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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 1 year

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Before Elon Musk bought Twitter, slurs against Black Americans showed up on the social media service an average of 1,282 times a day. After the billionaire became Twitter’s owner, they jumped to 3,876 times a day.

Slurs against gay men appeared on Twitter 2,506 times a day on average before Mr. Musk took over. Afterward, their use rose to 3,964 times a day.

And antisemitic posts referring to Jews or Judaism soared more than 61% in the two weeks after Mr. Musk acquired the site.

These findings — from the Center for Countering Digital Hate, the Anti-Defamation League and other groups that study online platforms — provide the most comprehensive picture to date of how conversations on Twitter have changed since Mr. Musk completed his $44 billion deal for the company in late October. While the numbers are relatively small, researchers said the increases were atypically high.

The shift in speech is just the tip of a set of changes on the service under Mr. Musk. Accounts that Twitter used to regularly remove — such as those that identify as part of the Islamic State, which were banned after the U.S. government classified ISIS as a terror group — have come roaring back. Accounts associated with QAnon, a vast far-right conspiracy theory, have paid for and received verified status on Twitter, giving them a sheen of legitimacy.

These changes are alarming, researchers said, adding that they had never seen such a sharp increase in hate speech, problematic content and formerly banned accounts in such a short period on a mainstream social media platform.

“Elon Musk sent up the Bat Signal to every kind of racist, misogynist and homophobe that Twitter was open for business,” said Imran Ahmed, the chief executive of the Center for Countering Digital Hate. “They have reacted accordingly.”

Mr. Musk, who did not respond to a request for comment, has been vocal about being a “free speech absolutist” who believes in unfettered discussions online. He has moved swiftly to overhaul Twitter’s practices, allowing former President Donald J. Trump — who was barred for tweets that could incite violence — to return. Last week, Mr. Musk proposed a widespread amnesty for accounts that Twitter’s previous leadership had suspended. And on Tuesday, he ended enforcement of a policy against COVID misinformation.

But Mr. Musk has denied claims that hate speech has increased on Twitter under his watch. Last month, he tweeted a downward-trending graph that he said showed that “hate speech impressions” had dropped by a third since he took over. He did not provide underlying numbers or details of how he was measuring hate speech.

CHANGES AT ELON MUSK’S TWITTER

A swift overhaul. Elon Musk has moved quickly to revamp Twitter since he completed his $44 billion buyout of the social media company in October, warning of a bleak financial picture and a need for new products. Here’s a look at some of the changes so far:

• Going private. As part of Mr. Musk’s acquisition of Twitter, he is delisting the company’s stock and taking it out of the hands of public shareholders. Making Twitter a private company gives Mr. Musk some advantages, including not having to make quarterly financial disclosures. Private companies are also subject to less regulatory scrutiny.

• Layoffs. Just over a week after closing the deal, Mr. Musk eliminated nearly half of Twitter’s work force, or about 3,700 jobs. The layoffs hit many divisions across the company, including the engineering and machine learning units, the teams that manage content moderation, and the sales and advertising departments.

• Verification subscriptions. Twitter began charging customers $7.99 a month to receive a coveted verification check mark on their profiles. But the subscription service was paused after some users exploited it to create havoc on the platform by pretending to be high-profile brands and sending disruptive tweets.

• Content moderation. Shortly after closing the deal to buy Twitter, Mr. Musk said that the company would form a content moderation council to decide what kinds of posts to keep up and what to take down. But advertisers have paused their spending on Twitter over fears that Mr. Musk will loosen content rules on the platform.

• Other possible changes. As Mr. Musk and his advisers look for ways to generate more revenue at the company, they are said to have discussed adding paid direct messages, which would let users send private messages to high-profile users. The company has also filed registration paperwork to pave the way for it to process payments.

On Thursday, Mr. Musk said the account of Kanye West, which was restricted for a spell in October because of an antisemitic tweet, would be suspended indefinitely after the rapper, known as Ye, tweeted an image of a swastika inside the Star of David. On Friday, Mr. Musk said Twitter would publish “hate speech impressions” every week and agreed with a tweet that said hate speech spiked last week because of Ye’s antisemitic posts.

Changes in Twitter’s content not only have societal implications but also affect the company’s bottom line. Advertisers, which provide about 90% of Twitter’s revenue, have reduced their spending on the platform as they wait to see how it will fare under Mr. Musk. Some have said they are concerned that the quality of discussions on the platform will suffer.

On Wednesday, Twitter sought to reassure advertisers about its commitment to online safety. “Brand safety is only possible when human safety is the top priority,” the company wrote in a blog post. “All of this remains true today.”

