#wrote today.

[roboticnebula]

Pros of re-reading your own fic

a good time;

Has exactly the tropes you like and the characterization you want to read;

Gratification: yes you did finish a thing and yes you did do good;

just a very fun time all around.

Cons of re-reading your own fic:

Is that another TYpO

[enchantedephiphany]

It's a funny thing, being in someone else's head all day.... you start to think in similar thoughts, some of their thought patterns rub off on you (of course this is temporary)

But it'd be nice if some of Navalny's relentless optimism and sunny personality would rub off on me and settle permanently in my mind...

[bamsara]

I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

[sabertoothwalrus]

Literally every character in dungeon meshi gets mischaracterized and whatever whatever it happens it’s inevitable I’ll move on. It’s just really sad to see the way Mithrun is sometimes portrayed cause he’s such a cool character!!

He’s not naive. He’s not gullible. He’s not ignorant of how to do things. He’s not confused all the time. He understands social cues. He doesn’t take things literally, or just at face value. He still understands humor and sarcasm. He’s not forgetful. He has an impeccable memory. He doesn’t have shame. He’s incapable of being hypnotized— when Cithis tried to kiss him or told him to eat out of a dog bowl, he was fully capable of saying no, and just saw no reason to. He’s stubborn (he’s a taurus <3). He used to secretly be a Huge Asshole and thought poorly of those around him (this is one of my favorite aspects about him) but he was really just insecure and struggled with jealousy. He’s now outwardly an asshole because he’s blunt and no longer has the ability to care if it hurts people’s feelings. It matters to him that other people don’t fall victim to the demon. He’s thoughtful.

He’s strong!!!! He’s smart and analytical. He became the captain of the canaries after his recovery. The thing that motivated him to recover was because all be wanted was to rejoin the canaries. When he met the demon, his deepest desire was to live a life where he never joined the canaries to begin with. He didn’t even want that much, and that’s why the demon’s appetite wasn’t satisfied. The demon intentionally left him with the desire for revenge so that he would have a reason to come back, fresh with new desires. He wants to make noodles. He wants to make noodles!

[why-the-heck-not]

understanding academic concepts got me blushing swinging my legs giggling

[the-rainbow-suit-dude]

[bi-writes]

thinking about being a new lieutenant working with laswell and getting to meet her a-team, tf141, and immediately clashing with your equivalent. that other lieutenant that wears a fucking costume and glares whenever he sees you, simon fucking riley. (kinda dark, 18+)

you hate him. you hate how good he does in the field. it sickens you when you see how every knife he throws hits its target with disgustingly perfect accuracy. you sneer when he aims his rifle, each bullet going exactly where he wants it to go because he's that fucking good, look at him, big man with a big fucking head and a big--

god, it's so frustrating to be out here for so long. on a cot, so far away from everything, reporting back to laswell and then spending time with a task force who is so intelligent on the field but shares one fucking brain cell off of it.

and it's so lonely. it's so lonely, and you feel so far away, and when you show up in front of ghost's room that evening, you don't even exchange words as he steps aside, letting you slink into the dark of it. you don't speak as he crowds you against the door, as he pushes you up against it, when he reveals the lower half of his face so he can kiss you and taste you in every way he's wanted to since he met you. you're so fucking annoying, you crawl under his skin, and when he tastes you, he sucks, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth as he tugs his cargo pants just under his cock and hoists you up around his waist.

it's just stress relief, you tell yourself as he fucks you against the rattling door. i just need a little relief, is what you say to yourself as he mumbles against yours lips, gripping the fat of your hips in his big hands and putting his cock to good use. he's not gentle, but you don't want him to be. he's too good at what he does, you were hoping he would have fault in one fucking area of his life, but even like this, he shows you just how well he fucks and just how big he really is, everywhere.

please, please, please--! you beg. he snickers, and it's mean, and he's sucking a warm bruise into your neck when he mutters, "tha'sit, swee'eart. we both know who's really in charge, eh? yeah--yeah, good girl--y'r such a good girl--"

and you are. cum soaked thighs, your mouth still on his when he finally comes, grunting as he fills you so full, it's dripping onto your thighs, onto his, dampening the clothes neither of you bothered to take off. and when you leave, you tell yourself this will never happen again, that ghost will keep this a secret because he hates you just as much, that ghost is discreet and quiet and values his privacy, and if you don't speak of this again, neither will he. it suddenly comforts you how closed off he is.

so it does surprise you when the next morning comes, and you go to sit with your team to eat, that ghost snarls when you try and take a seat beside him. you expect this to be a rude gesture, but you squeak when he grips you around the waist and forces you into his lap. you stiffen, but his sergeants barely bat an eye. the braid of your hair is yanked backwards, and you gasp when you feel his breath against your ear, even through the mask.

