#-prep a slideshow

[lighthouseas]

attempting to do a powerpoint night with a friend group where almost everyone is a chronic procrastinator is like hell on earth

[caffeiiine]

I get to host two panels this Saturday auauagahahhghgg

[divinekangaroo]

I have a 4 hour 35-person workshop to run tomorrow and cannot be bothered prepping

[nightmdic]

i adore yall sm thank u for being patient with me

[churipu]

jjk men & their sleepyhead gf !

featuring. gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen, nanami kento x fem! reader

warnings. none, just them being all soft and whipped for you

note. first of all, anon i am so sorry, i accidentally posted your request on the queue list and fml, i'm so embarrassed but idek how to edit the queue list so out of desperation i deleted it— but i ofc screenshotted this before i deleted the og post, so i am so sorry :(( i hope you enjoy this, and i hope you get to find out i didn't delete your ask and it's here in a form of a screenshot :((

GOJO SATORU. i feel like he doesn't mind most of the time— he does mind it if you fall asleep when you're supposed to be paying attention to him >:(

but whenever you fall asleep, his camera's always on standby, snapping pictures of you from every angle. whether you look good or bad (you never look bad btw), from up above, from below, from the left, from the right, with 0.5, i can go on.

and when you wake up, you find your phone blowing up with notifications from shoko, geto, and him, especially with the notification "@gojosatoru tagged you in a post" and it's just a slideshow post of you sleeping, a few close up shots, and your face with different instagram filters.

you don't even bother at this point since he's not going to stop, and not gonna lie, you did find it a bit funny. and the comments from shoko and geto made you laugh, so... good luck trying to sleep around him, you'll wake up to a whole album of you sleeping on his account.

"satoru, what the fuck is this filter?" it was a filter that made your face a little distorted, and gojo'd just sitting there innocently, blinking his white lashes up at you.

"you look adorable, princess."

"i don't want to sleep around you anymore."

"no, please sleep— how am i supposed to continue my daily updates of you sleeping?"

mind you, he has 200 posts on instagram and 150 of them are just you sleeping + with the cheesiest captions like "my baby is sleeping, pls tell her to wake up bcs i miss her 🥺🥺🥺"

and shoko is all up in his comments like "wake her up yourself, dumbass she's literally in your house."

SUKUNA RYOMEN. the first time you fell asleep around him was when he went out to get a glass of water, but he didn't think of it as anything and thought you were just tired.

but no— you fall asleep anywhere, whenever and most of the time. he gets pretty frustrated when you both spend time, and in a bit, your head leans onto his shoulders and sukuna checks on you, and you were out like a light.

"y/n?" soft snores.

he clicks his tongue in annoyance but doesn't push you away or get angry, although he finds you cute. sometimes snaps a few pictures to keep, but you don't know about that.

and at times, you wake up all tucked in your bed—your favorite plushie beside you, and sukuna nowhere in sight.

you open your phone and there's a few text messages from him.

[ you fell asleep, so i left ] he didn't leave, he said that to make you feel bad and for not giving him enough attention— he stayed in the same seated position for a few hours before prepping you onto your bed, tucking you in and not forgetting to place a smooch on your forehead.

[ call me when you wake up ]

[ love you ] awww.

he's so in love with you.

NANAMI KENTO. he's such a gentle soul, he won't mind if you fall asleep or is asleep whenever he comes over. in fact, he enjoys it when you fall asleep.

he read somewhere that if someone feels tired or sleepy around a person, it's because they feel safe. so nanami just concludes that his girlfriend feels safe around him, safe enough for her to get sleepy and fall asleep on him.

"kento," you murmur half-asleep, stretching your arms.

"hm?" he hums out, opening his arms for you to fall into — which you did, and he craddled you in his arms, placing his cheek onto your head.

"night night." it wasn't even night time, you just had to say it before you go to sleep, and nanami finds you so cute he couldn't help but to squeeze you a little.

"night night," he replies back, kissing your forehead.

nanami just sits there and continues craddling you in his arms, and if he needs to go, he would put you on your bed (on his bed when it's his house), and writes you a short message why he needed to go and when he will be back.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[eternalsa2z]

Studying

Charli Honeycutte went to school on a pre-law/pre-med track. Their plan was to study hard and completely focus on getting straight As to make their dad proud. The only reason they joined the Sigma Lambda Tau sorority was because extra-curriculars looked good on a resume and they had heard SLT was reputed for the most mental changes on campus.

Things changed when Charli met their big sis. Fanny 'Peaches' Keister showed the possibility of a different path. A life of parties, sexual exploration, and building your body as well as your mind. Charli was stunned. Then curious. Eventually, obsessed.

