#but i’m interested to see the other percentages

[impossible-rat-babies]

puppets bunker and ddos attacks have never been so much fun

[wanders-in-wonderland]

The Popular Vote

The livestream always happens on midnight of Saturday. There’s a hefty buy-in to be able to tune in but that never stops the audience from growing in number every stream. Every viewer has one ballot per round, each round is different. Cast your ballot before the vote ends and the majority option gets played out in real-time.

This Saturday night, I made the mistake of staying overtime at work, and I missed the last train home. Which meant walking alone on a dark path that, in the daylight, would be a breezy twenty minute stroll. But at night, it’s a different story. And clearly, since that dark trek put me in the perfect position to be taken away in a van by men who were interested in seeing me crying and screaming in pain and pleasure, at the whim of a merciless audience.

When I wake up, I’m naked and tied up, arms and legs spread out, suspended from the ceiling, with each foot on a small platform that offered enough support to take the strain off my arms and shoulders but not enough to offer any true leverage.

It takes me a few minutes to shake off the grogginess of whatever sedative they’d drugged me with, but when I do, I feel my blood run cold.

I’m surrounded by massive screens, several of which show live footage of my predicament from different angles. The screen that scares me the most is the one showing a live chat feed, with a constant barrage of messages coming in from viewers. The set-up is terrifyingly sophisticated and fear curdles my stomach in a way that makes tears well up in my eyes.

“Please! Please let me go!” I cry into the cold, unfeeling room of machinery and screens. My body struggles against the bindings but there’s no give. There’s no audible reply but I watch the chat light up with comments that make me shudder.

“I fucking love when the whores beg before we’ve even started.”

“She’s hot when she’s squirming, can’t wait to see how much she struggles tonight.”

“I wanna see her beg for mercy. Not that there will be any.”

I sob harder, tears making the chat box blurry in my vision. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that there’s no one and nothing saving me from whatever is going to happen here.

Suddenly, a robotic voice fills the room. “Welcome to The Popular Vote. For those of you who are new to the show, please remember that each of you have a single vote to cast during every round. Vote in the allotted time and our team will implement the majority vote’s decision. Please enjoy the show.”

I gasp when the door to the room opens and four men walk in, dressed in identical black uniforms with masks covering their faces.

“Please! Please, let me go, this is a mistake!” My desperate voice fills the room but has no impact on the men, they didn’t even look in my direction, instead walking past me towards a storage cabinet behind me.

I watch through the camera’s footage as they open the cabinets and start to pull out item after item. Each one makes me more and more scared as they pull out various toys, vibrators, and other devices and machines I don’t even recognize.

There’s an electronic ding that fills the room and the same robotic voice is back. “Our first poll is beginning. Please vote now. Option 1 is subjecting our victim to clitoral stimulation by vibrator. Option 2 is vaginal penetrative stimulation by fucking machine.”

I cry out, “Wait, no, please! I don’t want this, please stop!” I watch in vain as the votes start to roll in on the screen, a feeling of helplessness overwhelming me as I watch two competing bars increase in percentage on the screen as viewers place their ballots.

There’s a robotic series of dings that sound, signaling the final few seconds of voting and through my panic, I see that the second option has pulled ahead of the first.

I choke out another sob as I watch the four men in the room start moving towards me. Two of them are rolling a machine over, a motorized piston with a massive dildo attached to the end of it. Clearly it’s meant for me.

“Please, please, no, I don’t want this, please stop!” I know it’s useless to beg but I can’t help it. My voice is shaky and thin with apprehension and I can tell it has no effect on any of the men. I glance to the chat box and the messages there make me feel even more helpless.

“That whore is going to love that machine, these little sluts always do.”

“I hope she squirts and cries when she realizes she likes this, stupid whore is going to get fucking ruined.”

In the few moments I spent reading comments, the men have rolled the fucking machine right under me and started to raise it to reach my core.

With my legs tied down and spread, there is nothing protecting me from the toy and it’s violation of me. I feel the tip of the fake cock brush my core and I thrash pointlessly, barely able to move to make a difference.

As the machine continues to rise, I feel my stomach clench when I realize that my pussy is wet. I gasp when I feel the tip of the dildo breach my core, the thickness of the toy filling me so well that I can’t help but groan. The machine continues, pushing the toy slowly and steadily filling my cunt. My back arches as I feel it rub against every part of my now-dripping cunt and I whine when it finally comes to a stop, fully seated inside of me.

I’m panting, the massive dildo splitting me open in a way that feels so fucking good. I clench around it and whimper when pleasure shoots up my spine. I glance at the livestream and see my own image, my eyes wild and body heaving from the pleasure of just having the toy inside of me. The chat box is flooded with comments about me, the way I look, the sounds I make, and the anticipation of what is to come.

Suddenly, one of the men in the room toggles a switch on the machine, and it begins.

My scream is drawn-out and wanton in response to the indescribable pleasure that floods my every sense. The men set the machine at a relentless pace, the huge cock driving into my cunt ruthlessly at a pace that is virtually inhuman.

I’m lost in the sensation of every single thrust sliding against my g-spot and slamming into my cervix, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. I can feel my body trembling at the onslaught of raw, unadulterated pleasure and the sounds that the machine is pulling from my lips could make a pornstar blush. I can feel the creeping warmth of an orgasm fast approaching as the machine fucks me into submission.

Suddenly, an electronic ding sounds. The robotic voice comes on again, with an announcement that barely registers in my pleasure-scrambled brain. “Please vote to determine the next step. Option 1 subjects our victim to forced orgasms, option 2 is edging and orgasm denial, and option 3 is ruined orgasms.”

I whine and plead but I don’t even know what I’m begging for. My eyes are too unfocused to see the progression of the vote, and of the options, I can’t even begin to fathom which would be the best. I hear the three dings that signal the vote has ended and I force my eyes to focus on the screen, my stomach clenching when I see the result: ruined orgasms.

The machine hasn’t relented on its motions, each thrust driving into my wet cunt in a way that is so perfectly and achingly torturous. My clit is throbbing and part of me wishes I could grind it against something, anything to give me a little more stimulation to push me over the edge. But there’s nothing beyond the machine forcing its cock deep inside of me, making me ride the wave of pleasure that pushes me towards to precipice of a massive orgasm. I feel my entire body tense in response to the impending onslaught of pleasure and my pussy clenches around the dildo splitting me open.

Two more hard thrusts pushes me over the edge and I let out a moaning scream as I feel the tension snap and my body clenches in burning pleasure. A seemingly endless wave of overwhelming and uncontrollable pleasure slams into me as my orgasm erupts. At that exact moment, the toy inside of me a delivers a horrible jolt of electricity, one that slams through my cunt and cruelly and abruptly yanks my body away from pleasure.

The pain takes my breath away but my body reacts more to my ruined orgasm than it does the shock. My moan turns into a wail as useless pleas pour out of my mouth, tears running down my cheeks as I feel the toy continue to fuck me through the disappointment of an orgasm it forced upon me. There’s a cruel emptiness inside of me despite the unrelenting fake cock that fills me with every thrust and a gut-wrenching, unfulfilling hunger that overtakes the pleasure that was horribly ripped away from me.

“Ah, fuck, please, please make it stop!” My voice is ragged and desperate as I plead for mercy from an uncaring audience. The men in the room are maintaining their cold indifference towards my suffering as the machine under their control continues to batter my body.

I feel my body shudder in overstimulation as the merciless machine pushes me closer to another orgasm. There’s no break or respite and my pleas fall onto deaf ears.

And as before, just as I feel my orgasm approaching, the feverish pleasure barely rises within me before it’s ripped away, ruined by the delivery of a shocking pain through my pussy that makes me scream in anguish.

The next time it happens, I hear myself wail out desperate cries and pleas that are met with silence. The time after that, my body jerks pitifully in the bindings as every muscle tenses in grief. The one following is the strongest one yet, the constant buildup and denial pushing my body to the brink of tortured pleasure. As the achingly sweet orgasm barrels through me, my pussy clenches down and gushes with my release. I can feel my own juices flowing down my legs, but my squirting orgasm isn’t any different than the previous cruelly ruined ones. The impeccably-timed electric shock yanks my body back from what would have been a mind-shattering, toe-curling sensation and leaves me feeling hollow and helpless.

After that, I stop keeping track of the ruined orgasms. My body should have been shuddering from the overstimulation of countless orgasms but instead, it aches with a voracious, unfulfillable ache that creates an unbearable cycle of horrible, desperate need barely satisfied with every orgasm until it’s torn away. The predictability of it does nothing to assuage the torment, it only makes it worse, to have every beautiful moment of pleasure marred by the inevitable loss that I can do nothing about.

An electronic ding breaks through the haze, another round. The machine beneath me pauses and I choke back a sob at the temporary relief, desperately try to focus on the words that are being announced.

“Our next round will be introducing pharmacological enhancements and orgasm denial. Please select to determine which of the following will be administered to our victim. Option 1 is administration of our proprietary aphrodisiac with no excess stimulation. Option 2 is administration of our proprietary numbing treatment with clitoral stimulation by vibrator.”

My mind wraps around the meaning behind the announcement and I feel myself tremble with desperation. I want nothing more than to cum, just to feel the full, body-shaking, mind-numbing torrent of pleasure that will flood me when a full, uninterrupted orgasm washes over me. But it’s clear that they have other plans.

I watch as the votes roll in, my heart pounding as the two options are very evenly matched in popularity. I brave a glance at the chat box and whimper when I see the comments.

“I fucking love driving a whore insane with denial. I wonder what kind of promises she’ll make to try and convince us to let her cum.”

“If she were mine, I’d never let her cum again. Sluts don’t deserve orgasms.”

Three dings break my concentration and I swing my gaze over to see the results. Option 2 has won out, but barely. I whimper softly as the four men immediately begin to set up. I watch as they wheel the fucking machine out from under me. A blush stains my cheeks when I see the dildo dripping in slick, evidence of my countless ruined orgasms.

I watch through heavy lidded eyes as one of the men reached for a small container. He deftly opens it and dips a gloved finger in, his finger coming out coated in a creamy ointment.

I watch as he comes towards me, his ointment-covered fingers coming to meet my clit in a soft motion that makes me cry out. He is thorough as he rubs the ointment onto my clit, his fingers gently moving against me, offering a delicious friction that pushes me closer towards another orgasm.

The curling warmth of an oncoming rush builds in my core but before I could fully embrace the pleasure, he pulls away and I choke out a whine. “No please, please I’m so close,” my voice is so broken to my own ears but not enough to sway the man.

They wheel out a different machine, this one shaped like a saddle, lined with ridges that line up perfectly to vibrate against and wreak havoc on my sensitive clit. It doesn’t take long for the men to position the machine underneath me. I feel the cold material of the machine against my burning hot pussy and without even thinking about it, I start to grind myself against it. A broken moan leaves my lips at the pleasure that fills me and I whine softly, trying harder to move myself to rub my throbbing clit against the machine that was very quickly starting to dampen from my dripping cunt.

I know without looking at my own image on the livestream that I made for a shameful display of wanton lust and desperation but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My hips move desperately, the bindings making it so that my movements were limited but not impossible. My eyes drift shut as I chase the pleasure, continuing to grind against the machine.

I can feel myself approaching my orgasm, a few more moments and I could almost taste the sweet pleasure. But something was wrong. Even as I rolled my hips against the machine, I could feel sensation fading in between my legs. My clit throbs and aches but the feeling of the ridges against me has become muted, and no matter how hard I grind myself against the machine, the result was the same and I’m faced with the reality that the orgasm I was chasing so closely is too far out of reach now.

I cry out, begging into the void, “Please, no, please! Make it come back, please! I need to cum, I need it!”

My begs are met with silence and I glance towards the chat box, hoping to see something, anything, that would bring me relief. But there’s nothing but cruel, taunting comments.

“Dumb fucking whore doesn’t even understand what’s happening to her stupid body.”

“They haven’t even turned on the machine yet and she’s crying. I love when sluts realize that there’s nothing they can do against the numbing cream.”

“Her clit is so fucking swollen, I hope she doesn’t get a good orgasm at all tonight.”

Suddenly, the machine beneath me roars to life. I gasp when I feel the vibrations course through my body, the harsh motion batters my clit, but instead of being overwhelmed with pleasure, all I can feel is a vague sensation. I sob when the real understanding of what is happening sinks in. The numbing cream they used on me has left me completely unable to feel the machine. I can feel my pussy clenching in need, dripping over the machine uselessly, unable to enjoy any of it. There are wordless whines and begs erupting from my lips as I chase an unreachable end. I beg because there’s nothing else I can do, and because I know that’s what the audience wants to see.

As my mind wraps around this knowledge, I feel broken. My pussy clenches at the understanding that I’m here purely for other people’s entertainment. My suffering is for their enjoyment, and every orgasm ruined, denied, or forced out of my helpless body is done so without any regard to me or my pleasure. I stare into the camera as the machine underneath me batters my clit in a way that should be making me scream. Despite that realization, or maybe because of that realization, my cunt is leaking and clenching and throbbing. My entire being has narrowed to my clit and my cunt, the ghost sensations of pleasure brushing against my psyche.

My mind is fracturing under the torment of nothing. It tries to rationalize, to make feeling where there is none, and if I really focus, I can fool myself into believing that my clit isn’t numb, isn’t blind to the torturous machine that should be pulling orgasm after orgasm out of me. I don’t know how long I’m suspended in nothingness, how long I’m held in this punishing situation of unreachable pleasure.

Three dings pull me out of my mindless misery. My eyes jump to the screen, seeing the chat light up with excited comments about what’s the come. The robotic voice fills the room.

“We reach the end of our night together and our final poll, please vote now. Option 1 allows our victim to be subjected to forced orgasms after we administer the antidote to the numbing cream in combination with targeted electrostimulation while option 2 involves continued denial with impact play and flogging.”

I can’t stop myself from screaming into the room. “Please! Please, fuck, please let me cum! Please!”

I writhe and renew my struggling, starting to futilely grind myself against the vibrator, hoping that the vote will go in my favor. My eyes glance towards to chat box, my heart pounding in anticipation as I read the flood of messages, hoping desperately for mercy.

“I don’t think this fucking whore deserves to cum tonight, I’d rather see her get her tits whipped.”

“I want to see her pass out from being forced to cum over and over again. Plus I wanna see her tight little body shake with electricity.”

My eyes flit to the results of the poll and my heart leaps when I realize option 1 is pulling ahead. Three dings confirm the results of the vote and immediately, I see one of the men approach me with the antidote.

I sob when his fingers brush this new ointment over my swollen clit and all I can do is babble out whines of gratitude. It doesn’t take long for the antidote to take effect as the vibration of the toy begins to wreck me.

There’s no slow, soft build of pleasure. There’s only pure, bone-shattering sensation that slams into me. It tears my breath away and my body erupts in orgasm. The countless denied and ruined orgasms from the beginning of the night seem to have compounded into one horrible explosion of pleasure that rips through me.

I have no sense of the world around me, my entire being has narrowed to the overwhelming wave of sensation. My cunt pulses, spraying my release over the machine that offers me no respite as it forces my body to unimaginable heights.

Suddenly, a sharp jolt of pain along my side breaks into my haze. My eyes dart over and I see the four men crowded around me, each holding an electric wand that pulses a harsh zap through me at every touch.

“No! Please! Stop!” I scream, my voice pitching higher as the men start their torment. Quick jabs around the soft skin of my stomach, hips, thighs, and arms make me scream and thrash but none of that dulls any of the feeling from the vibrator between my legs.

The pain and pleasure rocks through my body and mind, both blending together in a cruel medley that draws wordless screams from my throat. Another orgasm slams through me right as I feel a terrible zap on my nipple. The scream that bursts out of me makes my own ears ache. My psyche is cracking under the onslaught of torment and there’s not a single part of my body that isn’t screaming in overstimulation. I’m nothing more than a collection of raw nerves and throbbing muscles.

The next zap hits the exposed part of my clit and my ears ring as my vision fades to black. That’s the last thing I remember from that night.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m home, in my own bed, my body achingly sore and exhausted. I glance to my bedside table and I see an envelope. In it is a USB and a note with a phone number.

“Enjoy the footage, we certainly did. Call us if you want a repeat.”

I crawl out of bed to grab my laptop and phone, and I save the number to my contacts.

------

Author's Note: I think this is my longest story yet and hope y'all enjoy! Also, I like to imagine this happens in the same universe as Pay to Play, and I'm jealous because I want to live in that universe ;)

[wandaslovey]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭

➺ natasha romanoff x inexperienced!fem!bi!reader

*not my gif*

wc ~ 1.5k

a/n: just wanted to warn/emphasize.. reader is bisexual and this is kind of written where natasha is like her “bi awakening.”

a/n: okay so i wrote this months ago to dip my toes back into writing again… it’s definitely not my best work, but i wanted to get a natasha fic out there on my blog since i only have wanda fics on my master list rn.

cw: really none except that reader is an extreme overthinker

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

“natasha, be for real right now. you know i don’t like going out.”