"the casual shaggin' sort of deal? not m'thing, luvvie. now eat y'r breckie, swee'eart, 'm fuckin' hungry, and 'm not very patient."

he used to think having one of his sergeant's underneath him was the kind of power-play that got him right off.

wrong.

nothing like fucking a pretty little lieutenant good enough she can't fucking remember how to speak.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny stopped so suddenly that Conner had to use some effort not to run into the other. The entrance to the row house was tight, crowded in by the coats and bags hanging on the wall and the small table on the other side that was littered with mail, take out menus, and a few sets of keys.

“You said you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

Danny’s whole body was a line of angry tension. Conner leaned forward enough to see over Danny’s head. He could just catch sight of a brick of a man that almost rivaled Dad and bright red hair.

“Well, Danny, honey—”

“No! Mom, we talked about this!” Danny thew his hands up into the air. His backpack slipped down his shoulders some when he dropped his arms just as suddenly. “When we moved, you both promised no more experiments out of the lab! A lab which is now at work in a whole different location. A lab which is not our home!”

“Come on, Dann-o,” the man said, “it’s just a little engineering!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a that club of yours right now anyways?” Danny’s mom asked.

“What, because me not seeing this would make it all okay?” Danny scoffed. “Besides, that’s Thursday.”

“It is Thursday,” Danny’s dad (Conner assumed) said, then paused before continuing. “Isn’t it?”

“No, Dad, it’s Wednesday.” Danny sounded so done. All of the earlier anger was gone now and Danny just sounded done. He rubbed at his face wearily. “If it was Thursday, you’d have to already be leaving for Jazz’s debate competition.”

Danny’s mom gave a little noise that was almost a scoff. “That’s next week, Danny.”

“It’s—you know what, whatever. Just, whatever.” Danny turned his back on his parents and shoved the straps of his backpack back into place. He hooked his hand around Conner’s wrist as he passed, pulling Conner along (not that Conner couldn’t have resisted if he wanted to) and back outside.

Danny’s breath fogged up in the cold fall air, drifting up and around Danny’s face as he looked up at the sky.

“I’m sorry.”

“Dude, you don’t have to apologizes,” Conner said. He wasn’t even sure what Danny was apologizing for. His parents? Losing his temper? Conner couldn’t judge either of those things. Parents were just parents and he lost his temper more than enough.

“Still, I said we could work at my place and then I just…”

“We passed, like three coffee shops on the way here. We’ll just pick one of those, okay?”

Danny closed his eyes and let out another slow breath. “Okay.”

Since Danny still hadn’t let go of his wrist, Conner just twisted his hand in the other’s grip and twined his own warm fingers with Danny’s too cold ones. “Come on, I got us.”

He didn’t wait for Danny to respond before he started them back down the streets of Metropolis.

[potatobugz]

objects loving objects baby!!!!

[morganbritton132]

Steve walks in to Eddie’s studio during one of his live-streams and Eddie stops strumming to ask, “Hey, did you see that email I forwarded to you?”

Steve: Huh? No…gimme a second *checks email* Hawkins High wants you to give a commencement speech at graduation?

Eddie: Isn’t that insane? Why would they ask that?

Steve: You should do it

Eddie:What? No-

Steve: Not because of the speech. I don’t care about that. If they’re dumb enough to think you wouldn’t pull shit, that’s on them.

Steve: You should do it and we should bring Robin with us because Tammy Thompson is the choir director there.