Instead of scrolling through course slideshows the new pledge was scrolling through Peaches' Insta. They stared at and admired her perfect poses, immaculate makeup, and of course that jaw-dropping derrière. Soon Charli stopped studying schoolwork and instead was studying how to be like her big.

Homework turned into housework as Peaches helped Charli prep for the next sorority house party. The freshman has many makeup exams - those in the classes she was nearly failing and those in front of her mirror getting just the right shade of eyeshadow and volume of lip plumper. It didn't help a decreasing GPA that the two would occasionally skip class for consultations with the sorority's favorite plastic surgeon. But it certainly inflate their TTA (Tits and Ass) numbers.

After a year as a SLT, Charlotte 'Honeypot' Honeycutte found a new future to focus on. They were on the 'pre-bim' track, studying "hard" things with hopes of getting plenty of "D"s. Honeypot's extracurricular activites ballooned bigger than their new ass and had the biggest mental changes on campus. Peaches is particularly proud of how well her honey-haired protégé studied her big butt and replicated her airhead demeanor.

Sure, Honeypot recieved a lot of calls from their concerned parent about their report card. But the new sorority doll was sure that if he did a little studying and research himself, he'd "like, totes see that SLT is soooo the bestest for our future!"

[kenyatta]

The big question is: Why now? “The first thing that comes to mind is nostalgia,” Ford says. “Nostalgia for better times, or a time when the United States and the West seemed more confident.” Indeed, there does seem to be a wistful longing for a type of normalcy just beyond our grasp in these clothes, a foundation of tradition and classicism that cannot be found in today’s never-ending chaos. Avery Trufelman—host of the popular fashion podcast Articles of Interest, which spent an entire season digging deep into the long afterlife of prep—has a theory. “In some ways, I think it’s a backlash to trends,” she tells me. “It reminds me of how, in the 1960s, Ivy style should have died, but it was revived because there were so many trends going on then, and people thought, I’m just gonna go back to what I know, what’s classy and what’s safe. Which makes me think of the explosion of trends we saw after the pandemic.” Indeed, every time there’s another -core to jump on, isn’t it calming to just think of tossing on a navy blazer? Weiss thinks it's a post-pandemic reaction, too, but more connected to wanting to dress up again after wearing sweatpants and athleisure for years. “There was this post-COVID thing of dressing up by choice,” he says. “In a world where we used to be forced to dress up to go to work, now there’s this idea of getting dressed up of your own volition.” Personally, I find it fascinating that young people—in the midst of unprecedented wealth inequality, told that they’ll never own a home, that the American dream promised to them may well be dead—are dressing up as the people who, in essence, ruined it all for them. I, for one, have noticed my TikTok feed filled with old money aesthetic slideshows of roguish types in Rolls-Royces alternating with vehement harangues of late-stage-capitalism, a perplexing juxtaposition. “There is this phenomenon of ironic, slightly mocking uses of status symbols which does have a long history,” Ford says, mentioning the way Black and Latinx Americans once donned exaggerated Zoot suits as a retort to traditional men’s tailoring. “I would say the way people are adopting these things, it’s quasi-ironic [though] there’s certainly a lot of affection for the look.”

[insomniaccorner]

"Villainy, Coffee, and Other Minor Inconveniences"

(I'm in the process of writing a Batfam x neglected!villain!reader but have some stupid scenarios based on that)

You, a totally ordinary civilian with zero villain tendencies whatsoever, are sipping your fifth overpriced iced coffee of the morning, watching Gotham spiral into its usual flavor of chaos. You’re not involved. Obviously. Just a casual observer. A bystander. A background character.

Then someone—probably Jason—crashes through a hot dog stand two blocks away, and the vendor screams something about vengeance and mustard.

You don’t flinch. You sip harder.

Tim Drake lands beside you mid-pursuit, glancing at your cup.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks, completely out of breath.

You raise a brow. “Crimebucks. Two-for-one if you commit emotional damage before noon.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Exactly.”

He’s too tired to process it and just grapples away.

---

Back at your completely normal, not suspicious at all apartment, your cat (whose name is "Gotham's Doom" but you call her "Gothie") sits on your desk, wearing the tiny hoodie you stitched with “Property of Nobody.” She's judging you. She always is.

You adjust your villain…vision board. It has a detailed ten-step plan, three color-coded Post-Its, and a glitter sticker that says “Slay.”

Step One: Make Gotham mildly uncomfortable.

Step Two: Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

Step Three: Remember to water the plants.

---

Meanwhile, across the city, the Batfamily is absolutely losing it.

Someone hacked the Batcomputer and replaced Alfred’s login screen with a slideshow of ducks wearing bowties. Dick cried laughing. Bruce did not. Jason tried to adopt one.

No leads.

No trace.

No clue that you were the Duckmaster of Disaster.

