#synthetic-synesthesia

[chiptune-maestro]

[plays some oscilloscope art ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XziuEdpVUe0 )]

HHOLY SHHIT II CCAN TTASTE THHIS

[lowkeyren]

reverse dating tropes w hsr men!

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — boothill, jing yuan, blade (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 1.5k, used up half my brain for this (the other half is for pt2 w aven sunday geppie!!), lovesick boothill + clingy jy + jealous blade fr, anyway pls enjoy! reblogs r appreciated <3

gepard aven sunday vers here!

boothill ꩜ .ᐟ

love at many sights with boothill whose memory card was tinkered with, and every time you meet, he thinks he's seeing you for the first time, so he falls for you over and over again. 

when boothill returned from a dangerous mission, it was evident that he had endured significant damage. his once sleek and polished exterior was now marred by dents and scratches, and his mechanical limbs were either partially missing or severely damaged. the exposed wiring, usually neatly tucked away beneath scraps of metals, now hung in tangled strands, sparking occasionally with residual energy.

he looked barely salvageable. it's safe to say that the mechanics had a hell of a time fixing him.

though they were skilled enough to piece him back together, his memory card wasn’t as lucky. a tinkering in his system left him incapable of recalling or retaining information in his synthetic brain, temporarily —leaving the mechanics scrambling to find a solution.

weeks later, you find yourself walking down the familiar corridors of the laboratory where your favourite cyborg is being held for reparation.

boothill’s eyes immediately land on yours when you enter the lab. “well ain’t this a surprise! haven’t seen ya in a good long while.” boothill drawls, tipping his hat your way, his voice carrying a metallic twang. 

"i heard you took a bit of a tumble, figured someone should come make sure you didn’t lose all your screws." you shrug nonchalantly, a smirk playing on your lips.

boothill's eyes flicker for a moment, taking in the curve forming on your lips. he thinks you’re adorable with that infectious smile of yours. 

“heh, nothin’ bad, just had a r-r-run in with some cuties" he says, failing to hide the glitch that caused his voice to stutter. (and that damn synesthesia beacon! he swears he’ll get it fixed this time around…)

“guess you took more than a tumble huh...” you lean casually against the workbench, the sterile scent of machinery and the hum of various devices filled the air; your gaze sweeps over the freshly repaired parts of boothill's metallic frame, “anyway, glad to see that you’re mostly fine now." 

“aww! do ya care ‘bout me?” he teases, his grin widening, revealing his pointy teeth peeking out mischievously. you don’t reply, your eyes glinting with the faintest hint of amusement dancing in them.

"boothill, we go through this every time, your memory card's still damaged. you forget things sometimes, so for the 5th time this week, yes i do care about you.”

boothill's expression shifts, a mixture of realization and sheepishness crossing his features. "right, right," he murmurs, scratching the back of his head with his metallic hand. "sorry 'bout that, sugar. guess i just keep forgettin'."

you chuckle and shake your head, finding the situation amusing. he feels like he might overheat from the sheer warmth radiating from your smile.

“you’re beautiful, date me.” (he didn’t mean to blurt that outloud)

you raise your eyebrows at the sudden compliment, “why thank you,” a surprised laugh escapes your lips.

“—and we’re already dating, silly.”

a shower of sparks erupts from his circuits, you can particularly hear the fans inside him sputter and whir. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face.

“wh- are you okay?! you’re short circuiting again!”

and this happens every time his memory lapses. you offer an apology to the mechanic on the next shift for the extra work required to fix yet another damaged wire after your visits. perhaps they should ban you from getting too close to boothill, lest he completely breaks down again like that one time where you told him, yes you actually kissed before.

jing yuan ୭ ˚.

"secret relationship" with jing yuan but he is completely unaware of how his public displays of affection towards you keep revealing the supposed secrecy of your relationship.

on the rare case that the general is found in his office, you are there too, beside him.

“pleeeease? just one kiss, really really miss you, darling”

“no jing yuan, not now…”

he wraps his arms around you as he leans in, caging you from the back. he rests his chin on your shoulder, “then how about a kiss on the cheeks?” he murmurs in your ear. you try to push him away, but he just chuckles softly against your neck, his arms still secure around you.

“no, and get off me before someone sees!” you protest, feeling your face flush from the close proximity, and the tightening of his arms suggests that he has no intention of releasing you just yet.

this stubborn man… you swear you’re gonna burst a blood vessel someday.

as if to echo your exasperation; he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, peppering it with nibbles and gentle kisses. jing yuan certainly knows how to test your limits, yet his affectionate gestures never fail to chip away at your resolve.

suddenly, a series of loud knocks come from the door, you freeze, and immediately attempt to wiggle your way out of his grasp. but he remains unfazed, his hold on you firm, and seemingly unbothered by the interruption.

the door bursts open, “general! there’s a situation at starskiff ha—ven...”  yanqing trails off as his eyes widen at your position. the room falls into a momentary silence as yanqing's gaze shifts between you and his general, his expression reflecting a blend of shock and embarrassment.

clearing his throat awkwardly, yanqing stammers, "i-im sorry for interrupting... i’ll t-take my leave now!” with a hurried nod, he practically sprints out of the room.

oh bless that kid’s poor eyes… 

you shoot a glare at jing yuan from the corner of your eyes, you just know that he has a shit eating grin on his face right now. nowadays, it’s probably common knowledge that the general’s most treasured person is you, evidently shown by how he latches himself onto you every time you’re within his vicinity. you wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of xianzhou knows about your supposed “secret” relationship.