Eddie: I…I���m not following

Steve: Robin had a massive crush on her. She couldn’t even talk to her. I wanna see if she still gets flustered and awkward around her

Eddie, considering it: Wait a minute, didn’t Tammy Thompson have a massive crush on you? What if she still does?

Steve: Eddie, that’s a given. She’s only human

[konigsblog]

simon riley with a breeding kink...

simon ‘ghost’ riley x afab!f!reader.

cw: breeding kink, praise, afab!f!reader.

könig version | soap version (coming soon)

to say simon riley is overprotective is an understatement. he wants everybody to know that you belong to him and that you're committed and devoted to simon.

he'd be lying if he said he didn't have baby fever. he'd see families with their young children or people from his work going on leave for their pregnant wives, wanting that for himself. he wants to tend to your needs and care for you. the fantasy of fucking you until your stomach swells with your pregnancy plagues his every thought, unable to focus the entire deployment until he's finally home, insatiable and hungry for you.

it's the middle of july, the sun is bright and shining, and the sight of the sunshine glowing on you leaves simon desperate. he wants to bend you over and lift your pretty summer dress up to fuck you until you're chanting his name like a prayer, tears running down your cheeks with pleasure and delirium. 

simon pins your arms behind your back, one strong arm wrapped around your figure, holding you tightly against his chest. you can feel his bulbous, hot cock between your thighs as he lifts your dress up, the head of his thick cock leaking against your hole, easing inside slowly. you take each inch so well, stretching out your little cunt and his desires and fantasies, leaving his breathing heavy and laborious. you whimper at the wet sensation; the thickness of simon's hard dick pushesld inside your pussy leaving you trembling.

you listen to the sounds of his praise, praising you for taking his lengthy cock so well. “that’s it--attagirl. you’ll make the perfect mama, won’t‘cha?” he huffs and puffs at the sweet smell of your arousal; his thrusts are merciless and fast, leaving you standing on wobbling legs with your cunt spread open and around his girthy dick. his sounds are guttural, letting out hoarse growls and grunts, his full and tight balls leaking into your slicken cunt as you tighten around him, his creamy and thick cum fucked into your tight pussy.

simon won't be able to keep his hands off of your pregnant body, the swelling of your breasts, and your sensitivity. 🍼

[jq37]

Aelwyn is sixteen and preparing for midterms at Hudol. Uniform pressed and starched, head full of incantations and spell components. She doesn't mean to bump into Adaine and get orange juice all over her shirt but today isn't the day she's going to start showing weakness.

"You know, you really should watch we're you're going," she says archly, playing off the clumsy mistake as a purposeful jab.

Playing it off a bit too well because, the next thing she knows, Adaine is flipping her off and a bolt of queasy looking, green energy is coming towards her. Ray of Sickness. And she can't spare the spell slot for Counterspell because she needs it for her exams.

"You little bitch!" Aelwyn says once she's emptied the contents of her stomach down the front of her shirt.

"Good luck with your exams," Adaine says sweetly.

Aelwyn is eighteen and the oldest, mangiest cat she's ever seen in her life has just vomited on her shoes.

"My," she says, casting a shield spell around her ankles to stop the cat from clawing at them. "You weren't kidding. He is a little bastard, isn't he?"

The shelter volunteer looks mortified. "Oh, gods! I am so sorry. I tried to warn you--I mean, not that I'm blaming you but--"

"No, it's alright. I did ask you to show me stragglers."

The shelter worker gestures to another pen on the other side of the room. "I can show you the kittens we just got in or there are some very well behaved older cats as well if you'd--"

But Aelwyn cuts her off, scooping up the old cat--though she holds him at arm's length for now, just to be safe. "No need. I haven't changed my mind. I'll take this one." She looks at the tag on his collar. "Hector."

Aelwyn is three and, as of a month ago, no longer the youngest Abernant.

She's had baby dolls in the past but never a baby sister and this is exciting new territory. She's full of questions. When is she going to be able to walk? When is she going to be able to talk? When will she be old enough to have lembas bread instead of formula?

Her parents seem less fascinated by the new addition to the family than she is but her mother is amused when she slaps away the hand of a colleague of her father's who tried to touch Adaine before sanitizing his hands, standing between the much larger man and her sister.

"So defensive. Perhaps she'll be an abjurer."