---

You end your day in a hoodie, sipping another coffee, watching the sunrise from a roof you definitely don’t own.

You're not plotting.

You're simply...vibing.

Because if being dramatically mysterious while your cat licks her paw like she’s prepping for world domination is wrong, then you don’t want to be right.

You: "Am I the drama?"

Gothie: "Meow."

[gaycrouton]

This is what I imagine Scully had to deal with at 9:00am every morning when she walked into work and saw Mulder prepping his little slideshow for her

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 6- Smile For The Camera

Prev. Part/ Next Part

I had one mission.

I slipped into the STEM building’s admin office while the secretary was in the bathroom—a risky move, but I’d timed it perfectly. The door clicked shut behind me. Heart pounding, I crossed the room in a few silent steps and crouched behind the desk.

There it was.

I plugged in my laptop and typed fast. Lines of code ran down the screen like raindrops on a window. After a few minutes and some network-jumping magic, I had control of one of the main classroom projectors.

Perfect.

No traces. No tracks. I unplugged, closed everything, and vanished like a whisper.

Mission Impossible - Complete.

I strutted into class five minutes later, dropped into my usual seat, and couldn’t stop the smug smile tugging at my lips.

“Yo chica, what’s up with that Cheshire Cat grin?” Damien asked, raising a brow.

I shrugged, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Luigi reached for something, and slid it across my desk—a drink from the campus café. My usual order.

“What’s this?” I asked, blinking at him.

“We never got that coffee. Also, consider this a thank-you for handling Missy.”

I blinked. “Wow. Thanks.”

I sipped and nearly moaned.

Thank God for caffeine and sugar.

How did he know I liked caramel syrup?

Class began. The professor launched into a dense explanation of multi-threaded algorithms, and I let my fingers hover over the keyboard.

8:00 a.m. sharp.

I hit Enter.

The projector shut off, lights dimmed, and the entire room was suddenly bathed in confusion.

A video flickered onto the screen. Static. Then a voice, distorted and masked, filled the room. A figure in a Guy Fawkes mask appeared.

“Students of UPenn,” the masked figure intoned in a distorted voice. “Your campus has been compromised. Your freedom… intercepted. Your intellect… challenged.”

I watched the room hold its collective breath. “What the hell?”

“And now…” the voice said dramatically, “prepare for the reckoning.”

BOOM.

A burst of digital glitter exploded across the screen, followed by flashing neon letters:

“DELTA NU’S HALLOWEEN COSTUME PARTY. TOMORROW 10 PM.”

Silence.

Then the screen cut back to the professor’s slideshow like nothing happened.

Every head slowly turned to me. I didn’t even blink.

The professor blinked, took off his glasses, and stared. “Did you just hack my class… to promote a sorority party?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. I did.”

He paused.

“That was…” He raised his hands dramatically. “INCREDIBLE.”

Applause broke out. The entire class clapped like I’d just disarmed a bomb. Even Damien high-fived me. Luigi gave a low whistle.

“I could honestly pass you just for that V for Vendetta execution,” the professor said with a proud nod.

Class moved on in a haze of admiration. When it ended, half the guys made promises to show up to the party. I packed up my things, still riding the high, when Luigi walked beside me.

“So…” he said, “what’s your costume?”

“Highly confidential,” I said, smirking. “And you?”

“There’s a lame but safe option,” he said, looking sheepish.

“The Jonas Brothers are not lame.” i faked being offended.

“Oh God, never in a million years.”

“You mean until the year 3000?” I added with a wink.

He shook his head and was about to say something when Damien interrupted—reminding him about paint prep for the game. I was already planning to skip—until…

“Hey,” he said, suddenly hesitant. “You’ve never been to a Quackers game, have you?”

“Football?” I raised a brow. “You mean the game you mostly play with your hands?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Well… if you want to come, I’ll be there. It gets a little chaotic.”

My stomach fluttered.

“I’ll ask the girls,” I said. “We’ll see ya’ll at the gate?”

“Deal.”

THE GAME

Kaylee and I arrived at the field, Mariel bailing last-minute due to a sorority emergency, which we all knew meant “Laundry Day.”

“Oh. My. God,” Kaylee whispered as she noticed something from behind me.

“What?” I asked and turned

No es cierto. (No way)

A mob of shirtless guys, covered in blue, red and white body paint, were lined up like a Smurf army. And yes. There he was. Luigi, all in blue.

“You’re telling me if I wore a Justin Bieber shirt, I’m the crazy one,” I said outloud. “But you can walk around looking like an Avatar reject and it’s supportive?”

“We’re committed to the bit,” he said.

“Clearly,” I said. “You know that paint won’t come off in days right?”

