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heron-knight · 26 days ago

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decided to crack open my skull and pour the contents of my brain onto the keyboard. thought the denizens of tumblr might enjoy it. bon appetite

Mech Pilot Care guide

You never expect it, do you. Even as you see the flashes of pulse-decay fire in the sky, illuminating a scene of violence on the cosmic scale. Planetary defense satellites forming Monolithic structures in the sky, their purpose now revealed as they scatter constellations of destruction across the night horizon, drowning out the stars and replacing them with ones born of death. The oxygen in a ship catching fire and burning away in an instant, a flash of light that marks the death of its crew of hundreds. Even if you take your telescope to watch this spectacle, this war in a place without screams, you still feel profoundly disconnected from it. Even as you see a pilot cleave through a drone hive with a fusion blade, the molten metal glistening in the light of the explosions around it, scattering without gravity to the corners of the universe, even as two mechs dance across the sky, their reactors pouring into the engines enough energy to power the house atop which you sit for ten thousand years, flying in a 3.5 dimensional dance with only one word to the song that can reach across the vacuum: “I Will Kill You.” you don’t feel even the slightest glimpse of what goes on inside their minds. You don’t feel the neurological feedback tearing across the brain-computer interface, filling her mind with more simultaneous pain and elation that an unmodified human could ever experience. You don’t feel it as the pneumatic lance punctures through steel and nanocarbon polymer, the mech AI sending floods of a sensation you could never truly know through the skull and into every corner of the body carried on enhanced nerves for every layer of armor punctured, tearing into the enemy chassis with a desire beyond anything the flesh can provide. Let the stars kill each other. After all, I am safe on earth. No, you don’t expect it when the star is hit with a sub-relativistic projectile, piercing through both engines in an instant. You don’t expect it to fall. You never would have expected it to land, the impact nearly vaporizing the soil and setting trees aflame, on the hill beyond your house, and you would never have expected, beneath the layers of cooling slag, for the life-support indicator light to still be visible.

All the fire extinguishers in your house, your old plasma cutter that you haven’t used in years, and whatever medical supplies you think they might still be able to benefit from. All that on a hoverbike, speeding at 120 kilometers per hour through the valley and up onto the hill, still illuminated by the battle above, unsurprisingly unchanged by this new development. 200 meters. 100 meters. You don’t know how much time you’ve got. It wasn’t exactly covered in school, how long a pilot can survive in an overheating frame. You’ve heard rumors, of course, of what these things that used to be human have become. That they don’t eat and barely need air. That they don’t feel any desire beyond what instructions are pumped directly into their brains. Not so much of a person as much as an attack dog. It’s understandably a bit concerning, as if they are alive, then it’s not guaranteed that you will be. Three fire extinguishers later, the surface of the mech is mostly solid, and the cutter slices through the exterior plating. With a satisfying crunch, the cockpit is forced open, revealing the pilot, and confirming a few of the rumors, while refuting others. Pilots, it seems, are not quite emotionless. In fact, there seems to be genuine fear on its face when it sees you, followed by… a sort of grim certainty as it opens its mouth, moves its jaw into a strange position, and you only have half a second to react before it would have bitten down with all its force on the tooth that seemed to be made of a different material then all the rest.

Your thumb is definitely bleeding, and is caught between a metamaterial-based dental implant, and one containing a military-grade neurotoxin. You’re not sure exactly why you did it. The pilot looks at you for a second, before the tubes that attach to its arms like puppet strings run out of stimulants, and it passes out after who knows how long without sleep. This battle has been going on for weeks already. Has it been fighting that long? Its various frame-tethered implants disconnect easily, the unconscious pilot draped over your shoulder twitching slightly with each one you remove. It’s a much longer ride back to the house. Avoiding having the pilot fall off the bike is the top priority, and the injured thumb stings in the fast-moving air.

An internet search doesn’t lead to many helpful sources to the question of “there is a mech pilot on my couch, what do I do?” a few articles about how easy targets retired pilots are for the “doll sellers,” a few military recruitment ads, and a couple near-incomprehensible legal documents full of words like “proprietary technology” or “instant termination.” However, there is one link, a few rows down from the top-- “Mech Pilot Care Guide.” It’s a detailed list, arranged in numbered steps. The website has no other links on it, just the step-by-step instructions: a quick read reveals that this isn’t going to be easy, but looking at the unconscious pilot, unabsorbed chemicals dripping from the ports in its arms and head onto the mildly bloodstained towel, you come to the conclusion that there’s no other option.

Step one: the first 24 hours.

The first thing you should know is that pilots aren’t used to sleeping. They’re used to being put under for transport and storage, but after the neural augmentations and years of week-long battles sustained by stimulants that would fry the brain of anyone that still has an intact one, they’ve more or less forgotten what real sleep is. If they see you asleep, they’ll think you’re dead, so don’t try to let them stay in your room yet. Once you’ve removed the neurotoxin from the tooth (it breaks easily with a bit of applied pressure, but be careful not to let any fall into their mouth or onto your skin.), start by moving them into a chair (preferably a recliner or gaming chair, as the mech seat is about halfway in between), and putting a heavy blanket over them. Don’t worry, they don’t need as much air as normal humans do, and can handle high temperatures up to a point. This is an environment similar to the one they’re used to. It’ll stay like this for about 12 hours-- barely breathing, trembling slightly underneath the blanket. Feel free to check if it’s alive every few hours, not that you could help it if it wasn’t. It won’t freak out when it wakes up. In fact, it doesn’t seem like they can. Turn down the lights and remove the blanket from its face. It’ll stare blankly at you, trying to evaluate the situation with a brain that’s not connected to a computer that’s bigger than they are anymore. Coming to terms, if you could call it that, with the fact that it isn’t dead. Don’t expect it to start reacting to things for a while yet, give it a couple hours.

It’s been a bit, and its eyes are starting to focus on you. The next thing you should know is this: pilots only have two groups into which they can categorize non-pilots: handler and enemy. You need to work on making sure you’re in the right one. Move slowly, standing up and walking toward them, making sure they can see where you’re going to step. Place both hands on their shoulders, then slide one under their arm and carefully pick them up. Don’t be startled by how light they are, or how they still shake slightly as they realize their arms don’t have anything connected to them. Most importantly, don’t break. Don’t reflect on how something can be done to a person so that this is all that’s left. Just focus on rotating them as if you’re inspecting all the brain-computer interface ports, while holding them at half an arm’s length. Set them back down, wrap the blanket around them, then lean in close and say “status report.” they won’t say anything, as they usually upload the data via interface, but what’s important is that now they recognise you as their handler. Their entire mind will be focused on the fact that they exist now to do what you want. Now it’s up to you to prove them wrong.

Step two: the first week.

They’re shaking so hard that you’ve had to move them from the chair back to the couch, sweating heavily as they pant like the dog they’ve been trained to think they are. This was to be expected, really. Pilots are constantly being filled with a mix of stimulants, painkillers, and who knows what else, and you’ve just cut them off completely. You’ve woken up several times in the night and rushed to check if they’re still breathing, debating whether you should try to tell them that they’re going to be okay. The guide says they’re not ready for that yet, whatever that means. They’re still wearing the suit you found them in, made from nanofiber mesh and apparently recycling nutrients and water before re-infusing them intravenously. It’s been three days since you tore them out of the lump of metal atop the hill outside. Long enough that the suit’s battery, apparently, has run out. You lift them gently from the couch and carry them to the bathroom. The shower’s been on for the past hour or so, meaning the temperature should be high enough. You set them on their chair, which you’ve rolled there from the living room and covered with a towel. Removing the suit normally isn’t done except in between missions, and it’s only done to exchange it for a new one. Without the proper tools, you’ve opted for a pair of scissors. Cutting through the suit takes a bit of time, but you manage to cut a sizable line from the neck down to the front to the bottom of the torso. The pilot recoils slightly from the cold metal against their skin, but you manage to peel off the suit without incident, The Temperature of which was roughly the same as the steam filling the room, and you’ve done your best to minimize air currents. They’ve got a bit more shape to them than you expected of someone who’s been so heavily modified. Perhaps what little fat storage it provides helps on longer missions, or perhaps this is for the purposes of marketing. Just another recruitment ad that appeals to baser instincts. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Using a cloth with the least noticeable texture possible, you wash off as much sweat and dead skin as you can, avoiding the various interface and IV ports, as you’re not yet sure that they’re waterproof. Embarrassment is the enemy of efficiency, so you’re slightly glad that their eyes never completely focus on you. They shift their weight slightly, however. Despite the difficulty moving with their current symptoms, they lean in the direction opposite the places you wash once you're done, allowing you to more easily access the places you haven’t got to yet. An act of trust that you have a suspicion they weren't “programmed” to do. As they dry out, you prepare for the difficult part. You take the blanket that previously wrapped around their suit, and gently touch a corner of it to their shoulder. Pilots are used to an amount of sensory information that would overload any normal human in an instant, but most rarely experience textures against their skin. After about half an hour, they’re used to it enough that you’re able to replace what’s left of the suit with it, and after another you’re able to wrap them in it again. You carry them back to the couch, and place a few of your old shirts next to their hand. They pick one and touch it with one finger before recoiling slightly. Eventually, they’ll be used to at least one of them enough that they can wear it. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

Step 3: food

It goes without saying that it’s usually been at least a year since they’ve eaten anything. The augmentations scooped out much of their knowledge on how to survive as a human, assuming that they would die before ever needing to be one again. Start them off with just flavors. Give them a chance to pick favorites by giving them a wide selection and firmly telling them to try all of them. Avoid anything solid for the first month or so, both because they can’t digest it and because they associate chewing with their self-destruct mechanism. Trying to and surviving might make them think the “mission’s fully compromised” and attempt to improvise. They’ll typically pick out favorites quickly with their enhanced senses, so once they’ve sampled everything, tell them to pick one. Remember it, not in order to use it as a reward or anything, but them still being able to have a “favorite” anything is something you should keep in mind for later.