When Aelwyn asks what that is, her mother says that it's a kind of magical protector and she likes that a lot. That sounds like a good thing to be.

At night, Adaine cries. Except, she doesn't hear it because the mobile above her crib is etched with runes that cast the Silence spell.

"But what if she gets hurt?" Aelwyn asks.

Her father brushes her off. That's what the Unseen Servants are for. But she thinks that's what an abjurer might be for too and even though she isn't one yet, that doesn't mean she can't start practicing.

So, every night, Aelwyn waits until her parents have put Adaine down for bed and then tiptoes into her room. She checks to see if Adaine is silently wailing and if she is (and even sometimes if she isn't) she presses her face between the bars of the crib and sticks her little hand over Adaine's face.

"Don't cry," she says, even though the Silence spell mutes her words as completely as the tears. "Mum said I'm an abjurer. Nothing will get you. Don't cry, baby."

Adaine grabs her hand with impressive grip strength for something so small and, within a few minutes, she's trancing peacefully.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her sister is off to save the world again. This time from a Night Yorb--whatever that is.

It feels cruel that Adaine should have to go risk her life again so soon after she just almost died--not almost died, she did die before being raised by her cleric.

She wants to come with, to help in some way. Surely she could be helpful--last quest they brought Gilear for Helio's sake!

But Adaine doesn't ask her and she can't bring herself to say the words she needs to have the conversation she wants. So, instead, she lightly whaps Adaine on the shoulder with her spellbook as she's packing for the quest.

"I know you haven't done much studying lately what with your grades being based on how many hobgoblins you kill or whatever ridiculous system Aguefort has cooked up," Adaine rolls her eyes at that, "But if you don't mind a little cram session before you leave tomorrow, I can show you how to cast Teleport like I said. Might help you stay a touch less dead on your quest."

Her tone is light but her eyes betray her: Please, please, please don't die again.

Adaine's expression softens but then she scoffs, playing her half of their game. "I don't know what a Hudol dropout who's been in jail for the past year is gonna teach me but do your best."

Aelwyn is seven and her father is cross with her.

"Really Aelwyn," he says and even though they're talking via crystal she can feel the frost of his glare. "You thought it was appropriate to call me at work for no good reason? How many times have I told you and your sister to not bother me while I'm working."

She hates the word bother. She doesn't want to be a bother. She tries very hard not to be. Maybe she just didn't explain herself well enough.

"I know, father. But Addy got really scared and panicky on the playground. She was breathing really hard and--"

Her father makes a noise of disgust. "I don't have time for this. She is in primary school now. Stop coddling her. And her name is Adaine, not Addy. Please speak properly. I'm raising you better than that."

He hangs up before she can say anything else.

Aelwyn is eighteen and most of the claw marks on her arms have healed, which is nice. On her lap asleep is Hector who has apparently decided he likes her enough to use her as a radiator but not enough to submit to medical treatment without using her arms as a scratching post.

"You little heat vampire," she says as she slides her thumb across the screen of her crystal, searching for a video that will help her out. Eventually she finds one that looks promising and she calls it up.

On the screen, a halfling is standing next to a cat who is actively shredding her sweater with its claws. "You're going to be tempted to use some kind of a shield spell when applying the ointment," says the halfling. "But cats can smell abjuration magic and they don't love it. You won't get close enough to do the job. Isn't that right my darling?"

In response, her cat hacks up a hairball.

"Darling indeed," she says under her breath.

But even laced with sarcasm, the word is sweeter against her tongue than she anticipated.

She sinks her hand into Hector's fur and scratches his back for a few moments before tentatively speaking aloud. "Sleeping well, my darling?"

Hector says nothing--he's asleep and a cat. But warmth blooms in Aelwyn's chest--more than enough to make up for what Hector is leeching from her.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her father has just given her the most horrible command she's ever received in her life--and she's counting being made to sink a ship full of people in that calculation.

She knows her father doesn't expect her to delicately extricate the knowledge he needs from Adaine's mind. He expects her to get it at all costs. To ransack and pillage the memories if necessary with no heed of the consequences on her psyche. He'd probably prefer it that way--the more broken Adaine is, the easier it will be to mold her into a version of herself that is more useful to him.