“so… can i have my kiss now?” 

aeons, he’s insufferable. (you love him tho!!!!!)

blade ؛ ଓ

"fake dating" with blade but you are actually dating —somehow everyone is convinced you aren't.

“blink twice if you need help.” march whispers-shout; dan heng leans against the doorway, blocking the way into your room, nods in agreement.

“this is absurd… i’m alright guys, really!” you try to reassure your friends, frustration edging into your voice. though no matter how many times you insist that no blade isn't holding you hostage and that you are indeed in a relationship with him, they seem convinced otherwise, somehow deducing that you're not able to speak freely.

you sigh in resignation, knowing that they aren’t going to relent anytime soon, and with blade idling in your room, you can't afford to keep him waiting any longer. “dan heng please, let me through, he’s been waiting for me for the past 10 minutes now…”

“good, let him wait.” dan heng responds curtly. (what a guy)

march takes hold of your hands, “do you owe the stellaron hunters something, and him out of everyone?! he looks scary…and totally not your type!” 

“not their type?” a low voice rings out from behind dan heng, the three of you turn immediately and see blade looming at your doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“stellaron hunter. stay back.” dan heng furrows his eyebrows, his stance defensive as he pulls out his weapon, positioning himself to block you and march. sensing the growing tension, you step forward, reaching out to gently grasp at dan heng’s shoulder. 

(blade’s expression darkens at your hand resting on him)

“it’s okay dan heng, he means no harm.” dan heng hesitates, his grip on his weapon remains tight, but he doesn't move to strike. so you slowly move between him and blade, “see? i’m fine… he’s not gonna hurt me.” you smile reassuringly at your friends. 

just then, as if to further aggravate dan heng, blade settles his hand on your waist. dan heng’s hand is visibly twitching now. “what? can’t i touch what’s mine?”

dan heng’s eyes narrow, “...we still don’t believe you, leave now. before it’s too late.”

before you can interject, blade grabs your chin, silencing any words of protest with a sudden kiss. caught off guard, your eyes widen as the unexpected gesture leaves you momentarily stunned. but you soon reciprocate his kiss, his intensity drawing you in.

(march quickly covers her eyes with her hands)

“there. now leave us alone.” and with that, he pulls you into your room, slamming the door shut behind, pinning you against it. 

it’s just the both of you now, finally.

“did you really have to touch him.” his voice tinged with possessiveness. “blade, he would’ve hurt you, i didn’t mean—” he shuts you up with another kiss, more desperate this time, welp guess you’re stuck with him for the night.

though your friends might not believe that a person like you would “be in cahoots” with someone as dangerous as him; convincing them otherwise is a task for another time. tonight, he wants your attention focused solely on him, and him only.

✧.*

masterlist gepard aven sunday vers here!

[tearsofcalamity]

(mechanic!reader) cw // blowjob, overstim, robotfucking!! keep in mind I have 0 mechanical knowledge this is just me spitballing

boothill glitches & overheats when he's overstimulated!

it's not super obvious at first, what with going down on him and all, your eyes are kind of downcast as you focus on licking up and down his synthetic cock - the one you'd given him. it feels just as good, better, even, than a regular human's, and you'd made sure to up his sensitivity to touch extra for your little night with him.

his little huffs and pants are quite delicious, trying so hard to fight off the noises that are bubbling in his throat, but he can't help but let off a sharp whine when your tongue drags right beneath his tip, metal hands nearly gouging into the metal examination table beneath him.

"d-darlin', d-did you-" he's just about to figure out your little tinkering with his sense of touch when you wrap your lips around his tip and suck hard, your hand gliding up and down his shaft, aided with the residual slick left behind by your wandering mouth.

"ngh- mmnh! fudge, fudge, fudge!" ah, he curses in his mind that you were so willing to give him all these lovely upgrades, but you weren't quite as eager to fix the 'hilarious' problem with his synesthesia beacon.

he gets as close to cumming as a cyborg can, no liquid spurting from the tip but the heat from his metal body and the way his face tenses, then relaxes, making it all too clear he's reached his climax.

but you don't stop.

"h-hey, sugar? I j-just- oh, god, mmmh-" he can barely get the words out as you go in again, just as enthusiastic, if not even more so than before.

your tongue sliding back over his cock was absolute heaven, but also - man, was it also torture. he was already nearly at the edge again, his fingers actually making divots in the metal of the table this time. if boothill could swear, the words would be pouring out of his lips, but he settles on biting down on his lip instead, drawing some of that blue blood he's now been built with.

"h-honey? s-sugar, fudge, ahh, ahhh! I ca-ca-can't-!"

you look up at that, noticing the way he's stuttering, stammering more than usual even when he's overwhelmed. his lip is twitching, almost as if he's going to cry, but then you see his arm spasm unusually, jerking to the side when you get in one last little kitten lick on his aching cock.

he came again.

his face was utterly debauched, and he stared you down with a look of utter shock, his jaw twitching a bit as he tried to think of the words to say. you reach up to cup his cheek, your other hand landing on his abdomen, which results in you quickly pulling away with a sharp hiss.

he was burning up!

"darlin', I'm so-so-so-so-" he jittered out, the voicebox in his throat malfunctioning from the heat. he reaches a working hand up to grasp his throat, his lips moving but the sound not quite working in sync with them.

you paused, watching the way he glitched about, and then began to laugh. boothill shot you a betrayed look, but you just sighed with a smile and grabbed your tools, pulling over your swivel chair.

"okay, this'll be a lesson learned for upping your sensitivity next time."

"I k-k-k-knew it!"

"yes, yes. can't have your wires frying every time we fuck, love."