Use a similar method anytime they become able to handle the next level of solidity. Don’t be alarmed if one of their favorite foods is the meat that’s most similar to humans (such as pork.) they’re not going to eat you, they just will have already formed an association between that flavor and the moment they went from being a weapon to living in your house. Don’t worry about your thumb getting infected, by the way. Pilots barely have a microbiome.

Step 4: entertainment:

Roll them over to your computer and give them access to your game library. No, really. They need enrichment, and there’s only one activity that they’re able to enjoy at the moment. A simulation of it will make the shift from weapon to guest easier. Start them off with an FPS with a story. Don’t go multiplayer, as your account may get banned for being suspected of using aimbots. Watch as they progress the story. The military left pilots with just enough of a personality to allow them to improvise, and that should be enough for them to make decisions on this level. They won’t do much character customization, but keep an eye on which starting character body shape they pick. No pilot would consciously think they have enough of a “Self” to still have a gender, but keep track of the ones they pick in the games. As for the one you’ve found, it appears that she’s got a player-character preference. You even saw her nudge one of the appearance sliders before clicking “start game.” Whether this means that a pilot doesn’t think of themselves as “it” or that it means there’s still enough of their mind left for them to know there’s more to themselves than the body they have, it’s a handy bit of information to know. Some pilots might have had this decision influenced by their handlers having referred to them as “she” in the way it refers to boats, but still, on some level they always know that “it” meant that they’re a weapon.

Step 6: outside:

There’s a profound difference between experiencing the world through information fed directly into your brain and standing up for the first time, wandering around the room and investigating with hands not made of a half-ton of metal. She’s not used to feeling the air on her skin as she stands in front of the window, visual data coming from two eyes instead of seven cameras. It’ll take a while to get used to it again. New old data, reminiscent of a time before she’s been trained not to remember. It’ll take a while until she’s walking like a human and not a mech, as the muscles used are different, and the ones to hold herself upright haven’t been used in a while. She’s going to fall down at least once. Be sure you’re standing next to her when it happens, as pilots that fall aren’t trained to think they can get back up. It’s worth it, though, when she opens the door herself and strides into the yard, still wobbly but standing. Be careful not to let her look into the sun, partially because it looks nearly identical to the barrel of a pulse-decay blaster milliseconds before it fires. She would get hurt trying to dodge it. It will be somewhat confusing for her, standing on a hill as she once did, but not contained within a 12-meter metal chassis. A feeling of being small and alone without the voices of the computer. This means it’s time for step seven.

Step 7:

All this time, and any idea that she’s still a person has, for her, been subconscious. Any thought of humanity is stopped when it slams into the wall of her handlers and mech AIs reminding her for years before now that she is a weapon. She’ll still ask for your permission before doing just about anything, and that’s just the rare times that she’ll do something you don’t tell her to. Even after you’ve moved her into your room, she’ll still try to sleep on the floor. She still thinks that beds are only for humans. Kneel next to her as she curls into a ball on the ground, assuming that’s what she’s supposed to do. Expect her to try to move down to the foot of the bed after you set her down on it. Gently move her back up until her head’s on the pillow. Sit on the edge of the bed, and hold out your hand to her. After a bit, she’ll take it, wrapping both hands around it and tracing her fingers along the scar on your thumb. Lie down next to her, an arm’s length apart. Place your other hand on her forearm, then slide it up her arm to her shoulder. Don’t move too quickly, and don’t surprise her. Whisper softly but audibly every movement you’re going to make in advance. Move in a bit closer, until you’re wrapped in her arms. Mech pilots aren’t used to this. They aren't used to feeling someone next to them. Not above them, but next to them, getting exactly as much out of this as they are. Even after several months, many won’t admit they deserve it. You wouldn’t waste time lying next to a gun. So why do they feel so strongly that they don’t want you to leave? Why do they hold on tighter? They often feel they’re doing something wrong. Overstepping a boundary. There’s a rift between what they want and what they’re told they can want that nearly tears their mind in half, and it hurts. No normal human will ever know how much it hurts them to think they’ve broken some instruction, that they feel things they aren’t allowed to. Nobody said it was easy, learning how to become human again. Tell her it’s okay. That she’s allowed to feel this way. She still won’t know why. It’s time to tell her. The guide can’t tell you what to say, only that you have to say it. It has to come from you. You have to be the one that tells her what she is underneath all the modifications. It’s time, say it.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel your heart start to beat faster as it presses up against mine? Do you feel your own breath against your skin after it reflects off my shoulder? Do you feel your muscles start to tighten as I slide my hand across them, then relax because you know it means that you are safe? It’s because you’re alive. Because despite everything, you’re still alive. Still someone left after all the changes, all the augmentations. And I know you’re someone because you are someone that likes food a bit spicier than most would prefer. Someone that closes her eyes and gets lost in music whenever it’s playing. Someone that added that one piece of customization to her character, even though they would wear a helmet for most of the game and nobody would know it was there but you. Maybe you aren’t the same person you were before. Maybe they did take some things from you that nothing can give back. But you’re still someone. Someone that people can still care about, and I know because I do.”

You can feel her tears drip down onto your neck as she pulls you closer. She tries to say something, but you can’t understand what. You tell her it’s okay. That it’s not easy, and that she doesn’t have to pretend that it is. Not for you, and not for anyone anymore. She doesn’t have to be useful anymore. No need to keep it together. All that matters is that she’s alive.

There’s another battle going on in the night sky outside. The same flashes of light you saw the night you stopped living alone, even if the other person couldn’t admit that they were one yet. She still flinches at the brighter bursts of pulse-decay fire, still stretches out her hand on reflex to prime a pneumatic lance that isn’t there. But she knows it’s not her, it’s just a ghost of the weapon that died when it hit the ground. You can feel her relax as she realizes this, moving her hand back to dry her face before reaching out towards yours. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your own face. You place your hand on hers as she wipes the corner of your eye. Outside and above, the war continues on a cosmic scale, so far apart from where you both are now that you barely notice it. Let the stars kill each other. After all, the one before you has already fallen, and she doesn’t have to return to the sky. Together, you are safe on earth.

#mechposting #creative writing #mech pilot

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vampiefemme · 9 months ago

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in which ellie shows you exactly who you belong to.

18+ minors dni!

You and Ellie aren’t together.

You’re not a couple. You’d both agreed to keep things casual. You’re just roommates who mess around sometimes; simple as that.

So why do you feel so guilty for going on a date with someone else?

You’re dressed and ready, adding the final touches to your makeup in the mirror, and you should be feeling excited - your date is a total dreamboat. Perfect on paper and so, so hot. But instead of that giddy, fluttery feeling in your stomach, all you feel is guilt.

You and Ellie aren’t together, you keep reminding yourself. You repeat it like a mantra in your head. There’s nothing wrong with going on a date, right? Because you’re single… Right?

On your way out, you run into Ellie, because of course you do. She’s sprawled out on the couch, head propped on a pillow, playing her Switch with a determined look on her face. Your stomach clenches when you see her. She looks up when she hears you walk to the front door, her eyes following you as you slip into your shoes.

“You look nice,” Ellie says from the couch. You look over and see that she’s paused her game; she’s sitting up and drinking in the sight of you, eyes lingering over your frame. You pretend not to notice.

“Thank you, Ellie.” You grin and look down at your outfit, palms smoothing over the fabric of your skirt. You do look nice.

“Where are you going?”

Your cheeks go hot at the question, and your first instinct is to lie - to tell Ellie that you’re going to see a friend. Just catching up with someone from college over dinner. But it’d be stupid to lie - you’re single. You’re allowed to go out.

“I’m, um, going on a date.”

You don’t look at her when you say it - you know you’d feel guilty, even if the two of you are just friends with benefits. Or… Roommates with benefits?

“Oh,” Ellie says, as you busy yourself picking off nonexistent lint from your shirt. Anything to avoid her gaze. “Okay. Have fun, then.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice, which you had expected. You glance at her face, and she’s back to that determined expression, focused on her Switch again.

You clear your throat. “Thanks. I’ll, um… See you later.”

Naturally, you spend the entire date thinking about Ellie. Her eyes, green and dotted with flecks of brown. Her hair, which falls in her face just right. Her mouth, and the way it feels against the supple flesh of your throat, Ellie’s lips soft and wet as she trails kisses down your neck.

And her hands - her strong hands. You can almost feel them on your hips, on your chest, between your legs.

God, this date was a mistake.

Still, you have the common decency to see it through. You pretend to be interested in your date’s job, their hobbies, their five year plan. They drone on for hours, only asking you a few pointed questions about yourself, and when the dinner’s finally over and they’ve signed the check, you’re itching to leave.

Not long after you’ve made it back home, you’re face-down on Ellie’s bed, moaning into the mattress as her tongue circles your clit.

She’d asked you about your date between heated kisses, her lips flushed and swollen. You hadn’t given her much details aside from it was boring and I just wanted to come home and do this. That seemed to give Ellie some sort of complex, because now, as she pumps her fingers into your cunt with one hand and lands a stinging smack on your ass with the other, she pulls back from mouthing at your clit to rasp, “That’s it, moan for me.”

And she’s always been talkative in bed, all slurred curses and dirty comments, but there’s something different this time. You arch your back deeper, giving her more access to pound her fingers into you, and she groans in approval.

“Good fucking girl,” she breathes, using her free hand to dig her blunt nails into the flesh of your ass. She gives it another spank for good measure. “Wanna tell me whose pussy this is?”

There it is - something she’s never said before. You can feel yourself getting wetter, tightening around her fingers as your hips involuntarily push backwards against her palm. You forget to respond entirely, every thought in your head smooth and shapeless, disappearing as quickly as it came. But Ellie won’t let you off so easily.

