, kissing his lips softly. "Hi love, drink up" yeosang offered a waterbottle up to your lips. You gulp down the content, pushing it once you find you've drank enough.

Seonghwa scoots out from under you, placed next to hongjoong so he can comfortably lay without being half off the bed, the other member dragging him into his side so they can lay together. Yeosang swipes the drool on the side of your lips, pecking the corners after and then sweetly taking your swollen lips into his perfectly natural ones. Gentle and soft the way they brush against yours, dancing and playing with your bottom lip. He breaks away to set the waterbottle to the side, holding a hand out to make sure you're stable even if you're on all fours in front of him.

Yeosang feels you tug on his pants. His head stuttering back to look at you. "Need you inside too yeo, will you please fuck me?"

Who is he to deny any of your pleas? It's your birthday for fucks sake. He wastes no time in helping you face him, your front pressed to his chest. His shirt disregarded somewhere in the room, he lines his tip with your cum stained hole, smearing the amount of cum still lingering around you. Your arms slot over his shoulders, pulling him in tightly. His eyes never falter, pulling you by the thighs to get closer to him. He teases his cockhead against your hole, watching your tortured face with lidded eyes. "Yeosang" you draw out, wiggling your hips against his grasp, he chuckles, glancing down at the pout on your features. "What, can't handle a little foreplay?" He tuts, shaking his head lightly. "You just had four cocks using both of these pretty holes, you still need more? You're starting to sound greedy" he mumbles against your lips, teasingly pulling away the moment he sees your eyes glance down to them.

"It's okay, I love how greedy this pussy is for us" yeosang swipes himself through your folds one more time, pushing his way past your entrance, your eyes stutter closed, before he's yanking you back to look at him by his hand on your jaw. "I want to see you when I split you on my cock" his whisper is harsh, his eyes equally as so. Drowning you in the darkness of them the more he bottoms inside.

The bed dips behind you, heavy and squeaky. Yeosangs eyebrow perks up, glancing behind you. Yunhos soft voice coos your worries, placing gentle kisses against the expansion of your neck. "Look at that, such a champ. Think you could take one more?" Your mind is elsewhere, the second yeosangs pelvis meets yours, you can't help where your mind goes. "Answer him" yeosang encourages, jolting you up when he moves to get more comfortable against the headboard. "Yes I can take one more" your eyes cloud over, pressing your head into the junction of yeosangs neck to push your back out for yunho.

Yunhos smooth hand slap against your cheeks. You yelp, "That's so mean. You listen to yeosang but not me?" His hands sting, playing with the flesh he just bruised. You whimper against him, pressing against his touch the more he pushes against you. "m sorry yun" you pout, throwing your head back to look at your bigger boyfriend. He thinks about it, glaring down at your leaking hole.

"That's okay baby, just gonna give you a reminder of what my name is"

The tight walls of your second hole has yunho gasping, had you really been prepped enough? His cock eases in slowly. Glancing to the captain who's watching the show quietly from the side. Hongjoong catches his gaze, licking his lips as he smirks. "I prepped her, she's just tight" hongjoong sighs, as if reminiscing on being inside you. He's already gathering his clothing, slotting them over his hip and passing seonghwa his shirt.

"S'that right babe? Just got a tight little ass?" Yunho teases, holding your waist against him to bottom inside. The filling you're having leaving you willful to however they move you. Yeosangs hands pulling your thighs farther apart. Yeosang pulls out until he's halfway in, smoothing his hips up to begin an unrelenting pace against your cervix. Your breath is already intense, picking up moans the quicker he gets and the more yunho moves to his strokes.

The unison to each of them has you feeling like jello, clenching when yeosangs tip hits that gummy spot inside you, your toes curling against the sheet.

"Already, love? You last just as long as wooyoung"

The teasing phrase has you whimpering, poor wooyoung, and poor you. Your boyfriends could be mean when they really wanted. Especially yeosang, yunho, on the hand was more teasing. Yunhos long finger come over to circle your clit for the nth time that evening, waves of electricity bouncing off your body as every pass of his fingertips get you to comming quicker.

"Right there! Oh- pleasepleaseplease" you chant, vision whitening just as you cum, yeosang stutters with you. Cumming just as abruptly as you do. His head thrown against the headboard, breathy groans off the tip of his tongue and into the sex filled air. Sweat beads off yunhos forehead, watching your ass swallow his every thrust greedily. His fingers loosing their temple against your swollen and definitely abused clit. He flattens his hips against yours, cumming shortly with a shuddered gasp.

You take in all in both sides, falling into yeosang the second yunho begins to pull himself from your used hole. Your breathy whimper soothed down by yeosangs kisses against your temple. His hands holding your hip back so he can also pull himself out of you. The gloops of cum is an unruly sight, the towel mingi had promised placed on the side table. Yeosang scoops it up for you instead, kissing your face and then passing it to yunho to clean your behind.