“c’mon. you’re young and beautiful and full of light and energy. you should be going out there, breaking boys hearts and making new friends.”

god she was insufferable. she was calling me beautiful? does she not see herself?? and breaking guys hearts, what’s that about?

“‘tasha you should know better than anyone that i’ve been steering clear of men lately. i just don’t want to be in a relationship right now.”

really the idea of it was wholly overwhelming. the thought of having to open myself up to rejection, make myself so vulnerable in front of a man (especially).. god knows there is a increasingly small percentage of men worthy of my vulnerability.

“oh god (Y/N), you don’t need to be in a relationship to have some fun. just let loose a little, that’s all,” she encourages with that devious little twinkle in her eye. an amused smile was playing on her lips and i knew she found my “uptightness” entertaining at times.

“are you saying i should go around having sex with random men?” i raise my eyebrows in accusation, though i knew i was taking her implication a step too far.

she rolls her eyes, a smile touching her lips.

“you know what i mean… i think a little kissing will loosen you up in a good way.”

i give her a look, one that clearly shows the fact that i think she’s being absurd before i turn back around and go back to scrolling on my phone.

“what was that look?” she asks, turning her body towards me in the swively chair that sat in front of my desk. she was hugging one knee up to her chest, the other dangling from the seat.

“nothing,” i mumble dismissively, shaking my head as i truly didn’t want to broach this subject with her at present.

“no no no, that wasn’t nothing. that was something. . . what, do you have something against kissing?”

her tone implies an edge that she didn’t really believe i had anything against kissing.. which would make her partially incorrect. i didn’t have anything against kissing, i was just extremely inexperienced and that made it all the more daunting.

“can we not talk about this? you seem all too invested in my ‘suggestive conduct.’”

suddenly she’s out of the chair and padding across the hardwood floor to where i was sitting criss cross applesauce in the middle of my made bed.

“this i have to know..” she sits next to me, seemingly effortlessly turning my body towards her so i’m facing her and she plucks the phone out of my hands, setting it beside her.

“you always dodge me when i start talking about things like this.” her facial expression was sinfully amused and i could sense that she was not going to let this go this time. i find myself swallowing a lump in my throat as for the umpteenth time, i’m taken aback by her beauty.

her orange red hair slightly wavy from her shower earlier and parted down the middle. her face was bare of any makeup which i felt only made her green eyes jump out more against her skin.

“nat, c’mon..” i plea with her to drop it, hoping she would lose interest in the subject.

she smiles at me, tilting her head as she takes in my slightly abashed expression.

“you’ve never been kissed before, have you?”

“no, no i have. it’s just been awhile,” i shrug, still trying to dismiss the subject by being nonchalant about it.

“how long?” she presses.

“like 5 years almost,”

“five years??” her mouth gapes slightly through her smile, her eyes bright and eager as if she was thoroughly entertained by this information.

“and that was your first kiss?” she adds after i hadn’t said anything.

“well no, it was my second kiss technically.”

“okay so, let me get this straight, you’ve only ever kissed 2 guys in your life and the last time was 5 years ago?” she tries to clarify to which i just nod my head and then shrug.

“why?” she asks, sounding genuinely surprised at learning my lack of experience.

i sigh, peeling my eyes from my lap to look at her as i reply. “i just didn’t have good experiences either time and it turned me off from really wanting to try it again. that’s all.”

“they weren’t good at kissing?”

“well.. i mean they were both fine, i guess. i don’t have much to compare it to. i just didn’t really want to kiss either of them. i just did it because i was afraid to hurt their feelings. then afterwards i ended up regretting it because it wasn’t that good enough for it to justify doing it casually.”

she nods her head once at my words, taking in my explanation.

“and now? you’re afraid your next experiences will be the same?”

“um well.. yeah i think so. i’m also just embarrassed by my lack of experience. i’ve just gotten it in my head that i’m a terrible kisser.” i cast my eyes down again, feeling a little

embarrassed at having admitted this to her.

she smirks, the sound causing me to shrink further into myself even though i could tell she was trying to muffle her reaction.

“now why would you think something like that?”

her voice had a bit of a suggestive edge to it, causing my body to be on even more alert.

“i don’t know… i just do,” my eyes were still downcast, my fingers fidgeting with the hair tie around my wrist. it was quiet between us for several beats and i feel my face start to heat up in the silence.

just as i was about to say something, anything to break the silence, i feel her fingers under my chin, lifting my face up to look at her.

“you think you might want some practice?”

she asks me out of the blue. her eyes were intent on mine, a sinful, unabashed smile on her face. immediately, my heart rate picked up and i had to remind myself to breath normally as to not have an outward reaction to her question.

“wh..huh?” i ask confused, my mind already beginning to feel foggy at the thought of kissing the natasha romanoff.

“well now i’m curious to know if you are a bad kisser or not.” she was shameless. confidence in her suggestion practically radiating from her form. her eyes slowly travel down my face to my lips before she flicks them back up to my eyes.

“will you let me kiss you? i won’t bite,” she slowly leans in closer to me, her eyes naturally drifting to my lips again.

“i..i can’t.” i breath out, my lips parting as i breathe through my mouth. my eyes were scanning all over her face, frantic as i try to find an excuse to weasel out of this.

i want to kiss her.. i really do. but if i really was a bad kisser and she found out, i would be utterly mortified.

“nat…” i try, leaning back just slightly to put a couple more inches distance between us.

she follows my movement, leaning her body forward as i lean back, closing the gap i created as soon as it was there. i’m assaulted by her smell. it was like cinnamon, vanilla and sandalwood and completely intoxicating.

“don’t think about it too much. i can practically hear the overthinking in that head of yours,” she smiles.

“wh-what if i’m bad at it?” i try to reason with her, to save both her and myself from this experience. she shakes her head, that amused smile still playing on her lips.

“shh.. sweet girl. just relax your lips and follow my lead, okay?” one of her hands reaches up and tucks some hair behind my ear. her fingertips linger on my jaw as she leans in closer. i am utterly captivated, unable to even think properly as i find myself in the most surreal situation.

i close my eyes when her face was merely centimeters away. i can feel the warmth of her face and the tension, almost palpable now that we were so close. i tilt my head up ever so slightly, anticipating her lips against mine.

as i wait, it feels like the seconds drag on. i can hear my heart beating in my ears, smell vanilla and cinnamon and taste natasha’s breath on my tongue.

i was about to peek my eyes open when i finally feel her lips press against mine. it starts out as a close mouthed kiss, but after a mere couple of seconds, her lips part and i easily follow her lead through the kiss. she pulls away all too quickly, and i find myself immediately missing the loss of her lips.

“was that so scary detka?” she murmurs, her voice sounding even lower than normal.

i couldn’t be too sure how i looked to her, but my vision seemed hazy and i was almost positive i had a drunk expression on my face.

i shake my head from side to side.

“no.”

she hums and then brings a hand to my face, ever so gently brushing the back of her knuckles against my cheek. “ty tak milo nevinen. eto dragotsenno.” she leans in again, kissing me more firmly this time. i respond eagerly, meshing my lips around hers.

my insecurities and worries melted away the longer we kissed, the space between our where my body ended and hers began becoming lost.

[nevadancitizen]

-> THE BURDEN OF TOMORROW

synopsis: kamski reveals the one thing you know to be true as a lie: your humanity. connor can’t rightly sit idly by as you struggle to re-find yourself.

word count: 4.2k

ships: connor x reader, hank anderson & reader

notes: i’m skipping from fandom to fandom like i’m fucking window shopping huh. anyway connor the pinerrrr. connor the ultimate denier of feelingssssss

related reading: HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

You had been against the idea from the beginning. In your head, you traced the different ways Kamski would turn you, Hank, and Connor down – “I’m too busy to answer some stupid questions,” or “Go away, I’m trying to enjoy being a retired billionaire,” or “I’m Elijah fucking Kamski, and who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

But his android, Chloe, had welcomed all of you. And you couldn’t ignore how Kamski’s face brightened ever-so-slightly when he saw Connor. But it confused you even more when his eyes flitted to you and his expression brightened even more.

He started talking after he got out of his red-granite-lined pool, which didn’t really interest you. Your eyes turn to one of the Chloes that’s standing off to the side, her eyelids fluttering a little as she presumably scans you. When she’s done, her lips tilt upward in a smile and her head cocks to the side a little. It’s like… she knows you, or something. Like she was smiling because she saw an old friend.

Kamski’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Chloe?”

Chloe immediately walks over to Kamski, her bare feet making soft sounds against the tile, then muffled by the carpet. She sinks to her knees when he puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes slightly. 

“What interests me…” Kamski moves so he’s standing next to where Chloe’s kneeling. “… is whether machines are capable of empathy.”

He moves so his back is turned on all three of you, and opens a drawer of a side table near the window. “I call it the “Kamski Test.” It’s very simple, you’ll see.”

Kamski turns with his hands raised. One of them is holding a pistol by the barrel, in a way that it would be impossible to fire. Once he’s established that he’s not a threat, he moves forward and places the grip in Connor’s hand. Connor curls his fingers around it on instinct, his index on the trigger.

“What are you doing?” You interject.

Kamski looks over at you and smiles. It’s like you’re proving something to him. What you’re proving, you don’t know. 

He moves Connor’s arm so that the sights of the gun are trained on Chloe’s head. “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor. Destroy this machine, and I’ll tell you all I know. Or…”

Kamski makes a half-circle and stands beside Connor. “Spare it, if you feel it’s alive. But you’ll leave without having learnt anything from me.”

Hank scoffs and rolls his eyes, gently hitting your arm with an air of can you believe this fucking prick? “Okay, I think we’re done here. C’mon, let’s go, both of you. Sorry to get you outta your pool.”

You put your hand on Hank’s arm to still him and stare at Connor. His LED flickers between yellow and red, circling in on itself quickly as he stares down at Chloe. His eyelids flutter slightly as he tries to process everything around him, calculating and sorting every possibility into neat percentages.

“Connor?” You say softly, trying to break him from his trance. “Connor, come on. This is a waste of time – you don’t need to do this. It could mess with your…” you gesture at your forehead vaguely. “… microprocessors or whatever.”

Kamski exhales slightly and smiles. He takes the pistol by the barrel, gently taking it from Connor’s hand. Connor looks at Kamski, then back down at Chloe.

“Amazing,” Kamski breathes out.

“Yeah, amazing, I care about Connor.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s go.”

Connor catches your eye and nods. “I would’ve been okay. Shooting the android wouldn’t have impacted my microprocessors or any of my other biocomponents.”

“The kid’s just worried,” Hank cuts in. “Now, c’mon. We’re leaving.”

“Wait – one last thing.” Kamski brushes past, walking to the far wall. He presses his hand to a biometric scanner on the wall, causing it to let out a sound akin to a hiss as it opens. It creases vertically, then folds back. 

You let out a small sound of disbelief as you take in what Kamski revealed. Lining the walls of the hidden compartment is… information, yes, but not information about deviants. It’s information about you. 

Photos of you as a child, teenager, adult, and projections of what you’d look like as you aged. Reports on how you’ve been performing as a detective. Maps of interrelationships, circles labeled with names and a web of color-coded lines connecting them.

And, on the back wall, are blueprints. You’ve seen these types of schematics before – they’re for androids. 

Kamski turns and smiles when he sees your shocked face. “So it worked. You firmly believed you were human. Am I wrong, Detective?”

You feel a hand on the top of your back, and only barely register Hank shuffling you towards the exit as you stumble. “This is fucked. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, Kamski, but we’re out.”

“N-no, Hank, wait –” You dig your heels in, never once looking away from the hidden compartment. “Wait, Kamski, what is this?”

“Just an experiment.” Kamski follows your eyes and looks inside. “A personal pet project.”

“They’re not your goddamn passion project!” Hank snaps, ushering you along with a bit more force. “Now leave the kid alone.”

“Hank, please, I want to see –” You crane your neck, still trying to look. 

“This is damaging to your psyche,” Connor says, taking your arm and helping Hank herd you. “I – we need you operating at full capacity, for the sake of the case.”

“There it is, again!” Kamski laughs. “That beautiful thing, empathy.”

He walks into the room leisurely, like it’s a parlor instead of… whatever it is. “I don’t blame you for being curious. You’re a violent and irrepressible miracle, Detective.”

You struggle against Connor and Hank’s holds as you try to see more of the secret room. “Wh-what do you mean? Hank, let me see! I need to know what’s going on!”

You grab Hank’s arm with your free hand, tugging on his coat. “Hank, I promise I’ll be okay – just five minutes. All I need is five minutes! Please, let me do this. I just need to figure out what this is, then we can go. Just five minutes.”

Hank’s mouth curls into a scowl when he hears the emotion and pleading in your voice, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks. His eyes fall to the floor, then flick to Connor.

“I highly advise against that,” Connor says evenly, but his worry is betrayed by the way his jaw clenches. His fingers tighten around your upper arm. “Not only will this definitely cause irreversible psychological damage, it could possibly lead to a mental break.”

“Five minutes, Connor.” You look into his eyes. “How much damage can five minutes do?”

“A lot!” Connor says. But after a moment of eye contact, his eyes soften and he relents. He lets go of your arm and takes a step back, his shoes clicking against the tile.

Hank does the same, removing his hand from your back. He sighs and crosses his arms. “Five minutes, kid. That’s all you get.”

You immediately turn on your heel and rush into the room because, knowing Connor, he’d probably set an internal timer already. You hear both Hank and Connor follow you, standing at the edge of the doorway.

You scan the room, then pick out what to look at and what to question Kamski about. 

“This.” You point at a small tablet, showing a muted video of you dancing drunkenly at a crowded party. You’re wearing a hideous necktie like a headband and you get your face right in the camera as soon as you spot it. You can make out the words you’re saying – or, rather, yelling – “What’re you waiting for, man? Let’s party with Miss Page-Three all the way to Disco Ze-e-e-ero-o-o-o!”

You turn to Kamski. “What is this? Why do you have it?”

“Every person moves in a unique way,” Kamski says, shrugging slightly. “Androids already have a specific set of movements. I analyzed the way you moved – the way a human moved.”

“Moved?” You echo back. “What do you mean, moved? Don’t you mean move? Like, the present continuous verb?”

“I didn’t misspeak.” Kamski turns to a paper organizer on a desk and starts to flip through it. 

You exchange a glance with Hank, then Connor. Hank is more obvious with his unease, but you can tell Connor is fretting, too. He just keeps it in his mind, still silently calculating.

Kamski pulls out a manila folder and hands it to you. You turn it over and read what’s on the front. Typed out in neat Courier New is your name, your birth date, and a random date from a few years back – Feb. 21, 2034.

You undo the clasp and dump out the documents on a nearby desk. What’s inside only causes further confusion – there’s a photocopy of a will, a death certificate, an incident report, and photos of a car crash. The death certificate is… it’s yours, but it can’t be. Can it?

You pick up one of the pictures and hold it close to your face. The car is a mangled mess of metal, lit by red and blue police lights. Peeking out from underneath the rubble, limp on the concrete, is a hand. Your hand. And it’s stained with fresh, wet blood.

“Connor.” Your voice comes out weak and strained. You can’t lift your eyes from the photo. “Connor, get over here.”

Connor’s footsteps sound, quick and almost rushed. “Yes, Detective?”

“Scan this.” Your hand shakes as you hold the photo out to Connor. “I-is this…?”

Is this real? You want to ask. Please tell me it’s not, Connor. Connor, please-please-please tell me this is some stupid joke. I’m not afraid of dying, but what if I already have?

Connor leans down a little, his eyelids and LED flickering as he scans it. His face falls as soon as his LED resumes circling normally. “It’s… yes. I found a document containing that picture, but I… I’m not permitted to access it.”

“Okay, but that’s just s-some random wreck, right?” You laugh nervously, trying to ignore the lump growing in your throat. Can androids even cry? “It – it’s not me.”

Connor reaches down and sorts through the documents. When he comes across the death certificate, he freezes. His eyelids flutter as he scans it. He looks over at you, slowly. 

“No,” you whisper. “Connor, it… it can’t be real.”

“It is,” Connor says softly. “Detective, I… I’m so sorry.”

And, just like that, you’re disconnected. You’re outside of your body, stuck in the passenger seat and controlling a video game. There’s a lag to every movement you make. You recall some term you heard in a college psychology course you were required to take – disassociation. You vaguely register that this is what you’re feeling. 

With more effort than it should take, you turn to look at Hank. His expression, shocked and appalled, causes the dam to burst. Your shoulders shake as you cry, hot with misplaced shame. 

Connor wraps an arm around your shoulder, gently pushing you out of the room and towards the exit. Hank pats his shoulder, telling him to “Get them to the car – I’ve got a few choice words I need to exchange with our friend here.”

The car ride was tense, and that atmosphere transferred into Hank’s home. He had asked on the way back if you were okay being by yourself, and you were honest and told him that no, you’re not. He had sat you down and assured you that he wasn’t mad, he didn’t feel betrayed – he just needed time to think and adjust to this new change. 

He had turned in an hour ago, just a little past three in the morning. You know you couldn’t sleep if you tried. That left you and Connor in Hank’s living room. 