“Flip over,” she orders, the rasp in her voice sending a thrill up your spine. You obey wordlessly, and when you’re on your back, you see it: a possessive glint in her gaze, a sharp edge to her expression. You gush impossibly wetter, cunt clenching around nothing - the absence of Ellie’s fingers makes you want to sob.

“Ellie,” you whisper, brows knitting together. Her gaze softens. “Please make me come.”

A smile tugs at her lips and she nods, her palm rubbing over your stomach in soothing circles.

“I will, princess,” she assures you, “but I need you to tell me who you belong to. Think you might’ve forgotten.”

Guilt twists in your gut. “You, Ellie.”

“What about me?”

There’s a challenge in the teasing lilt of her voice. You swallow. “I… Belong to you.”

“Mm, that’s right.” Ellie’s hands travel upward from your abdomen to your chest, closing around each of your tits. You suck in a shaky breath when her thumbs stroke over your pert nipples, making them draw even more taut. “These are mine?”

“Yours,” you gasp, chest rising and falling quickly. Ellie’s bangs fall in her eyes as she leans over to suck a nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling over the bud until you go cross-eyed, hips canting upward. She repeats the same torture with your other breast, leaving both of your nipples swollen and sensitive.

“What about this?” Ellie asks when she pulls back, her hand moving to the heat between your legs. You whine, a desperate, pathetic little sound that makes Ellie want to eat you whole.

“Yours, Ellie, it’s yours,” you say, voice betraying how needy you are. She dips a finger into your wetness, your folds silky with arousal, and you almost miss the way her eyes flicker back into her skull for a moment. She’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

“This is mine?” She drags her fingers up to your clit, drawing torturously wide circles around it - close, but not close enough. You could start crying right there. You nod, frantic.

Ellie clicks her tongue, tuts in disapproval. “No, baby, I need to hear you say it. Whose pussy is this?”

And it’s not so hard to admit - Ellie’s had you under her spell long before you went on that stupid date tonight. You realize it now, cheeks warming at the obscene sounds of Ellie’s fingers playing in your cunt, unable to look her in the eye without squirming.

“My pussy’s yours,” you pant, “s’all yours. Nobody fucks me like you, Els.”

You’re pushing your hips towards her touch, your tits in your own hands now, pulling at your nipples like it’ll relieve the growing need in your belly. Ellie eyes you with half-lidded eyes, lust heavy in her gaze, and it’s like you can see the remnants of her resolve break. She sinks between your legs and finally, finally laps at your desperate cunt, drinking in the taste of you as you whine and writhe above her.

When you come, it’s with Ellie’s name on your lips. And you know it’s true - you’re entirely hers.

#a lil blurb for yall on this fine friday #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie fic #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie x reader smut #my writing #possessive!ellie #stella writes

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traegorn · 24 days ago

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Girl you can rant and rave all day but we all know for a fact you can't vote your way out of this mess so your "genuinely, what else can we do?" sounds like pure cucked defeatism. This downward spiral of American fascism has proven stable, so no, voting isn't going to stop it. The democrats will never be pushed left - as proven by blatant history. I know this is your cue to list a bunch of social services or civil rights concessions a la #bidenwins but the drip violence of homophobia and abortion restrictions under republicans does not come close to the bipartisan armed tyranny that murders people in broad daylight.

Voting isn't going to solve any of this, and no voting isn't going to "clear the way" or make it easier to resist. Democrats have proven over and over and over again they will use the full force of violence to stop anything that truly threatens them and the ONLY WAY to stop American fascism is to threaten them, to threaten the very foundations of the system itself.

You exert all this effort, have all this pained frustration, over the weakest political action you can take. You are not challenging fascism or tyranny or helping any of the people harmed under bipartisan violence. You ignore these people and focus on "harm reduction" for the few who do benefit from the pitiful social safety nets democrats eke out only to be undermined in the next four or eight years as republicans INEVITABLY take back power. Such is the case of a two party system, as history proves. You're staving off the inevitable by exerting all this energy into electoralism, and the people you "save" by electing democrats are inevitably hurt anyways when republicans INEVITABLY take back power - because that's what the system guarantees.

You exist in a cycle of abuse with the American government, a punishment-reward system under the 2 parties that keeps you afraid of punishment and too desperate for reward that you ignore how the hand that feeds you is also putting kids in cages and blowing up babies overseas. You, and everyone who thinks like you, will never be the ones to save anybody.

Idk I was pissed and now got all sad again after writing this. Just so you know my being sad at the state of your ideology isn't a representation of my passivity that people like you like to construe - I am painfully politically active. But it's just...sick. You're stuck in an abusive cult and now I just feel bad for you

I'm usually a lot nicer when I reply to folks, but you brought a certain energy that deserves a different response. I want to be clear to any passersby who I'd normally be polite to in this kind of conversation: This energy is reserved only for chucklefucks who bring this kind of shit to me. Please do not take this as a reflection as to how I'd treat people willing to engage honestly and civilly with me. This anon came to me unprovoked, so they're getting a rather unique response.

So here we go.

Oi, shit head. This was the stupidest thing I've read all day.

Democrats 100% have moved left in the last 40 years. Are we still recovering from when they got dragged right by Reagan in the 80s? Yes. But we've made headway getting things back on track. You claim a lot of stuff here, but don't cite a single example. Likely because you just repeat what someone else told you on TikTok that one time. You couldn't find your way through actual theory if it smacked you in the face with its dick. But you don't want me to actually justify it.

Because your own words told me you'd dismiss any evidence I provided:

I know this is your cue to list a bunch of social services or civil rights concessions a la #bidenwins but the drip violence of homophobia and abortion restrictions under republicans does not come close to the bipartisan armed tyranny that murders people in broad daylight.

Bitch, this shit is a sliding scale. Trump authorized more drone strikes than Obama did in eight years. Are they bad? Yes. But if you're telling me you want more murders, Trump's your guy. Guess what, living in America means dealing with the fact that you've been complicit in genocide this whole time. Look at the land you stand on -- it is soaked in blood. Look at the smart phone you're reading this on, it literally came out of a genocide.

You bathe in blood every day, fucking figure it out.

We do our best to minimize harm. And if you'd ACTUALLY read or watched anything I've said, your two half dead braincells would have noticed the part where I constantly say "voting is not the end of your activism." It's the fucking start.

Either Harris or Trump will be the next President. Trump will be worse. If you aren't doing everything you can to stop him, you're not a leftist, you're a grandstanding piece of shit who doesn't care about anything other than the smell of your own farts.

You want to fuck up the two parties? Great. Put in the fucking work -- because the Presidential election ain't it, shithead. Build a real movement from the ground up. Build community, build a party system, run local candidates. When's the last time your ass went to a city council meeting or a school board meeting? Do you even know when they're held where you live?

But let's face it, you couldn't coalition build if you tried because you're so far up your own ass you kiss your small intestine goodnight.

Daddy Revolution ain't coming, shithead. There's work to do, so get your head out of your ass and do it.

You want Trump to win? Netanyahu would kiss you on the lips for it. Fuck off.

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headspace-hotel · 11 months ago

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next thing I need to read in depth about is the corporations that manufacture all these bombs, guns, planes and other weapons, because I can't help but feel like the USA's war mongering has a lot to do with creating profits for these corporations.

As far back as I can remember, I always heard on the news: "China flies a plane .2 miles closer than usual to USA! Are they PLANNING a WAR?" or some bullshit like that, and then it would be like "We invented a missile that kills even MORE people FASTER, but what if Iraq invented the same thing? We have to invent,,, More Missile,,,"

Always "rising tensions" this, "escalation" that, "threats" this, "cyberattack" that, like my whole life I've been hearing these scaremongering headlines saying We Need To Be Prepared For The New Foreign Threat or We Have To Stop The Next Terrorist Attack and...nothing ever happened, but there would be these new drones and missiles and planes and shit and it was like an endlessly escalating cycle of inventing new weapons with no clear indication why they were important to have.

The amount of paranoia and fear in the American worldview is fucking poisonous, the media fills people with this idea that the whole world is out to get us and if we didn't have 700 billion dollars military budget we would all be dead. But it's literally impossible for us to need this many weapons. Who could possibly benefit except the corporations

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months ago

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The specific process by which Google enshittified its search

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

All digital businesses have the technical capacity to enshittify: the ability to change the underlying functions of the business from moment to moment and user to user, allowing for the rapid transfer of value between business customers, end users and shareholders:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

Which raises an important question: why do companies enshittify at a specific moment, after refraining from enshittifying before? After all, a company always has the potential to benefit by treating its business customers and end users worse, by giving them a worse deal. If you charge more for your product and pay your suppliers less, that leaves more money on the table for your investors.

Of course, it's not that simple. While cheating, price-gouging, and degrading your product can produce gains, these tactics also threaten losses. You might lose customers to a rival, or get punished by a regulator, or face mass resignations from your employees who really believe in your product.

Companies choose not to enshittify their products…until they choose to do so. One theory to explain this is that companies are engaged in a process of continuous assessment, gathering data about their competitive risks, their regulators' mettle, their employees' boldness. When these assessments indicate that the conditions are favorable to enshittification, the CEO walks over to the big "enshittification" lever on the wall and yanks it all the way to MAX.

Some companies have certainly done this – and paid the price. Think of Myspace or Yahoo: companies that made themselves worse by reducing quality and gouging on price (be it measured in dollars or attention – that is, ads) before sinking into obscure senescence. These companies made a bet that they could get richer while getting worse, and they were wrong, and they lost out.

But this model doesn't explain the Great Enshittening, in which all the tech companies are enshittifying at the same time. Maybe all these companies are subscribing to the same business newsletter (or, more likely, buying advice from the same management consultancy) (cough McKinsey cough) that is a kind of industry-wide starter pistol for enshittification.