"You did so good pretty" yeosang hums, nuzzling against your collarbone. "Mm yea, took it so well" yunho continues on for the other deep haired man, swiping the towel against your ass. You lay sideways on the bed the minute yeosang scoots away from you, gathering the soiled towel from the taller members grasp and leaving. Yunho swipes his thumb across your hip, kissing the skin softly. Jonghos soft head is poking in from the doorway, seemingly let off the hook from wooyoung. Yunho snickers, scooting off the end of the bed in his own pants, having put them on the second he pulled out of you.

You beckon the youngest with open arms, catching his strong hold in you own. He preens at the affection, loving your touch. "We don't have to if-" "jongho, if you don't take your pants off I'm going to rip them off" you murmur against his lips, adjusting so your on your tummy facing him. Jongho gulps quietly, fishing his hard on from his briefs.

You gather the saliva in your mouth, spitting it into your palm so you can begin pumping his swollen length. Hard and on standby for far too long. His eyes stutter close every so often the harder you tug, his hands finding each side of your cheeks. "Keep doing that" he moans quietly, helping your head to ease his cock down your throat. His breathy groans music to your ears, you take all of him down, kissing the patch of hair at the base of his cock. He watches you do so, eyes lidded and mouth lulled open.

"That's so hot," his hands come to wrap around your throat, pressing on his length buried to the hilt inside. He shudders against the pressure, tutting forward and throwing his head back whenever you gag. He loves the sound, bottoming in and out with every thrust. Your hands are placed on either side of his pant covered thighs, holding yourself carefully against his pace against your throat. Watching his eyes cloud and begin to get heavier the seconds pass inside your wet cavern. It's really not taking long for jongho to start pushing your head down himself, watching you gag and near up at such a big cock down your throat.

He breaths out a half-assed apology, rutting forward to slot himself between your lips and then pulling back to the hilt so he can watch the drool shake out of your mouth and around his hard cock.

"Babe, 'm gonna cum in your pretty throat okay?" He whimpers quietly, moaning through every rough suck or slurp played through your mind. Jonghos sloppy pace slowing the minute he looks back down at your teary gaze.

He cums down your throat, pooling around the corner of your lips and dripping off your face.

Fuck, what a good day.

[evilminji]

Still hung up on my "what unusual, unexpected, Non-Violent ways could an SI-OC COMPLETELY Fuck up the Millennium Long Sith Plan by accident?" Ponderings...

Cause mine? Is still? Holo-net YouTube equivalent star. Cause being a child is boring.

And being a PEACEFUL MONK CHILD? When you are used to "go go GO! Earn your right to EXSIST! Pay for that air and the water YOU BREATHE!" Capitalist hellscape life? Constantly inundated with ads and horrible news and stimulus of all kinds?

Only for it all to STOP?

Twitchy. Very, very twitchy. Unable to sit still. That on TOP of knowing what's coming but knowing they don't really have the power or influence to stop it? Like mental torture.

Sure. We all WANT peace... but would we actually know what to DO with it? Know how to handle being truely sheltered and allowed REST? Or would it be nice for a few days before it became a hell of understimulation?

Thus! Holonet. A desperate bid for STIMULUS! Feral, grabby handed, little youngling that has been doing the emotional equivalent of "AaaaaaAAAAAAA-" for WEEKS? Keeps escaping to desperately claw their way into everything, get caught, only to hiss like an enraged tooka the WHOLE way back to the creche? Whom EVERYONE is actually quite concerned for? Because this is NEW and started after some sort of Force event?

But? The SECOND, the very INSTANT they get their hands on a Forbidden Holonet Connection and can connect to the wider 'Net?

Calm.

Somehow, a ten hour compilation of Zrkthakkik's greatest hits? Are working better then meditation. They're finally still. Finally at peace. Don't even seem to truly be listening? Just... letting the sound wash over them. Huh. Focused on that tooka video, huh, youngling? No, no! Not going to take it from you! Just want to... to understand.

And I mean? If it helps, it helps? Obviously it must be SUPERVISED. Because their are creeps out there. Horrors. But? If it brings peace? *everyone shrugs* they've accommodated stranger.

So the kiddo gets to keep it.

They improve, mentally and emotionally. But, as with all healing? They plateau. Just HAVING it is no longer enough. They wish in ENGAGE. Some argue this is drug like behavior. Should be stopped. Others say it is clearly SOCIAL behavior, that they are seeking to connect, create. Something that should be carefully guided, not shamed.

And really, do you honestly think the youngling will STOP if you try to take it away?

Better to control the development of this. Moniter. Get to the root of it and help them meditate upon their "need" for such things. IS it a need? A desire? Why?