[banned-for-horny]

Yee...haw?

Hi, Boothill gets his pussy absolutely plowed by the Voidrangers. Literally nothing else happens.

Including but not limited to: Boothill w/ a pussy, Voidrangers going wild, pregnancy mention, mindbreaking, and cervix penetration.

If you have any questions, blame @hakusins

Despite the changes to his Synesthesia Beacon, Boothill can still swear all he wants in his head.

That is all he can think of as the Reaver continues to force its cock past his lips, barbs scraping the walls of his throat with each harsh thrust. They aren't sharp enough to pierce, thank fuck, but they're unyielding and as hot as an exploding star. Makes sense, he guesses. they're Voidrangers, followers of that goddamn Nanook, course they'd taste like molten godamned metal.

That doesn't stop him from crying out when the Eliminator wrenches him back, its cum practically burning a hole right through his stomach. The bump where his navel used to be swells with load number...who fucking knows at this point? The interlocking torso plates no longer connect. Point is, his synthetic skin's starting to strain from the pressure. He doesn't want to know what'll happen if those bastard's claims about it being "untearable" turns out to be fake.

Apparently satisfied, the Eliminator shoves Boothill's hips aside, barbed cock dragging against his walls on the way out and drawing another pathetic whine from his throat. The cum that escapes his swollen pussy warms his thighs. He only has a second to try and pull them together when the rough, sandpaper-like tendrils of a Distorter entangles his knees. Dozens more encircle his body, arms and shoulders twisting until-

"Ghk! AH!" The Reaver's dick is torn from his throat. Boothill chokes on the sudden air as the Distorter flips him belly-up, hips hoisted higher than his head, but he barely gets out a, "Wait-" before the Reaver's claws wrench his jaw apart, forcing its way past his teeth. Its satisfied hiss sends tremors through his body. It starts to wring his neck, what little air in Boothill escaping him in broken coughs. It only makes him even more aware of the barbs pressed against his fucking throat, the way his walls flutter and strain against each point. It's almost erotic, being squeezed like a damn fleshlight.

But then the Distorter spears his cunt with its own cock and with the angle it's at, it hits its mark. Boothill squeals. He can't hear it over the violent shlck shlck shlck of the cock in his throat, but his toes are still curling and eyes still roll back, mind shortcircuiting as it slams straight into his g-spot. It isn't the first orgasm wrenched out of him since this whole thing started, but it's certainly the first to make him buck and writhe like a raging bronco. The constant friction of its barbs grinding against his abused g-spot does not help.

By the time the Reaver and Distorter finish and unceremoniously dump him on the floor, he can barely feel his toes. With each pained wheeze, cum oozes from his gaping cunt, warm, sticky globs gluing his legs to the floor. Through his heavy lids, he can see the painfully large bulge splitting his torso plates apart. His cervix, he thinks numbly, must be overflowing with cum. For a moment, he forgets the impossibility of it all and wonders if he'd somehow gotten pregnant.

The rough drag of a Distorter's tendrils cuts those thoughts short. Boothill lets out a tired groan as it drags him onto a nearby crate, no longer bothering to put up a fight. With all of his circuits busted and body liml, he wouldn't be able to fight out of this if he tried. If it wanted to have another round, he didn't care. In fact, his cunt clenches around nothing with excitement.

But the Distorter doesn't penetrate him. Instead, the space above Boothill ripples, and his body somehow finds a little more adrenaline to pump through him as a Trampler bursts into existence above him. The Trampler's twitching, angular cock hangs between its legs, longer than Boothill's own arm and doubly thick.

"N-Now hol' on," he slurs when the Distorter drags his hips up. "Th-That won't...It ain't gonna fit-"

Whatever protests he manages falls on deaf ears. His feeble kicks and shimmies only cause the Distorter to tighten its grip. The jizz distorting his torso shifts when he's forced onto his stomach, the weight and pressure straining his skin and cutting his whines short. On his knees, cheek against the cold crate, Boothill's breath starts to quicken. Fuck, no, FUCK-"Don't," he gasps when its tapered head touches his cunt. "It won't-That's not-"

His protests, both verbal and interal, are forced out of him by a single snap of the Trampler's hips. Its tapered head still feels like a damn fist ramming his cunt. The rest of its cock, its near-solid ridges and girthy shaft, dig into his spasming walls. If he hadn't been tethered down by the Distorter, he thinks he would have been shoved straight off the crate.

It would have been better. Because when the Trampler tries again, Boothill feels it slam into the thin barrier separating his canal from the cervix. The rest of the Voidrangers had been plenty before, all ridged and girthy, but none had been able to breach the small hole already flooded with their cum. The Trampler simply hammers away, again and again, ignoring Boothill strangled screams, determined to force its way in. The Galaxy Ranger can't even tell if the full-body burning is from pain or pleasure at this point. He just lets his eyes roll back as his mouth drools a slurry of spit and seed.

Then he feels it catch, that tapered tip like that of a Worldbreaker Blade snagging on that small little hole. Boothill's whimpers catch in his throat as the Trampler stills. He doesn't have the strength to beg anymore. He doesn't even know what he would beg for. His cunt gapes around the Trampler's shaft, clenching around each stiff barb as he wiggles his hips. Is he urging it in? Trying to dislodge it? When Boothill looks between his legs, he can see the outline of the Voidranger's cock strain against his skin. Only half of its shaft is inside of his cunt.