You’re laying on the floor with Sumo, his head on your chest and drool staining your shirt. One of your arms is propped behind your head, your other hand absentmindedly combing through Sumo’s fur. 

The silence is only broken by the ceiling fan clicking with every rotation and your breathing – artificial breathing, you suppose.

“Did you go into standby?” You ask softly. 

“No,” Connor answers from his seat on the couch. “Would you like to talk?”

“Maybe.” You trace the pattern of Sumo’s fur, then look over at Connor. “It’s just… I don’t feel like an android. And I have lots of memories. I remember going to Chicken Feed with Hank for the first time. He got me the best goddamn burger in Detroit. I remember finding a Lucky Star bottlecap when I was a kid – the, uh… the ones from that one sarsaparilla? With the blue star on the bottom. Androids don’t have memories like that. Memories from their childhood. Memories that make them feel things.”

Connor stands from the couch, then sits by your side. He puts his hand on Sumo’s head, gently tracing the white streak that cuts through brown fur. The fan continues to click as Connor thinks for a few moments, LED swirling as he does.

“I feel things, sometimes,” he says softly. “But not like how a deviant feels. I have a built-in reward system meant to keep me motivated. But sometimes I’m rewarded even when I do something unrelated to the case.”

“Like what?” You smile up at him. “Petting Sumo?”

Connor smiles softly, glancing away, then back to you. “Yes.”

You laugh softly, your eyes staying on Connor’s face, tracing this new expression. He doesn’t smile a lot, but you’re grateful for every second that he does. 

His brow creases a little, his smile disappearing. “Are you feeling alright? I want to know if you’re… I know this revelation has affected you negatively, but I just want to know of your general mental state.”

You sigh quietly, looking up and following one blade of the fan as it rotates. “I mean, I thought I had it all figured out, y’know? There’s a giant ball, and there’s evil apes. And the evil apes are just… dukin’ it out on the ball. And I’m one of them. It’s basically all just evil apes dukin’ it out on this giant ball.”

Connor tilts his head to the side. “And in this scenario… what are androids?”

“Androids don’t exist in this scenario,” you say. “Androids are too perfect. Like fine porcelain china. They’re for the future. I figured this out when I was young, before androids were everywhere. When there was just a giant ball and evil apes.”

“Hm.” Connor shifts slightly, so that his thigh is just barely pressed against your side. “And what do you feel now?”

“I… I don’t know.” You sigh. “I feel… kinda guilty, I think? Because, yeah, it’s bad. This doesn’t have any upside to it. But it’s not bad for anyone else aside from me, and Hank, to a lesser degree. It’s not death, or war, or – god forbid, pedophilia. It’s just me.”

You go quiet as you watch the fan rotate. Your fingers find the tags on Sumo’s collar, the tag with his name and Hank’s address and number clinking against his rabies vaccination tag.

“Humans are complicated,” Connor eventually says. 

You snort. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I…” he sighs. “I know you didn’t mean to deceive me. But I can’t believe I didn’t know – or at least have an inkling.”

“Shit, I deceived myself.” You laugh humorlessly. “You’re okay, Connor. You don’t need to change to accommodate me.”

“Adaptability to unpredictable human behavior is one of my core features,” he says.

“Am I really unpredictable?” You ask. Your eyebrows furrow as you fidget with Sumo’s tags. “Or, actually – am I really even human?”

Connor’s LED flashes yellow as he looks down at you, his eyelids fluttering as he scans you. He blinks a few times and his LED returns to a calm blue. 

“You’ve fooled my sensors,” Connor says. “And, if I may…”

His hand hovers over yours, which is still fidgeting with Sumo’s tags. You nod as you feel your heart skip a beat. He grabs your hand and lifts it to his solar plexus, right in the middle of his chest. 

“Do you feel that?” Connor asks. “It’s my thirium pump. Biocomponent #8456w.”

Sure enough, you feel a soft thrumming beneath your fingers. It’s not quite like a heartbeat, but a steady hum that fluctuates. Strong, then a steady decline to weak, then back to its strongest. 

You nod again, not trusting your voice at the moment. 

Connor moves your hand so that it’s resting on your own chest, right over your heart. You don’t really make an effort to check your heartbeat but, just like the last time you remember checking, there’s a steady beat. 

“You have a heart,” he says. 

“An artificial one,” you chime.

“Yes,” Connor relents. “But it proves that you’re not like me. Not a full android.”

“For all I know, Kamski cobbled me together in his creepy basement,” you try to joke. “Do you think he has one? Or is he too rich?”

“Detroit is located alongside a river,” Connor says. “The soil contains too much water for basement construction to be feasible.”

You roll your head a little, looking up at him. “You’re too literal. Don’t you have a humor microchip or something?”

Connor smiles slightly. “Unfortunately, no.” 

“Yes, you do!” You laugh and turn your hand over, grabbing his and shaking it gently. “You’re smiling. And you made a joke. A kind-of joke.”

Connor’s smile falters when he looks down at your connected hands. It’s not like you’ve laced fingers with him or anything, but it was still kind of intimate.

You clear your throat and let his hand go, instead carding your fingers through Sumo’s fur again. You can feel a blush creeping across your face. Once more, the room is only filled with the clicking of the fan with every rotation and your breathing. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you eventually sigh out. “I wish I could just wake up and start the day over. But then I open my eyes and the time has still passed and I’m still here. I still have to go through… whatever this is.”

“You don’t have to go through it alone,” Connor says. “Hank would never abandon you, and…” His LED flickers yellow. “Neither would I.”

“You’re weird,” you say softly. “You’re weird for that.”

Connor nods, slowly. “Maybe. But you’re vital to this case, whether you believe it or not.”

“I do,” you say. “Kinda. I just need time. I can see the end, which is whole acceptance, or just not caring. I mean, all the pieces aren’t here, I still need to find them, but still. I get all the pieces, somehow, something else, walla-walla-bing-bang – my android-ness doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“Walla-walla-bing-bang?” Connor echoes, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“I don’t know what it means.” Your eyes flicker to his and you smile at his confusion. “I think I heard it somewhere once. It just felt like the most appropriate thing to say.”

Connor’s face softens and he mirrors your smile. “That does seem like an appropriate thing to say, yes.”

You keep looking up at him for a moment, just looking into his brown doe eyes. You swallow thickly as your thoughts race. There’s a sudden lump in your throat that you try your best to ignore and clear away.

“Connor, I…” You reach for his hand. He meets you halfway, gently holding your hand and resting his thumb on your knuckles. 

“Am I a deviant?”

Are you going to turn me in? You want to ask. Please don’t. Please, Connor. I need you to trust me, just like you’ve trusted me before. I’ll be vigilant. I’ll figure this out. I promise. Please.

“No.” There’s no hesitation or doubt in his voice. “As far as I’ve figured out, you’re designed to act like a human. You’re meant to fool others into thinking you’re really human – because that’s what you were, before. Deviants are androids with mutations in their code. Your code is meant to mimic human emotions and rationale. So you’re just following your instructions.”

“Instructions.” You look down at your joined hands. You shake them a little as your lips draw into a thin line. “That’s what we both come down to, right? Instructions.”

“You…” Connor thinks for a moment. “Yes. But the instructions in you are nuanced, and sometimes contradictory. I’m not calling your code faulty – in fact, it rather reflects human behavior to a tee.”

“So I’m… at least a little human.” You close your eyes, resting your head on your arm that’s propped behind your head. “Human enough.”

“Human enough?” Connor echoes.

“Yeah. My lungs burn when I hold my breath too long. It hurts when I stub my toe and I feel electric when I hit my funny bone. I cry and my tears taste salty instead of tasting like… I don’t know, cleaning fluid.” You open your eyes and look up at Connor, as if asking him to confirm.

“Androids do have optic cleaning fluids, yes,” he says.

You smile and laugh lightly, your gaze returning to the fan blade. “Optic fuckin’ cleaning fluids…”

You sigh softly. “God, Hank was right. This is fucked. An android investigating androids and some… cheap copy of whoever I used to be. And, of course, a Lieutenant who’s slowly killing himself day-by-day.”

“You’re not a cheap copy,” he says. “Typical CyberLife androids cost nine thousand dollars, but custom models could cost more. Personally, my development and production costs total to just over four million, and every new RK800 model costs eight thousand.”

Connor soothes his thumb over your knuckles. “You must’ve cost Kamski a fortune.”

His words immediately go to your heart like you’ve been pierced by a scorpion’s tail. But instead of venom, it’s an injection of sweet feelings and erratic butterflies. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that his whispered words and damn-near reverent tone was intentional. 

“That’s… that sounds kinda romantic,” you say, then remember yourself. “I – I mean, romantic as in, like, the Romantic era? Like, it’s a romantic idea. That Kamski loves his work so much that he couldn’t bear to stop and continued to push the envelope… even if he pushed it a bit too far, with an android replacing a real-life, actually-dead human and whatnot.”

Connor’s LED blinks as he thinks. He stays silent for a while, just looking down at his hand that’s holding yours and thinking.

“You’re starting to act like me, y’know?” You squeeze his hand. “A synthetic human instead of a true android.”

His LED stops flickering and he meets your eyes. “I am not a deviant. I have a rigorous self-testing system to make sure any signs of deviancy don’t go undetected.”

“Okay, okay,” you relent. You glance down to your conjoined hands, then back up into those doe eyes. 

“Did you mean it?” You ask softly. “Earlier. When you said that you’d stay.”

“Of course,” Connor answers quickly. 

“Really?” Your eyebrows crease. “Because it’ll take years. It’ll be depressing. And it’ll be boring. I’ll be worse than Hank. I don’t expect you to reward me or to applaud my every move, because I know that’s how normal people are all the time.”

“But you’re not normal,” Connor says with a smile. “Even before your entire identity was uprooted.”

“Connor!” You laugh and let go of his hand to swat at him, then grasp his hand again. “Alright, alright. I’ll get a bit of the Normal in me. A touch of the Regular. Exactly four grams of Johnny Normalcop.”

“Don’t.” He squeezes your hand. “It would be detrimental to the case if you were to focus on restructuring yourself in a different way. You don’t need to sanitize your personality.”

You smile up at Connor. “So you like me.”

His LED flickers yellow, then returns to blue. “Yes. I enjoy working alongside you as you are. You don’t need to be any amount of Johnny Normalcop.”

You shake your joined hands gently, your smile growing so wide you’re sure you looked a bit stupid. “You’re sweet. You know that?”

“I am somewhat aware.” Connor brings his free hand up to rest on top of your connected hands. 

And, just like that, you know everything would be alright. Nothing would ever be the same, yes, but it would be alright. It won’t be easy, but you just need to move on. Uncertainty is a core tenet of detective work.

When life closes a door, it opens a window. And if the fall is too steep, use the fire exit. Run to the roof, because Connor will be there when you jump to break your fall. The most important thing is to keep moving. Keep dreaming. CyberLife can’t reclaim their lost property if you keep running – very, very fast, from one Earth-shattering revelation to the next. 

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Akatsuki; Gangbang/moresome

a/n: reader x akatsuki members! (pain, kakuzu, kisame, deidara, hidan, tobi - with zetsu present lmaooo. horrifically 18+ lol. Okay, two problems I know. NO ITACHI, also NO KONAN but I included the characters I think would be down with this and those two just don’t fit the bill.). oral, vaginal sex, ass play, degradation & praise. wc 3.8k

Kinktober Masterlist

“I’ve initiated a meeting with some of our wealthiest female donors,” Pain said as Akatsuki members arrived at the entrance. 

Itachi and Konan were not among them, the former having refused on the spot while it had simply not been the latter’s scene. Pain suspected a speckle of jealousy on Konan’s part, but had not argued with her decline.

Kisame studied the club and its lights, winking flirtatiously, and when realization dawned, shook his head with mock judgment. "You know some interesting people, Leader.”

Pain raised his brows. “As you all know, I do all I can to find donors who are willing to give to our organization.”

“It’s a fucking sex club,” Kakuzu snapped. “Doesn't that mean we're paying them?” 

Pain was quiet for a few seconds. “No. Tonight, we are offering our services.”

They were quiet in turn. 

“What …” Deidara started cautiously, “kind of services?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Hidan added. “From the sounds of it, we won’t be killing anyone.”

Pain shot him a dangerous look. “Certainly not. There's been an agreement. We've been offered to come here at no expense of our own.”

“So we're not paying?” Kakuzu said, ever the single minded one.

“That's correct.”

“What will we be doing?” Deidara said, determined to stop beating around the bush.

Pain delayed his answer, but nothing could soften the blow. “We will be offering pleasure to the woman.”

Silence, then ― 

“What?”

“Come again?”

"We're fucking for free?"

“Who would ―?”

"Ohhhh." Tobi, who was the only one unfazed by the announcement, fixed a hand on his hip. "Tobi has read about this!"

"You read?” Deidara quipped. 

"Yes! Its called hybris… hyber… " Tobi strained to recall. 

“Sound it out,” Deidara deadpanned. 

“It's a big word! But anyway, some girls like criminals and wanna be with them!”

“Tobi is right,” Pain said with an inscrutable look the aforementioned man’s way. “And the word is hybristophilia. In other words, our activities are not always repulsive to the fairer sex.” 

Kisame laughter sounded out amongst other nightlife jingles ― slot machines and bustling crowds. 

“Sometimes our activities attract,” Kisame smirked. “Leader’s not the only one keeping things interesting around here, I see.”

Pain straightened as it seemed as though the door would open, but it was only a false alarm. “If any of you wish to leave, you are free to do so,” he said. “Though, I suspect you won't.”

Deidara crossed his arms. “What makes you so sure?”

“I’m not sure,” Pain deadpanned as members of his group trailed eyes over a gaggle of pretty women walking by. “Just a feeling.”

Hidan recovered from his ogling to scoff. “Well, count me out. This is unclean ― not to mention totally beneath Lord Jashin.”

Pain looked Hidan over his shoulder. “I have let the club owners know that a percentage of whatever is made tonight be donated to any temple of our choosing.”

Hidan blinked. Shrugged. “It’s okay, then.” 

Deidara licked lips that’d become dry. “For how long? And ―” He struggled. “How much?”

Pain’s ringed eyes met his, a beat following before he replied, “As long as you can take. As much as you can take.”

The shock began to subside to be replaced with a sense of utter unreality. 

“Seriously?” Kakuzu said. “We’re really going to do this?” Kakuzu considered. “Then again, if we’re the ones being paid …”

“Don’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious outside of the dough,” Kisame teased. “Bet you haven’t had any in quite a while.”

“What’d you say?”

Just in time, the doors opened to reveal a madam. 

“Oh!” Said the big-wigged woman. “Lord Pain! Please, come in!” 

The woman led them into a dimly-lit hallway, doors lining either side into apparently oblivion. The big-wigged woman opened one of many and you, a much younger woman, appeared.

The woman leaned against the doorframe, dressed in nothing but silk, black lingerie with matching stockings. She giggled as she studied her clientele.

“If they told me there’d be so many of you, I would’ve worn less,” she purred. 

The big-wigged madam giggled. “Have fun, boys,” she said and closed the door.

You sauntered toward the bed in the room, sat and spread your legs. “So, who’s first?” 

Pain crossed the room immediately. 

“Le ― Leader!” Deidara’s face ran corrupted with red.

With one finger, Pain beckoned you to her feet. He got behind you, forcing you forward the group of criminals you would soon serve.

“Don’t any of you realize what I am offering you?” Pain crept into the crook of your neck, his lips dangerously close to leaving a kiss there. His hand crept over the planes of your stomach, eliciting a soft hum from you in return. “I am telling you …” 

Pain hooked fingers against the band of your panties, pulled them down to reveal your naked cunt. 

“We can do as we want with her …”

Immediately, the energy of the room changed. It grew hotter as Pain took the plunge, peppering your neck with kisses, one hand fingering your cunt while the other kneaded at your breasts. You moaned, the slick sounds of Pain’s fingers exploring your sopping folds mingling in the air. 

Kisame shrugged. “I’m game.” 

Pain removed both his fingers and form as Kisame approached. You whined in disapproval before Kisame’s hand took you by the throat. He pinned you to the wall across the bed. You released another moan as he tightened his grip over your neck.

“You like that, little girl?” Kisame teased. “Like to be choked?” 

“Mhmm, mmm …!”

“Oi.” Hidan crossed the room. “Save some for me. If these whores’ll be sending Jashin’s temple money, might as well …”

You squealed as Kisame threw you to the bed with a devilish chuckle. 

“There.” Kisame slapped the side of your cheek. “Take her mouth.”

Your mouth fell open and Hidan went to remove his coat, as Kisame did, before working on his zipper. 

The others ― Tobi, Deidara, Pain, and Kakuzu ― resigned to the sidelines. 

Deidara faced his leader to the sound of zippers and buckles loosening. “Aren’t you going to ―”

“Consider it a courtesy to the collective,” Pain said. “I will go last.”

Kakuzu huffed, but clearly something had changed in the man’s demeanor as Hidan and Kisame worked you out of the pretty lingerie Pain had left slack. “There’ll be enough holes to go around, I imagine.”