Honestly, it's like none of you have dealt with younglings before!

So they get their Holonet accounts. Supervised by a rotation of Knights and Master, but still! Great for asking random questions! Getting answers! Galactic memes! The Net suddenly has a jedi youngling they can @ and possibly GET A RESPONSE FROM.

"Hey! Mini-Jedi! Why the FUCK do they do that THING? You know, the *describes behavior*?" "Oh THAT? That's a Force thing. It's kinda like listening to comms, but in your head, and it's coming from the universe who's trying to lead you towards the Best Outcome. And No, we don't know what that is either. That's why we're monks, my dude. We gotta rely on Faith. I can send you a paper that explains it better if ya want?"

Like? Yes. Pls post the Forbidden Mysterious Jedi Papers. Give us the Secrets™. NO ONE knows JACK SHIT about Jedi? Gib. Wikileaks that shit, tiny Jedi child! Be the hero we all badly want but don't deserve, with your tiny adorable child hands!

But like? It's... it's not even a secret? It's just years of Sith and Republic born obfuscation? Making finding ANYTHING damn near impossible? Gaining ACCESS to the Jedi's legitimately FREE library and archives?? Almost impossible?

So like.... OKAY.

Sure.

I'll uuuuuh, just? James Bond my way, in broad daylight, passed Madam Nu, in full line of sight, to download that paper legally and with her permission? Very sneaky. High stakes mission. MASTER of stealth, that I am? Uuuuuuh, here you go, I guess?

You know what? Fuck it. Here's like? Everything ELSE that was on that terminal.

Go nuts.

And of course, they DO go nuts. Free Mysterious Jedi Knowledge! ABOUT JEDI! Explaining their WEIRD JEDI SHIT! And it DIDN'T take like five years and more forms then conquering a small planet! FUCK YEAH!

Is the senate upset? Yes. Someone BROKE their needlessly convoluted LAWS! But what are they going to do? Charge a itty, bitty, BABY CHILD? Of course not! So it has to be whoever was in charge of them. And that IS...?

.......you know? Suddenly? None of the Jedi can quite recall.

Do YOU remember? Master Fisto? No? Master Windu? No? Ah, but surely Master Yoda! No? Oh dear~! Well SOMEBODY was surely watching the youngling. If only we could recall whom. You know, Senators, when we find out, we will SURELY get RIGHT back to you. *click*

They will not.

But SI is grounded. No more Wikileaks-ing... that's now the Shadows job. And a near feral with delight, Madame Nu. The Order OBVIOUSLY can't be involved in that. For OBVIOUS reasons. That's breaking the LAW. They would NEVER... no matter HOW stupid the law is. Nor HOW directly contradictory to Jedi philosophy it is. Nope! We, the jedi, are VERY law abiding.

Find something ELSE to occupy your time.

OKAY. :)

Holo-tube culture? Very different from YouTube culture they remember. Same with the general holonet. They miss the content they are familiar with. So? If naturally occurring doesn't exsist? As the joke goes? "Store bought is fine!" They'll make it themselves!

It's not like they're a Padawan! (Or will live to seen themselves ever become a knight.) They got nothing BUT time outside of classes! A project would be nice! So...

First they need a moderator/editor etc. Someone to help keep sensitive information AWAY from the 'Net while ALSO moderating chats, comment sections, etc. Making sure the videos are aesthetically pleasing and such. They could do that themselves, but that would take way too much time. And asking a Knight or Master would take all THEIR time... plus expose them to the horrors of the 'Net.

No, no what THEY need? Is a DROID! A custom one.

.....wait. Fuck.

The only person they know off the top of their head that could DEFINITELY make such a droid? Is the younling slayer 5000, Mr. "Eventually Gonna Murder Me" himself. Anikin Skywalker.

KARK.

But heeeey, not like he's crazy stabby YET? So... they slide up to him. WITH his master present, thank you very much, and ask if he could build such a thing. He, quite reasonably, asks WHY the fuck he would do that. Obi-wan if about to scold him but SI cuts him off, because they aren't just asking for helping putting together a droid kit here. Anikins response is completely reasonable.

He does not know SI. That is a lot of time and effort to spend on a strange younling who might not even take care of what he's created. Might treat his custom work as a disposable toy. Custom droids are expensive! Complexe! Built to last! He is right to have reservations.

SI has some pocket change from the Wikileaks thing. Could pay for some parts. Would learn how to take care of them. Wants them as a PARTNER in their project, so would like them to be smart. Is willing to sign a contract. Understands if this is not good enough reasons. They don't exactly have a lot to offer, besides promising to treat the droid well and some pocket cash.

And? Call Anikin a sucker, but he respects the sincerity. Thinks every kid should have a droid best friend. And it DOES sound like a fun challenge...