Aelwyn is usually a smooth talker and a convincing liar but now, she stumbles all over her words, babbling out a stream of deflections and pleas as her heart squeezes tighter and tighter in her chest until she can't hold back the truth that she's been suppressing for years anymore.

"Adaine's just…she's a baby."

Aelwyn is eighteen and her apartment is full of cats.

She's always thought that the phrase, "One thing led to another" was a bit of a cop out--clearly there were key steps between point A and point B being glossed over--but in this case, there is truly no better way for her to articulate how she went from zero cats to ten cats in such a short amount of time.

She's sure that if she was still living with Jawbone, he'd have something to say about it but that's exactly why she isn't currently living with Jawbone.

She portions out food for all of the cats, saving Hector for last because he likes to eat curled up next to her.

"My darling baby boy," she says, lifting him onto the couch with her because the jump up is a bit much for him and his old bones. She kisses him on the top of the head and then pulls out her crystal. She scrolls mindlessly for a bit before checking her messages despite the fact that there's conspicuously no notifications.

Not that she has many people to expect texts from but she hasn't heard from Adaine in a few weeks and it's unsettling. When they weren't getting along, they were still living under the same roof. She was able to keep tabs on her, more or less. Now, they're closer than they've been in ages but barely talking.

I'm the older sister, I suppose, Aelwyn thinks. I should take the initiative.

She pets Hector with one hand and drafts a message with another: Are you alive, bitch?

She's about to press send but then she frowns and deletes the draft. After a few moments of thought, she taps out a new message: Can't believe I'm gonna say this. Miss my little sister. Everything all right?

Aelwyn is seventeen--though she doesn't feel like it.

Her mind is telling her that she's sixteen and that she was just been broken out of a jail cell in Solace but Adaine is telling her that she's just been broken out of an entirely different prison after being tortured for months even though she doesn't remember any of that.

But her body feels frail and Adaine says she's been in her mind which means she must have used the hard reset.

She's suddenly feeling very vulnerable--not because of the disorientation or the of the levels of exhaustion she can feel weighing on her like leaden chains. No, it's because of the fact that Adaine using the reset means that she must have read the treacle-y note that she left there for her to find.

It was just an insurance policy, she tells herself. There was wisdom to buttering up your savior to make sure she'd do what you needed her to do.

She manages to mostly believe it. But the small, truthful part of herself that knows how deeply she meant the words is so uncomfortable that she antagonizes Adaine until she's annoyed enough to hit her with a spell, sending her into blissful unconsciousness.

Aelwyn is nineteen and she's going to kill her mother.

Well, not alone of course. Adaine deserves the kill at least as much as she does if not more. It'll be a group effort.

It's a strange mix--the cold fury at her mother mixed with the warmth she feels for her sister, sitting across the table from her. She summons a flame to her palm, a preview of what their mother has waiting for her. She watches Adaine's eyes harden with resolve and she sees the face of her baby sister, left to wail alone silently for hours, soothed by her presence. "Let's get her."

"Yes, my dear," she says, the endearment coming freely as if this has always been their dynamic. "We'll get her."

But there will be time for that later. Right now, it's time for ice cream and seeing Adaine so content in such a simple pleasure causes the warmth in her to surge so suddenly that it would be startling if it wasn't so pleasant. The urge to voice it is so powerful that she doesn't know that would have been able to stop it at any point in life, let alone now.

"I hope we get to eat ice cream and cast magic forever," she says, words that would have been impossible for her to say one short year ago and impossible not to say now.

And, to her delight, Adaine agrees.

[notsolonedesert]

I think ur art tastes like strawberry cheesecake at a sunny afternoon like when the sky is purple and pink, luv u pooks

Omg that is the cutest (and tastiest) description ever, thank you so much, I'm IN LOVE with your art style and you're so so kind!!! 🥹🫶✨

It's very old, but take this drawing of one the first concepts I had for Ctimene and Penelope's designs!

Must have been from 4 months ago :'D

[nostalgebraist]

In other uncanny-valley AI voice news...