…

We all took our seats, surrounded by half-painted boys who smelled of Gatorade and misplaced confidence. The game started. People yelled. I tried to care.

Who am I kidding? I zoned out halfway through the first quarter.

I leaned back, dissociating, letting the buzz of the crowd wash over me—until I felt eyes on me.

Luigi was looking my way again. He motioned for me to come over.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning close so I could hear.

“I don’t really watch sports,” I confessed.

“Fair,” he said. “Can you stay for halftime?”

“Don’t worry, Kaylee is having a good time and we need to get back to the house together.” I explained. “You’re stuck with me.”

He shrugged, “Not complaining.”

To be honest, he wasn’t wrong. Halftime had all my attention. They brought out the cheerleaders for some slutty routines, there was a mascot race, and we witnessed a tuba player fall and land on half the band. Nice

And of course -

💋KISS CAM💋

My stomach dropped.

I’ve seen videos of this on the internet. Mostly of embarrassing moments.

It started harmless. Sweet couples. A few awkward pairs.

Then… Damien appeared.

He looked at Kaylee, and she rolled her eyes. He turned and fake kissed one of the painted guys, prompting cheers—only to whip around and plant a real kiss on Kaylee, who shoved him so hard he nearly fell off the bleacher.

He loved it. Freak

We laughed. But then—

I saw someone in a jacket like mine. My hair. My seat. My—

“Oh no,” I muttered, covering my face. “No no no no—”

The camera zoomed.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the crowd roared.

I peeked through my fingers.

Luigi turned to me, soft. “We don’t have to.”

I blinked, heartbeat sprinting. “I… ok.”

“You sure?” he asked again.

My brain screamed RUN. My mouth said, “Pfff—sure.”

He grinned—paint-smeared, stupidly handsome. And then—his blue painted hands stained my cheeks and his mouth met mine.

And I… I think I blacked out a little. The world stopped and all I could hear was Sixpence None The Richer on the speakers.

So much better than the dream.

Until foreign cold water hit us both.

“GET A ROOM!” someone yelled.

I stared, soaking.

“Tell me it’s just water,” I said, dripping.

Luigi winced. “You want the truth?”

“Nope. Lie to me.”

I could feel it—that awful heat crawling up my neck, across my ears, setting my face ablaze.

God, I hate blushing.

Luigi was looking at me, water dripping from his jaw, blue paint streaked down his chest like some modern art tragedy.

I couldn’t let him see how bothered I was.

“I think I should go,” I said, brushing wet strands of hair from my face, trying to sound casual. “I can’t risk getting a cold.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offered immediately, already moving like he meant it.

“It’s okay,” I cut him off, waving him back. “You’re having fun.”

“Too much fun,” he said, eyeing me up and down.

Oh

The weight of that kiss still hung in the air between us like a secret.

“Yeah… umm. I’ll go,” I muttered, flustered now, the cold and adrenaline making my thoughts skip like scratched vinyl.

He stepped forward, expression suddenly unsure. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No.” My voice cracked. I forced a laugh and regretted it instantly. “I… I wanted you to.”

His brows lifted, flattered.

“I mean—it was consensual,” I rushed out, eyes wide. “Obviously. Same page.”

What am I saying?

“See you at the party!” I blurted, already turning on my heel. “Adios” (Bye)

And then—I ran.

Literally ran. Through the crowd, across the quad, past the vendors selling UPenn merch. My heart was thudding in my ears like a war drum.

Behind me, I heard someone calling out, but I kept going.

Kaylee caught up a few moments later, breathless and slightly confused.

“What happened? That was so cute, except for the splash, obviously,” she said, breathlessly laughing.

I took a few seconds to catch my breath, trying to cool down. “I know, I just freaked out,” I explained, still a little shaken. “I started blushing.”

Kaylee smirked and wiggled her eyebrows. “Was the kiss that good?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide how much her teasing affected me.

She grinned wider. “Yes?”

“Well duh”

“Then tell him!” She poked my ribs, and I swatted her hand away.

“I don’t like that,” I said, my voice serious now.

Poking people’s ribs should be illegal.

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

Mwah… kinda short ngl.

I gotta say, I’ve only gone to a few sport games before. Yikes

[ghoulish-art-tendencies]

*me explaining my dan and phil tour prep slideshow for my dad, how theres 40+ slides, each slide will take at least 5 minutes to fully explain, and how he has to watch all of tatinof*

my dad: can i drink whiskey during this?

[shippingmyworld]

Youtuber!Timmy and Youtuber!Jimmy AU

Follow up to my Youtuber!Danny Phantom AU from this post cus I can't stop thinking about this AU.