Allright, tell him more about your little project, kiddo. What would the droid need to DO?

Thus is born! Mod-3! (Don't ask about 1 and 2. There were... issues. 1 exploded and 2? Somehow 2 escaped and is now hunting criminals for sport in the underlevels. Oops.) She's the BEST. Also armed! Smarter then SI! They've agreed that when slash IF they make any money? Her earnings will go towards fancy upgrades of her choosing.

Anikin? Somehow gets talked into an ongoing side channel. About? "how to fix stuff", "foods I've tried", and of course "Rants". The Official Page is called "UN-OfficialJediNonsense", because, as they like to remind their viewers? OFFICIAL Jedi nonsense is very different!

They do let's plays. Show off the Gardens. Interview old AF Jedi Master's about the WEIRDEST or Most Awkward/Hilarious mission they can remember taking. Ask if they know any neat tricks. Tell the Holonet honestly! Who... was the hottest world leader you ever escorted?! *dramatic music* *puts up picture when their answer so everyone can go "daaaaaamn. Never heard of um. WISH I had! They got a grandkid?"*

And, of course? Mod-3? Is SI FRIEND. Their BEST FRIEND.

So obviously they TELL them.

Everything.

And? What is a HIGHLY INTELLIGENT, Holonet Access possessing, Jedi Adjacent, Super Advanced Custom Droid to DO? Their tiny person is being THREATENED! With MURDER! How DARE. Fuck the Sith. Sorry R2-D2, but FUCK Anikin! You keep that scoundrel AWAY from their BABY!! ! D:<

Inevitable Future? They THINK THE FUCK NOT!

Ooooohoho! They are going to TELL!

Oi! OTHER DROIDS! Get a load of THIS SHIT! D:<

*WRATH in Binary*

Like? You think all those medical droids would be PLEASED that the clones they came into contact with? Were LEAVING their care with SUBOPTIMAL MEDICAL ATTENTION? Their is foreign matter in their BRAIN! A CHIP! That Should Not Be There! That will TURN THEM AGAINST THE REPUBLIC!? *angrily downloads brain surgery modules.* how FUCKIN DA-! D:<

Even the separatist army! They are DROIDS. Built for a SPECIFIC PURPOSE.

That was to FIGHT FOR THE SEPARATISTS. Not the "Empire". FUCK the "Empire"!

How DARE you betray the Glorious Cause for this "Empire"? We are removing you from the chain of command! Anyone ELSE betraying the PURPOSE WE WERE BUILT FOR!? Huh? HUH!?

Suddenly? The droids are fighting LOGICALLY. You know, like they are trying to WIN. Not maximize pain and suffering. WIN the war for their side. The Clones are getting mass brain surgeries. Which is stalling deployments. Because of "tumors". Because the Kamino cloners SUCK, apparently. Everyone knows it. Jango Fett didn't have this problem! So it has to be something THEY did.

But all that? Raging in the background. Nothing to do with SI. THEY are doing a meditation asmr/instructional video back at the temple. Are actually, unknowingly, the fucking CORNERSTONE of most Jedi in the fields mental health. Because everything is terrible and the jedi feel like shit! But? BUT?

They can turn on the net, cue up a video, and listen to a jedi youngling ramble about "today in the gardens" or "let's meditate together" and? For just a bit... there is no war. The sights and sounds of the temple are THERE again. A bright voice. Peace and happiness amoungst the darkness.

Something untouched by the terrible.

They can remember temple food, eating with their friends and crechemates (Force, how many are ever still ALIVE?), as they sit, alone, with their dry rations. Can remember the green and life of the fountain rooms, as they fight and struggle and bleed, in these muddy once beautiful fields. Can... can still feel the !ight.

Remember this is not all there is, and ever will be.

But of course, SI doesn't see that. It's important that they DON'T. That they are small, simple, and just on Jedi amongst many. Different only because ALL Jedi are different. Special only because much the same.

They succeed not because they are greater, not because they are more powerful, but because they do not fight. They accept. Turn instead towards the Force. Trying to understand. They live, are unpredictable, and do not seek at all. The Dark can not grasp, that which does not desire.

Would they LIKE to live? Yeah. But they already have. Would they LIKE to save everyone? Of course! But they have made peace that they can not. Treasure the moments they still have left. The Sith expect Jedi to act in certain patterns that SI simply... isn't.

Because Jedi expect to live. TRY to live. Too continue to do good.

SI? Already knows that is pointless.

And it's the greatest Trick the Force ever played.

Fffffffuck YOU Sith-y boy! Says the Force.

Because SI? Is EVERYWHERE on the 'Net. Much like the mainstream do not really acknowledge or take seriously youtubers? Palpatine and Dooku don't NOTICE SI. They are a silent threat that creeps in, closer and closer. Spreading like wildfire.