Google has this new thing called "NotebookLM," which allows you to upload any document, click a button, and then a few minutes later receive an entire AI-generated podcast episode (!) about the document. The generation seems to occur somewhat faster than real-time.

(This is currently offered for free as a demo, all you need is a Google account.)

These podcast episodes are... they're not, uh, good. In fact, they're terrible – so cringe-y and inane that I find them painful to listen to.

But – unlike with the "AI-generated content" of even the very recent past – the problem with this stuff isn't that it's unrealistic. It's perfectly realistic. The podcasters sound like real people! Everything they say is perfectly coherent! It's just coherently ... bad.

It's a perfect imitation of superficial, formulaic, cringe-y media commentary podcasts. The content isn't good, but it's a type of bad content that exists, and the AI mimics it expertly.

The badness is authentic. The dumb shit they say is exactly the sort of dumb shit that humans would say on this sort of podcast, and they say it with the exact sorts of inflections that people would use when saying that dumb shit on that sort of podcast, and... and everything.

(Advanced Voice Mode feels a lot like this too. And – much as with Advanced Voice Mode – if Google can do this, then they can presumably do lots of things that are more interesting and artistically impressive.

But even if no one especially likes this kind of slop, it's highly inoffensive – palatable to everyone, not likely to confuse anyone or piss anyone off – and so it's what we get, for now, while these companies are still cautiously testing the waters.)

----

Anyway.

The first thing I tried was my novel Almost Nowhere, as a PDF file.

This seemed to throw the whole "NotebookLM" system for a loop, to some extent because it's a confusing book (even to humans), but also to some extent because it's very long.

I saw several different "NotebookLM" features spit out different attempts to summarize/describe it that seemed to be working off of different subsets of the text.

In the case of the generated podcast, the podcasters appear to have only "seen" the first 8 (?) chapters.

And their discussion of those early chapters is... like I said, pretty bad. They get some basic things wrong, and the commentary is painfully basic even when it's not actually inaccurate. But it's still uncanny that something like this is possible.

(Spoilers for the first ~8 chapters of Almost Nowhere)

The second thing I tried was my previous novel, The Northern Caves.

The Northern Caves is a much shorter book, and there were no length-related issues this time.

It's also a book that uses a found-media format and includes a fictitious podcast transcript.

And, possibly because of this, NotebookLM "decided" to generate a podcast that treated the story and characters as though they existed in the real world – effectively, creating fanfiction as opposed to commentary!

(Spoilers for The Northern Caves.)

----

Related links:

I tried OpenAI's Advanced Voice Mode ChatGPT feature and wrote a post about my experiences

I asked NotebookLM to make a podcast about my Advanced Voice Mode post, with surreal results

Tumblr user ralfmaximus takes this to the limit, creating NotebookLM podcast about the very post you're reading now

[livelaughlovesubs]

oh my gosh need sub!choso bent over and taking it like the princess he is! want to pull his hair and make him cry IM BEGGIMG 😵‍💫 making him go non-verbal and babble absolute nonsense LIKE PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME 😩😵‍💫

a little dumbification and feminization doesn't hurt anybody 🥺

So fucking self-indulgent that I am ashamed

Dom!reader x sub!choso x reader is gn

Warning: pegging (I use dick for strap), teasing, dacryphilia, hair pulling, feminisation, subspace, dumbification lul

You panted, slightly exhausted as you reached your hand out. Using only your index and middle fingers, you gently brushed them over the line following his back. From the top all the way to the bottom, feeling his hot and sweat covered skin underneath your touch, going until your hand was resting right above his ass. There, you moved it to the side, finding a nice place to rest it and squeezing his waist with just the right amount of strengh.

And Choso shuddered and withered oh so sweetly, head pressing against the already wet pillow as he arched his back even more. Shoulder jumping upwards while his muscles tensed, trembling like a hurt animal. “Didn’t like it?” You asked, reaching your hand out again, this time to stroke his black hair. His buns had come off, and it was hanging loose over his shoulders. The man beneath you didn’t manage to answer your question, in contrary, he whined out, “ah- aHh..! Y/n-~~ too mu- muUuchh, too faaast..!!♡♥︎”

How could you expect him to even register the fact you asked him something when you are currently pounding him like there’s no tomorrow? Like a hungry beast trying to devour him whole? Taking advantage of all his weak spots while he’s in such a vulnerable position, you’re too mean to him! “Oh dear, can’t say anything other than that?” You asked in a condescending tone, scraping his scalp as you held him tighter with your other hand.