I think it's something else. I think the main job of a CEO is to show up for work every morning and yank on the enshittification lever as hard as you can, in hopes that you can eke out some incremental gains in your company's cost-basis and/or income by shifting value away from your suppliers and customers to yourself.

We get good digital services when the enshittification lever doesn't budge – when it is constrained: by competition, by regulation, by interoperable mods and hacks that undo enshittification (like alternative clients and ad-blockers) and by workers who have bargaining power thanks to a tight labor market or a powerful union:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

When Google ordered its staff to build a secret Chinese search engine that would censor search results and rat out dissidents to the Chinese secret police, googlers revolted and refused, and the project died:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonfly_(search_engine)

When Google tried to win a US government contract to build AI for drones used to target and murder civilians far from the battlefield, googlers revolted and refused, and the project died:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/06/01/technology/google-pentagon-project-maven.html

What's happened since – what's behind all the tech companies enshittifying all at once – is that tech worker power has been smashed, especially at Google, where 12,000 workers were fired just months after a $80b stock buyback that would have paid their wages for the next 27 years. Likewise, competition has receded from tech bosses' worries, thanks to lax antitrust enforcement that saw most credible competitors merged into behemoths, or neutralized with predatory pricing schemes. Lax enforcement of other policies – privacy, labor and consumer protection – loosened up the enshittification lever even more. And the expansion of IP rights, which criminalize most kinds of reverse engineering and aftermarket modification, means that interoperability no longer applies friction to the enshittification lever.

Now that every tech boss has an enshittification lever that moves very freely, they can show up for work, yank the enshittification lever, and it goes all the way to MAX. When googlers protested the company's complicity in the genocide in Gaza, Google didn't kill the project – it mass-fired the workers:

https://medium.com/@notechforapartheid/statement-from-google-workers-with-the-no-tech-for-apartheid-campaign-on-googles-indiscriminate-28ba4c9b7ce8

Enshittification is a macroeconomic phenomenon, determined by the regulatory environment for competition, privacy, labor, consumer protection and IP. But enshittification is also a microeconomic phenomenon, the result of innumerable boardroom and product-planning fights within companies in which would-be enshittifiers try to do things that make the company's products and services shittier wrestle with rivals who want to keep things as they are, or make them better, whether out of principle or fear of the consequences.

Those microeconomic wrestling-matches are where we find enshittification's heroes and villains – the people who fight for the user or stand up for a fair deal, versus the people who want to cheat and wreck to make things better for the company and win bonuses and promotions for themselves:

https://locusmag.com/2023/11/commentary-by-cory-doctorow-dont-be-evil/

These microeconomic struggles are usually obscure, because companies are secretive institutions and our glimpses into their deliberations are normally limited to the odd leaked memo, whistleblower tell-all, or spectacular worker revolt. But when a company gets dragged into court, a new window opens into the company's internal operations. That's especially true when the plaintiff is the US government.

Which brings me back to Google, the poster-child for enshittification, a company that revolutionized the internet a quarter of a century ago with a search-engine that was so good that it felt like magic, which has decayed so badly and so rapidly that whole sections of the internet are disappearing from view for the 90% of users who rely on the search engine as their gateway to the internet.

Google is being sued by the DOJ's Antitrust Division, and that means we are getting a very deep look into the company, as its internal emails and memos come to light:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

Google is a tech company, and tech companies have literary cultures – they run on email and other forms of written communication, even for casual speech, which is more likely to take place in a chat program than at a water-cooler. This means that tech companies have giant databases full of confessions to every crime they've ever committed:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

Large pieces of Google's database-of-crimes are now on display – so much, in fact, that it's hard for anyone to parse through it all and understand what it means. But some people are trying, and coming up with gold. One of those successful prospectors is Ed Zitron, who has produced a staggering account of the precise moment at which Google search tipped over into enshittification, which names the executives at the very heart of the rot:

https://www.wheresyoured.at/the-men-who-killed-google/

Zitron tells the story of a boardroom struggle over search quality, in which Ben Gomes – a long-tenured googler who helped define the company during its best years – lost a fight with Prabhakar Raghavan, a computer scientist turned manager whose tactic for increasing the number of search queries (and thus the number of ads the company could show to searchers) was to decrease the quality of search. That way, searchers would have to spend more time on Google before they found what they were looking for.

Zitron contrasts the background of these two figures. Gomes, the hero, worked at Google for 19 years, solving fantastically hard technical scaling problems and eventually becoming the company's "search czar." Raghavan, the villain, "failed upwards" through his career, including a stint as Yahoo's head of search from 2005-12, a presiding over the collapse of Yahoo's search business. Under Raghavan's leadership, Yahoo's search market-share fell from 30.4% to 14%, and in the end, Yahoo jettisoned its search altogether and replaced it with Bing.

For Zitron, the memos show how Raghavan engineered the ouster of Gomes, with help from the company CEO, the ex-McKinseyite Sundar Pichai. It was a triumph for enshittification, a deliberate decision to make the product worse in order to make it more profitable, under the (correct) belief that the company's exclusivity deals to provide search everywhere from Iphones and Samsungs to Mozilla would mean that the business would face no consequences for doing so.

It a picture of a company that isn't just too big to fail – it's (as FTC Chair Lina Khan put it on The Daily Show) too big to care:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

Zitron's done excellent sleuthing through the court exhibits here, and his writeup is incandescently brilliant. But there's one point I quibble with him on. Zitron writes that "It’s because the people running the tech industry are no longer those that built it."

I think that gets it backwards. I think that there were always enshittifiers in the C-suites of these companies. When Page and Brin brought in the war criminal Eric Schmidt to run the company, he surely started every day with a ritual, ferocious tug at that enshittification lever. The difference wasn't who was in the C-suite – the difference was how freely the lever moved.

On Saturday, I wrote:

The platforms used to treat us well and now treat us badly. That's not because they were setting a patient trap, luring us in with good treatment in the expectation of locking us in and turning on us. Tech bosses do not have the executive function to lie in wait for years and years.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/22/kargo-kult-kaptialism/#dont-buy-it

Someone on Hacker News called that "silly," adding that "tech bosses do in fact have the executive function to lie in wait for years and years. That's literally the business model of most startups":

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=40114339

That's not quite right, though. The business-model of the startup is to yank on the enshittification lever every day. Tech bosses don't lie in wait for the perfect moment to claw away all the value from their employees, users, business customers, and suppliers – they're always trying to get that value. It's only when they become too big to care that they succeed. That's the definition of being too big to care.

In antitrust circles, they sometimes say that "the process is the punishment." No matter what happens to the DOJ's case against Google, its internal workers have been made visible to the public. The secrecy surrounding the Google trial when it was underway meant that a lot of this stuff flew under the radar when it first appeared. But as Zitron's work shows, there is plenty of treasure to be found in that trove of documents that is now permanently in the public domain.

When future scholars study the enshittocene, they will look to accounts like Zitron's to mark the turning points from the old, good internet to the enshitternet. Let's hope those future scholars have a new, good internet on which to publish their findings.

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/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

#pluralistic #ed zitron #google #microincentives #constraints #enshittification #rot economy #platform decay #search #ben gomes #code yellow #mckinsey #hacking engagement #Prabhakar Raghavan #yahoo #doj #antitrust #trustbusting

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neostellarjpg · 1 month ago

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Jake & brobot - dirk wanting to build Jake's strength, and all the weirdo unhelpful random challenge shit that implies. roping him into the MAN'S ROLE. bro TRUST, getting the shit kicked out of you by a hunk of metal with no medium difficulty setting will help you get STRONGER. we are the MEN of the group, lets be MASCULINE and POWERFUL, and use the close contact of SPARRING as an excuse to KISS A LITTLE. brobot is the most physically detailed of dirk's robo splinters. dirk trying to simulate genuine phys contact with jake as closely as he can, just another extension of his pining, overcompensated with a mask of strength.

Jane & lil seb - dirk's humor and mischief comes out the most around Jane (think detective pony). i think it's interesting that seb is less an agent of his own and more like a utility drone/bodyguard that jane can pick up and put down. dirk puts himself in a servant-like position to her, very devoted to helping her out with stuff and keeping her safe, but his pursuit of esoteric humor and over-the-top badassery causes its own inconveniences. he always seems to be trying to please her or make her laugh even if he knows she is not really in on the joke, or that his acts of servitude aren't purely for her sake.

roxy & lil hal - the benefits and pitfalls of a deep childhood friendship. roxy is still very much in touch with dirk's younger self, but dirk wishes she would move on from that version of him. roxy- "you don't talk to me like you used to, we don't have the same bond we had before; i don't care what you say, i'm gonna keep loving that little kid within you that you try to bury, and show him as much compassion as i possibly can." hal loves and appreciates this; dirk is uncomfortable, concerned with more superficial things that have begun to matter more to him as he's aged, and embarrassed about the past attitudes that he's trying to cast away.

#neotxt #i still need to reread the alpha kids' introduction segments

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hoshifighting · 24 days ago

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seokmin + under the desk

— study in the same classroom as your boyfriend have benefits when the class starts to get ''boring''.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, fingering, public sex, handjob.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

you sit in the back of the lecture hall, the corner seat, right next to seokmin, the place no one else bothers to fill 'cause it’s too far to even see the board properly. but honestly, who the hell cares? you’re barely paying attention anyway, the prof’s droning on about some old-ass textbook crap, and you can feel your eyelids getting heavy, the monotonous hum of his voice practically lulling you to sleep. it’s boring as fuck.

you glance at seokmin, and he’s already got this mischievous smirk tugging at his lips, like he’s thinking the exact same thing. you both know this class is a waste of time. "this shit is painful," you mutter under your breath, shifting in your seat. "i can’t take another second of this."

seokmin leans closer, voice low but teasing, “we can make it interesting.”

you raise an eyebrow, already knowing where this is going, but you play along, “oh yeah? what do you have in mind?”

his hand sneaks under the table, fingers brushing against your thigh, slow and deliberate, and you have to bite back a gasp as heat blooms in your stomach. “shh, don’t make a sound,” he murmurs, and you swear there’s a challenge in his voice.

your breath catches as his fingers slip between your legs, teasing through the thin fabric of your jeans. fuck, the class feels so distant now, just a murmur in the background, like none of it matters anymore. you shift in your seat, parting your legs just a little, giving him better access, and his grin widens. “bold move, baby,” he whispers, “hope you’re not shy.”