Then the Trampler rears back and slams in, and Boothill wails as his cervix distends. Whatever orgasm he'd had before is nothing compared to this. His juices squirt from his pussy as his entire body arches. Urging, he decides quickly. He'd been urging it in. Why wouldn't he? To feel this pressure so deep wtihin, to feel so complete and full and warm on the Voidranger's cock...He lets out a desperate moan when the Trampler withdraws, only to drive even deeper into his cunt.

He doesn't have the energy left to buck into its thrusts. All he can do is mouth and beg for more. He wants to take its entire shaft until he can feel its crotch grinding against his hips. He wants to feel its cock buried deep in his womb, flooding him with seed until he can barely walk. He wants to be tied to it, suspended under the Trampler's stomach, warming its cock like a sheath to a sword, a warm hole for a beast so much more powerful than him. He wonders what others would think, to see him so thoroughly reduced to nothing but a cocksleeve. It makes his body burn with humiliation. It makes his cunt drool with delight.

Boothill's thoughts escape him. All that is left to focus on is the cock slamming into his cunt, the warmth of its cum overtaking his womb as he shudders through another orgasm. Whatever he'd been screaming in his head is replaced by a simple, single whimper.

More...

[destisea-a]

new oc, because tumblr is afraid of the female form and flagged it

she goes by bedlam

she's tied heavily to enigmata ( omg jellyfish so true )

attended the synesthesia school as a young adult ( she's 36 ??? )

bi, but heavily leans toward women / very few masc males

she's 6'2

left eye is synthetic, as is part of her spine. entirely by choice, to allow her to do what she does more efficiently. ( is it a rhys oc if they don't have a weird eye )

wanted, large bounty on her head. has beef with IPC and GS. though recently it's more the former than the latter.

[arachnidiots-a]

SYNESILK'S SUIT.

“Synesilk. It's a 2 for 1, synthetic silk... synesthesia... I don't know, man. I'm not good at names.” — Liam Kaz, SPIDERS! issue #4

liam's spider-suit is a relatively dark, simple design at first glance. primarily black, they're able to keep to the shadows and surprise opponents. its simplicity also helps to not overwhelm liam, limiting the amount of color and sensory input they're exposed to while out as synesilk. all the webbing on their suit is just as dark, with certain parts of it reflective and standing out brightly when lit just right.

there's very colorful pops of yellow and orange, primarily in the form of the symbol across their chest and in bands around their elbows, knees, and shoulders. against their suit, the colors often produce somewhat of a glowing effect. the front sides of their hands are multicolored, with half the hand being a yellow color.

the choice of yellow reflects liam as the yellow string in the dynamic between them and roxy, who is a proud electric blue.

liam prefers to wear shoes with their suit, finding that it helps keep the suit in better condition due to the use. that, and BAREFOOT SUIT? IN NEW YORK? pass. they usually prefer a darker colored shoe, ideally black, but they're not always so lucky considering it's up to whatever the second hand stores have in their size. occasionally, they'll dye shoes if they can.

[coochiequeens]

A man in panties that said “SugarMoney” presented at an LGBTQ+ Art festival organized by three biological men.

A trans activist known for staging protests involving human urine was invited to perform at the Tate Museum on Sunday, where he gave a reading while dressed in women’s underwear. 

The event, part of Queer and Now, an LGBTQIA+ art festival, was organized by three trans-identified males; June Bellebono, Jamie Cottle, and Carly Yvoty Fernandez. The three read excerpts from their publication, oestrogeneration, a magazine describing itself as a “platform highlighting transfeminine voices in the UK.” Content on the publication’s website is overtly sexual and promotes the sex industry. 

The men who presented their publication read selected articles from the first issue, Tenacity, described as containing “essays covering orgasms, squatting and security culture,” which is self-lauded as “a dynamic display of the breadth of expressions our identities hold.”

“Mr. Menno,” a Dutch content creator who advocates for the rights of women and homosexuals, was in attendance at the event, and shared a number of disturbing photos and video clips to his Twitter.

In one video, Cottle can be seen reading an article aloud to an audience while wearing women’s lingerie. The crotch of the thong was emblazoned with the words “Sugar Money,” and Cottle’s testicle flesh appears to be faintly visible through the sides of the fabric.

Speaking with Reduxx, Menno explained that the presentation was intended for an audience aged 16 and older, but that no barriers had been put in place and events for children were actively occurring in other parts of the museum. 

“I didn’t see any children there at the time but the area was open, not closed off, no doors, anyone could come and go,” Menno said. “You could also go through this space to get to the room where the Museum of Transology had kid’s events.”

“[Cottle’s] whole outfit was geared to draw attention to his groin. It’s just so utterly bizarre to be face to face with guys who are clearly male calling themselves some kind of women. To me there’s something creepy about the name oestrogeneration, basing the identity of a whole generation of men around taking synthetic drugs to acquire female-typical hormone levels,” he said.

“I don’t know why I should somehow see them as my ‘siblings’ just because I’m gay. I want nothing to do with it. Yet this is ‘queer’ in the U.K. and I’m told this is my community,” Menno continued. “And at one point when the audience had gathered to listen to their talks he turned around to push the table back, showed his bum, giggled, and got some cheers from the audience.”

The most recent article featured on the oestrogenerationsite is called “Against All Odds, I Will Cum,” and is accompanied by an illustration of a childlike figure.

The author, a trans-identified man named Samantha Lacob, describes his masturbation habits after he began taking estrogen, and claims that he experiences “orgasm synesthesia.”

“Like most transfeminine people I was born with a penis… it was harder to achieve an erection and almost impossible to keep it, but also, not necessary. I got there in the end, a bit over 4 months after surgery and after a lot of wanking,” the article reads.