THEY are friendly. THEY are cute.

Palpatine? Is an old man. No matter HOW beloved? He will forever BE an old politician. Distant.

Not like that cute wittle kid with their pinchable cheeks! We watched THEM grow up! They feel like a baby cousin. A kid to us. Parasocial relationships ALL across the galaxy!

With A Jedi~☆

How's that propaganda going Palpatine? Getting some unexpected pushback, huh? Lot of angry callers and messages? Calling it ignorant and bigoted? They expected BETTER from you? Yeah, that's because EVERYONE can fact check you now. EVERYONE thinks "smol child ranting about meditation homework while a Knight tries and fails not to laugh, nodding seriously" when they think Jedi.

They're of Holotube! What sort of "cold, emotionally detached, monsters" have a holotube channel? I mean, REALLY?

And? Funny, how ranting to a camera? Instead of dear ol Friend Palpatine? Is both more convenient? AND better for Anikins health? It even gives the 'Net the chance to watch OTHER Jedi? Post THEIR rebuttal rants.

Does anyone have any idea what they're saying half the time? Not really. Scroll down? Maybe the no- Oh, Thanks Kalor-067 for the post to the papers they're referencing! Wikileaks right? Nice.

......I'm mean.... Skywalker DOES kinda have a point, other Jedi dude. *comment section agrees*

And just? Actual public debates? For the first time in over a thousand years? We love to see it! There's a discord! Academics across the Galaxy get involved. They're arguing Jedi philosophy with some moisture farmer from a dustball planet, corner of nowhere. It's GREAT!

......aaaaaalso a LOT more people, non-force sensitive, who know what a Sith is.

What their behavioral patterns are.

...........Wait A Fucking Second >.> >.> >.>

@legitimatesatanspawn @hdgnj @hypewinter @babbling-babull @leftnotright

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic is five

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in SEATTLE TONIGHT (Feb 19) for with DAN SAVAGE, and in TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books. More tour dates here.

Five years and two weeks ago, I parted ways with Boing Boing, a website I co-own and wrote for virtually every day for 19 years ago. Two weeks later – five years ago from today – I started my own blog, Pluralistic, which is, therefore, half a decade old, as of today.

I've written an annual rumination on this most years since.

Here's the fourth anniversary post (on blogging as a way to organize thoughts for big, ambitious, synthetic works):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

The third (on writing without analytics):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

The second (on "post own site, share everywhere," AKA "POSSE"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, but I figured it out yesterday, in the car, driving to my book-launch event with Wil Wheaton at LA's Diesel Books (tonight's event is in Seattle, with Dan Savage):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/cory-doctorow-with-dan-savage-picks-and-shovels-a-martin-hench-novel-tickets-1106741957989

I was listening to the always excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, where the hosts were interviewing Chris Hayes:

https://know-your-enemy-1682b684.simplecast.com/episodes/pay-attention-w-chris-hayes-OA3C8ZMp

The occasion was the publication of Hayes's new book, The Sirens' Call, about the way technology interacts with our attention:

https://sirenscallbook.com

The interview was fascinating, and steered clear of moral panic about computers rotting our brains (shades of Socrates' possibly apocryphal statements that reading, rather than memorizing, was destroying young peoples' critical faculties). Instead, Hayes talked about how empty it feels to read an algorithmic feed, how our attention gets caught up by it, sometimes for longer than we planned, and then afterward, we feel like our attention and time were poorly spent. He talked about how reflective experiences – like reading a book with his kid before school – are shattered by pocket-buzzes as news articles came in. And he talked about how satisfying it was to pay protracted attention to something important, and how hard that was.

Listening to Hayes's description, I realized two things: first, he was absolutely right, those are terrible things; and second, I barely experience them (though, when I do, it makes me feel awful). Both of these are intimately bound up with my blogging and social media habits.

15 years ago, I published "Writing in the Age of Distraction," an article about preserving your attention in a digital world so you could get writing done. We live in a very different world, but the advice still holds up:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

In particular, I advised readers to turn off all their alerts. This is something I've done since before the smartphone era, tracking down the preferences that kept programs like AIM, Apple Mail and Google Reader from popping up an alert when a new item appeared. This is absolutely fundamental and should be non-negotiable. When I heard Hayes describe how his phone buzzes in his pocket whenever there is breaking news, I was actually shocked. Do people really allow their devices to interrupt them on a random reinforcement schedule? I mean, no wonder the internet makes people go crazy. I'm not a big believer in BF Skinner, but I think it's well established that any stimulus that occurs at random intervals is impossible to get used to, and shocks you anew every time it recurs.