“shut up,” you hiss back, your hand already sliding into his lap in retaliation, feeling the outline of him through his jeans. his body tenses for a second, and you can feel the sharp intake of his breath. “you were saying?”

the tension is dense as you palm him over the fabric, matching the rhythm of his hand moving against you, and it’s messy, reckless, but so fucking hot. his fingers dip under your waistband, touching you right on the throbbing clit, and you have to bite your lip hard to keep quiet.

his breath hitches as you get him harder, feeling him throb under your palm. “keep going,” he whispers, almost desperate, and you can’t help but smirk.

“who’s shy now?” you tease, but your own voice is shaky, his fingers stroking you in a way that makes your head spin. you clench around nothing, frustrated and needy, trying to grind into his hand as discreetly as possible.

seokmin’s eyes flicker to the front of the room, then back to you, and you see that glint of danger in them, the thrill of getting caught but knowing you won’t. “fuck, you’re so wet” he breathes out, his voice barely audible. you feel your cheeks burn, but it’s not like you’re any better off. your hand dips under his waistband now, fingers wrapping around him properly, and the heat of his skin makes your stomach flip.

he shudders, lips parting in a silent moan, and you bite your own lip harder, trying to stay quiet as he circles your clit just right. it’s like the lecture hall fades completely, the boring ass professor’s voice drowned out by the feeling of seokmin’s touch, by the slick heat pooling between your legs and the way he’s twitching in your hand.

“fuck, seokmin,” you breathe out, voice barely a whisper, and his hand presses down harder, the pressure just enough to make your hips stutter on his hand.

he chuckles low, his lips brushing against your ear, “careful, y/n. you don’t wanna get us caught, right?”

but it’s hard to care about getting caught when you’re this far gone. your body’s tensed up, the tension winding tighter and tighter with every stroke, every slick sound under the desk, and you can feel him getting close too, his breaths coming out uneven, his hips jerking slightly into your hand.

“you’re close,” he mutters, and it’s not a question. he knows. and you fucking hate that he knows, that he can read you so well.

“fuck you,” you whisper back, your fingers tightening around him, making him groan softly.

“later,” he promises.

the both of you are on the edge, bodies trembling with the need to come, but the thrill of keeping quiet, of not getting caught, only makes it hotter. your legs shake as his fingers move faster, and you can feel your orgasm crashing down on you, your thighs clenching around his hand, your breath catching in your throat as you try not to moan out loud.

seokmin’s right there with you, his body going rigid as he spills into your hand, his breath hot against your neck as he bites back a groan. you both stay like that for a moment, riding out the high, your bodies trembling.

“shit,” he whispers after a moment, pulling his hand away and wiping it on the inside of your jeans, smirking. “that was close.”

you lean back in your seat, trying to catch your breath, your hand slipping out of his pants as you shoot him a glare. “next time, we’re skipping class.”

he grins, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “deal.”

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callme-holly · 4 months ago

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what about 20.bandaging/stitching up an injury paired with 10.hiding their face in the other’s neck with darry? (please❤️)

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - this took me way too long to get out so sorry y'all. my mental health has kinda gone on a silly little rollercoaster so my posting might be a little all over the place i'm still taking requests from both this prompt list and this one!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 579 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - brief mentions of fighting (i think)

The living room is unnaturally quiet, not a single word being said amongst the boys, the only sound being the muffled drone of the TV and the occasional sharp intake of air from Darry as you clean the cuts and scrapes littering his knuckles.

His already patched up hand rests lightly on your hip, keeping you steady in his lap as you work on his other hand, his thumb gently rubbing circles into your skin under your shirt, a small gesture that you have become increasingly used to since you’ve known him.

You run the wet cloth across his beaten knuckles once more, mumbling a soft apology when he winces slightly at the sharp sting.

“It’s fine,” he mutters quietly, squeezing your hip briefly in reassurance, his gaze drifting to the rest of the boys.

It’s never this quiet after a rumble; everyone is usually bursting with energy, waiting for the adrenaline high to wear off. But it’s been over twenty minutes since they returned home, and hardly anyone has spoken, the air in the room filled with a heavy sense of exhaustion, which is only further confirmed by the way everyone is slumped against one another.

“Are you gonna stay the night?” Darry asks suddenly, his voice rough from disuse and tiredness, hushed so that only you can hear him.

You glance up from where you were wrapping his injured knuckles, giving him a small smile in response before dropping your gaze once more.

“If you want me to,” you reply, nodding your head in response. You know he’d probably benefit from you staying; although he’d never admit it, you can sense his built up stress, how tensely wound he still remains despite your best efforts to calm him down, and you know it’d do him the world of good to be in the presence of someone perhaps a little more grounding than the other boys.

Darry nods slowly in response, shifting you ever so slightly in his lap before leaning forward and pressing his lips to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back with a sigh. A fresh bruise is blossoming just below his eye, and you frown slightly at the sight of it, cupping his cheek tenderly before placing a quick kiss there. He leans into your touch easily, closing his eyes as you pull away. His arms tighten around you, a sure sign that he wants to keep you close, and you don’t fight it, settling yourself more comfortably into his lap, his hand sliding slowly along the fabric of your top.

You decide now is the best time to pack away the first aid kit, all of the boys cleaned up and taken care of. You set the box aside, letting out a small sigh of relief as you sit back once more, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. He hums softly in response, his fingers combing through your hair absently, removing any ounce of worry and stress you'd built up over the rumble.

You’re content to stay just like this, listening as the boys finally begin to relax, one by one succumbing to exhaustion, the hum of commercials on the TV becoming quieter until it’s nothing but background noise.

You stay like that a while longer, eventually lulled to sleep by the comforting weight of Darry’s arms wrapped securely around you, and the sound of his gentle breaths that match yours.

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falling-endlessly · 9 months ago

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Boomerang (part 3)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: Your infuriating ex is planning something, and it's putting everyone on edge. But if he wants at the hotel, he'll have to go through you (and Alastor) first.

<— Part 2 Chapter Index Part 4 —>

—6 HOURS AGO—

"What," Valentino growled, claws creating cracks in the table from how hard he was gripping it. "The fuck did you just say?"

Velvette was no better. Her lip was pulled into a furious snarl, and for once her phone was nowhere to be seen. "Vox, are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Relax," Vox reclined in his chair, raising a brow at his murderous business partners. Velvette's eye twitched and the table creaked in protest under Valentino's fury. "I'm not actually going for redemption, damn, calm your tits people."

"What happened to keeping up an image for the brand?" Velvette banged a fist against her armrest, gritting her teeth. "The Morningstar bitch was literally humiliated on live television, and now you're going to personally advertise for her?!"

"The next extermination is coming sooner than ever, and people are getting desperate. This little publicity stunt can work in our favor," Vox crossed his claws under his chin, megawatt smile growing. "What's a little pity pitch going to hurt? Think about it, I can gather intel, fuck up Alastor's little project, and show Y/n where her allegiances should lie. Win-win-win," he chuckled ominously.

"Cut the shit, Vox," Valentino scoffed, leaning forward to sneer in his face. "It's obvious you're only going this far for that bitch. Can't keep a leash on your toys, hm?"

Vox grit his teeth, digging his claws into his thighs under the table. He knew this wasn't going to go over well, but to be talked down to by someone who was benefiting from him? "So what if I am?" He hid his rage with a large, mocking grin. "And by the way, where's Angel Dust? Haven't seen him around in a while."

Val's face twisted with rage. "You fucking—"

"Enough!" Velvette snapped, glaring at both of them. "I don't have time for this stupid shit. Get on with it or this meeting is over."

Vox's unhinged smile slowly relaxed into his charming PR one. "Of course, my apologies Velvette, Val. I can see why you're not...convinced yet. Let me fix that."

The projector on the wall suddenly sparked to life, displaying three pie charts and a legend with many colorful categories. He gestured to them from left to right. "This is a distribution of our profits from ten years ago, five years ago, and last year."

"We have eyes," Velvette droned boredly.

Vox's antennae sparked in irritation, but he continued regardless. "Y/n's helped develop countless programs and softwares, and with her expertise our earnings jumped thirty seven percent, especially during the collaboration between Voxtek and DeepSpace VR. Now, what happens now that she's taken her business elsewhere? Hell knows she has the computing power to run it without our servers—"

"So, we're supposed to just bend over backwards for a few bucks?" Valentino snarled, crossing his arms.

Vox's screen glitched as he struggled to keep his composure. Thirty seven percent was not just a few bucks. But he knew antagonizing Val right now was more trouble than it was worth. "Val," he chuckled, sauntering forward to rest a hand on the backrest of Valentino's chair, leaning into his space. "Since when have you said no to money?" His eye widened, rings spinning.

"Since it walked out on two legs and ignored us," Valentino snorted.

"Val, I need you to see the bigger picture!" He grasped both of Valentino's shoulders, moving behind him so he could speak enticingly into his ear. "This is an opportunity to keep our brand at the top, and get dirt on that radio bitch. The future is what matters, and we are going to be the ones pioneering it."

The projector flickered to one of the surveillance cameras pointed at an exterior angle of the hotel. Then, the image suddenly rippled to show an artificial video of the same property, but instead of the tacky hotel, there stood a modern building adorned with a bright, neon V logo.