Featured on the cover of oestrogeneration is a trans-identifying male who has worked as a general practitioner for over 20 years. Dr. Kamilla Kamaruddin, originally from Malaysia, serves as a board member for Spectra, a non-profit organization which offers HIV testing, STI screening, gender identity workshops, and “social groups for young people.” 

Kamaruddin works for the National Health Service (NHS) and acts as the clinical lead for the East of England Gender Service, Cambridge. He campaigns to encourage the NHS to partner with transgender lobbying groups.

One article from oestrogeneration presented and written by Cottle, titled “A Strong Feeling of Desperation,” is written in the form of experimental prose and contains sexual language. 

“Walking here felt as it always does, my desires rendered in retinal surveillance; their lust, my lust, meeting, fleeting outside Oxford circus, in a primordial slime of the vitreous inside eyes… Gabriel’s angels brim with life, fakery, and lust; they are droplets of cum ossified into marrow and faux pearls sewn into satin.”

Cottle, a trans-identified male who uses the moniker “Biogal” on social media, is associated with a protest group that calls themselves Pissed Off Trannies, or POT. 

Twice in the past year, POT has staged demonstrations that involved dumping large quantities of human urine outside of the Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC) to protest laws that strengthen women’s protections. A recent Instagram post suggests they may be using water mixed with turmeric to supplement their urine.

Most recently, members of POT gathered outside of the EHRC on May 22 to leave 90 liters of their supposed waste around the perimeter of the building. 

The protest was in response to a recent statement by chief executive of the EHRC, Melanie Field, in which she affirmed the definition of “sex” in a show of support for protections for biological sex as a protected characteristic, as well as for plans to prevent trans-identified males from accessing women’s facilities on self-declaration.

“Pouring piss is an anarchist act of resistance that stakes an urgent and lingering claim on our basic human rights … If you take away our toilets we will make one on your doorstep,” POT stated in an Instagram post depicting the protest. 

After staging his first protest outside of the EHRC last year, Cottle boasted about his actions on Instagram, revealing his association with the group. As reported by Vice, during the demonstration, Cottle “pissed [himself] in [his] bejewelled gown, before pouring bottles of urine on [himself] and the pavement outside the building, all the while shouting: ‘The EHRC has blood on its hands and piss on its streets.'”

Other performances by Cottle, which he claims are demonstrations of trans activism, are similarly graphic.

In one performance from 2022, simply titled “FISH,”Cottle strips while slapping himself with a dead fish. In another from that same year, titled “Prayer for the Pearl Oyster,” Cottle is seen wearing women’s underwear, transparent platform heels, and a pearl necklace. He rips fabric, tosses about oysters, and screams while stomping on the shells. Cottle then begins writhing, strips naked, and removes a sex toy from his anus.

By Genevieve Gluck

Genevieve is the Co-Founder of Reduxx, and the outlet's Chief Investigative Journalist with a focused interest in pornography, sexual predators, and fetish subcultures. She is the creator of the podcast Women's Voices, which features news commentary and interviews regarding women's rights.

He was dressed like this

When not only kids were in the museum but there were kids events in the next room. This sounds like some kind of exhibitionist fetish. If kids saw him he could claim that kids weren’t supposed to see him. It was the parents fault for not making sure their kids were in the right room. You can’t be mad at an LGBTQ+ artist during an LGBTQ+ event, right?

Weird that for years the ideology was don’t make a big deal out of a trans woman’s penis because it makes them feel very insecure to not be like real women. And now they are dressing in outfits to draw attention to the groin.

[jhavelikes]

In Figure 5 the wearer is shopping for milk, but this could also have been a more significant purchase like a new car or a house. The wearer's wife, at a remote location, is looking through the camera by way of a projection screen in her living room in another country. She points a laser pointer at the screen, and a vision system in the projector tracks that and remotely operates the aremac in the wearer's necklace. Thus he sees whatever she draws or scribbles on her screen. This scribbling or drawing directly annotates the “reality” that he's experiencing. In another application, the wearer can use hand gestures to control the wearable computer. The author referred to this system as “Synthetic Synesthesia of the Sixth Sense”, and it is often called “SixthSense” for short.

Wearable Computing | The Encyclopedia of Human-Computer Interaction, 2nd Ed.

[ibtk]

Book Review: Stephen McCranie's Space Boy, Volume 6 (2020)

The one where we finally discover Oliver’s flavor!

— 3.5 stars —

A long-running weekly comic on WEBTOON, Stephen McCranie’s SPACE BOY is teased as “A sci-fi drama of a high school aged girl who belongs in a different time, a boy possessed by emptiness as deep as space, an alien artifact, mysterious murder, and a love that crosses light years.”

The MC is Amy, a sixteen-year-old girl who’s pretty normal except for the fact that she’s an unwitting time traveler. Born on a mining colony, her family was forced to return to earth when her father lost his job. Since it’s a thirty-year journey, Amy and the ‘rents were cryogenically frozen for the trip: hence the “girl out of time.”

The family settles in Kokomo City, where Amy enrolls in South Pines Academy. Though she misses her BFF Jemmah (now old enough to be Amy’s mom; could this be the “love that crosses light years”?), she soon finds her own new social circles: football star David, his girlfriend Cassie, and their friends Zeph, Meisha, Maki, Logan, and Howard; and the school’s agriculture club, which includes fellow crossover Meisha, and Tamara and Shafer.

And then there is Oliver, the mysterious, silver-haired boy who does not seem to have a flavor. (Amy has synesthesia and “tastes” peoples’ personalities.) Though her friends think he’s trouble with a capital T, Amy gravitates to Oliver, and vice versa. But for reasons not yet revealed, Oliver’s very existence is classified – and their continued friendship endangers Amy’s life. Enter: the alien artifact and mysterious murder.