“Not with me in the room,” Kisame said, working your panties past your delicious thighs. 

He tugged his trousers down to reveal two cocks, blue-tinted along with the rest of his skin and springing hard and ready.

“She’s so pretty …” Tobi mused, surely drooling behind his mask of tangerine. 

You were fully nude now, save the stockings around your legs ― said legs now wrapped around Kisame’s waist at his breathy command. Hidan slapped the side of your mouth with his cock, watching you wince with sadistic pleasure before filling your mouth with him. He groaned, the sound harsh and heavy in his throat, when you moaned around his cock, elicited by Kisame entering both of your holes from behind. 

“Mmm ― mmfph!” 

“Aah, fuck!” Hidan buried a hand in your hair, forcing you forward to fuck your mouth properly. “Fuck her hard, Kisame. Her mouth, oh ―”

Kakuzu huffed ― but not before clearing his throat. “The night’s barely started and you’re already at your wit’s end, Hidan.” 

“All for Jashin ― aargh!” Hidan threw his head back as your hand massaged his balls. 

You squealed as Kisame quickened his pace, your eyes bulging wide as he split you open on not one, but two cocks at a time. The bed underneath you creaked as Kisame jutted his hips into your tight holes. His sharp nails tightened into bedsheets beside your head. 

Pain tilted his head in fascination. “How does she feel, Kisame?”

“Fan―fucking-tastic …!” He growled as he slapped his hips into you, rattling your body with the power of his thrusts. 

Tobi came forward and Deidara realized why ― after all, you had two free hands that could be put to use. 

In a flash, Tobi was out of his robe and tugging his trousers, hand fishing for his cock to place into your waiting, willing hand. 

Tobi shivered, gasped ― in a voice not quite his ― as your hand grasped his cock and stroked him obediently. 

“She’s a trooper,” Kisame said, thoroughly fucking you into the creaking mattress. He leaned forward to lick the side of your face. “Enjoying yourself, slut?”

“Yes ― oh, gods, yes ― mm!” Your words jumbled from your mouth when Hidan allowed it, before shoving himself back in.

“‘Course she does,” Hidan hissed. “All you whores are all the same, just holes waiting to be filled ― urgh!” 

You popped Hidan from your mouth to shoot a look at Pain, Kakuzu, and Deidara. “Mm! I have one more hand, c’mon, one more cock, I can take it, please!” 

Adrenaline shot through Deidara; he stepped forward ― only to be thwarted by Kakuzu shoving him to the side and taking his place. He dug for his cock with narrowed eyes, flashed green over your rolling tits. You reached for Kakuzu, stroking off both him and Tobi simultaneously. 

Kisame did not make it easy for you, fucking you mercilessly now. You couldn’t hold Hidan in your mouth anymore, but perhaps didn’t need to; Hidan began to stroke himself over your face, nearly at his limit. 

“Oh, gods, yes, pleasepleaseplease, feels so good, so good, all of you, mmhmm, please ―” 

Tobi moved his mask up his face a few inches and kneeled down to kiss you, his tongue shoving into your willing mouth. 

Hidan growled, shoved him away as he came, spurts of cum roping over your face and collarbone. You opened your mouth to scream as both your weeping cunt and tight ass clenched around Kisame’s cocks.

Kisame lurched over momentarily, before pulling out of you with a drawn-out grunt, the white of his cum shooting against your plush-pink folds and stomach. 

Being in the throes of climax seemed to adrenalize you, because your hands quickened their pace on the dual cocks in your hold, your motions becoming almost blurry as you jerked off the two men on above you. 

Kisame bowed out to collect his breath at the edge of the bed, meanwhile Tobi slotted into his space, turning you over on your hands and knees. 

“Wait,” Kakuzu growled out. “What do you think you’re ―?”

“Don’t worry, Kuzu.” You sat on your elbows, Kakuzu’s cock still fastened in your hold. “I can take care of you from here …” 

You swiped at Kakuzu’s cockhead, which seemed to satisfiy; his eyes shuddered closed and let you continue taking him in your mouth. 

You released a drawn-out moan as Tobi entered you from behind, forcing you forward. You caught yourself on your elbow, humming as Tobi bottomed out inside of you, hands secured tightly over your curvy hips. 

Hidan gripped the back of your head and forced you into the bush of Kakuzu’s pubic hair. 

“Mmmf!”

“Don’t think it’s over between you and me; I would never give such a paltry performance in the name of Jashin.” Hidan said, then removed himself from the bed. 

For once, Kakuzu made no angry retort; he rocked his hips forward, fucking your skilled mouth. He watched with still zombie eyes, fascinated with your head bobbing back and forth on his cock.

“She’s quite talented.” Pain’s voice carried with it an extra layer of silk, bordering on teasing. He turned to Deidara. “I see a hand free for you.” 

Deidara swallowed. Finally. He was already out of his cloak, adorning only the fishnet he donned underneath, his cock long and veiny and glued to his hand growing tacky with sweat. He approached you as Hidan pressed himself against the wall and slipped against it to sit on the floor. 

Kakuzu shot Deidara a glare as the younger man offered his cock to you. 

“Don’t think I’m sharing with you, circus freak.”

Deidara’s brow twitched. “Who’re callin ―”

“Don’t fight,” You purred before taking Kakuzu in your mouth again, cheeks hollowed against his cock while stroking Deidara lovingly.

Kakuzu lurched forward, hand over the small of your back before it found itself over the fat of your ass. Tobi planted a hand over your other cheek, fucking you from behind. A particularly harsh thrust nearly sent your head thudding against the wall, but he held you firmly to him, rolling his hips expertly into you. 

Deidara frowned as he watched the scene. Where’d he learn to fuck like that? 

You hummed with appreciation, sending Kakuzu shivering over you. 

“Urgh …” He gave your ass a slap before curling a hand under your stomach to fish for your clit. “She is good.”

“Was I lying?” Kisame joked with a sharp laugh. 

Kakuzu had only just found your sensitive nub to give it a series of grateful, circular strokes before Tobi knocked his hand away to do it himself. 

“Ahh!” You bucked back into Tobi as he fiddled with your clit. 

Kakuzu growled as you deep-throated him for the last time. “I’m ―!” 

You held him at the back of your throat as he finished inside you, swallowing his spent as he panted above you. 

You gripped Deidara with force, retiring from his shaft only to caress his balls. Deidara clenched a hand at the wall. You popped Kakuzu from your mouth and immediately you were on Deidara’s cock, licking the long expanse of it before to familiarize yourself with him.

“Such a pretty cock.” You shot him a stare in your breathy state, Tobi still fucking you from behind with mysterious skill, cum from previous escapades settled and dry against your cheek. “Almost as pretty as the rest of you …” 

“Hm ― hm … !” Deidara shuddered as you fit him in your mouth. 

Tobi slapped your ass before moving to thumb at the star of your ass, teasing the pucker you rocked on and off of him. 

“Mmm!”  

“Such a pretty miss,” Tobi breathed out, clearly at his limit. “Let me see pretty lady cum …”

You screamed around Deidara’s cock. He grunted viciously as you reached your limit, clenching down on Tobi. You were rocked with a few harsh, quick thrusts before Tobi forced himself to pull out, white leaking from his slit and into the crack of your ass. 

Deidara grabbed your ankle and forced you toward him. Without needing to be asked, you spread your legs, giving him the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing, still hungry. 

Deidara’s cock twitched with want. He settled at your entrance, pushing himself into your slick cunt. 

“Too bad she’s getting pretty boy after the likes of us,” Kisame said, slapping Tobi’s wrist as he, apparently, tapped out, still mysteriously reticent. 

Deidara frowned, trying to enjoy the possessive clench of your cunt. “Sh ―Shut up.”

Your heel knocked into Deidara’s back, causing him to fall forward and into your arms. 

You kissed his nose. “I wanna see you.”

Deidara blinked, then smirked, then fucked into you ― a sharp, quick thrust ― and drank in your gasp.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said. “Can’t still be tight after all that.”

“Yeah,” You breathed against Deidara’s cheek as he started a rhythm, “c’mon, cutie ―”

“Cutie?” 

Deidara forced his fingers into your mouth, followed by two more digits, as his hips rolled into you, skin slapping as you slurped on the digits. 

“Don’t think you can get smart with me, whore.” 

Deidara hissed as you sucked on him from both holes. He hit against your walls, silky and velvety against his overdue cock.

“Got to admit, you’ve got a nice little pussy ― argh,” Deidara bit into his lips as you moaned underneath him. “It really is ― hah ― a piece of art ― hah ― but don’t think you’re getting the best of me ―”

Despite his words, you were getting the best of him. Shit. He had waited too long, and you felt too good. Already, he felt the strain of an oncoming climax. Your breasts bounced and knocked into his chest as he fixed himself hard to you. At a particularly hard thrust, you threw your head back, exposing your pretty neck to him. 

Deidara dove into it, biting at the skin there. Maybe, amongst all the members here, he’d be the one to leave his mark on you …

You raked hard, red lines down his back and Deidara cried out, gritting his teeth. The pleasure married with the pain. So good. So good. 

It would be no good if he came before you did; he would never live it down. Deidara forced a hand down the bridge of your bodies to twirl at your clit.  

“Oh, fuck, mm!” Your legs quivered around him. 

He watched you from the side of his eye. You had the prettiest lips, sweet and plump. 

He felt your clenching, now more involuntary than ever as you cried out. He muffled the sound with a kiss to your abused lips. The squeeze of you was enough to topple him over the edge. Stars and colors swam over his lids as he squeezed his eyes shut, sucking your soul from your lips as orgasms ravaged your body and his ―

A hand dragged him off of you. His cock sprung from your cunt to spray the inside of your thighs with his spent. 

“What the fuck ―?”

“Didn’t think I had to say it,” Kakuzu said, dragging him to the side of the bed. “But: not inside, you idiot.” 

“He really is the youngest of us all,” Hidan teased.

Deidara growled as Kakuzu stared at your cunt, clearly tempted. Deidara stood, ready to fight ―

“Enough.” 

Pain came forward, fully nude. The others parted for him. You sat on the bed, patiently waiting for him, your eyes following him with a reverent dreaminess.

Pain idly wiped away Deidara’s spent with the tail of a sheet, unfazed by it all. “It seems it’s finally my turn.” Again, like no time had passed, he beckoned you on your feet. “Up.”

You did so; standing as he sat. You seemed to read his mind and backed into his legs. Pain scooped you up in his lap, balancing you atop him, inches from his cockhead.

“You’re lovely.” Pain licked the shell of your ear, his chin nestled in your shoulder. He held you above him, hands tucked into the back of your knees. “And your services have been much appreciated tonight. Now, Let me take it from here.”

He sat you on his cock, a hand at your throat to choke you with. 

“Oh!” You jostled as Pain fucked into you from below, your voice muffled with Pain’s hand closing your airways. “O ―Oh!” 

A muffled giggle. “Be careful not to break her, Leader.” Zetsu appeared from the wall. “I’m afraid sometimes you don’t know your own strength.”

“I doubt she would complain,” Pain replied idly, intensely studying your face, firmly fixed in his grip and contorted with pleasure. He slapped his hips into you again and again, the meat of his cock appearing and disappearing, enveloped by your snatch.

The other members congregated to watch the show before them. Deidara ached; his orgasm had been ruined by the fucking ragdoll, and now Pain enjoyed the pussy that had been his only a few moments before. And yet he couldn’t imagine participating unless openly invited by Pain. Deidara gripped his cock, still slick from his time inside of you, and stroked himself to the sight.

Juices mixed around the base of Pain’s cock. You whimpered and moaned, hands clutching his shoulders to keep balance. 

“Oh, gods, Pain, I ― please!”

His other hand toyed with the prominent nipple of your tit, delighted in how it grew under his attention. His balls slapped the fat of your ass with each thrust. You were no lightweight; giving what he gave, syncronizing with his thrusts in no time. Pain huffed. He would not, could not admit to how much he was enjoying this. Some pleasure for his base body, the sweet entrapment of your pussy.

“Your pussy is truly marvelous,” he said, voice like silk. “Is all of this truly for me?”

“Yes!” You cried, not a beat skipped. 

“I think it’s for all of us, Leader,” Zetsu said.

“Hush.”

You fell over Pain, your chest almost crushed to his, dainty hands at his sides. Finally Pain began to display signs of pleasure; closing his many-ringed eyes, his lips parting as you threw yourself down on him and he pulled up to you. The hand previously busy with your tit wove past the dip of your hips. A finger brushed past the cleft of your ass cheek to before it found its target, and prodded ―

“Aah!” You threw your head back, clenching and fluttering around him. “Ah ― Pain!”

You had gotten the best of him; a low grunt escaped Pain as he struck his finger deeper into your asshole.

No one cared for Deidara, for if they did they would see his hand working madly on his cock; his lip sucked under his teeth, ready to bleed. 

“I’m ―” You fell into Pain’s chest, releasing a huff. “I’m gonna ―”

“Go ahead.” Pain’s voice sounded under strain, but still demanding in its gritty hush. “You’ve put on a stunning performance for us tonight. Delight us with one more.”

Pain’s knuckle disappeared into the ring of your ass, the skin of your rear rippling from tight thrusts. With a cry-like whimper, you shuddered and convulsed. Pain’s other hand pressed hard into the small of your back, inadvertently steadying you as you succumbed to his merciless thrusts upward into your spasming cunt.

An near imperceptible “oh” from Pain and a pronounced frown was the only indication he had found his release. All before he lifted you from his cock, coated with your juices, where ropes of his spent escaped and landed to make a mess of your inner thigh.

The sight was so wondrous to distract all other attendants in the room from Dedara finishing with a stifled grunt, ribbons of cum splattering to the floor.

Your forehead rested against Pain’s pectoral. You were lathered in sweat, while Pain, save for some pronounced breathing, had ended the night relatively unscathed.

Hidan clapped slowly as Pain guided you carefully off of him. “Brilliant.” 

“You’re such a prick,” Kakuzu grumbled.

“This was more fun than even I anticipated,” Kisame said, sounding genuinely pleased. “We have to do this again sometime.”

“And we shall.” Pain pet some hair away from your drooping face. Sleep would come soon for you. “We will speak to the madam about our next vis ―” Pain blinked at the floor. “Deidara, clean up after yourself.”

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 1) Chapter Twenty-One

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Chapter Twenty-One: Adventures in London

Summary: Kusuke uses Saiki's one weakness against him: (Y/N).

            “Kusuo, come to my research lab,” said Kusuke, smiling at Saiki. “I want to show you something.”

            After being dragged around London and losing the pieces of his receiver (because of his father, unsurprisingly), Saiki finally had his dampener fixed and could control himself and his abilities once more. Unfortunately, Kusuke’s mind still couldn’t be read due to the new device he’d created (which was frustrating for Saiki since his brother was always cooking up some new scheme).

            “Why can’t we go with you?” asked Mr. Saiki.

            “I want to see where you spend your days,” said Mrs. Saiki.

            “You can enjoy London by yourselves now,” said Kusuke. “I got you a reservation at a restaurant with great roast beef.”

            Mr. Saiki looked away nervously and addressed his wife. “Do you want to go on a date? I wouldn’t mind.”

            “Me? I wouldn’t mind, either,” said Mrs. Saiki shyly.

            “This isn’t your first date.”

            Still, Kusuke’s suggestion won, and Mr. and Mrs. Saiki disappeared for a nice date in London. That left Saiki and Kusuke together.

            “Those two never change,” said Kusuke as he started leading Saiki into the city.

            “What is your intention?” questioned Saiki instantly. “I have no interest in your lab.”

            “Let’s play rock-paper-scissors,” said Kusuke instead.

            “Don’t ignore me,” said Saiki.

            “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” said Kusuke. He played scissors, which lost against Saiki’s rock. “I lost,” said Kusuke, an awkward smile on his face.

            “Are you happy now? I’m going,” said Kusuo, turning to head away.

            “My record against you is zero wins and 725 losses now,” said Kusuke. “Your winning percentage is the lowest when you play rock. Well, I guess that’s because I chose to play scissors only 104 times. I have lost the word games thirty-1 times. I have also lost shogi fifty-nine times, chess ten times, and video games 189 times. I have also lost mah-jongg four times and the memory game seven times.”

            If (Y/N) was here, they’d comment on his obsession. That thought lightened Saiki’s mood.

            “There are others, too. Altogether, how many times have I lose against you?” continued Kusuke. “My total record against you is zero wins and 4,254 losses.”

            (Y/N) would call this creepy, decided Saiki fondly. Still, what is he scheming this time?

            “Hey, Kusuo, will you teleport us to this address and room?” asked Kusuke, holding out a paper.

            Saiki narrowed his eyes. “No.”

            “I’ll tell Mom and Dad if you don’t,” said Kusuke, smiling. “Don’t you want them to have a good time and know we’re having a good time?’

            Weaponizing Mom being upset at us. What a dirty trick, thought Saiki. “Whatever.” He took the paper, Kusuke put his hand on Saiki’s shoulder, and the pair disappeared and reappeared.

            “Wow, teleportation really is amazing,” said Kusuke.