“I’ll help you then.” A cheeky giggle before you pulled back enough for the tip to slid out of his puffy hole, watching him clench onto nothing as a dissatisfied whimpers ripped from his throat. “Nghh~ please… s-stick it back in—” you pulled on his fairly long hair, causing him to moan out loudly and throw his head back, “ah- annNghhh.?!” Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his lips were swollen from him biting on them too much. His cheeks flushed so cutely as he hiccuped.

“Such a needy thing, you really want to be fucked dumb?” Your grip on his hair loosened a little, and his head fell forward. He gritted his teeth, hands bawled into fists and kept right below his mouth as he sound back into the pillows, nodding furiously. “What a pillow princess.” You chuckled, kissing his hole with the tip of your dick. Just testing him, watching his body squirm in anticipation before pushing it all inside him with a swift movement of your hips.

That wasn’t difficult at all, considering he’s been so stretched already, so good and prepared, just for you. He was so eager he basically sucked you right in, that cute little boy cunt of his fluttering around you, taking you so good. You subconsciously licked your lips at the gorgeous view in front of you. He had such a nice body too, pair that with the most adorable expression and lewd noises he’d make, lord he was exactly your type.

“Aaarghh— ♡ nnNnggg…!! Please, y-y/n ♡♥︎♡~?!!” The moment you re-entered him, he felt like he was in heaven. Tongue rolling out, eyes teary as he groaned, not knowing just how loud and erotic his voice was. If he knew, he’d be so embarrassed. “Oh? Such a pretty sound you made there, so cute, just like a girls moans~” you hugged him from behind, head pressed against his shoulder, whispering sickeningly sweet, “should I change to calling you my good girl?”

It took a bit until he understood your words, you helped him by slowing down your thrusts. Then his ears turned red, and he cried out, “n-no, m’not a g-girl..??” Then his brows furrowed and eyes rolled into the back of skull, al because you hit that sweet little spot inside him with such precision he was trembling all over. “Are you sure~? Don’t you love it when I fuck your pussy like this?” You rolled your hips in a slow, steady motion, and it made him see stars.

God, his mind if so foggy, so mushy he couldn’t handle all this ecstasy. The pleasure was too overwhelming…! And if you were to start calling him your— ah — your good girl too, he definitely will melt. “Please, j-just fuck me and shut u-up..” ah, there it is, now he’s being self aware again, feeling humiliated just by having sex. Well, you’ve toyed with him enough for now, haven’t you? Any more teasing and he’ll really come~ but the night is still so young, he still has to last for a bit.

“Haha,” you couldn’t help but chuckle loudly, which only added to his frustration and excitement, then you mumbled, “whatever for my princess.”

[aleixis]

isagi's the sweetest bf ever, and never forgets to get you flowers on anniversaries !!

even though he's stuck in blue lock, he always makes sure to deliver flowers to your house when the one year mark comes around <3 he'll spend the little free time he has on his phone, scouring through the collection of flowers at shops near your house and nearly dropping his phone on his face out of shock for how high shipping is, but he'll endure through !

he'll even consult the opinions of his fellow teammates, taking every chance he has to shove his phone into hiori or kurona's face, asking what they thought of a different shade of pink for the 4th time in a row. they might be a tiny bit sick of him constantly fawning over you, him constantly talking about you to them, but that doesn't mean he'll ever stop; over his dead body he wouldn't.

with the ring of a doorbell, you find a delivery worker with a large bouquet of multi-colored tulips on your doorstep. he asks, "from an isagi yoichi?" you smile in response, thanking him and taking the bouquet into your arms. the bouquet came with a small note attached, reading, "roses are red, violets are blue, no matter what flower, i choose you!"

bonus — your parents constantly tease you for the comically large bouquet you got from yoichi, and you still have no clue how he had the money to buy and ship a bouquet of that size !!

taglist : @why2277 @koffeekat @skullvgirl @saioratral @fishii28