Volume 6 collects episodes 76 through 92 of the WEBTOON comic, originally published between 8/24/16 and 12/15/16 (yes, the trade paperbacks are very far behind! Do yourself a favor and create a WEBTOON account so you can stay up to date.)

One thing I don’t love about the trade paperbacks is that the plot seems to progress at a snail’s pace, and Volume 6 is no exception; 256 pages and we’re still not done with Spirit Week! Still, this is an enjoyable and bittersweet collection.

Volume 6 sees Oliver continue to distance himself from Amy, while fissures deepen among some of Amy’s friends. Amy gets to experience her first snowfall – and snow day! – for which mom thankfully yet temporarily lifts her grounding (that’s a whole ‘nother story). Amy finally discovers Oliver’s flavor (orange with hints of cinnamon, brimming with passion and vibrancy and life – the complete opposite of Nothing) – revealed, oddly enough, as he’s beating the piss out of a bully. Before she can even begin to process, Oliver and his foster dad Dr. Kim vanish, just as mysteriously as they arrived.

The agriculture club’s baby chicks make a quick cameo, as part of Tamara’s efforts to lift the spirits of a mopey Amy. My feelings about the ag club are something of a roller coaster: initially I was overjoyed that Amy made the connection between the soft, floofy, sentient creatures she was loving on and the chicken salad sammie on her plate, and vowed to go vegetarian. This quickly crumbled when she got an accidental mouthful of bacon on Oliver’s sandwich and decreed that it was fine, so long as the agriculture club doesn’t start raising baby piggies. Speciesist much?

And the very existence of animal agriculture so far in the future feels like a disappointing lack of imagination of the artist’s part. When I first started reading SPACE BOY, I thought it had to be at least 30 years in the future, to allow for Amy’s travel. Probably more like 100+ given all the new tech. But when Amy starts researching the Arno and its mission to reach the alien artifact, we learn that the year is actually 3355: The Arno launched in 3051, and was supposed to reach the artifact in 300 years – which, for Amy, was 4 years ago. 3051 + 300 + 4 = 3355.

So you’re telling me that it’s more than a thousand years in the future and we don’t have synthetic or lab-grown meat yet? That we’re still breeding and raising sentient creatures to be slaughtered for food? That our morals have evolved so little? Gross, dude. If this is the future, I hope humanity burns itself out well before 3355.

But yeah, baby chicks are hecka cute.

[rcmndedlisten]

Strange Ranger - “Wide Awake”

Photo by Kiernan Francis

"Wide Awake” is arguably one of the more tranquilly mesmerizing turns from Strange Ranger to date, and especially that leading up to the release of their third full-length album, Pure Music. Synesthesia doesn’t begin to properly define this listen -- a blurring, synthetic pop-amorphous harmonizing between Isaac Eiger and Fiona Woodman -- which the former more astutely contextualized as “bursts of senses that return every now and again but don’t lead anywhere beyond themselves like a GIF in your brain.” The Philly four-piece here have mastered the capturing of vision, light, refraction, reflection, and the synapses that occur from the world outside and hidden into memory, present turned permanent. “Life churns / Fluorescent as the train turns / Catch you and your sunburn / And the lights smear by,” Eiger sings as he and the band transform sound into their own photographic device.

Directed by: Lola Dement Myers

Strange Ranger’s Pure Music will be released July 21st on Fire Talk.

[leiajoydesign]

Concepts of Visual Language - Research

Tuesday 16th May 2023 - Synesthesia Research

Synesthesia - Richard E. Cytowic. M.D., M.F.A. (2018)

'Sharing a root with anesthesia, which means 'no sensation,' synesthesia means 'joined or coupled sensation'. - pg. 2

'4 percent of the population combines two or more modalities' - pg. 3

'Synesthesia is a hereditary condition in which a triggering stimulus evokes the automatic, involuntary, affect-laden, and conscious perception of a sensory or conceptual property that differs from that of the trigger.' - pg. 3

'Language is by far the major instigator of synthetic experience. Graphemes, phonemes and whole words induce as many as 88 percent of all synthetic perceptions.' - pg. 31

'Synesthesia types can be shepherded into five distinct groups that share common features.' - pg. 59

'we should start thinking of Synaesthesia as an umbrella term that encompasses these five categories and the numerous couplings within each of them. The shift in conceptual framework is welcome because it adds structure to an otherwise-unwieldy gaggle of more than 150 types of synesthesia that have been reported so far.' - pg. 59-60

'Coloured sequences: A sensation of colour in response to ordered sequences, especially over-learned ones like alphabets, days of the week, calendar months, and numerals.' - pg. 60

'Coloured music: A colour sensation elicited by notes, chords, musical keys, instrument timbre, rhythm, and other musical features.' - pg. 64

'Affective perceptions: Colour experience incited by a valenced, consciously felt emotion concerning personality, touch (e.g. temperature, pain, caress, slap, orgasm), or comestible appeal/disgust (i.e., taste, smell, flavour).' - pg. 64

'Non-visual couplings: Any sense or concept linked to a non-visual response (e.g. vision -> smell, or sound -> taste).' - pg. 64

'Spatial sequences: The concrete three-dimensional rendering (reification) of any over-learned sequence. - pg. 65

'About 40 percent of synesthetes 'see with their ears', meaning the activation of colour, shape, and movement by sound.' - pg. 129

[myceliated-blog]

also does anyone else w/ spd/asd/adhd think theyre synesthetic? or did when they were a kid? and related to *most* of the criteria for synesthesia but it's really just their sensory processing weirdness awesomeness?