            “Where are we? A hotel room? Are we in London—” His eyes widened in alarm as his heightened senses heard voices in the next room over—all very familiar. “That can’t be. I must have misheard.” A sweat drop appeared behind his head.

            “Did you figure it out already? Correct!” said Kusuke. He grinned creepily. “They are in the next room.”

            In the next room over, Nendou leaned out the window. “Wow, runt, pinky, look at this! The buildings look like drawings!”

            “Why did we have to come here for a surprise?” wondered Kaidou.

            “It’s for Kusuo,” said (Y/N). “But I’m just hoping he feels well. He wasn’t in school because he was sick…” They knew the real reason, but their concern was immense either way.

            In the other room, Saiki glared at Kusuke. “Why are they here!?”

            He was torn between annoyance and suspicion. Not only were Nendou and Kaidou troublesome at the best of times (though he was friends with them even if he would never admit it), but Saiki hadn’t expected Kusuke to involve (Y/N), and yet there they were, still worried about him. Saiki didn’t want Kusuke to pull (Y/N) into any of his schemes, and that irritated him immensely. (Still, the inkling of relief to have a person he cared about so deeply there with him still made an appearance).

            “I summoned them,” said Kusuke, smiling innocently. “I called them a day before your arrival. I asked them to come to London to surprise you. I sent them plane tickets.”

            “You’re kidding, they wouldn’t have—” Saiki interrupted himself. “Well, they—” Nendou and Kaidou, dumb as they were at times “—would. But (Y/N) should’ve known better.”

            “Really? They were the most worried about you.” Kusuke grinned. “ ‘Is Kusuo alright?’ They really seem to care.”

            Saiki glared at Kusuke. The last thing he needed was his brother figuring out anything about his feelings and interfering in his (nonexistent) love life.

            “Why did you bring them here?” demanded Saiki.

            “Let’s play a game, Kusuo,” said Kusuke.

            “A game?” Saiki curled one hand into a fist and punched it into the other.

            Not intimidated, Kusuke continued, “Let’s play tag in London.”

            “…What?” Saiki deadpanned even more than normal.

            “I lost rock-paper-scissors. I will be it,” said Kusuke. “The time limit is three hours. As long as you don’t leave London, you can take buses, taxis, or subways. Well, sounds like fun, right?”

            “What is the point? London is larger than the twenty-three wards of Tokyo,” said Saiki.

            “You will play with Kaidou and Nendou as well as (L/N) so that you can’t use your powers,” said Kusuke.

            “I don’t want to play,” said Saiki.

            “You don’t care what happens to those three? With one signal, I can make those two explore London and return to Japan,” said Kusuke.

            “(Y/N) would want to see me,” said Saiki. “They wouldn’t go along with it.”

            “If you win, I’ll treat you to afternoon tea in this hotel,” said Kusuke, knowing Saiki’s sweet tooth was his biggest weakness. Or, almost.

            “…What happens if you win?” said Saiki. He really wanted afternoon tea and the confections that came with it, but first he needed to understand Kusuke’s angle on top of just getting a win on the board.

            Kusuke smiled brightly. “If I win, I’ll tell (L/N) you have a crush on them.”

            Saiki’s jaw dropped open. What a brutal blow from Kusuke.

            “Did you think it was hidden? It’s obvious,” said Kusuke, waving a hand. “As soon as they said your first name and mentioned your receiver, I knew you were open with them. The pieces were simple to put together.” He grinned. “So, what do you say?”

            “We’re playing tag.” Saiki could not let Kusuke win—not if he wanted sweets and for his feelings to remain hidden. He wasn’t ready to admit anything, and he wouldn’t let Kusuke of all people do it for him.

l

            Saiki and Kusuke opened the door to the room (Y/N), Kaidou, and Nendou had been stuck in.

            “Hey, pal!” cried Nendou excitedly.

            “Did we surprise you?” said Kaidou, grinning. “We’re in London.”

            “How are you feeling, Saiki?” asked (Y/N), frowning.

            “I’m fine,” said Saiki, nodding and pointing to the repaired receiver.

            (Y/N) visibly relaxed and smiled. “I’m glad.”

            “Now come on, we have to get going,” said Saiki.

            “Huh?” said (Y/N), tilting their head.

            “We’re playing tag,” said Kusuke with a wide grin.

            “Tag?” asked (Y/N), Kaidou, and Nendou.

            “I will be it, and Kusuo will hide. You three need to help him,” said Kusuke.

            “What about the surprise?” asked Kaidou in confusion.

            “He was surprised! We did it!” said Kusuke.

            “That was it?” said Kaidou.

            Knowing Saiki wouldn’t get involved with this of his own volition, (Y/N) looked at him. “You got bribed with sweets, didn’t you, Kusuo?”

            “Afternoon tea,” admitted Saiki.

            (Y/N) chuckled but smiled. “Alright, I’ll help. What are the rules?”

            “The time limit is three hours,” said Kusuke. “You can go anywhere within the borders of London. You can take buses, taxis, and subways. Get ready, start!” He pressed the start of a timer. “I will begin searching in thirty minutes. Run!”

            “Let’s go,” said Saiki, immediately grabbing (Y/N)’s wrist and hurrying to the street below.

            “What is this, Saiki? I don’t understand,” said Kaidou.

            Saiki took a map from a stand and glanced over it. “I’m sorry to involve you, but just shut up and follow me. This is a serious game.” Too much was on the line to mess around (sweets and his feelings).

            “Don’t worry, Kusuo, we have your back,” said (Y/N) brightly.

            “Isn’t this too easy? London is larger than Tokyo’s twenty-third ward,” said Kaidou.

            “There are cameras in the subway like on the street,” mused Saiki, focused on the game. “Well, we could put some distance between us.” He led them down towards the underground.

            “Your brother probably has a trick up his sleeve, doesn’t he?” said (Y/N).

            Saiki nodded (he actually responded to them).

            Sure enough, as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the shutter was down. The sign read “Tube Strike” in English.

            “Yare yare. There it is,” said Saiki.

            “He knew that the subways would be closed, which would make the lines for buses long,” said (Y/N). “Wow. He’s a genius.”

            “Don’t praise him, he’s as weird as everyone else in my family,” said Saiki.

            “We need to move fast!” said Kaidou, panicking. “He’ll be coming soon.”

            If he’s watching us, I’ll watch him. Saiki crossed his eyes. Clairvoyance. He saw his brother on a hang glider. He’s coming this way. He’s close. He can reach this place in five minutes.

            “What should we do?” said Nendou.

            “There!” said (Y/N), pointing. “Bikes for rent.”

            “Good idea.” Another reason Saiki liked (Y/N): they were actually helpful in these situations.

            “But there are only three, and there are four of us,” said Kaidou worriedly.

            “I can stand on the spokes on the back of one. I’ve done it a ton with Mera,” said (Y/N).

            Saiki pulled out a bike. “Get on.”

            “Are you su—”

            “We don’t have time.”

            Saiki didn’t want to admit this was nerve-wracking since he wasn’t a fan of touch usually, but he was choosing this. And it was (Y/N). He was comfortable with them. Of course, he also just didn’t want them to be so close to someone else, and with the other idiots with them, Saiki only trusted himself to keep them safe from Kusuke (not that there was really any danger, but Saiki had to justify this to himself without just getting to the point that he had a crush on (Y/N) and wanted to be close).

            “Alright,” said (Y/N), getting onto the back and holding onto Saiki’s shoulders as he began pedaling.

            Their cheeks warmed as they held onto him, and they fought to remain composed and focused. Their feelings were strong, but that didn’t mean they could lose focus and mess this up for Saiki. That would ruin any of (Y/N)’s chances to be close with Saiki.

            On his part, Saiki kept a straight face as usual, but he kept his eyes carefully ahead instead of glancing at (Y/N)’s hands on him. They were warm even through his clothes, and his heartbeat quickened as their proximity.

            Still, they all managed to remain focused on the task at hand and turned through a few streets and alleys to escape Kusuke. The bicycles were working. Unfortunately, not everyone riding them was working. Kaidou’s terrible stamina caught up, and he collapsed to the side.

            “Let’s take a break,” he gasped.

            “We’ve been biking for fifteen minutes,” said Saiki. “But we did try to avoid cameras. We should be alright. If we move around too much, he’ll detect our location. Perhaps we should’ve move location.”

            “That’s what you think!”

            From above, Kusuke dropped in with a motorcycle. Saiki and (Y/N) threw themselves out of the way.

            “Seriously?! Why is he here?!” cried Kaidou.

            “Are you alright?” asked Saiki, helping (Y/N) stand, and they nodded.

            “So cool!” said Nendou.

            “This isn’t the time for that!” cried Kaidou.

            (Y/N) and Saiki jumped back onto their bicycle, and all four sped out of the alley with Kusuke on their heels.

            “How did he find us?!” said (Y/N) over the rush of wind. “We avoided cameras!”

            “Maybe he has psychic powers,” joked Nendou.

            “It would run in the family,” said (Y/N) quietly, chuckling.

            “If he did, that would be terrible,” said Saiki. Luckily, his brother was just a genius, not a psychic.

            “Does he have a tracking device?” said Kaidou, giving a much more plausible idea.

            Saiki’s eyes widened. “My control device.”

            “He put a tracking device in it,” groaned (Y/N).

            “That jerk.” Saiki looked back, his eyes glowed, and a piece of Kusuke’s motorcycle broke to stop him in his tracks. He biked on, leaving his brother behind.

            They only stopped once they reached a giant department store, and Saiki led them in to try to lose Kusuke in the crowds.

            “As long as he knows our location, this is better than walking around,” said Saiki. “We need to avoid standing out.”

            (Y/N) coughed to avoid laughing. “Good luck with that.”

            Nendou was already driving a tiny kid toy car around the store, and Kaidou was examining all of the gaming equipment.

            “We have an announcement,” said the PA system, except it spoke with Kusuke’s voice. He was up to something again.

            “That voice?”

            “Uh-oh, he’s trying another tactic,” said (Y/N).

            “Please look for three young Japanese teenagers,” said Kusuke. “One has pink hair and has climbed Big Ben. Another has (H/C) hair and dressed up as a Grenadier Guard. A third is a bad child with shifty eyes who calls football ‘soccer.’ Another is a serial killer gorilla.”

            “Is the gorilla Nendou?” said (Y/N), not really fazed by the strangeness of Kusuke’s strategy. They had heard stranger things.

            “Definitely,” said Saiki.

            “It’s them!” cried an English man, pointing at the group. “Get them!”

            Instantly, a crowd converged on them, and they took off running. Saiki led them into a bathroom and a stall. People began to bang on the door, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened. They were pinned, and with the tracking device and the crowd, Kusuke would find them in an instant.

            “Okay, everyone, don’t worry,” said Kusuke’s voice in the bathroom.

            “He’s almost here!” whispered (Y/N) urgently.

            “That was a false announcement,” said Kusuke.

            “Oh, really?” murmured the crowd, slowly dispersing.

            “Up,” whispered (Y/N) to Saiki.

            He looked at them, and (Y/N) pointed up.

            “Up,” they repeated.

            Saiki’s eyes widened as he got the message, and he mentally thanked the world for giving him a friend like (Y/N). For all the trouble they got into and their air-headedness, they came through at all the rights moments.

            Saiki teleported them all a floor up. There was no change in the layout of the bathroom, so Kaidou and Nendou didn’t notice. Best of all, though? Kusuke’s tracker wouldn’t see the change in elevation. He would open the door of the stall below and find nothing.

            “Time’s up,” said Saiki.

            Kusuke had lost once more.

            “We won!” cheered Nendou.

            “Now do we get to really explore London?” said Kaidou excitedly.

            “Do whatever you want,” said Saiki. He opened the stall door and walked out. He had a prize to collect. “(Y/N), do you want to come to tea with me?” Kaidou and Nendou might tail after him, but what mattered was if (Y/N) came or not. They made any additional company so much more bearable.

            (Y/N) grinned. “Of course!”

            Saiki’s hearts warmed at their brightness.

l

            “So are Kusuo and Saiki always like that?” asked (Y/N), taking a sip of their tea and looking at Mr. and Mrs. Saiki.

            Saiki himself was glad that (Y/N) used his first name now since if they called him and Kusuke the same thing, he’d just get frustrated to be lumped in with him.

            Mrs. Saiki laughed. “Oh, yes, since they were small. They’re always competing. It’s so cute.”

            “Troublesome is more like it,” said Saiki. “He never stops challenging me.”

            “They’re brothers. Brothers are like that,” said Mr. Saiki.

            “No, he’s just a nuisance.”

            (Y/N) chuckled. “Well, it was kind of fun. I mean, I don’t have siblings of my own to compete with, so running around with Kaidou and Nendou and Kusuo was a real adventure.”

            Saiki looked at them and their shy smile. Okay, fine. So maybe the entire situation hadn’t been that bad since he got to spend time with them and it made them happy. Saiki would never admit it out loud, but he was thankful that Kusuke’s endless competitiveness led to more bonding with (Y/N) and their joy.

l

            “Morning, Kusuo! Where are your parents?” asked (Y/N).

            “On another date,” said Saiki. It was the following day, and there was still time until they were scheduled to return to Japan, so his parents were taking advantage of the time.

            “That’s cute,” said (Y/N), smiling. They liked how in-love Saiki’s parents were. It was how married couples should be.

            “Where are Nendou and Kaidou?” asked Saiki.

            “They went back to the department store to buy souvenirs,” said (Y/N).

            “Of course they did,” said Saiki.

            “Do you have anything you want to do?” asked (Y/N).

            “Not particularly,” said Saiki.

            “Well, I was thinking of going for a walk to find a bookstore and then head to a café to read,” said (Y/N). They shifted nervously. “Do you want to go together?”

            “Yes.” The answer was instant, unusual for Saiki.

            (Y/N) brightened. “Really?”

            Saiki nodded.

            “Awesome,” said (Y/N), grinning ear-to-ear.

l

            Soon enough, Saiki and (Y/N) ended up in a bookstore off the trodden main roads of London. It was quaint and lovely, quiet and private.

            “They have so many books,” said (Y/N), looking at each excitedly.

            “Can you read English?” asked Saiki.

            “Not perfectly, but I’m trying to improve,” said (Y/N), laughing sheepishly. “That’s why I’m trying to find a book that interests me. Then I can improve my vocabulary outside of just what school assigns.”

            Saiki nodded, understanding. “How about this one?” He handed over a book.

            “Pride…and…Prej-Prejudiice,” said (Y/N), trying to sound out the words. They brightened. “Oh, I’ve seen the movie for this. I love it!”

            “What type of story is it?” asked Saiki.

            “A romance between a headstrong woman and a man who doesn’t know how to show his feelings,” said (Y/N). “It’s so cute.”

            “Would you watch the movie again with me? Maybe over break?” said Saiki, daring to ask (Y/N) for a private moment with them that wasn’t their usual homework or cooking. This was something more akin to what many considered a date. It was a risk to ask, but Saiki wanted to be closer to (Y/N). He wanted to show that he cared.

            (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed, and their smile softened. “I’d love to, Kusuo, but are you sure you want to interrupt your time alone?”

            “I don’t mind spending time with someone when it’s you,” said Saiki. “You’re my…you’re my best friend.” He avoided eye-contact, unused to his own honesty.

            (Y/N)’s heart nearly burst, and, overwhelmed with their own emotions, they dared to reach out and touch Saiki’s hand. “I’m glad you like spending time with me, Kuso. I really like i. You’re my…well, you’re my best friend, too.”

            Saiki looked down at the hand touching his own, and he let himself take their hand and give it a gentle squeeze. Neither had spoken the complete truth of their feelings, but it was enough. They both cared about the other. That was all their hearts needed to know for now.

Taglist:

@elaemae

@painstakingly-juno

@characterreaderwriter

@melovepurple

@sleep-7372

@w0mank1sser

@geminigengar

@noodleryworld

@leonardo-dabitchy

@janezee12751275

@xenop0p

@ex160-blog1

@boogiemansbitch

@dmitrytherat

@yuriisclumsy

@sixxze

@constellationguy

@k03ume

@sweatyinternettrash

@paastaboi

@unorthodox-gob

@girlswhopanic

@h-i-g-h-w-a-y-t-o-h-e-l-l-l

@drowningfishy

@rinwho

@izzieg3987

@candylp

@jmclouds

@ittomain1

@justamina-blog

@newtscreatures347269

@digital-dumbass

@chronovala

[olomaya]

Get Pumped!

This started as just a simple solution to allow my Sims to work out without a TV, radio or gym equipment present but I’m a fitness nut so I knew I couldn’t stop there. I love working out and am always trying out new workouts or gyms like people try out food or clothes. It’s one of my favorite hobbies IRL so I was happy to try and make more exercise/fitness things for my athletic Sims.

This is the Exercise Mat I previewed a few weeks (months?) ago and I added a few more features like the ability to teach classes and also free weights (dumbbells and kettlebell).

Credit/Thanks: @aroundthesims for the free weights and kettlebell which are hers. I only recategorized them to Sports/Hobbies. Mats and board are EA. Animations by me, Mixamo and EA!