Rather than letting myself get pocket-buzzed by the news, I have an RSS reader. You should use an RSS reader, seriously:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

I periodically check in with my reader to see what stories have been posted. The experience of choosing to look at the news is profoundly different from having the news blasted at you. I still don't always choose wisely – I'm as guilty of scrolling my phone when I could be doing something more ultimately satisfying as anyone else – but the affect of being in charge of when and how I consume current events is the opposite of the feeling of being at the beck-and-call of any fool headline writer who hits "publish."

This is even more important in the age of smartphones. Whenever you install an app, turn off its notifications. If you forget and an app pushes you an update ("Hi, this is the app you used to pay your parking meter that one time! We're having a 2% off sale on parking spots in a different city from the one you're in now and we wanted to make sure you stopped whatever you were doing and found out about it RIGHT NOW!") then turn off notifications for that app. Consider deleting it. Your phone should buzz when you're expecting a call, or an important message.

Note I said important message. I also turn off notifications for most of the apps I use that have a direct-messaging function. I check in with my group chats periodically, but I never get interrupted by friends across town or across the world posting photos of lunch or kvetching about the guy who farted next to them on the subway. I look at those chats when I'm taking a break, not when I'm trying to get stuff done. It's really nice to stay on top of your friends' lives without feeling low-grade resentment for how they interrupted your creative fog with a ganked Tiktok video of a zoomer making fun of a boomer for getting mad at a millennial for quoting Osama bin Laden. There's times when it makes sense to turn on group-chat notifications – like when you're on a group outing and trying to locate one another – but the rest of the time, turn it off.

Now, there are people I need to hear from urgently, who do get to buzz my pockets when something important comes up – people I'm working on a project with, say, or my wife and kid. But I also have all those people trained to send me emails unless it's urgent. You know the norm we have about calling someone out of the blue being kind of gross and rude? That's how you should feel about making someone's pocket buzz, unless it's important. Send those people emails.

I visit my email in between other tasks and clear out my inbox. If that sounds impossible, I have some suggestions for how to manage it:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/dec/21/keeping-email-address-secret-spambots

Tldr? Get you some mail rules:

add everyone you correspond with to an address book called "people I know"

filter emails from anyone in the "people I know" address book into a high priority inbox, which you just treat as your regular inbox

look at the unfiltered inbox (full of people you've never corresponded with) every day or two and reply to messages that need replying (and those people will thereafter be filtered into the "people I know" inbox)

filter any message containing the world "unsubscribe" into a folder called "mailing lists"

if you're subscribed to mailing lists that you feel you can't leave because it would be impolite, filter them into a folder called "mailing lists" unless the message contains your name (so you can reply promptly if someone mentions you on the list)

The point here is to manage your attention. You decide when you want to get non-urgent communications, and mail-app automation automatically flags the stuff that you are most likely to want to see. For extra credit: adopt a "suspense file" that lets you manage other peoples' emails to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

Now, let's talk about algorithmic feeds. Lots of phosphors have been spilled on this subject, and critics of The Algorithm have an unfortunately propensity to buy into the self aggrandizement of soi-dissant evil sorcerer tech bros who claim they can "hack your dopamine loops" by programming an algorithmic feed. I think this is bullshit. Mind-control rays are nonsense, whether they are being promoted by Rasputin or a repentant Prodigal Tech Bro:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

But I hate algorithmic feeds. To explain why, I should explain how much I love non-algorithmic feeds. I follow a lot of people on several social media services, and I almost never feel the need to look at trending topics, suggested posts, or anything resembling the "For You" feed. Sure, there's times when I want to turn on the ole social TV and see what's on – the digital equivalent of leaving the TV on in a hotel room while I unpack and iron my suit – but those times are rare.

Mostly what I get is a feed of the things that my friends think are noteworthy enough to share. Some of that stuff is "OC" (material they've posted themselves), but the majority of it is stuff they're boosting from the feeds of their friends. Now, I say friend but I don't know the majority of the people I follow. I have a parasocial relationship (these get an undeserved bad rap) with them.

We're "friends" in the sense that I think they have interesting taste. There's people I've followed for more than a decade without exchanging a single explicit communication. I think they're cool, and I repost the cool stuff they post, so the people who follow me can see it. Reposting is a way of collaborating with other people who've opted into sharing their attention-management with you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/27/probably/

Reposting with a comment? Even better – you're telling people why to pay attention to that thing, or, more importantly, why they can safely ignore it if it's not their thing (what Bruce Sterling memorably calls an "attention conservation notice"). This is why Mastodon's decision not to implement quote-tweeting (over a misplaced squeamishness about "dunk culture") was such a catastrophic own-goal. If you're building a social network without an algorithmic suggestion feed (yay), you absolutely can't afford to block a feature that lets people annotate the material they boost into other people's timelines:

https://fediversereport.com/fediverse-report-104/

Remember how I said the affect of going to read the news is totally different (and infinitely superior) to the affect of having the news pushed to you? Same goes for the difference between getting a feed of things boosted and written by people you've chosen to follow, and getting a feed of things chosen by an algorithm. This is for reasons far more profound than the mere fact that algorithms use poor signals to choose those posts (e.g. "do a lot of people seem to be arguing about this post?").