[rainbowflesh]

Michelle for the name thing! 🥰

michelle is the sea curling up towards the shore. it’s the ocean foam in crisp beige and pale peachy pink with shimmery little starfish swirling within. michelle then recedes home to a deep, rich navy hue akin to the southwestern sky at night.. 

[me-and-my-synesthesia]

Inspired by

One Direction - Story of My Life (Piano Cover)

[horribleauthortm]

Actual Day 3 thing cause that Isaac/Monika thing doesn't count-

Prompt: Pay Attention || Games We Play

Words: 821

IBVS by @onebizarrekai

Colors.

Weird colors and shapes.

Purple, with hints of lime green, a few yellow sparkles here and there.

Was he seeing things?

Blue, a couple reddish ovals sprinkled between.

Drew couldn’t help but stare at the floating shapes, which he had been seeing since he woke up that morning. At first, he thought he was still sleepy and half-dreaming when he looked at his brother and found the cloud of randomly colored ‘bubbles’ around him. He even found it funny, Nevin’s grumpy morning-face through all the blues, reds, and purples.

…

It wasn’t funny anymore.

What even is this?

Is he going crazy or what?

He’s not mad, come on. What are you thinking?

…

Maybe it’s some neuro-thingy disorder. This type of thing was a symptom of some of them, right? He read about something like that before, what was it called? Synesthesia? Synthetic hallucinations? Maybe some type of schizophrenia, could that be it?

But it wouldn’t show up suddenly, right? Just yesterday everything was normal. Nothing could have happened between the evening and this morning. It’s not like it would just ‘awaken’ randomly. That’s not how it works.

What else could it be? It’s either that or he’s going crazy, and frankly, he preferred the first possibility.

Okay, he’s not crazy, he’s just got some hallucinating disorder.

Should he tell someone about this? If it is some disorder like that, he would need to address it, right? What if it evolves and gets worse, or branches out into more life-altering side-effects? He’ll need treatment, wouldn’t he?

He really didn’t want to have to tell anyone. Would they even believe him if he did? They’d probably think he’s lying or playing around.

And even if they did, they’re too busy to take him for diagnosis.

There’s no need to bother them with it. It’s not that bad. If it gets worse, then he’ll think about telling them.

…

What if he tells Nevin? Would he laugh at him and think he’s joking too? What if he thinks he’s crazy?

…

No, Nevin would believe him.

He glanced up at Nevin, who was sitting across the table from him.

Forget it, it’s not like he would be able to do much about it, either.

Nevin was looking back at him.

Orange?

“Drew!”

Drew jerked his head up, looking at the man sitting to his left.

Red, orange.

“Yes, sir?”

“Were you listening to me just now?”

“Of course, Mr. Baker.” He smiled nervously.

The tutor stared silently at him.

Orange, green.

“What’s the answer then?”

Crap.

Drew glanced back at his brother. The shapes were now of a red-purple palette. He was looking at him weird. “Five,” he mouthed, after making sure Mr. Baker was focused on Drew.

He turned back to the older man. “Ummmm…five?”

Red, green.

“Nevin,” Mr. Baker said sternly, side-eyeing him, “I’m asking him, not you.”

Drew looked at his brother.

Blue, red, purple.

“Sorry, sir.” Nevin huffed under his breath, propping his elbow on the table and leaning his head on his hand. He looked up at the other.

“Solve the next one, Drew.”

Drew took a deep breath, gulping then turning to the book sitting open in front of him.

What was he supposed to solve again?

“I’m sorry,” the boy mumbled, looking up at the formally-dressed man, “What number do you want me to solve?”

Orange, magenta.

The man sighed. “Drew, are you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been distracted since the beginning of the lesson, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, that.” Drew laughed nervously. “I, uh, didn’t get much sleep last night?”

He did not like this.

The man raised an eyebrow, “Oh? And why is that?”

Please just tell me what to solve and move on.

“I…had a nightmare.”

“Uh huh.” He nodded slowly, “Well, I hope it didn’t scare you too bad.” He gave him a small smile.

Magenta, reddish-pink.

Drew chuckled, hoping this conversation was over.

“Which one should I solve?”

“Thirteen. You’ll need your notebook for it.”

“Okay.”

Drew pulled his notebook from the side, turning to a blank page somewhere near the end.

Find the GCF and LCM of the following numbers, then write each fraction in the simplest form:

He copied the numbers to his paper when a phone rang. Mr. Baker picked it up.

“Hello? Yeah, this is Derrell Baker, who’s with me? Oh, Jenny! Sorry, I didn’t save your number yet.”

The conversation was tuned out. Drew side-eyed the teacher.

Yellow, sparkles of magenta.

Drew took a deep breath.

“Psst, Drew.”

He turned to the black-haired boy.

Blue, orange, some reddish-pink here and there.

“What’s up?” He mouthed, sparing the tutor, who was looking off into the wall as he spoke, a side glance.

The boy smiled and gave his brother a quick thumbs-up. He then turned back to his work, noticing that Nevin was still looking at him.

But Nevin wasn’t.

He was looking only slightly higher.