All the info and download link are after the jump, read through it all before downloading!

Exercise Mat:

Sims can do different floor and body weight exercises on the mat, which are skill gated:

Sit ups, squats: Level 2

Push ups, single-leg squats, bicycle crunches: Level 3

Burpees: Level 4

Sims can also stretch which has benefits if you do it before and/or after exercising. 

Stretching before: the Feeling Limber moodlet will prevent your Sim from getting fatigued so long as it is active

Stretching after: the Feeling Limber moodlet will remove soreness if you have it

If there is an instructor mat on the lot, you can assign the mat to the instructor mat so Sims will use it for classes

Instructor Mat: This mat lets Sims who have Athletic skill 5 or higher teach exercise classes. 

Assign Instructor - sets who the instructor will be for the mat

Schedule Class - self-explanatory; select a time a date to host a class

Start Class - if you don’t want to wait, you can start a class now. Instructors will wait 20 sim minutes (tunable) before starting the class to allow interested Sims to join.

Toggle Stereo - requires IP to work, adds a stereo to the instructor mat so you can play music during class

Free Weights:

You can lift dumbbells or kettlebells. That's pretty much it. These guys look super happy about it.

You only need one dumbbell. The other one is a prop which will be created once your Sim starts lifting.

Gym Board:

Check Scheduled Classes

Sign Up for Class (Note: you can't sign up for classes that have no spots available but you can still show up and try to get a spot if there's a no show)

Cancel Sign Up

Cancel Class

Gym Classes:

Instructors can hold Beginner, Intermediate or Advanced gym classes, the difference in difficulty affects the fat/muscle delta, fatigue level and athletic skill gain. The ability to hold different class levels is skill gated at Levels 5, 6 and 7 respectively.

If you schedule a class, the instructor and any Sims that sign up for the class will be pushed to the lot an hour before the class starts. Sims cannot join a class after it starts but if they leave before the class ends, they still get charged.

The cost per person is based on the class level and the instructor’s athletic skill. If you have NRaas Career and the Instructor is in the Trainer skill-based career, they will also earn extra money and the funds will go towards their career advancement.

If there are no spots available, you can still check what time the class is and get information on the class if you want to show up and see if a spot opens up.

If classes are hosted on a non-park community lot, like a gym, 25% of the class fees will go to the venue (the venue owner will receive this if it’s owned).

You can check and sign up for scheduled classes on the gym board object. Instructors can also cancel classes there.

There are two "rewards" available: Top Trainer and Gym Rat. Top Trainers are Sims that have taught at least 20 classes. After achieving that, their classes are worth more and they also keep a larger percentage of the cost per student. Gym Rats are Sims that have taken at least 10 classes after which they get a discount on any other classes afterwards.

Notes: 

My suggestion is to organize the class room like how I have in my photos with the mats horizontal facing the instructor. I'd also space them out more than I did as some of the exercises involve a lot of jumping/moving around but I have small lots so I have to squeeze in as much as I can! With this plus Twin's spin class and yoga mods, I'm going to need a bigger gym!!

The instructor will face whichever mat is first in the list of assigned mats so I would suggest assigning the front center mat first.

You can have multiple instructors/instructor mats on the same lot but an instructor can only be assigned to one mat.

Sims cannot take a class if they don't have more than $400 in their family funds. You can change this if you like but I don't want my broke inactives spending money on gym classes (we have gym at home!)

If Sims are not autonomously joining classes or using the mat, it’s probably because you have too many advertising objects on your lot that are competing with it. You can up the advertising for the mat but it’s already quite high so you just have to figure out how to balance it. The Join Class interaction does advertise fun and social in addition to the standard Athletic Game Object advertising so I would suggest upping that in order to get more attention from Sims.

The animation of Sims picking up/dropping the free weight is kind of wonky. I may try to fix it later.

There’s a collection file for all the objects but you will find all of them under Entertainment/Sporting Goods. Nothing is more expensive than 150 simoleons.

This is set for YA+ because a) some of the animations will sink for teens and b) they are always trying to do their fucking homework around each other while I'm holding classes and it drove me crazy. You can change the ITUN if you want teens to use it but you've been warned.

Future updates: I'm already thinking about using a similar system to create dance classes. Making an active Dancer career is something I’ve wanted for a while and I have a Sim that would be perfect to test it.

As always, if you run into any issues, let me know!

Download here | Alt: Simblr

What I originally wanted to name this mod 😭😭

[mariacallous]

It’s the most startling thing I’ve seen in this year’s presidential campaign – the astoundingly large gap between how young men and young women plan to vote this November. Among women under age 30, an overwhelming 67% plan to vote for Kamala Harris, while just 29% say they’ll back Donald Trump. But among young men, a majority – 53% – plan to vote for Trump, while 40% say they’ll support Harris, according to a New York Times/Sienna College poll. That’s an astonishing 51-percentage-point gender gap.

It’s easy to understand why so many young women favor Harris – she has an inspiring life story, champions reproductive freedom and would break the biggest glass ceiling of all by becoming the first female president. But I’m mystified why so many young men back Trump.

Many of them seem to like Trump’s machismo. They like that he talks tough. They see him as an icon of traditional manhood. But all this raises an unavoidable question: should Trump be looked to as an icon of manhood considering that he boasted of grabbing women’s genitals, was found liable for sexual assault and had an affair with an adult film star soon after his wife gave birth? That shouldn’t be anyone’s model of manhood.

Many young men seem to admire Trump’s king-of-the-jungle vibe: he roars, he bellows, he boasts that no one can ever beat him (unless they cheat). But when you cut through Trump’s tough talk and look at the record, it becomes clear that Trump did very little for young men in his four years as president.

Whoops, I should note that if you’re a young man making more than $1m a year, Trump did do a lot for you, thanks to his colossal tax cuts for the richest 1%. But for the more than 99% of young men who don’t make $1m a year, sorry, Trump didn’t do diddly for you, other than cut your taxes a wee bit, a tiny fraction of the tax cuts that he gave to the richest Americans.

I recognize that many young men feel uncomfortable about the Democratic party, partly because some Democrats unfortunately treat men as a problem – and sometimes as the problem. If the Democrats were smart, they’d see that young men – like every other group in society – have problems that they need help with, problems like affording a home, finding a good-paying job, obtaining health insurance, affording college and having enough money to raise a family.

Regardless of how you feel about Harris, the truth is that her policies will do far more for young men than Trump’s policies will. It’s not even close. She is serious about lifting up young men and young women, and she has plans to do so.

Unlike Trump, Harris will help with soaring rents and home prices. She has pledged to build 3m new homes to help drive down housing prices. In another big step to make housing more affordable, she plans to give a $25,000 subsidy to first-time home buyers. Unlike Trump, Harris is also attacking the problem of high grocery prices – she has promised to crack down on price-gouging at the supermarket.

For many young men, health coverage and high health costs are a problem. On those matters, Trump will only make things worse. He has repeatedly promised to repeal Obamacare. That would be a disaster for millions of young men and women because they would no longer be able to be on their parents’ health plan until age 26. What’s more, repealing Obamacare will push up healthcare prices.

Many young people complain about their mountains of student debt. Trump won’t help on that; he has condemned the idea of forgiving student loans. In contrast, Harris wants to expand Biden’s debt cancellation program, which is hugely popular with young Americans. What’s more, Trump backed huge cuts in student aid – a move that would make it harder for young people to afford college. Harris is eager to make college more affordable by increasing student grants. Not only that, she is looking to what Tim Walz, her running mate, has done as Minnesota’s governor. He has made Minnesota’s state universities and community colleges free for students from middle-class and lower-income families.

If you’re a young man frustrated by how little your job pays, you should know that Trump – doing a big favor for his corporate allies – did nothing to raise the $7.25-an-hour federal minimum wage. Harris strongly supports raising the minimum wage.

Trump has made two big promises to make your life more affordable. Without giving details, he says he will cut auto insurance prices nationwide in his first 100 days in office. He also says he will cut energy and electricity prices in half during his first year in office. If you believe those far-fetched promises, then you’ll probably believe me when I say I have a bridge to sell you.

If you’re a young father or if you hope to have a family someday, you should know that Harris’s policies will do far more for you than Trump’s. Recognizing how expensive it is to raise a family, Harris has called for creating a children’s tax credit of $3,000 per child per year and $6,000 for a newborn.

To improve work-family balance, Harris has long pushed to enact paid family and medical leave so that people can take much-needed paid time off to spend with their newborns or care for sick parents or children. (Most Republicans oppose a paid leave law because their corporate donors oppose it.) Trump doesn’t have similar pro-family policies – his main policy proposals are huge tax cuts for corporations and the ultra-rich and large tariffs on imports that will dangerously push up inflation.

Although many young Americans don’t realize it, Biden and Harris have worked hard to create good-paying jobs for those who don’t go to college. Biden and Harris fought to enact three important pieces of legislation – an infrastructure bill, a green energy bill and a computer chips bill – that will create about 1m construction jobs, factory jobs and other jobs across the US, many of them unionized jobs with strong benefits.

If you’re one of the many young people at Starbucks, REI, Apple or elsewhere who support unionizing as a way to increase your pay and improve your working conditions, you should know that Harris is a strong supporter of unions and enthusiastically backs legislation to make it easier to unionize. But billionaire Trump dislikes labor unions. When he was president, he and his appointees did dozens of things, large and small, to weaken unions and create roadblocks for workers seeking to unionize.

There’s no denying that Trump’s tough talk makes many young men feel good. But tough talk is cheap. It won’t help anyone pay the rent, afford college or raise a family. Harris doesn’t talk as tough as Trump, but her record and her policies make undeniably clear that she will do far more for America’s young men and women than Trump will.

I don't agree with every point he makes here, and I also don't think a lot of young men are voting based on rational and objective things like whose policies will benefit them most. But I still thought this was an interesting read.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Okay.. hear me out the song 'Stick Season' by Noah Kahan... for a fic like her and spence break up and she can't move on from him...

Oh you mean my FAVORITE NOAH KAHAN SONG???

Absolutely girlboss.

It ended up being 3.5k, so please please enjoy!!

(it's a gn! fic btw)

You must have had yourself a change of heart like Halfway through the drive Because your voice trailed off exactly as you passed my exit sign Kept on drivin' straight and left our future to the right

Everyone in the BAU hated letting Spencer drive. It was a fact of the universe. It wasn’t because he was bad at it, in fact he was quite a good driver. But whenever he would drive, it was constant chatter, constant rambling, and sometimes, it would be in between NPR segments where Spencer would correct someone or pause to discuss interesting facts that he knew. 

So when Spencer offered to drive the team to the hotel across town, no one had the guts to say no. It was some random town in Vermont, in the middle of October, some weird string of murders throwing another small town into disarray. He was in the middle of describing the science behind why certain leaves change into certain colors when his voice died out.

They were at one of two stop lights in town and they were stopped at one of them. Spencer was looking diagonally across at some random coffee shop, and Derek could not, for the life of him, figure out why Spencer was looking over there. 

“Reid? Hello.” 

“It’s her.” 

“Who?” Derek followed his line of sight again and realized what Spencer was looking at, well, who he was looking at. 

You. 

“Oh my god. Isn’t that…” 

Spencer nodded his head. 

“Why is she…” 

Spencer just stared at you. “I don’t know.” 

You were now leaving the coffee shop, cup in hand and small brown bag in the other. Spencer could probably guess what was in both. 

“Green light Reid.” 

The two of them started to move again, but neither of them spoke on the way to the hotel. It was almost unbelievable that they hadn’t seen you in over two years and yet here you were, in some random town that had a serial killer. 

Now I am stuck between my anger and the blame that I can't face And memories are somethin' even smoking weed does not replace And I am terrified of weather 'cause I see you when it rains Doc told me to travel, but there's COVID on the planes

“No no. Lucille. You don’t understand. He was like, nerdy hot. And I fucked up big time.” 

Lucille snorted and handed you the blunt in her hand. “My love, my life. I bet you, he was the problem.”

You scoffed and took a hit. “Yeah right.” 

Lucille raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “You’re not still in love with the guy are you?” 

“When you put it like that it makes me sound pathetic.” 

“Oh girl no, you are, aren't you.” 

You sighed and took another hit—a long inhale this time to compensate. 

“Sweetie, you are WAY too good for him.” 

You laughed. “Mr three PhDs, four Bachelors, and FBI? Yeah. I don’t think so.” 

“Weren’t you Mrs FBI?” 

“That’s Miss FBI to you. Mrs is reserved for happy married stupid people.” You grumbled and closed your eyes. 

“Wow.” 

“Wow What.” 

“He was really the one wasn’t he.” 

You nodded. “I really thought….god I’m so stupid.” You stood up and started pacing along the porch of your house. 

Once you and Spencer had broken up, you needed to get out of there. There had to be somewhere where he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t find you. So you closed your eyes and pointed to a random spot on the map. Then when you realized you pointed to Las Vegas, you sat down and wrote down what you knew about Spencer, then tried to find somewhere that he had the lowest percentage of going. 

And Fairlee seemed like the right place. There was nothing for him out here. 

Except for you. 

But Spencer didn’t feel that way. Not anymore at least.

You had taken up teaching, obtaining your teaching certificate up in Vermont and becoming one of ten teachers in the high school (which supported any child in a half hour radius). 

It wasn’t hunting down serial killers, but it was still fulfilling. 

That’s how you met Lucille. She was another teacher, in need of a roommate, and the rest is history. 

“You’re floating away again.” 

You snapped back to the conversation. “Sorry. Just. Really thought we were going to get married and be with each other and shit but.” 

“But?” 

“He wasn’t ready. You’d think three years knowing one another and being friends, and then another three years of dating would, you know. Add up to something.” 

“I’m sorry sweetie.” Lucille took your hand and squeezed it tightly. “He doesn’t deserve you.” 

“Yeah…maybe, I don’t know.” 

She squeezed it again. “Tonight’s the night Damian invited us all down to the bar to hang out, I know we said no but…might as well get free drinks out of a guy who will never get the hint. Free booze, boost of ego. You’re young, you’re hot.” 

“I see what you’re doing.” You smiled down at her. “But it’s raining and I’m not in the mood to get soaking wet just from walking from the house to the car then the car to the bar….”

“Pleaseeeee.” 

Just as you were about to answer, a pair of headlights turned onto your driveway. 

You’d know those stupid fucking headlights anywhere. 

“Who do we know that drives a black suburban?” 

Lucille shrugged. “I don’t think we know anyone who has one in town, why? Is that what the car is?” 

You nodded, your stomach dropping. 

“Luce. Hide the weed.” 

“Why, it's not Tom and you know he’s over here every—-“

“Now. Luce.” 

She furrowed her brows as the headlights stopped in front of the house. She quickly grabbed everything and went into the house. 

You stood on the porch, in your pajamas pants, and a sweatshirt, hands in the front porch. 

The car turned off and you watched as three figures got out of the car and walked up to the porch, freezing as they looked at you, the rain pouring down on them. 

“Why are you here Hotch?” 

The man was frozen,and he looked over at Emily, who was just as baffled to see you. 

“Y/n?” 

“Why are you here?” You asked again. 

“Why are you here?” 

“This is my home Em.” You stepped back a couple of steps and gestured for them to come up onto the porch so they don’t have to stand in the rain anymore. 

Spencer was silent the whole time, not taking his eyes off of you. 

The three of them moved up the porch and went towards the door, but you blocked them. 

“You need a warrant if you want to enter my house, Hotch. What are you doing here.” 

“We need to speak to Lucille Walkner.” 

“Why.” 

Emily raised her eyebrows, and crossed her arms. She was used to how stubborn you were, but being on the receiving end of it was something she was not a fan of. 

“It’s in regards to the string of murders y/n.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “I can guarantee you that I have been with Lucille every moment of every day for the past two weeks.” 

“We’re not accusing her, we’re just asking—“

You cut Emily off. “Asking her questions. Yeah. I know how this goes. In case you forgot or something. It hasn’t been that long. Why do you need to speak to her.” 

“Because she was the last person seen with the most recent victim.” 

You looked at Spencer for the first time since he got here. “So was I. But somehow you failed to mention that as well. You’re losing your grip, Doctor.” 

The group had never heard your voice so flat, so strict, so full of disdain. It was easy for you to treat him like he was the villain. He felt like one. He was one. 

“Y/n.” 

You broke your staring contest with Spencer and looked over at Hotch. “Get a warrant and come back tomorrow.” 

And with that you walked into your house and locked the door behind you. Feeling a bit more bitter than usual, you turned off the porch light too.

They all stood out there. Dumbfounded. 

And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose Now your tire tracks and one pair of shoes And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

When the BAU showed up at your door with the proper paperwork the next morning, both you and your roommate were at work, twenty minutes away. 

Your sense of humor still intact since you managed to leave a sticky note for them: 

At work. home by 4.

But that didn’t stop the caped crusaders of the BAU. 

When they showed up at the school to interview you and your roommate, Lucille went first, recounting the night all three of you went out to one of three bars in the town, and then when you offered to drive her home, she insisted on calling her own roommate. When you watched her get into her roommate's car, the both of you went home. 