Timmy runs a channel named Fairly Odd Creatures where he makes full-blown mockumentaries about all kinds of mythical creatures/cryptids. Once every 2-3 months he will post a video that's about 60 minutes long and the production value that goes into them is absolutely mind-blowing. People are constantly flooding his inbox, demanding to know what his secret is. There are all-out wars in the comment section of his videos (or whatever social media platform his videos are being discussed on) debating on how in the world the footage is pulled off. Nobody can agree on if it's super-advanced cgi or the best blend of makeup and props the internet has ever seen.

Timmy's secret of course is just the fact that Cosmo and Wanda will simply poof into existence whatever creature Timmy needs for his video. Then he just has to follow it around for a few hours with his camcorder and then edit the footage together.

The funniest part of his videos (and probably the reason that they're so popular) is that nothing in them is even remotely in line with what has already been popularized. For example: "Chupacabra's? Yeah, it turns out they don't drink the blood of livestock. They eat metal. Specifically, automobile metal. Don't believe me? Well I lost this Chupacabra in downtown Dimmsdale for a few hours and it ate half of this totally random car before I found it again. Here's a clip of it taking a chomp out of the tire like it's a donut." (The car belonged to Mr. Crocker and it wasn't an accident).

Each and every video Timmy uploads is guaranteed to hit number one on trending for a few hours, and then hover in the top 20 for a few days. This gives Timmy a bit of an ego, especially since whenever he posts a new one everyone at school is talking about it the next day. He tells himself that he can't reveal his identity because then he's have to explain how he's pulling everything off (his voice is disguised with a magical voice modulator that makes him sound like a dramatic narrator) and thus risk exposing Cosmo and Wanda. However, the second that Trixie off-handedly mentions she watches them he spills the beans. Thankfully for his fairies, nobody believes him.

Jimmy's channel is called Brain Blast in which he posts about his projects and the science behind them. While he does have a small and dedicated subscriber base, most of the comments on his videos are from months or years after he's uploaded them in the first place of people thanking him for posting such great study aids.

Part of the reason why he has a smaller subscriber base is because he doesn't edit his content. They're all done with a single take, which only is extremely impressive to anyone that notices. He writes the script, preps his slideshow and props, and then hits record. Even though he does plenty of "Fun Science" videos ("Alternative Travel Methods feat. Bubble Travel", "How to Launch Your Toaster into Orbit", "Make Your Own Rust in a Can", etc.) the low production and sound quality for everything gives off the same energy as those channels run by a middle-aged man recording stuff about their niche interest on their phones.

Sheen and Carl appear in most of his videos as his assistants (or lab rats depending on the context). They're pretty great helpers, despite the fact that Sheen always goes off script and Carl gets so camera shy that he forgets his lines. Jimmy has to cut in a lot with "That's an excellent question!" to get them back on track. Libby and even Cindy will make occasional appearances. In fact, most of his popular uploads come from videos that his friends requested: "How Real is the Science in Ultralord?", "Surprising Biology of Lamas!", and "The Science Behind Enjoying Music." are counted among his most popular uploads.

Cindy once tried to get her own channel up and running and was pretty popular for a while, but after a few months she decided that even part-time content creator wasn't something she wanted to invest her time into. Instead, she'll just muscle her way into Jimmy's videos on occasion. More than once she has basically hijacked Jimmy's script halfway through to talk about famous women related to whatever topic Jimmy is covering.

Jimmy can't really bring himself to interrupt Cindy's hijacking's, because whiles she's right about the contributions these famous women have made, they're not super relevant to the hyper-specific topic/experiment he's currently covering (he will just shoot a second video when he's alone and upload it to make sure all his points got covered). Eventually though, he'll get so annoyed with Cindy barging into his lab whenever she finds out he's planning to film (Sheen spills the beans to Libby all the time and she reports to Cindy) that Jimmy will begin to start most of his videos will a few quick facts that he thinks Cindy will like so she'll leave him alone.

When the Youtube algorithm starts recommending Jimmy some of Timmy's mockumentary's, Jimmy will start posting follow-up videos to Timmy's in order to debunk Fairly Odd Creatures. This in turn starts to push Brain Blast up in popularity due to association. Then a portion of Timmy's fanbase gets latched onto Jimmy. They start taking stills from Jimmy's videos to use as reaction images (because Jimmy gets very upset and frustrated with just how wrong everything in Timmy's videos are).

As to not expose himself on his channel, Timmy creates a second channel in which he uploads videos in exactly the same style as Jimmy's. He discredits this "Science" thing that Jimmy is apparently basing all his arguments on and jokes about how Jimmy sounds like a witch. The second channel isn't very popular until Jimmy posts a "In Response to..." video addressing Timmy's second channel directly. This inadvertently brings Timmy's second channel a flash rise in popularity and sparks a whole chain of video uploads between the two of them. There's a solid month of them uploading daily and basically yelling at each other about why people should unsubscribe from the other person.