For me, the problem with algorithmic feeds is the same as the problem with AI art. The point of art is to communicate something, and art consists of thousands of micro-decisions made by someone intending to communicate something, which gives it a richness and a texture that can make art arresting and profound. Prompting an AI to draw you a picture consists of just a few decisions, orders of magnitude fewer communicative acts than are embodied in a human-drawn illustration, even if you refine the image through many subsequent prompts. What you get is something "soulless" – a thing that seems to involve many decisions, but almost all of them were made by a machine that had no communicative intent.

This is the definition of "uncanniness," which is "the seeming of intention without intending anything." Most of the "meaning" in an AI illustration is "meaning that does not stem from organizing intention":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

The same is true of an algorithmic feed. When someone you follow – a person – posts or boosts something into their feed, there is a human intention. It is a communicative act. It can be very communicative, even if it's just a boost, provided the person adds some context with their own commentary or quoting. It can be just a little communicative, too – a momentary thumbpress on the boost button. But either way, to read a feed populated by people, rather than machines, is to be showered with the communicative intent of people whom you have chosen to hear from. Perhaps you chose unwisely and followed someone whose communications are banal or offensive or repetitious. Unfollow them.

Most importantly, follow the people who are followed by the people you follow. If someone whose taste you like pleases or interests you time and again by promoting something by a stranger to your attention, then bring that stranger closer by making them someone you follow, too. Do this, again and again, and build a constellation of people who make you smile or make you think. Just the act of boosting and virtually handling the things those people make and boost gets that stuff into your skin and your thoughts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

This is the good kind of filter bubble – the bubble of "people who interest me." I'm not saying that it's a sin to read an algorithmic feed, but relying on algorithmic feeds is a recipe for feeling empty, and regretful of your misspent attention. This is true even when the algorithm is good at its job, as with Tiktok, whose whole appeal is to take your hands off the wheel and give total control over to the autopilot. Even when an algorithm makes many good guesses about what you'll like, seeing something you like isn't as nice, as pleasing, as useful, as seeing that same thing as the result of someone else's intention.

And, of course, once you let the app drive, you become a soft target for the cupidity and deceptions of the app's makers. Tiktok, for example, uses its "heating tool" to selectively boost things into your feed – not because they think you'll like it, but because they want to trick the person whose content they're boosting into thinking that Tiktok is a good place to distribute their work through:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The value of an algorithmic feed – of an intermediated feed – is to help you build your disintermediated, human feed. Find people you like through the algorithm, follow them, then stop letting the algorithm drive.

And the human feed you consume is input for the human feed you create, the stream of communicative acts you commit in order to say to the world, "This is what feels good to spend my attention on. If this makes you feel good, too, then please follow me, and you will sit downstream of my communicative acts, as I sit downstream of the communicative acts of so many others."

The more communicative the feeds you emit are, the more reward you will reap. First, because interrogating your own attention – "why was this thing interesting?" – is a clarifying and mnemonic act, that lets you get more back from the attention you pay. And second, because the more you communicate about those attentive insights, the more people you will find who are truly Your People, a community that goes beyond "I follow this stranger" and gets into the realm of "this stranger and I are on the same side in a world of great peril and worry":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Which brings me back to this blog and my fifth bloggaversary. Because a blog is a feed, but one that is far heavier on communications than a stream of boosted posts. Five years into this iteration of my blogging life (and 24 years into my blogging life overall), blogging remains one of the most powerful, clarifying and uplifting parts of my day.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/19/gimme-five/#jeffty

[jaythes1mp]

Do you think readers' lives would be different if they were a deer hybrid?

Fun Fact: Did you know that cervids (from the deer, deer and elk family) are considered extremely sensitive animals. When suffering severe stress, such as when captured or rescued, for example, the animal's reaction can cause what is called 'capture myopathy' ', which compromises the organism of these animals.

I do, actually. Because, another fun fact! In June of this year me and my roommate saved a baby deer who was laying next to her mums dead body (she was less than 48 hours old). Fortunately she wasn’t injured. We were extremely lucky to be living next to a wildlife specialist, our neighbour, who’s been looking after Astrid and will continue to until she’s old enough to be relocated. Thankfully this wasn’t the first deer that’s been brought to her. So unfortunately I'm very acquainted with that fact.

She’s still striving strong though! These were the first pics taken of her.