When you recounted the same exact story, you both were released for the day. 

“Heard you were a pain in the ass yesterday.” 

You stopped in the hallway and turned around, facing Derek Morgan. “What do you want, Agent.” 

“Woah woah what’s with the formalities.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Derek. I’m really not in the mood. I fit the victimology of the asshole on a murder spree, and the team acted like I didn’t fucking know that. I’ve also realized you haven’t connected the fact that all of them are dating or sleeping with the police force.” 

“All? We only knew two of the five—“

“Because half of them don’t want to admit that they’re cheating on their wives, and the other half don’t want to admit they’re dating anyone regardless of marital status. Not a single one of the victims were married.”

Derek just stared at you. “Touchy subject?” 

You closed your eyes. “I still have a gun license Derek. Don’t make me use it.” 

“Too soon?” 

“Yeah Derek. Too soon.” You sighed as he pulled you into a hug. 

“We miss you y’a know. It’s not the same.” 

“I’m sure.” You squeezed him tightly. 

“And I’m serious. We haven’t found anyone nearly as good as you have been.” He whispered, kissing your head. “Your desk is still empty. Hotch won’t let anyone sit there. I think he’s hoping you’d come back. I think we all are.” 

“I can’t even look at him and it’s been two years” you whispered trying not to cry. 

“I know.” He just squeezed you. “I know.” 

“God I just….”

Derek pulled you into an empty classroom the second he felt your body tense up. There was one thing you hated more than crying, and it was crying in public. Once the door to the classroom was closed, he pulled you back into the hug, letting your tears pour down his shoulder.

“God I thought I’d never have to see you people again.” 

Derek chuckled. “Clearly you didn’t read your contract. It’s required that you’re supposed to see me at least seven times a year and if you don’t, I hunt you down.” 

You laughed through your tears and sat down on one of the desks. “You wish.” 

“I do.” 

“Be serious Derek.” 

“I am.” 

You sighed and looked up at him. “Well. Now you know where I am so. Come and visit me I guess.” 

“Oh I plan on it gorgeous.” 

You used the sleeve of your sweater to wipe away some of the tears still clinging to your cheeks. 

“He misses you too.” 

“Derek….”

He knew it ws dangerous territory, but he had to let you know—He needed you to know how it was affecting everyone, even though it’s been two years. “He does.” 

“Why would you tell me that Derek.”  

“You have to–

“Have to what Derek. I don’t wan—that’s a lie. What I would fucking give to be back in DC; back at the FBI. But I can’t do it Derek. I can’t go back.” 

“But–”

“No.” You backed away from him, out of his arms. “I’m not going back.”

“Please.” Derek watched as your back straightened and your eyes hardened. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were just starting to move on. Fuck. He watched as you closed yourself off again. 

“Do you need anything else agent or can I go.” 

“Y/n…”

“Then goodbye Agent Morgan.” 

So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad No, I am no longer funny 'cause I miss the way you laugh You once called me forever now you still can't call me back

Unexpectedly, but expectedly, the killer was caught. He was some sort of religious nut who had decided that “immoral sinners” be put in your place. 

That was something you did not miss: the misogynistic murderers. 

But the BAU was getting ready to leave. You were grateful that they had come and protected the community you had grown so close to, but the thought of them knowing where you were made you nervous. 

You knew Penelope most likely tracked you from time to time, and you weren’t trying to live completely off the grid/untraceable. But seeing them in person, watching them run around your town, was nerve-wracking. 

Seeing Spencer fucked you up the most though. 

He looked okay; or better than you at least. He was completely and utterly okay, and it bugged the shit out of you. How could he be okay, how could he move on and be happy without you, while you are stuck still trying to locate the remaining pieces of your shattered heart.

To Spencer, you were a wonderful experience. But to you, Spencer was everything. 

The BAU had left, no goodbyes were in order since you had fulfilled your goal of attempting to burn every bridge you had. It was painful, but you just couldn't help it. They reminded you of Spencer. Everything reminded you of Spencer. 

Lucille watched as you slowly transformed back into that lost person from two years ago. Your smile never reached your eyes. You drank just enough to be concerning, but not enough to continuously push the boundaries of alcoholism. Your face was pale. You never laughed or cracked jokes any more. 

All you could do was think of Spencer. Waking up next to him, his arms around your waist. The smell of his apartment, the rides to work, the glances from your desk to his desk. It was all just too painful. 

There were moments where you would pick up your phone and sometimes it felt like the world was against you. Derek posted a picture from some sort of day off, and suddenly you didn’t follow him anymore. Or, if you opened NPR, Doctor Spencer Reid was the headliner in a speaker series at Georgetown in blah blah blah. So you stopped listening to the radio. 

Every since he stepped out of the car in your drive you, you’ve wanted to call him. You’ve wanted to hear him speak to you like he did, to love you like he did. You wanted to call him and hear him apologize and tell you everything was going to be okay and this was all just a big misunderstanding and you were his forever. 

But you had a feeling that if you called, he wouldn’t pick up. 

Oh, that'll have to do My other half was you I hope this pain's just passin' through But I doubt it

One Year Later…

Time flies. Leaves change. Life moves on. 

But suddenly it's back to October and you find yourself in a new town, somewhere completely different. Another fresh start. Maybe this one will stick. 

But then you get a call.  

And it’s from Erin Strauss, offering you your job back, and your hesitation gave her all of the information she wanted to hear. You had three days to make a decision. 

Do you continue to run from place to place, hoping and praying that maybe someday you’d be able to feel like you deserved to be loved again. Hoping that someday someone might actually want to stay. They might want you to stay. 

Do you stay in this new town, and get attached to the people, making new friends, reminding you of the old ones, and hoping that it will be enough to fill the holes in your skin. 

Do you continue to teach. Do you continue to shape minds even though it’s not something you had ever dreamed of doing. Especially when it feels like you’re trying to force your body into loving something it doesn’t. 

Or

Do you go back to the FBI–the BAU.

Do you ignite the flame in your chest and let yourself enjoy the chase. LEt yourself be happy with your job and treasure every moment you get to catch the bad guy. 

Do you accept the job and move back to the desk you belong at, surrounded by your friends. Once again in a building you call home, letting your guard down for the first time in three years. 

Do you let your guard down and talk to Spencer and watch yourself undo all of the progress you had made. Watch as your resolve crumbles and your heart aches and you can;t even breathe around him because it hurts to see him. 

Do you give up and follow him around like some lost puppy and beg for him to take you back so maybe you’ll be able to melt your waxen heart and be happy again. 

You don’t take the job. You never hear from Erin Strauss again. 

And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose Now your tire tracks and one pair of shoes

Sometimes in your sleep, you can see what your wedding would have looked like. The venue, the florals, your outfits and shoes. Your closest friends and family by your side as you commit your soul to be bound to his. 

But every time you get to the I Do’s, Spencer says yes. 

It hurts because you never even made it that far. 

You didn’t even get an engagement ring. 

All you got were pitiful looks and sympathetic glances while Spencer rambled on about how much he didn’t understand marriage or want children–not that you did, but you would have liked for it to have been a discussion between the two of you. 

You would have liked a lot of things. 

Sometimes, in your dreams, Spencer proposes. 

It never leaves your mind, watching as he publicly declares his love for you. Apparently, that was too much to ask for. 

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do Have to do

The pain of waiting to be loved feels like you’ve but split down the middle, letting yourself melt apart. The skin, no matter how hard you try, can never be stitched back together, and even if you manage to get some back, it scars over, reminding you for the rest of your life how unloveable you feel. 

Maybe you’ll get lucky and someday you can learn to live with never being truly whole again. 

Since Spencer owns half of you, and you will never be whole without him.

Part 2

[feasibilities]

Mrs. Muckraker | Thomas Shelby x Author!Reader ✍︎

✍︎ Synopsis: Your controversial writings catch the attention of local kingpin, Thomas Shelby. ✍︎ Warnings: Hatefuck, Dub-Con, Spanking, Manhandling, Period-Typical Sexism, Blackmail, Manipulation, Veiled Threats, Slurs, Shame ✍︎ Author's Note: My first full-length fic of 2025. I'm trying to tackle darker themes. Enjoy!

Your tendentious writings are causing a stir in the literary world, especially in Birmingham. You tackled hot-button topics like corruption, misogyny, crime, sexuality and more. Against the advice of your publisher, you refused to use a pen name to protect your identity. This led to a myriad of angry letters from local priests, husbands with shaky marriages, and stuffy bureaucrats like Inspector Campbell. You had also caught the attention of the Thomas Shelby, the patriarch of the family and leader of the Peaky Blinders. 

Against your instincts, you decided to spend an evening at the Garrison. You were surprised to see it empty with the exception of a few drunkards. After ordering a glass of whiskey, you saw Thomas emerge from the meeting room with a stern expression. Harry wordlessly poured him a glass of gin while you rolled your eyes at his acquiescence. Taking note of your irritation, Thomas sat next to you. 

“The Virginia Woolf of Birmingham, eh?” He teased. 

“I’m surprised someone like you knows who she is.” You retorted, sipping your whiskey. 

“Do tell, who am I?” He asked with a pompous tone.

“A witless cunt.” You criticized. 

“Very creative, sweetheart.” He praised sarcastically. 

“I am not your fucking sweetheart.” You shot back. 

“I suppose so. I thought you would be sweeter.” He purred, touching your hand. You snatched it away. His chuckling angered you even more. 

“Fuck off. I’m taking this to go, Harry.” You declared, walking to the door with the glass. 

“Before you leave, I have a preposition for you.” He said. You continued out of the pub without another word. 

—

The next morning, you found refuge at a local tea room. Your peace was swiftly interrupted by the crook you met the night before. 

“Nice to see you again.” He spoke, lighting a cigarette and sitting at the table. 

“Is this the only tea room in town?” You huffed.

“I’m a regular here, dove.” He replied, smoke ghosting in front of his mouth. 

“Fucking any woman that comes through the door doesn’t make you a regular.” You sniped. 

“I’ll take that as the compliment it was meant to be. I have news for you.” He said. 

“What news?” You complained. 

“Shelby Company Limited is willing to publish your next novel at a far better percentage than your current publisher.” He declared, handing you a copy of your contract with Orchid Publishing. You felt ill at what he could’ve done to get such a private document. 

“I’m not interested in anything under the table. Your intimidation tactics won’t work on me.” You said, handing it back. 

“Of course. I’m confident that you’ll sort everything out once you’re dropped due to public outcry and a ‘firm recommendation’ from Inspector Campbell.” He revealed, tapping the ash of his cigarette. You were almost impressed by his business acumen but refused to compliment him. Thomas saw the wheels turning and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. 

“If you’d like to discuss this further, I’ll be hosting a dinner for the Shelby Foundation. I would hate to see talent like yours go to waste.” He stated, pulling a golden envelope from his suit pocket. He sat it on the table and stared at you intently. You kept eye contact with him as you took the envelope in your hands. 

“I’ll let you know of my decision at the dinner.” You said plainly, standing up. He gave an affirmative nod as he watched you leave. 

Thomas provoked your ire like no other. His need to dominate every industry that came through Birmingham was close to swallowing you whole. You feared that your writings would be diluted under the authority of Shelby Company Limited. The wrong decision could end your career as you know it.

Arriving at the foundation dinner, your dress earned concupiscent gazes from male attendees and glares from their wives. You hurriedly took a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray. Dread wore on your face as you pondered the inevitable. 

“You clean up well.” A gruff voice whispered behind you. You were ready to elbow the man in the face until you realized it was Thomas. He circled you like prey while admiring your beauty. 

“For me?” He said arrogantly. 

“No, the invitation said formal. Don’t be so proud of yourself.” You replied, sipping from the flute. 

“Sure.” He said, looking you up and down once more. You felt butterflies in your stomach. A longtime colleague of his stopping by seemed to embolden his peacocking. You became an awkward background character to their lively conversation until his colleague recognized you. 

“She’s the spinster keeping up trouble in Small Heath?” He realized. You finally came to as you heard the insult. 

“She is but she’ll be an ally of ours soon, eh?” He smiled, placing a patronizing hand on your shoulder. You snatched his hand away and smashed the half-full flute on the floor

“Stupid fucking Birmingham scum, the both of you! You’re nothing but a stupid gypsy bastard with nothing to speak for but the money you’ve taken out of our pockets!” You shouted, causing the party to go silent. Thomas retreated into an aggrieved, icy quiet as the humiliation soaked in. Exasperated, you tilted your head waiting for a response. The partygoers, including his colleague, grew nervous at what could happen next.

“I’ll have to excuse myself. Carry on everyone.” He announced, walking to his study. Whispers traveled like a virus through the attendees as they were stunned at his allowance of your vituperative attack. Soon after, the festivities resumed while you were smoked a cigarette outside. As much as you hated it, you worried that you might’ve bruised his ego this time. You were also worried that you signed your death warrant as he was the most feared man in town. Sneaking past nosy attendees, you found the door of his study. You knocked and waited for an answer.

“Come in.” He said. You came in and stood at his desk. Before you could speak, Thomas began reading a scathing excerpt from your latest novel. 

“The Peaky Blinders can be compared to a family of plague rats. Spreading disease, death, and degeneracy wherever they end up. Thomas is the captain of a sinking ship and has no qualms about leaving his crew behind if they grow lame or impotent.” He read the excerpt as if it was a bedtime story. 

“I came to apologize and-“ You started before being cut off once more. 

“Thomas seems to think he can fuck and drink his way into being elected MP. This region has truly gone to shit if he is ever elected.” He read another excerpt. This time, you stayed silent to avoid any interruptions. He removed his glasses and sat back in his chair. 

“You forgot to notify me of your decision.” He said with an eerily calm tone. 

“I haven’t made one yet. I just came to apologize.” You said, trying to gauge his anger. 

“For what? The gypsy bastard part or the degeneracy commentary?” He said, feigning confusion. 

“For all of it, I suppose.” You relented, feeling deep shame. 

“Oh, no. Don’t apologize for speaking the truth.” He pushed back, standing up and walking to you.

“What?” You asked. 

“I’m pleased to let you know that I’m everything you said I am. A gypsy bastard. A drunk. A pest. An enjoyer of women. Now, what is your decision?” He heralded.

“I..can’t work with you. I would forego my morals.” You rejected. 

“Why not? A man like me would be great print.” He implored, walking closer. With each step he took forward, you took a step back. 

“The answer is no. I apologize for the outburst and I won’t write of you again.” You concluded, reaching for the doorknob. Suddenly, you were slammed against the wall with a painful grip on your face.

“The truth is that you need someone like me. Someone to keep you in line.” He threatened, eyes boring into yours. Your attempts to escape were hopeless as he relished in your panic.

“Let me show you something.” He whispered, slipping his other hand in the top of your dress. His hand stalled at your chest. Your heart jackhammered against his warm palm. 

“Feel that?” He asked. You nodded as you pulled your dress off your shoulders and moved his hand to your breast. Finally, you two kissed with a burning hatred for each other. You two yanked away each other’s clothing with such disdain. You found yourself bent over the cool mahogany of Thomas’ desk. You lifted your head to insult him before your head was roughly pressed back down. 

“Be a dear and stay still.” He said with condescension.

“Fuck you.” You spat, trying your best to hide your lust. He groped the soft flesh of your ass before landing a series of harsh smacks. Each slap evoked a wanton mewl from you. He went back to massage the tender flesh to vex you even more.

“Let’s make this quick…” He huffed as he plunged inside of you. Your back arched and another lecherous noise left you at the sensation. Soon after, your body began to lurch forward with his merciless thrusts. Your hands searched for purchase on the hard surface. Noise barely escaped your open mouth as the air was expelled from your lungs. Restrained groans came from Thomas while bruises formed on your hips. The stress of pleasure in your abdomen finally broke like an overextended rubber band. He watched as your body violently convulsed with rapture. When you finally came to, he kissed the back of your head. 

“You should get dressed.” He said coldly, slipping on his dress shirt. With shaky legs, you haphazardly dressed yourself. His lack of affection stung but you understood that it was his intention. 

“Hey, sign this before you go.” He said, handing you a pen and pointing to the empty line on the contract. 

[coochiequeens]

It's also morphed from what was the rate of suicide attempts to just suicide. It’s not ‘41% of transgender-identifying people attempt suicide’, it’s ‘will commit suicide’. The reality of ‘41%’ is neither, it is ‘41% of people who took the National Transgender Discrimination Survey in 2008 answered in the affirmative to a yes/no question about attempting suicide’ which succinctly describes a number that is effectively meaningless statistical noise from a 14-year old study, something that is much less interesting."

By Sue Donym Dec 22, 2024

A few years ago, in the early Neolithic, when I wasn’t banned from Medium, I wrote a post called ‘The Transgender Movement and Bad Stats: A Debunking Compilation’. I had collected a vast amount of statistics and written about them in some very lengthy articles, and thought it was a good idea to collect them together into a single post.

That article is now five years out of date. Medium also banned me for being a hater, so that article is currently only available online as an archived website. I also have some delicious new statistics to compile. An updated reference guide is in order, although some sections will remain relatively the same.