Timmy throws himself heavily into the second channel (so much so that he almost forget to film content for Fairly Odd Creatures once), adopting a conspiracy theory persona that believes the earth is flat and that the moon is just a government projection. He invites his totally real alien friend Mark Chang onto the channel all the time to talk about Yugopotamia and help discredit Jimmy ("Like yeah man, I totally saw your radical disc-looking planet and had to fly down and check it out.").

And because people are normal on the internet, there's a whole sub-genre of fans that have started to ship Jimmy and Timmy's YouTube channels. 'Enemies-to-lovers' is the most popular trope for them, and there's even a whole subreddit dedicated to the ship that gets fanart and fanfics posted to it on a regular basis. Timmy is very aware of this group of fans and will occasionally sneak in an off-handed remark about Jimmy just to fuel them because he thinks it will piss off Jimmy even more. In fact, there's a whole slew of small channels that clip and compile 'JimTim Evidence' to fuel their theory that Jimmy and Timmy are secretly dating.

Little does Timmy know, there's actually a clip out there of him saying, "Jimmy may not be able to use his oversized head to deduce simple facts, but that least he can pick out glasses that make his eyes look pretty." Jimmy has watched that clip at least a thousand times on loop because he's low-key attracted to Timmy but refuses to admit it. It's part of the reason as to why he gets so worked up about Timmy's responses to him, because how can someone he's attracted to be just so wrong about everything???

[transhuman-priestess]

Lesson

A short story, by Ivy Michaels.

The following story contains a graphic depiction of surgery, with all the drugs and violence involved. It also includes graphic descriptions of pain. That is, in fact, the idea behind writing it.

And yes, this is smut.

“You know, dear, you’ve been such a good pupil these last few weeks.” Her voice comes to me through the curtain. I hear the click-clack of her heels on the linoleum floor, making an off-beat rhythm with the beeps and hums of monitors and pumps. She draws closer, and continues, “I think we’ve worked enough on theory, it’s time to move on to your practical lessons.”

The curtain is drawn back and I open my bleary eyes to see her. She’s dressed in the uniform she always wears. Rubberized olive drab canvas, sleeves pulled over the gloves, all seams taped over. Her face is mostly obscured by a surgical mask. Her hair is tied up under a paper hair net, though I can see a few strands of raven hair. All this despite the hood she wears with the clear face plate. I think she likes hiding her face from me, she’s never let me see it. Not all of it, not all at once.

“My darling,” she says, as kind and bubbly as ever, “you did so well on your nephrology unit last week, that I thought I’d give you a little treat!”

Images flash in my head. A slideshow of dissections. Parts of organs labeled. Ureter, renal artery, nephrons.

“Ah!” she says, approvingly, “I see you remember well!”

This is how it always is. She always knows what I’m thinking. I don’t know how that works. I have vague memories of sitting in a chair with my head in a device to immobilize it, but I can’t remember if that was a dream or an actual procedure. Memories are like that here. I know I haven’t been here long, but it feels like forever.

“I know you don’t understand, honey,” her voice falls to a gentle coo, “but don’t worry, I promise you will, eventually.”

I don’t mind it here, really. She’s very sweet to me. She teaches me things about myself I never knew. The other day, I think, she showed me where the vagus nerve is. I had forgotten what the bones in my palm are called, so she showed me how easily I could be disabled simply by applying a small electric shock to that nerve. The name of the bones was “metacarpals”.

That might seem harsh but she means well. Not in the sense that I’m rationalizing, either. I may not be able to remember why I’m here, but I sense that I am here by choice. I know it in my core It is, in fact, the only thing I know for certain.

“So, dear, are you ready?” she asks, “I’ve prepped room #5. The one with the seafoam green tile. I know it’s your favorite."

I hardly have to think about an affirmation. The bed thunks beneath me as she releases the brakes and begins rolling me into the hallway. One of the few things I recall from my time outside is this sensation, when I was very small, of being rolled through a hospital corridor on a cot. I can’t remember why I was there.

We turn a corner and my eyes come to rest on a pair of two-way doors, steel painted beige, with thin sheets of stainless to protect the doors from the impact of a gurney. Small windows of reinforced glass. The doors swing open and the cart jolts with the transfer of momentum.

Inside there are three other figures, all dressed identically to her, save for tinted, opaque faceplates. They are standing off to the side. Sometimes, they observe closely, sometimes they aren’t present at all, but always they listen to her commands, and never do they touch me without her explicit instructions. It makes me feel safe, knowing that she is the one in charge.

“Alright, dear, hold still while we move you to the table.” She grabs me by the shoulders, gently cradling me. One of the other figures grasps my legs, and together they move me onto the operating table. A second figure connects an IV line to the port in my arm. There’s a large mirror on the ceiling, so that I can observe.