Valentino's smile grew at his last sentence, and he turned in his seat, leaning his forehead to rest against Vox's screen. "I like your vision, Cariño," he purred, grinning wickedly to show off his golden tooth. "But, if your little money-making cocksleeve doesn't come back, well, don't say I didn't tell you so~" he said in a sing-song voice, long tongue coming up to lick languidly along the side of Vox's monitor.

Vox's grin froze on his face, screen glitching.

Valentino chuckled, pushing out of his seat before strutting away. "Oh, and Vox baby," he threw a saucy wink over his shoulder. "Come find me when you get lonely, yeah?"

The double doors slammed shut behind him, bathing the room in silence. Which Velvette quickly broke, of course.

"What the fuck, Vox?" She scrubbed a hand down her face. "All this for a profit we can afford to lose? Really?"

"Velvette," his smile twitched up to full, blinding attention again. "Have I ever let you down before? Everything is under control, trust me!"

"Uh huh," Velvette scowled, unconvinced. "You know, Alastor and Y/n are the only people you've ever really lost it for, and you're going to a place where there's both of them."

"What, you don't think I can handle myself?" His smile strained.

Velvette shook her head, standing up from her chair and approaching him. "You know, that PR shit might work on everyone else, but I can see through your bullshit, Vox," she gave him a hard stare. "Just don't fuck everything up, got it? Or I'll make you wish you didn't."

His fists clenched as she walked past him, smile dropping into a scowl as soon as she was out of view.

****

—PRESENT—

"Whatever you do, make sure he's at least ten floors away from me," you muttered to Vaggie, watching as Charlie gave the bane of your existence an awkward tour of the hotel.

The atmosphere was so tense and suffocating, it was starting to make you incredibly antsy. The others were no better. Angel was drumming his fingers anxiously on the bar counter, Niffty was curiously regarding the new "resident" and Husk was already chugging his second bottle of hard liquor. Holy hell, and you couldn't even forget about Alastor if you tried, the radio demon releasing a constant stream of static and looking about ready to sacrifice someone—preferably Vox—in an incredibly painful and sadistic ritual.

"I can't believe she's letting him stay," Angel hissed under his breath, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "Actually no, what am I saying? This is Charlie, of course she'd let him stay. God damnit."

A tap on your shoulder made you turn around, only to find your favorite stiff drink on the counter behind you. You nodded gratefully at Husk, taking the glass and throwing it back like water.

"At least the hotel's in one piece!" Niffty chirped, her one eye back to tracking any stray insects. "Less mess to clean up." Her knife gleamed as she stabbed a cockroach clean in half with a deranged giggle.

"This isn't going to end well," Vaggie scowled darkly. "He's going to try something, I fucking know it."

"Yeah, no shit," Angel groaned, Husk grunting in agreement.

"Or," Pentious chimed in, hair flaring thoughtfully. "He truly does want to redeem himself?"

There was a silence as everyone turned to look at him incredulously, before a unanimous, resounding "no," rang out.

****

"Anddd here's your room key," Charlie presented it to him with a flourish, beaming brightly. "We hope you enjoy your stay! Breakfast, lunch and dinner are served downstairs in the dinning room, or you can go out and get your own food! We'll get your survey ready for you tomorrow so that you can start building your schedule."

"Schedule?" He quirked a brow, taking the room key from her outstretched hand. "For what, exactly?"

"Oh! Um," Charlie laughed, rubbing the back of her neck. "We actually host group therapy activities and trust exercises with the other staff and residents! You'll fill out a short survey so that we can personalize—"

"O-kay, let me stop you there, sweetheart," he chuckled, grin widening condescendingly. "I think it's great what you're doing, really, I do. But I've already got a schedule, and a billion dollar company to run. I'm quite the busy man, you know?"

Charlie furrowed her brow. "But—"

"Seriously, my sales would fall and what would my clients say? Hm?" A crowd booing track played in the background as Vox shook his head like she was just some uneducated child. "So thanks, but no thanks." He shot her a wink, before the door slammed in her face.

Charlie blinked in shock, taking a few seconds to process that she'd been dismissed in her own hotel. Her shoulders slumped as she trudged away.

But that only lasted for a few steps, before she perked right back up. What was she thinking? Giving up so quickly on one of her clients?

Charlie grinned, smacking a fist into her palm. She'd just have to try harder.

Unbeknownst to her, a figure had been watching the entire exchange from the shadows. Your jaw clenched, claws digging into the drywall.

"Unbelievable," you shook your head in disdain.

****

As soon as the door shut, Vox deflated like a balloon.

"Fuckkk," he hissed under his breath, sliding down the door tiredly. "The hell am I doing?"

He allowed himself only a few minutes to wallow in self-pity, before he sighed, pushing off the floor and getting to work. In less than twenty minutes, he had the whole room wired to his needs, electronic Voxtek devices littering the previously empty spaces. Now he had a way to travel without leaving his room.

He was just about to dematerialize into one of his laptops when a familiar, chilling presence made him freeze.

"Why, you only just got here! Don't tell me you're leaving already," Alastor chuckled, tilting his head in mock concern.

The radio demon was leaning an elbow against his dresser, just casually invading his privacy. God, just his smug face made Vox want to kill him already.

"What's it to you, old timer?" Vox sneered, electricity sparking from his claws in agitation. "Unlike you, some of us actually have responsibilities. So if you don't mind—"

"Oh my, breaking your word to Y/n already!" Alastor shook his head with a grin, sound effects of a heckling crowd emanating from his microphone cane. "How very...disappointing. Truly, I'd expect better from you!"

Vox's eye widened, the swirling rings on full display as his teeth grinded in rage. "Y-y-y-you keep her fucking name out of your filthy, cannibalistic mouth! You hear me?" He glitched furiously, electricity sparking in glowing webs from his monitor.

"Aha! Someone's a little on edge," Alastor laughed in tandem with an artificial, mocking laugh track. "Really, that was too easy! You're losing your touch."

"Get the fuck out of my room!" Vox snapped.

"Gladly," the radio demon grinned menacingly, the corners of his mouth stretching to unnatural proportions. "But first, I came to deliver a little message."

Vox gritted his teeth, curling his fists by his sides. His electricity buzzed under his skin, ready to electrocute the fuck out of this crazy fucker if he needed to.

"If you and your merry band of idiots pull even the smallest stunt to sabotage the hotel," Alastor approached him, antlers growing as his eyes turned to radio dials. "I think you'll find out that absence did not make my heart grow fonder."

"What, don't tell me you actually care about this place," Vox grinned, baring his teeth. "The whole redemption thing doesn't really seem to be up your alley, no offense."

"Oh, of course not! Haha! Don't be ridiculous," Alastor chuckled like he'd said something hilarious, but it was overlayed with bursts of radio static. "But I'm afraid I've invested too much in this source of entertainment for you to ruin it with your cheap, unoriginal touch."

The message was clear: don't touch my things.

Vox curled his lip, unwilling to back down no matter how utterly disturbing Alastor's demon form was up close. It gave him chilling flashbacks of their last explosive disagreement. "Then stay away from Y/n," he spat.

Alastor's grin widened, eyes glowing an eerie green as he held out his hand. "Is that a deal?"

Vox grimaced, looking at Alastor's creepy, voodoo doll appearance. "Hell no, you creepy fucker."

Then, like whiplash, Alastor's demon form receded and the air became breathable again. "Well, glad we cleared that up, then!" He laughed exuberantly, twirling his cane. "Nice catching up, chum!"

The demon grinned as he disappeared into shadowy wisps of smoke, melding with the darkness against the walls.

Vox's jaw clenched, electric anger vibrating through him and rattling his teeth. "Fuck!" He kicked over the first thing he saw, which happened to be a wooden workbench. It took a few deep breaths for him to finally calm down and collect his thoughts.

When he was no longer at risk of causing a city-wide outage again (that had been fucking embarrassing), he made his way back to his laptop like he was originally planning to do, only to pause in shock when he saw the brand new device short circuiting, screen full of pixelated static.

An explosive rage convulsed in his chest, the lights in the hotel flickering ominously.

"You red bambi ass fucker!"

****

<—Part 2 Chapter Index Part 4 —>

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah @yellowsubiesdance @dirk-strides @justaspectatorforfandomarts @harmoira @sunnyslug @gum-iie @lady-valtieri @mit-suri @whatelsecouldgowrong @sillysimplysilky @eternalera @aoiyx @hazellight11 @hopefully-not @tsuvvy @imcryinginemo @dinorawrss @rekoloid @ayesha-eroticax3 @sle3pyh3ad2 @l0verboyxoxo1111

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mancalledvenus · 7 months ago

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you think i'm pretty?

nishinoya yuu x reader

summary: you and nishinoya are paired together for a class assignment that leads to you asking him for volleyball tips and him asking for your number ^_<

word count: 1.4k

a/n: not proofread and written at 1am so sorry if it's a tough read lmfao i'm trying to clean out my drafts. thank you for reading !

the school day had dragged on for longer than usual. you sighed as you slumped into your seat for the last class of the day: psychology. the course was probably designed specifically to drain your energy and spoil your mood. that’s what it felt like at least.

your teacher droned on about his weekend for a full ten minutes before announcing to the class he'd be pairing you randomly with one of your peers for the next presentation.

you felt your body start to fill with dread. internally praying you didn't get stuck with someone lazy that made you do all the heavy lifting. you listened carefully for your name as the teacher called them out.

"y/n l/n, you'll be working with nishinoya yuu." he gestured to the boy in the back of the class with his head down on the desk that was clearly not paying attention.

"great." you thought to yourself as you shuffled through the room to the back.

his head snapped up as he heard footsteps coming his way, but relaxed a bit when he realized you weren't the teacher. he sat up fully and leaned back in his chair, giving you a clear view of his face. as you examined his features and sat down in front of him it registered in your head that this was the same boy that played the libero position on your school's volleyball team.

reluctantly you decided to ask him about it. being in volleyball yourself you'd always been curious about his skill and took it as an opportunity.