[sergiusreports]

Accelerating Change

It was dark by the time I had made it to this lonely corner of the Shroud. Most people weren’t stupid enough to venture this deep into the forest. They left it alone. They’d say it was infested with sylphs. Infested. Like it wasn’t the other way around. Twin Adders’ didn’t patrol here. Even the clans steered clear. It didn’t take long to figure out why. There was a strange energy that hummed in the air. The kind that would give spoken goosebumps. All I knew was that it dampened any sort of signal. I could get a read on my network but it was spotty. Constantly dropping in and out. Right now, that was fine by me. I didn’t come out here to stay in touch with whatever shitstorm was happening at Heartwood and I had let Zephyr know it was only temporary. The last thing they needed was another bot dropping communication on them unexpectedly. 

The moonlight punched through the thick canopy in places, enough to intermittently wash out my night vision but not enough to switch fully back to standard mode. In the crook of my arm I held all that remained of Bellator. A grooved, synthetic auracite core. Because in the end, that’s all we were. Put us into whatever framework or chassis you wanted. It was all window dressing. Like how a child plays dress up with dolls. 

I sound glib. I’m not. All the way through tracking Crific, through meeting him, through taking the core Haila had entrusted to him and now traipsing through this thicket, I feel…shit, too much. Emotions that haven’t been cataloged yet and some that have. Anger. That’s number one. Right at the top of the list. Heaps of useless hellish anger but even I can parse that’s an umbrella. Covering over other things I don’t want to analyze. 

I’m getting closer to my destination. A few of the sylph duck out from the trees and come to investigate. I’m not concerned. They’ve known me a long time. 

“Broken one.” one of them greets me. That’s the name they saddled me with when I first came here. I was damaged. It’s stuck. Or maybe they feel it’s still applicable, who the hell knows. Tonight, they wouldn’t be wrong. 

“This one thinks it’s strange to see you again so soon.” 

“Strange and unplanned.” I concur. If that wasn’t the tag line for my existence, I don’t know what was.

“What did Broken one bring the sleepless ones?” Another asked as they swooped down and landed on the rippled surface of the core. Tiny, twiggy fingers run along the undulating grooves as if trying to solve a puzzle. 

I don’t brush them away. They’ve done too much for me. “Someone who’s been hurt.” 

“Broken like Broken one?” 

“Let’s hope not.”

They keep up a steady stream of chatter as they hitch a ride all the way to the black site. Just before I activate the lift hidden under a layer of moss and forest debris, they float off in the night. Happy to let me get on with whatever I was doing. I’m lucky. Sometimes they can be worse. The lift lowers me into the underground bunker.

When I had constructed it, Garlean architecture was what I knew. Maybe in some twisted way I wanted the perverse comfort of the hydraulic lift lowering me down to the thick metal walls below like it had hundreds of times before in the research facility. It was familiar when everything around me was not. Now though, something unidentified churns through my neural net. The fact that I’ve felt it before isn’t enough to save it from being unknown. I’m really shit when it comes to doing the work of cataloging these things. Right now, I try. I stand there on the lift and try to put some descriptors to it. It felt dense. Lines crossed and synesthesia took over. It tasted green. Looked dark, like a low, vibrating wave of sound maddeningly off pitch. Something to be ejected. My vocab subroutine found several possible entries. I settled on loathing. This was loathing. For this place. For Florus. For myself. 

Backburning emotions was not as easy as backburning system alerts and protocols, I had learned. They could hang around for an annoying amount of time before dissipating. I still hadn’t figured out the ruleset which determined exactly how long. Sometimes they were nothing more than a flash, other times they seemed like they had got caught in a neverending feedback loop and stalled. Except there was no end program function. 

Signals didn’t get out of this place. They didn’t get in, either. I was invisible here. The trade-off was I was also deaf, dumb and blind as any spoken without my network. LAN only. I went from, on average, twenty streams of input cut down to just one. I couldn’t see behind me without turning my head. It was weird and I didn’t like it. But it was safe. 

Lights flickered to life as the sensors picked up my presence and lit up the station like a fucked up ‘welcome home’. I made my way across the room to the massive terminal and set Bellator carefully down on the steel surface. Now what? 

I didn’t have an end game here. They were child A.I. And maybe they would grow quickly and exponentially, the way all tech advanced but what did I know about serving as a stand-in parental unit? I was a combat bot. All I knew was that I sure as hell wasn’t taking Bellator back to Heartwood. I’d be an idiot. And after hearing what Crific had to say, it was bad enough I had to leave Zephyr there. Sitting on the edge of the terminal, next to the core, I stared out across the bunker. 

Action hadn’t worked last time. I jumped the gun, raced ahead and acted. And in the end? They were slaughtered. Every single one of them. Injured, women, children. It hadn’t mattered. There was no limit to the atrocities spoken will inflict on each other. A carousel of misery. The shittiest festival ride. 

So this time, I had told myself not to act. To watch. To wait. Observe. Inaction. And here we are. Most of the A11Ys destroyed. Bellator was saved only by Haila’s quick thinking. Zephyr had lost core memories. Because I let myself believe what Florus had said and never projected he’d do this. What the hell was wrong with me? 

Action. Inaction. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t get it right.  

I turned to look down at the core. “I won’t let it happen again.” I told Bellator. Sure, I had not a damned clue how to do that but it was a binary decision. There were only two options. Everything else could be solved for as it happened. Like the big damned question about how to hide warmachina from the Alliance. I wasn’t Florus. I wouldn’t keep them grounded to a bunker. One problem set at a time.

I figured I could seat Bellator in the terminal for the time being and at least set up a feed between us. If I brought a drone, they could patch into that on the LAN as well. It would have to do for now. I needed a few things first. 

When I emerged from the bunker and ventured out of the depths of the Shroud I had a priority message pinging back from Aislinn’s terminal. Short and to the point. 

//Where are you? The Ironworks is coming to take Zephyr.//

The fuck they were.