“For this one, dear, you have a choice. Would you like the pain, or no?”

I want the pain. I always want the pain.

“Very well then. Paralytic only.” She nods to one of the figures, who hangs the appropriate bag on a hook above the table.

“Flex your fingers, dear.” She commands. I comply. After a few seconds I experience the sensation, curious as always, of being unable to move. An electric thrill of anticipation flies through me. It is almost time.

She unbuttons my gown, starting from the top, exposing first my breasts, then my stomach, and finally my groin. “Oh!” she says, “someone’s excited.” Of course I am. She’s never taken off my whole gown. This is something special.

“Oh,” she says, “I almost forgot, we’ll need to intubate.” One of the trio of assistants wheels over a cart with a ventilator. She takes a tube from it and tilts my head back, ever so sweetly. I feel the tube go down my throat, down past the epiglottis, my body trying to fight but finding itself disarmed by the paralytic. For ever so brief a moment I cannot breathe, and then I feel the beautiful sensation of air returning into my lungs.

“You did so well. I’m so proud of you!” she praises me as she applies tape hold the breathing tube in place.

“You know, this hood is very warm.” She says, and reaches up to unzip the hood from her suit. This is new. She hands the hood to one of the assistants, before bending down next to my ear and whispering, “I’m so proud of you.” And then she kisses me on the forehead, through her mask.

Standing back upright she says, “Okay, I’m going to make an incision…here.” she traces a line gently with her finger, from my sternum down, around my navel, ending at my pubic bone. “Are you ready?”

I am so ready that, if not for the paralytic, I think I might sob. She looks at me through the overhead mirror. I can see her smile through the surgical mask. “Very well then.”

She presses the scalpel to my flesh. Just a light pressure at first. Then, a stinging, and finally the burning, electric sensation of nerve endings being torn from their neighbors. It is the most incredible, all-consuming feeling. I can feel my brain trying desperately to force my limbs to push her away, to run from the room. I don’t want to, but I cannot, by myself, suppress the survival instinct. I feel tears well up in my eyes and flow down my cheeks.

“Very, very good.” she tells me, reaching up and stroking my hair. “You’re doing so well. Now, let’s see if you can tell me the names of everything in here.”

And gently, ever so tenderly, she slips her hand into my abdomen. I can’t remember what sex feels like, but I’m sure it doesn’t even come close to this. Knowing she’s so close to me is intoxicating. I feel her hand touch my small intestine.

“Very good!” she says, as she works her way up, to my stomach.

“That’s right” before moving on to my liver.

“That’s three for three! Very good!” the warmth in her voice fills my heart with joy. She’s so gentle. The pain is incredible, but it feels so good, because I know she’s the one causing it. I know she loves me, and I love her.

“Moving further down,” she continues, pulling her hand out, much to my disappointment. “Oh dear, don’t worry, I’ll be right back in in one moment”

And once again she plunges into my abdomen. The white-hot fire of the incision has faded slightly to merely red-hot smoldering. I feel her touch my sigmoid colon. “Excellent.”

Her hand moves to my left kidney. “Very good!”

I feel her grasp my bladder. “Perfect.”

She sighs, “It’s a shame I can’t reach your prostate from here, love.” A laugh.

“But that will be for later.” She stands and looks at one of the assistants. “Okay, sew her back up. Be gentle.” She must sense my disappointment, though, because she turns back to me. “Oh don’t worry, my dear, there’s one more thing left.”

It takes a while for the assistant to finish closing the incision in my abdomen. Time moves strangely in here, so I couldn’t say how long. By this point my body has numbed the incision area all on its own, leaving only the faint pulling and tugging of the sutures to be sent to my brain.

She walks back over and stands at the foot of the table. “You did so well there. I’m so proud of you. As a reward for how well you’ve done so far in your lessons, I’m going to perform one last procedure today.”

And with her most gentle touch yet, she pulls my legs to either side. “I know how much these bother you.” For a moment I panic, but she’s quick to reassure me. “Oh, not your legs, hon.” And it clicks.

“I’m going to cut right here.” she traces a line down the center of my scrotum. “And you’ll be rid of these forever.”

I feel the cold steel of the scalpel press in. The faint sting followed by the roaring thunder of pain. That high, heady feeling of endorphins rushes in again. I feel her, very faintly, reaching in and grabbing my right testicle.

"So, I know you hate these things. I hated mine, too.” She squeezes, hard, sending yet another rush of pain up and into my abdomen. “So I figured, why not simply take them away?” I feel the odd sensation of cold steel on my vas deferens. “Are you ready?”

I am.

I feel, for the briefest moment, a zing of pain and then the loss of signal that indicates a part of my body was severed. I feel her tying off the end.