"are.. are you on the boy's volleyball team?"

his eyes widened and he smiled as he answered your question, "yeah are you a fan?"

you scoffed a little and shook your head, "not exactly, but i've seen you play. i'm the libero for the girls team."

nishinoya had finally seemed to shake off his forced laid-back persona and was noticeably more energetic than before. a side of him that you'd recognized from when you peaked into the boy's gym on more than one occasion while they practiced. even though you told everyone you were there to pick up tips from more 'skilled' players, deep down a part of you kept returning to see the cute boy in the #4 jersey.

"that's awesome! i always see you in here and our chemistry class. had no idea you were into volleyball."

you shrugged and glanced down, "i dunno, i'm kinda new to the team still. i'm not that confident in my skills yet."

nishinoya frowned at your tone and shook his head, "it takes a lot of courage to just step on the court and play. if you're gonna be a good libero you have to make sure you're dependable. you can't be reliable if you're second guessing yourself like that!"

you nodded to yourself silently before looking back up at him. the look on his face was enough to encourage you in of itself. the reassurance from this, well stranger basically, gave you a great feeling of relief and you were starting to feel less burdened with worry.

"that's definitely something to consider," you sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, "still our team is kindaaa... underdeveloped? we're not bad, it's just like we're still figuring everything out, y'know?"

"ohh, yeah i get that." he nodded.

"i wish we had someone with more experience so they could guide me a little or something."

nishinoya nearly jumped out of his seat to lean closer to your face. "i could totally help you!" the volume of his voice caused the pair sitting near you to glare at you both a little irritated, but you didn't notice and neither did he. "i'm so down to help you out- especially if it'll benefit the team too! you guys gotta rep us at the girl's tournaments.. i didn't catch your name also, i'm so sorry."

"it's y/n," you laughed at his enthusiasm. "i wouldn't wanna burden you too much, but that sounds like a lot of fun."

"please, i'd be lucky to get to play with someone as pretty as you. i'm getting sick of my teammate's faces honestly."

you laughed again and bit the inside of your cheek trying to withhold an uncontrollable smile.

"you think i'm pretty?"

nishinoya's face turned red. he had a habit of running his mouth without thinking and even though he'd flirted with girls relentlessly before, something about you made him extremely flustered. maybe it was the way you'd been staring into his eyes? the way you’d been listening to him so attentively as he was talking?

god you’d barley said a few sentences to him and you were already making him sweat. how come he hadn’t noticed how close you were until a few seconds ago? was he really that zoned out talking about volleyball?

"i.. uhm, i mean.." he tensed up with his arms glued to his sides, "you can't really blame me for saying it, you're gorgeous.."

"wow he's forward." you thought quietly, still processing what he'd said. there was nothing but silence from the two of you and all you could focus on was how your heart clenched every time his eyes connected with your's.

unable to talk without stuttering all you could offer him in that moment was a flustered smile which he returned with a quiet laugh. gaining more coincidence he finally broke the silence, "y/n?"

just as you were about to recover from his previous remark, him saying your name was enough to completely knock you back off your feet.

"..yeah?"

"would you let me take you out sometime?"

"FUUCKKK HE'S SO CUTE." you raved internally. you got swept up in your thoughts again before panic started to settle in at the realization that you needed to actually reply to him.

blushing and astonished at his sudden bold behavior, what was intended to be words came out as a collection of incoherent mumbles, "you- wha.. you? you and me? imeanthatwouldn't- i.. serious.. really?"

"i'll take that as a maybe," he chuckled and grabbed his pen from off his notebook, "if that's too much of a commitment could i at least get your number?"

the stupid shit-eating grin on his face gave the impression he knew exactly what your next actions would be; and he did. you reached across the desk for the pen he held out to you and shyly smiled to yourself as you began to write your number on the back of his other hand he had stretched out to you as well. you gripped it softly and etched the numbers on his skin.

the minute you finished writing he pulled his hand to his face swiftly. his eyes practically twinkling in excitement as he admired your penmanship.

his eagerness as he whipped his phone out of his pocket and began copying the numbers made you giggle, "why didn't you just hand me your phone in the first place, silly?"

"honestlyy," he began and you rolled your eyes realizing he was about to say something annoyingly charming and dumb, "i really only wanted you to hold my hand.. at the end of the day i am a simple man." the threw his hands up as he explained himself.

"you're so stupid." you held his pen in your teeth to chew on the cap. "i'm keeping your pen for that."

"i'll give you every pen i can find if that's all it costs."

you blushed a bright shade of pink and pushed his head down so he's looking downward at the desk, "n-nishinoya. we haven't started the assignment." you brushed his comment off and tried desperately to get him to pay attention to the papers sprawled across his desk.

the remainder of the class was him flirting with you and you trying not to completely lose your shit while also trying to get your work done (you guys didn't even finish reading the instructions).

______________________________________________________________

after school during the boy's practice.

"TANAKA. I DID IT I GOT HER NUMBER!!" noya nearly ran over hinata and yamaguchi running to find his friend.

tanaka's eyes followed the sound of the familiar voice to find noya rushing through the door, "Huh, who's? ..Y/N'S?"

"YEAH!! i played it sooo cool too. i pretended to not know her name and everything! seriously, every time she looked at me i almost died. her smile bro- her smile is sooo pretty-"

"prettier than mine?" tanaka smiled and folded his arms while listening to his rambling.

"don't interrupt me!" noya huffed before continuing, "she plays volleyball! did you know? god i got her number!"

"it was about time my man!" the two shook hands as their giddy shouts echoed throughout the gym.

almost immediately they were shushed by ukai for being too loud then scolded again by daichi then laughed at by yamaguchi and tsukishima, but in that moment nothing anyone could say to him would put a dent in nishinoya's mood.

______________________________________________________________

the end !

#nishinoya x reader #haikyuu #nishinoya yuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #nishinoya fluff #haikyuu fandom #yuu nishinoya #yuu nishinoya x reader

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reasonsforhope · 9 months ago

Text

"When Francois Beyers first pitched the concept of 3D ocean farming to the Welsh regulators, he had to sketch it on napkins.

Today the seafood farm is much more than a drawing, but if you walked along the Welsh coastal path near St David’s, all you’d see is a line of buoys. As Beyers puts it: “It’s what’s below that’s important.”

Thick tussles of lustrous seaweed suspend from the buoys, mussels cling to its furry connective ropes and dangling Chinese lantern-esque nets are filled with oysters and scallops.

“It’s like an underwater garden,” says Beyers, co-founder of the community-owned regenerative ocean farm, Câr-y-Môr. The 3-hectare site is part of a fledgling sector, one of 12 farms in the UK, which key players believe could boost ocean biodiversity, produce sustainable agricultural fertiliser and provide year-round employment in areas that have traditionally been dependent on tourism.

Created in 2020 by Beyers and six family members, including his father-in-law – an ex-shellfish farmer – the motivation is apparent in the name, which is Welsh for “for the love of the sea”. ...

Pictured: Drone shot of Câr-y-Môr, which is on the site of abandoned mussel farms. Image: Scott Chalmers

Ocean farming comes from the technical term ‘integrated multi-trophic aquaculture’, which means a mixture of different seaweed and shellfish species growing together to mutually benefit each other. But it’s not just a way of growing food with little human input, it also creates ocean habitat.

“You’re creating a breeding ground for marine animals,” explains Beyers who adds that the site has seen more gannets diving, porpoises and seals – to name a few – since before the farm was established.

Ocean farms like Câr-y-Môr, notes Ross Brown – environmental research fellow at the University of Exeter – have substantial conservation benefits.

“Setting up a seaweed farm creates an exclusion zone so fishermen can’t trawl it,” explains Brown, who has been conducting experiments on the impacts of seaweed and shellfish farms across the UK.

Brown believes a thriving ocean farming industry could provide solutions to the UK’s fish stock, which is in “a deeply troubling state” according to a report that found half of the key populations to be overfished. “It would create stepping stones where we have safe havens for fish and other organisms,” he adds.

But UK regulators have adopted a cautious approach, note Brown and Beyers, making it difficult for businesses like Câr-y-Môr to obtain licenses. “It’s been a tough old slog,” says Beyers, whose aim is to change the legislation to make it easier for others to start ocean farms.

Despite navigating uncharted territories, the business now has 14 full-time employees, and 300 community members, of which nearly 100 have invested in the community-benefit society. For member and funding manager Tracey Gilbert-Falconer, the model brings expertise but most importantly, buy-in from the tight-knit local community.

“You need to work with the community than forcing yourself in,” she observes.

And Câr-y-Môr is poised to double its workforce in 2024 thanks to a Defra grant of £1.1 million to promote and develop the Welsh seafood industry as part of the UK Seafood Fund Infrastructure Scheme. This will go towards building a processing hub, set to be operational in April, to produce agricultural fertiliser from seaweed.

Full of mineral nutrients and phosphorous from the ocean, seaweed use in farming is nothing new, as Gilbert-Falconer notes: “Farmers in Pembrokeshire talk about their grandad going down to the sea and throwing [seaweed] on their farms.”

But as the war in Ukraine has caused the price of chemical fertiliser to soar, and the sector tries to reduce its environmental impact – of which synthetic fertiliser contributes 5% of total UK emissions – farmers and government are increasingly looking to seaweed.

The new hub will have capacity to make 65,000 litres of sustainable fertiliser annually with the potential to cover 13,000 acres of farmland.

But to feed the processing hub, generate profit and reduce their dependency on grants, the co-op needs to increase the ocean farm size from three to 13 hectares. If they obtain licences, Beyers says they should break even in 18 months.

For now, Beyers reflects on a “humbling” three years but revels in the potential uses of seaweed, from construction material to clothing.

“I haven’t seen the limit yet,” he smiles."