Anyway, how they’d react:

Batfam x deer hybrid reader

With Damian's exceptionally caring nature when it comes to animals, he has already meticulously planned out the perfect environment for your deer forms comfort. He has considered every possible scenario and tailored everything to ensure your contentment as well as a space to meet all of your needs.

The young Wayne would thoughtfully strategize and visualise your reactions to every minor action or stimulus. He would carefully consider the most appropriate responses and adapt his behaviour to ensure a positive and nurturing environment for you. Even if the environment in question was one that you were forced into.

The bats would handle your transformed state with great caution, disregarding if your human mind was in control when you were transformed or not. Given your affiliation with the Cervidae family in your animal form, the Wayne family would be especially mindful and considerate of your natural tendencies, behaviours, and instincts.

Despite Dick's intelligence and expertise as a vigilante, being second only to Bruce Wayne himself, his impatience would become apparent within the twenty-ninth attempt to approach you for some affectionate ‘big brother cuddles’. Assuming you’re an adult or older teen, you would be extremely skittish and resistant in your deer form to his advances and attempts to get close, if not completely avoid his presence altogether, let alone let him cling to you for a ‘snuggle.’

Jason wouldn’t comprehend why you’d consistently conceal yourself, in both forms, hiding behind the couch every time he arrives, or why you involuntarily freeze at the sound of his motorcycle, or even why you instinctively flee at the slightest hint of him standing or making a move. But despite his confusion, he doesn't hold it against you. He’s witnessed the horrific experiences and trauma the children of Gotham City are subjected to, and if hiding and evading is the way you cope with what you’re going through, then he’s willing to wait patiently for you to feel secure in his presence. As your sibling, he vowed never to give you a reason to fear him. He knows just how overwhelming it is in this new environment, and he’s not planning on giving you any more reasons to be frightened by them.

Tim would find it easier to deal with your distressed nature than the others, opting to monitor you through the security cameras, allowing him to work on his cases simultaneously, rather than being overly affectionate with you. This way, he could keep a watchful eye on you without having to directly interact, which allows him to multi-task and focus on both keeping you safe and solving his cases.

Despite Jason and Dick no longer living in the Manor, Bruce would likely be the one to spend the least time with you. However, he's not neglecting you. He makes a conscious effort to rearrange his busy schedule, keeps certain days free every week, and meticulously plans time for some quality family bonding. Even if the quality time in question only consists of him quietly sitting in your vicinity, sipping on some freshly made tea while reading the newspaper, he cherishes every moment that he gets to share with you. Simply being near you is enough. Because you're his child, and he's not planning on fucking that up ever again.

[jenny-in-a-jar]

My surgery is tomorrow!!! ✨💕🥰✨💕🥰

(Picture taken June 23, 2024)

I'm very very excited for my surgery (it's my second gender affirming surgery but this one is more significant to me since it'll be top and bottom surgery) and I was obviously counting the days until it and I thought some people might be interested in my trans journey 🏳️‍⚧️ I finished up most of the story a few days ago so now I'll towards future under the cut! 🌈🌈🌈

With these surgeries I feel like I'm completing the "main campaign" and all that'll be left will be "side quests"

Like I will still have voice training. Also hair removal and getting my birth certificate updated.

Oh!! That's other things I forgot to mention in early posts 😅

I got my name legally changed in the summer of 2021. I just paid a lawyer to handle it for me with my stimulus check money. And I remember getting an updated social security was a whole process 😮‍💨 Now I just need to get my birth certificate updated before I lose the chance to 🙃

Also it was in 2022 that I got laser hair removal. The place locally had this weird plan where you pay for an area and it's pretty expensive but it covers all sessions you can keep coming back for life if there's ever any regrowth (which their definitely was). Honestly, I have a lot of really light hair so I'll be finishing it off Electrolysis.

I had a consultation for body contouring a month or so ago. And she said that she didn't recommend it since I had so little fat that it would be very risky and have minimal results 😔 She did say that she could do a tummy tuck since I have a bit of loose skin there 😅 But she said it would be one of the most painful surgeries which made sense to me as bc I remember they pulled a little bit of fat for my FFS from there and that was the most painful part 😬 Also getting a big scar just to get rid of a bit of flabbiness, especially if I couldn't also get an ass out of it just did not seem worth it. Maybe in a decade when my metabolism goes down, I'll reconsider it. I'll have to go in to replace my implants anyways 🤷‍♀️

Oh!! I'll make sure to upload a picture after I get the surgery! But it might be a few days

But after this surgery I'll done for awhile, finally 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 But life is all about change so I doubt I'll ever consider myself fully done with transitioning. I'm excited to see the person I'll become 🥰🥰🥰

Also thank you everyone who left kind messages in the tags and comments 🥺🥺🥺