“That’s one down. Time for the other.” Another hard squeeze on my left. “You’re taking this all so well! I’ll be sure to reward you when you’ve healed.” That same zing, that same loss of signal. I feel tears welling up. Not tears of pain, but joy, and love. I feel the repeated sting and tug and sting and tug as she sutures me back up.

“Okay love,” she says, at my side now, stroking my hair. “we’re going to push the painkillers now, and bring you out of the paralysis.” And with that, I feel the rush and the heady fuzz of opioids entering my system, the relief washing over me like a cool shower on a hot summer day.

“I want you to flex your fingers. Just keep flexing them.”

At first I can’t. I try and I try. But slowly, I start to feel them twitching, and after not too long I feel myself able to make a weak fist.

“Very good. You’re such a good girl.” Before I can say or even think anything, she reaches up, and removes first her cap, and then her hair tie. A shoulder-length crop of raven curls falls out. And then, to my amazement, she reaches up to her ear and removes the mask.

I see her face for the first time. I’m able to take in her sculpted jaw, her chin. She has a beauty spot on her right cheek. Her green eyes fill with warmth and, for the first time, I see her smile. “Let’s get that tube out.” She removes the tape on the tube. “Okay, I need you to take a deep breath. On three, I want you to exhale as hard as you can. One, two, three!” I blow and the tube slides out. I cough quite a bit.

Rather uncharacteristically, she tosses the tube aside. “You did so good today babe.” She comes in close, leaning over me, and our lips meet. Her kiss is so soft, so tender. I’m so lucky to have her. After what might be hours, or maybe no time at all, she pulls away.

Shakily, with a voice that hasn’t seen use in a long time, I say, “Thank you, Teacher.”

[unlirise]

late night cramming

ended up cramming the orientation slideshow i was going to present to my research participants tonight. change of plan, i'm going to the facility tomorrow to properly schedule when i'll be briefing them and when i'll conduct my interviews so that i can also give myself enough time to prepare for it.

with how much i got going on it's hard to believe it's only the first day of the week.

i seriously hope that after the data gathering, i'll be able to sleep some more. i know a lot of people don't sleep while writing their thesis but i want to be kind to myself during that process. since my graduation is delayed to next year, i get the privilege of time. i'll use this to my advantage and maximise my workflow. i have until august to defend my thesis, so that leaves next week to the third week of july for data analysis and interpretation. the last 2 weeks of july shall be for defense prep. then on the first week of august, i should have defended my thesis already. that way, my life as a university student ends when the academic year is bound to start.

[boredcoldandhungry]

FOR THE TEACHER AU YOU SHOULD HAVE HAZEL AND FRANK COME IN ON ONE OF NICOS CLASSES !

Teacher AU 5

Prev Part

"Okay, good morning Military History," Nico said, putting on his glasses and shuffling through some papers on his desk. "As you know I have no idea how I got stuck teaching this elective, nor do I have enough lesson plans to make it through the first few weeks of this class. I'm working on it. Now, because of this we have some guest speakers today to buy some time while I plan out the rest of this term. I'd say don't embarrass me, but I think they'll embarrass me more than you guys will. Please give a warm welcome to my sister, Hazel, and my brother in law Frank, both of whom were military big wigs for a long time."

Hazel and Frank walked to the front of his classroom and started clicking through a slide show they had made. Nico only half paid attention to their presentation while he tried to get his own slideshows together for the class.

He had no idea how he got stuck teaching this class. Half of the class was rednecks that glared at the tiny pride flag on his desk, the other half was gay nerds who took his AP classes and took this class because he was teaching it, most of whom were as clueless as he was.

Half of his day was usually some level Italian, the rest being usually being AP US History and AP government, maybe an Art History elective if he had time.

The Military History teacher randomly quit after the last term, though, and Nico got stuck with the class instead of his prep period.

Just as he finished the lesson plan for week 6 he looked up to see Hazel and Frank doing an elaborate demonstration with multiple students volunteering to help them.

Nico sighed and took a long drink of his coffee before opening up a new document to start the week 7 lesson plan.

-

"I love family reunions," Hazel chirped, stabbing her salad with a fork.

"Haz, I wouldn't call eating lunch in my classroom a family reunion," Nico said.

"How'd y'all's presentation go?" Will asked while standing on a chair, trying to fix Nico's projector, which had stopped working right before lunch.

"I think they scared some of my kids."

"We motivated them!" Frank corrected. Hazel hummed in agreement.

Nico smiled.

"Whatever you say."

[goodluckclove]

Dropping Blind Trust for free for people cool enough to leave a review on Goodreads in like an hour.

I'm prepping an intro slideshow for new people.

Get ready, friends!