If sections of this article seem familiar to you, that’s probably because they are. I will openly confess to the fact that some of this article is taken from other articles and compiled into what you are currently reading. That’s more or less the point - to write something where the numbers are presented in a digestible format. I make no apologies for this - there are only so many ways to write ‘A says XY is B%’.

You don’t have to read all of this. The sections list below contains the names of each topic - you should be able to search each heading and read it.

I’m not overly fond of writing introductions, so without further ado, let’s dive in.

Sections:

Suicide Statistics - Is 41% A Real Figure?

Prison Statistics - Are trans women more likely to be sex offenders?

Murder Stats - The Fake Epidemic

Homelessness and The Problem with Aggregation

A Quick Funding Update

Conclusion

Suicide Statistics - Is 41% a real figure?

Participate in this debate long enough, and you’ll see the repeated claims that trans people attempt or commit suicide at extremely high rates. That number you’ll often see is ‘41%’. But where does it come from?

That 41% suicide statistic comes from a report done in 2014, based on data from 2008 in the National Transgender Discrimination Survey (NTDS), from the Williams Institute, part of UCLA School of Law. Here is a link to the William’s Institute report. Of course, they debunk their own statistic on the third page of the report. How convenient for me.

“While the NTDS provides a wealth of information about the experiences of transgender and gender non-conforming people, the survey instrument and methodology posed some limitations for this study. First, the NTDS questionnaire included only a single item about suicidal behavior that asked, “Have you ever attempted suicide?” with dichotomized responses of Yes/No. Researchers have found that using this question alone in surveys can inflate the percentage of affirmative responses, since some respondents may use it to communicate self-harm behavior that is not a “suicide attempt,” such as seriously considering suicide, planning for suicide, or engaging in self-harm behavior without the intent to die (Bongiovi-Garcia et al., 2009). The National Comorbity Survey, a nationally representative survey, found that probing for intent to die through in-person interviews reduced the prevalence of lifetime suicide attempts from 4.6 percent to 2.7 percent of the adult sample (Kessler et al., 1999; Nock & Kessler, 2006). Without such probes, we were unable to determine the extent to which the 41 percent of NTDS participants who reported ever attempting suicide may overestimate the actual prevalence of attempts in the sample. In addition, the analysis was limited due to a lack of follow-up questions asked of respondents who reported having attempted suicide about such things as age and transgender/gender non-conforming status at the time of the attempt.”

If that was too long for you to read - the question was asked as a ‘yes/no’ question. This has a well-known effect of overinflating the number of people who answer in the affirmative to the question ‘Have you ever attempted suicide?’. The NTDS asked the question in this manner and thus massively overinflated the estimated suicide rate in their sample. The ‘41'%’ number is statistical noise. Not only that, but the authors conclude that there’s no explanations available

“ Second, the survey did not directly explore mental health status and history, which have been identified as important risk factors for both attempted and completed suicide in the general population […] The lack of systematic mental health information in the NTDS data significantly limited our ability to identify the pathways to suicidal behavior among the respondents”

They don’t know why the rate is so high — so you can’t say 41% of transgender people attempt suicide because of ‘lack of acceptance’ or ‘bathroom bills or ‘Donald Trump’. Because the study didn’t ask those questions. That would be the case even if the study didn’t have even more major methodological problems anyway:

Third, since the NTDS utilized convenience sampling, it is unclear how representative the respondents are of the overall U.S. transgender/gender non-conforming adult population. Further, the survey’s focus on discrimination may have resulted in wider participation by persons who had suffered negative life experiences due to antitransgender bias.1 As the relationship between minority stress and mental health would suggest (Meyer, 2003), this may have contributed to a higher prevalence of negative outcomes, including lifetime suicide attempts, in the sample.

A convenience sample means the results are basically a cross between being indicative of a potential issue and waste of time. Essentially, the survey shows the rate of suicide attempts by those who took the survey, which means the results are only applicable to the survey-takers, rather than any broader group of people. This is a problem with all the National Center for Transgender Equality surveys even today - and they’re still treated as an authority on this subject. Total madness.

It’s like if I did a survey of all my friends on whether or not we prefer deep-dish. If I have one Irish person in my sample, and that person just loves deep-dish, I cannot then use the results of my survey to tell Newsweek that 100% of all Irish people love deep-dish. Only my friend does. Similarly, the original authors of the NTDS can say that their survey-takers had a 41% rate of attempted suicide, but they can’t apply the result to the broader demographic of whatever is considered' ‘transgender’ these days.

But unlike me, who did not run off to Newsweek to inform them that 100% of all Irish people love deep-dish, the National Center for Transgender Equality (NCTE), did in fact, tell anyone who would listen that ‘41% of trans people attempt suicide’. Activists, non-profits, politicians and mendacious pediatricians followed suit in telling anyone who would listen about ‘41%’, and it became completely divorced from its original context. ‘41%’ quickly took on a life of it’s own, and became an urban myth, a meme, no different from other statistical noise given life, like claims that ‘50% of lesbians beat their partners’, ‘Humans only use 10% of the brain’, ‘50% of cops are wife beaters’, the opium letter in the New England Journal of Medicine that ‘proved’ opiates ‘weren’t addictive’, and the concept of ‘excited delirium’.

All of those had morphed into adages, things widely accepted as true because ‘it was in a study’, or from being uncritically repeated in popular science outlets. They’re things that often have a grain of truth to them or affirm traditional beliefs, so they’re judged as ‘true enough.’ But they’re all falsehoods, just as much as ‘41%’ is, and all those falsehoods share a similar pattern, going from a random statistic in a poorly conducted survey or even just a case study and from there, gradually morphing into widely-accepted knowledge, even though no one really knows where it came from, nor has bothered to investigate it, because it matches with an agenda or traditionally held beliefs. Eventually, someone with a sense of inquiry to them looks into the statistic and finds that it’s false, but by that point it’s often done untold damage and will take decades to purge from the popular consciousness.

The suicide attempt statistic that started life as meaningless noise from a poorly conducted 2008 study with huge methodological flaws has now graduated from random apocrypha to religious dogma. That statistic, which objectively looks horrendous deprived of its original context, was used to justify a whole range of absurd propositions.

Give me absurd propositions X, Y, and Z, or it’s hateful and I’ll kill myself, trans people have a 41% suicide rate because of discrimination!’

Above is a fairly representative example of what the use of ‘41%’ turned into - completely misinformed people screaming histrionically about committing suicide because someone told a man to use the men’s room. Not only is that emotional abuse, it can only last for so long before people get sick of the absurdity. The suicide baiting rhetoric was always going to backfire, and it has done so in spectacular fashion.

Now 41% is used as a slang word for transgender suicide. The adage got repeated so often it turned into a meme, and then that meme became a threat, the demographically tailored 2024 version of ‘kys’1.

It's also morphed from what was the rate of suicide attempts to just suicide. It’s not ‘41% of transgender-identifying people attempt suicide’, it’s ‘will commit suicide’. The reality of ‘41%’ is neither, it is ‘41% of people who took the National Transgender Discrimination Survey in 2008 answered in the affirmative to a yes/no question about attempting suicide’ which succinctly describes a number that is effectively meaningless statistical noise from a 14-year old study, something that is much less interesting.

Now that it’s essentially well, a nasty threat - yes, telling someone to kill themselves for whatever reason is generally unpleasant behavior, sorry - the power of the statistic is reversed. It’s now used like this:

‘why would I let you into women’s prisons when you are going to kill yourself anyway, degenerate?’ 41% already you fucking troon pedophile, no one cares about the opinions of people who will be dead soon

Personally, I don’t know what to make of the evolution of ‘41%’. It’s gone from being a widely held false belief used to justify all sorts of terrible things to a demand that the trans-identifying person you disagree with should go kill themselves. It’s somehow even less constructive than it was before, which is certainly an achievement, albeit a dubious one.

Yes, transgenderism is a dangerous, illiberal cult full of misogyny, racism, and homophobia, but I don’t think it’s right to sacrifice my values when criticizing them - I can do that effectively without telling people to go and kill themselves. Would you tell someone in a similar situation - like a Scientologist, who is also part of a destructive and nasty cult to go and kill themselves?

See rest of article

[joicecubes]

something so frustrating about mischaracterization that i’ve witnessed in many different fandoms with many different characters is the phenomenon of people combatting it by running SO far in the other direction.

like!! a large percentage of the trigun fandom will mischaracterize vash by portraying only the bubbly silly goofy side of his personality and dumbing him down so that its all he is. and then a different percentage of the fandom will say “no no no” and insist that part of his personality is ONLY a facade, when its actually just a larger part of who he is as a whole!! and i won’t say i’m immune to making this mistake, but it can be so irritating to see people diminish a character down to a single character trait, usually the most prominent. characters are complex!!! thats what makes them interesting !!

[moodymisty]

The reason astartes call themselves “demigods” is because they’re the sons of a primarch. But I think that in the case of you being Lorgar’s beloved, the meaning behind the term “demigod” would change for the word bearers legion.

Cause their dad’s weird obsessive worshipping behaviour of you would heavily influence them. And in turn they would see themselves as demigods not because they are Lorgar’s sons, but because they are your sons. To them and a good percentage of the people of the imperium you are a goddess in all but name, and at the end of the heresy you’re seen as Chaos Incarnate herself. Yes Lorgar is holy and good and powerful, but he’s only a simple worshipper compared to you. You are the guiding light of the legion, you are a deity of unbridled power, and you are someone who looked upon their father and oh so kindly gifted their family with your presence and love.

Lorgar talks about how he wants his future child to look more like you than him. And in a way the word bearers share his sentiment, though somewhat differently. Because many of them pray in the silence of their rooms, quiet murmurs to the chaos gods to change their form not into that of horned beasts or winged creatures, but into something that more resembles you. Their requests are simple, a change of hair colour, or tone of voice, or so that their eyes look more like yours. When they became space marines their forms were changed to resemble their father, and now they wish to show the other half of their parentage. So that any and all who gaze upon them can see that they are the offspring of a god.

Basically what I’m saying is that the word bearers would be total mama’s boys.

mamas boys Word Bearers! I love this so much;;

The idea of htem actually wanting to look somewhat like you, their goddess and the goddess of their father, is an interesting take. We always talk about how Lorgar is with all the goddess talk, but we haven't gone into much how his Word Bearers would take to that stuff.

[where-dreamers-go]

“Introductions” rk800 Connor x Reader

(A/N: Meeting Connor for the first time. Reader is an investigative assistant. This one’s a little short. Warnings: Language and canon violence (one punch). Use of (Y/F/N) for your first name. Word Count: 738 words)

Days could be exceedingly repetitive. Other days were only the same by slim comparisons. The work day ahead of you would likely change all of that by a sizable percentage.

Not that you knew that in the moment.

Walking out of the restroom, close to the break room, you heard the tell tale voice of Detective Reed. He didn’t sound too enthused. Nothing new there.

Before taking notice of anything else, you saw ‘ANDROID’ on the back of a dark jacket. An intriguing sight for the break room and unfortunate given a certain detective’s presence.

Oh, no, you thought as your feet took you closer. A wall blocked the scene’s entirety, but you could hear plenty.

“. . . is that it?” Detective Reed asked sourly.

You reached a vacant space behind the concrete wall, hearing his voice clearly.

“Hey, bring me a coffee, dipshit.”

Quietly, you took one step into the break room.

Reed was standing uncomfortably close to the dark-haired android and looking smug if not a little peeved.

The newcomer did not turn to retrieve any coffee.

“GET A MOVE ON!”

Rigid, you watched on. Something in you needed to know how this turned out, to get a better read of everyone in the room.

Neither individual moved in their standoff.

“I’m sorry, but I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson.” The android replied.

“Oh… Oh…” Detective Reed turned sarcastically to his companion at a small table who was watching.

The android had been looking to the silent detective as well until Reed sucker punched the android’s middle. Without a word, the android dropped down to one knee. Stiff and giving no other reaction.

Their backs were to you completely.

“When a human gives you an order, you obey.” Reed pointed at the downed figure before leaning forward. “Got it?” He crouched even further to be eye level. “Stay outta my way… Next time you won’t get off so easy.”

Reed pushed the android’s forehead before leaving him hunched over, close to the floor. Even walking off with the other detective a few paces behind, Reed stared harshly at the android.

Hater, you thought, ignoring the widescreen television hung on the wall set to a news channel. Poor thing.

In front of you, the figure pushed themselves up in one straight movement before rolling the shoulder joints.

Oh. You rushed over.

“Are you okay?” You asked in a hushed tone, coming up beside the android’s left side.

“I do not have any damage. All of my systems are operational.” The brown-eyed android said. After adjusting his tie, he turned to you fully. The LED on his temple spun for a couple of moments before settling to a steady blue.

“So…you are okay?”

“I am.” He gave a half smile, encouragingly. “My name is Connor. I am the android sent by Cyberlife.”

“Hi… My name is (Y/F/N). I am a human….who had enough motivation to go to work today.” You paused with a small smile. “I’m an investigative assistant.”

“Perhaps we will both be assigned to the same case. Lieutenant Anderson and I are assigned to any case involving androids.”

“Hank Anderson?” You lowered your voice as you asked.

“Yes. Have you worked with him?” His eyes seemed to brighten.

“Yeah. This should be interesting.”

Connor tilted his head.

Cute. Well at least he’s not teamed with Reed. That’d be a disaster and a half.

Clearing your throat, you clasped your hands together.

“Uh… Not all humans are like Reed, but if he bothers you again… Please let me know.”

“I can handle myself, but I will keep that in mind.”

I hope so. You thought and took a step to the side.

“Good. Uh. I guess I’ll see you around, Connor. I hope your day goes by more smoothly.”

“Thank you.” He gave a slight inclination of his head. “I look forward to working with you if we are assigned on the same case or in passing.”

Smiling in kind, you gave a small wave and left the break room to return to your business.

Whether the android’s words were merely professional or friendly, you had a good feeling about your new acquaintance. You harbored no ill feelings towards androids. Perhaps that was a weakness, perhaps not.

But why would they have an android put on android cases? Hmm.

There would be plenty of time to ponder that question and many more.

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Detroit Become Human Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[crab-people-overlord]

I thought it would be fun to start a series of character analyses using different personality typing frameworks and South Park characters. Obviously, before I share my first, a disclaimer: SP isn’t gospel truth for psychological analysis, and characters can obviously be analyzed in different ways. My views on them also aren’t the gospel truth lol. Also, personality typing is in no way a real science. This is all just for fun.

Anyways, with all that aside…. My first topic is regarding the Big Five’s concept of Neuroticism. 

Both these kids clock in around 60-65% Neurotic (and honestly, they'd probably score even higher if they weren't literal children. That said, either of their neuroticism can go down with age). 

But holy shit the way Stan and Kyle express it couldn’t be more different.

Kyle’s neuroticism comes with a side of ‘fuck you, I’m right.’

He’s often the morality police, screaming at Cartman every five minutes (which is valid tbh). His triggers are injustice, idiocy, and anything that violates his moral code. This results in intense emotional outbursts that are often angry. Some things to note about Kyle’s neuroticism:

His anxiety and reactivity are highly situational. When something crosses his moral line (or… uh… someone), it’s go-time. He becomes righteous and indignant, and he is extremely non-confrontational and not afraid to get in arguments, both physical or verbal.

That said, when the stakes aren’t high, Kyle can be pretty chill and logical. He’s not neurotic all the time - just when his morals get challenged, making him fight for what he believes is the greater good.

Stan’s neuroticism is a lot more… emo/goth compared to Kyle’s fiery moral crusading.

It’s quieter, more existential, and more depressing than anxious. He’s not here to argue with you; he’s here to silently judge you while he descends into a more innerly nihilistic worldview. 

His emotional struggles are more constant than Kyle’s more reactive form. His neuroticism is much more quiet, but also more pervasive and brooding. Unlike Kyle, he doesn’t often explode - he implodes. His negativity simmers under the surface, manifesting as cynicism, withdrawal, nonchalance, and overall seeing everything as shit. 

When triggered, unless it’s for something he can still find the energy to raise passion for like animals, Stan doesn’t fight the world like Kyle does. He gives it the middle finger and checks out entirely (and can be quite sensitive and angsty while doing so). 

TL;DR: 

Kyle’s Neuroticism is visible, righteous, and fiery as fuck, leading to loud moral crusades and heated arguments. He’s someone who will yell at you for going against his morals, but also help you with your homework because he cares. His neuroticism is like a weapon he points outward (often at Cartman). And while many may view Kyle on the surface-level as being more stereotypically ‘neurotic’ than Stan, when he’s not actively fighting moral battles, he can actually keep his shit together pretty well. 

Stan’s neuroticism is brooding, depressing, and angsty. It’s like a black hole inside him that occasionally swallows his will to live.  He's less explosive but more consistently done with this shit. While Kyle's fighting the good fight, Stan is wondering if any fight even fucking matters at all.

Neither of them has a more ‘correct’ approach - they’re just different. Anyways, interested to hear other’s takes, especially on what you think other SP character’s Neuroticism percentages may be and how they add to Stan and Kyle’s!