-via Positive.News, February 19, 2024

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samheughanswife · 5 months ago

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youtube

What is a kiss? Usually a way to express love, affection or as part of a greeting.

So let’s put this into perspective.

. Cast photographed together before boarding the bus that drove them to Murrayfield. So it’s a given that greetings were exchanged. Kisses and hugs, at the very beginning of the class excursion to TS concert with both the Headmistress and her deputy in attendance.

. Arrival and settling into the VIP tent and waiting for the pre show performance. Drinks, talking and familiarising themselves with the setup. Access, security, toilets.

. Sam and Caitriona would have been cognisant that the performance was filmed. All the other performances have been with multiple cameras and drones. TS set the standards very high with the use of technology so everyone can enjoy and benefit from her concerts.

. The chances of being filmed were high. They were very close to the stage and in the line of sight of the multiple cameras. These are two people very well versed in outdoor and location filming. Not novices. They would have seen the crew pre show.

. Paramore start their set with introductions and then their performance.

. Not sure how long they were in attendance before Paramore came on stage and not my job to find out. But suffice to say co-star catchup interactions were done and dusted.

What the video shows is a woman, Caitriona, so intuitively and intimately comfortable with Sam that she draws him in, arm around his neck and kisses him. Twice. It’s there on film. And it’s this that has the tumblrinas knickers so twisted.

We see a Caitriona who clearly not only “likes” her costar ( you know that she is said to hate him) but initiates UNNECESSARY closeness and deep affection, LOVE, for Sam whichever way you look at it. It was hours into being together on the excursion, not minutes.

These aren’t stills or screenshots. It’s on film. In technicolour. Swifty technicolour 🩷💚🩵🩶💙❤️💛🤎💜.

The existence of this video was dropped into the inbox of multiple accounts. It was there to watch and disseminate and ultimately share.

The only one to do so was @sgiandubh. I thank you so much and I’m saddened but not surprised that you have had to deal with the typical bullshit that comes from sharing any content that rattles the entrenched group think and mindset of so many.

“You think I’d leave your side, baby

You know me better than that

You think I’d leave when you’re down on your knees

I wouldn’t do that” By your Side, Sade 🤎

Caitriona showed not only her support for Sam after the HH pap walk but love as well. Platonic if you aren’t a believer and of course for me a woman who was unafraid and with zero fucks to give because she was aware that there was a chance it would be seen and still she moved in with the kisses and hugs.

Smooth operator ( sorry couldn’t help myself 😘)

N.B. Real life happens, I’m not here hitting refresh 24/7.

I’ve enjoyed reading the experts trying to make it make sense. The discomfort is real.

Caitriona forcing herself to get through a few hours of non work ( but it kinda was) with a co star she has barely tolerated these past few years and what do we see, deep down love and affection.

As as it’s often screeched ‘photos or it didn’t happen’ well we have video footage!!

#Youtube

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wh1msic4lwasab1 · 6 months ago

Text

”Dear Assistant”

synopsis: you take up a job with the fatui, and you didn’t think being a doctors assistant meant being the doctors assistant.

tags: medical malpractice, dub-con, insertion, vulgar, explicit, sadist!Dottore

wrd cnt: 1.4k

a/n: lowkey not feeling like my best writing but i hope yall enjoy

You stood outside the unmarked door, clutching the letter that had brought you to this mysterious location. The Fatui's emblem adorned the top of the page, and the words "Confidential Assistant Position" were typed in bold font. You had applied for the job, hoping to use your skills to make a difference in the world of Teyvat. The pay was generous, and the benefits were unparalleled. But as you raised your hand to knock, a shiver ran down your spine. Something didn't feel right.

The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit corridor that seemed to stretch on forever. A figure in a white coat beckoned you forward, their face obscured by the shadows.

"Welcome. I am Doctor- ah, my apologies. You may call me Dottore. I've been expecting you."

You followed Dottore through the winding corridors, taking in the sights and sounds of the laboratory. Beakers bubbled, and strange machinery hummed in the background. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and something else... something sweet and metallic.

As you entered the main laboratory, your eyes widened in awe. Rows of workstations stretched out before you, each one cluttered with equipment and strange devices. In the center of the room, a large, metal table dominated the space. Dottore gestured for you to approach.

"This is where the real work happens, my dear assistant. I've been working on a project of great importance, and I require someone with your...unique voluntary willingness."

You felt a flutter in your chest as Dottore's eyes locked onto yours. His gaze was piercing, and you couldn't help but feel like he was seeing right through you.

"What kind of project?" you asked "Ah, well…" Dottore said, his voice low and husky. "I'm working on a project that will change the course of human history. A project that will unlock the secrets of the human mind and grant us unimaginable power."

He gestured to a nearby workstation, where a strange device hummed and whirred. It looked like a cross between a medical scanner and a medieval torture rack.

"This is the Neuro-Resonance Amplifier," Dottore explained. "With this device, we can tap into the deepest desires and fears of the human mind. We can manipulate thoughts, emotions, and actions. We can create an army of mindless drones, loyal only to us."

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Dottore's eyes gleamed with excitement. This was getting out of hand, and you weren't sure if you wanted to be a part of it.

"But what about ethics?" you asked, trying to sound calm. "Isn't this a bit... extreme?"

Dottore chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "Ethics are for the weak. In this world, it's every man for himself."

He stepped closer, his eyes burning with intensity. "And I think you are too, y/n. I think you have a certain... spark within you. A spark that I can fan into a flame."

You felt a flutter in your chest as Dottore's words sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure what he meant, but you had a feeling that you were in over your head.

Suddenly, Dottore's expression changed, and he became all business. "Now, let's get down to work. We have a lot to cover, and I need your full attention."

He gestured to the metal table in the center of the room, and you felt a sense of trepidation. What did he have planned for you?

"Please" Dottore said, his voice dripping with darkness. "Take off your shirt and lay down on the table. We're going to begin your...consultation."

You felt a wave of fear wash over you as you realized that you were trapped with some crazy scientist. But you had to keep this job, somehow.

Hesitantly, you removed your top, and layed your head down slowly on the cushioned end of the table. Dottore had soon started taping small pieces of wire and metal to your arms and torso, two on each side of your temples as well.

“Now, you’re going to help me with the first stages of this, excited?” He joked, taking this whole human experiment thing way too casually.

You lay there, breathing heavily as you don’t know what to expect.

He finished setting a few things up on the computer, and you observed a chart on the projector infront of you; screencasting the computer with a plethora of scattered pieces of what seemed to be data alongside a key.

Without much warning, Dottore pulled you up by your waist, hoisting your body up and standing next to you and holding your face up to look at him.

You haven’t gotten a chance to clearly take a look at him before, but you observed each fragment of his face; his eyes pierced yours in a way that turns them into ice, frozen in place.

“I need you to remain calm, try to keep your limbs the same.” He said, before snapping on a pair of blue gloves and pressing pressure points along your back.

Every harsh breath you’d take at the pressure caused the chart to create a spike in data.

The lower he went, the more data appeared on the chart.

“Hmm… I see.” He mumbled.

He set his clipboard down, and pushed your body down. “Don’t yell too loud now, I’ve been getting far too many noise complaints from the others.”

You felt as if someone struck a strong left hook into your stomach, the worst possibilities reaching your brain.

The room’s lights dimmed, even brooding noises of flickering lights distract you from your thoughts.

You were on your back, chilly scales under your hips and barely clad skin. With a sudden pull, Dottore pulled your trousers off, throwing them away and spreading your legs apart as if you’d signed away your body to him.

“Ack—Fuck-What are you doing!?” You hissed, as you felt his hand grab hold of your face roughly

“This is for the research, sweetheart,” He mumbled, his deep voice coated in mania.

“Doctor- please...” You gasped, feeling him dig for something deep within you, your hand under his grip struggling to free itself.

“I need to be sure, until the data calms down I can’t trust it.” He said, the annoyance laced with concern felt like an aftertought, not fully registered until he panted, “You signed up for this. Now do the part.” He said moreso like a warning.

Apart of you wanted to scream, but another was screaming to find out more. You felt shameful of the heat growing within you, and even more ashamed that he could definitely tell.

“Let’s see what the data shows, shall we?” He said sternly, picking up a rod-like device that seemed to be a good forearms length.

“I-“ You began, finding a it in you to at least say something.

“Shh…” He interrupted, shutting you up.

He dragged your body back up so he could sit behind you, pulling your hair to one side so he could observe what his hands were doing inbetween your legs.

“Doctor please I don’t think this is-Shit, Oh fucking God-!” You moaned, feeling his gloved fingers rip off your panties and insert the device inside you.

“Oh my…you’re so wet it just slid right in. You like this don’t you? Fucking slut.” He’d say, before pushing it in and out of you at a faster pace each swipe, laughing against your ear as the chart turned into a mess; points of data appearing every second.

“Ahh- Doctor-! It hurts….” You yelled, feeling the cold metal fill you up, over and over again as he rammed it inside you from behind, holding your thigh apart with his large hand as he observed the chart furiously.

“Shut up.” He exclaimed, moving his hand to cover your mouth as he kept going.

“Shhh….It’ll feel good soon. Just keep quiet. Such a messy little thing.” He said, letting you lay your head on his shoulder as you melted into him, feeling your pussy tingle with warmth as you felt the knot in your stomach threaten to burst.

And him pinching your hard nipples was just what you needed, feeling small bursts of liquid shoot out of you, splattering over the metal table

Your legs began to shake as everything escaped you, practically soaking the table along with the sleeve of his lab coat.

He felt tears from your eyes soak his hand as it ran down your face, muffled moans and pleas escaping your mouth and into the cavern of his palm.

“Tch- fine”. He said, removing the object out of you and leaving it on the table as he went back to his chair, “Clean this up.”

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

#jo’s posts #genshin smut #dottore #dottore smut #genshin dottore #genshin dottore smut #genshin impact smut

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