The appeal to advertisers coincided with a meeting between Mr. Musk and Thierry Breton, the digital chief of the European Union, in which they discussed content moderation and regulation, according to an E.U. spokesman. Mr. Breton has pressed Mr. Musk to comply with the Digital Services Act, a European law that requires social platforms to reduce online harm or face fines and other penalties.

Mr. Breton plans to visit Twitter’s San Francisco headquarters early next year to perform a “stress test” of its ability to moderate content and combat disinformation, the spokesman said.

On Twitter itself, researchers said the increase in hate speech, antisemitic posts and other troubling content had begun before Mr. Musk loosened the service’s content rules. That suggested that a further surge could be coming, they said.

MORE ON ELON MUSK’S TWITTER TAKEOVER

• An Established Pattern: Firing people. Talking of bankruptcy. Telling workers to be “hard core.” Twitter isn’t the first company that witnessed Elon Musk use those tactics.

• Resolving a ‘Misunderstanding’: After Mr. Musk accused Apple of threatening to pull Twitter from its App Store, it appears that a potential feud between the tech titans has been avoided.

• A ‘War for Talent’: Seeing misinformation as a possibly expensive liability, several companies are angling to hire former Twitter employees with the expertise to keep it in check.

• Unpaid Bills: Mr. Musk and his advisers have scrutinized all types of costs at Twitter, instructing staff to review, renegotiate and in some cases not pay outside vendors at all.

If that happens, it’s unclear whether Mr. Musk will have policies in place to deal with problematic speech or, even if he does, whether Twitter has the employees to keep up with moderation. Mr. Musk laid off, fired or accepted the resignations of more than half the company’s staff last month, including those who worked to remove harassment, foreign interference and disinformation from the service. Yoel Roth, Twitter’s head of trust of safety, was among those who quit.

The Anti-Defamation League, which files regular reports of antisemitic tweets to Twitter and keeps track of which posts are removed, said the company had gone from taking action on 60% of the tweets it reported to only 30%.

“We have advised Musk that Twitter should not just keep the policies it has had in place for years, it should dedicate resources to those policies,” said Yael Eisenstat, a vice president at the Anti-Defamation League, who met with Mr. Musk last month. She said he did not appear interested in taking the advice of civil rights groups and other organizations.

“His actions to date show that he is not committed to a transparent process where he incorporates the best practices we have learned from civil society groups,” Ms. Eisenstat said. “Instead he has emboldened racists, homophobes and antisemites.”

The lack of action extends to new accounts affiliated with terror groups and others that Twitter previously banned. In the first 12 days after Mr. Musk assumed control, 450 accounts associated with ISIS were created, up 69% from the previous 12 days, according to the Institute for Strategic Dialogue, a think tank that studies online platforms.

Other social media companies are also increasingly concerned about how content is being moderated on Twitter.

When Meta, which owns Facebook and Instagram, found accounts associated with Russian and Chinese state-backed influence campaigns on its platforms last month, it tried to alert Twitter, said two members of Meta’s security team, who asked not to be named because they were not authorized to speak publicly. The two companies often communicated on these issues, since foreign influence campaigns typically linked fake accounts on Facebook to Twitter.

But this time was different. The emails to their counterparts at Twitter bounced or went unanswered, the Meta employees said, in a sign that those workers may have been fired.

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lemondeabicyclette · 2 months

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#les climatosceptiques vont bientôt s'étouffer avec leur propre vomi #mark ruffalo #center for countering digital hate #influenceurs payés par big pet roll

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n0thingiscool · 9 months

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#elon musk #hate speech #elon musk is the king of hate speech #center for countering digital hate #twitter #fuck elon musk

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gwydionmisha · 3 months

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#Anti-hate Group #Elon Musk #Xitter #Slap Suits #Center for Countering Digital Hate #Hate Speech #News

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mariacallous · 5 months

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Why disinformation experts say the Israel-Hamas war is a nightmare to investigate

The Israel-Hamas conflict has been a minefield of confusing counter-arguments and controversies—and an information environment that experts investigating mis- and disinformation say is among the worst they’ve ever experienced.

In the time since Hamas launched its terror attack against Israel last month—and Israel has responded with a weekslong counterattack—social media has been full of comments, pictures, and video from both sides of the conflict putting forward their case. But alongside real images of the battles going on in the region, plenty of disinformation has been sown by bad actors.

“What is new this time, especially with Twitter, is the clutter of information that the platform has created, or has given a space for people to create, with the way verification is handled,” says Pooja Chaudhuri, a researcher and trainer at Bellingcat, which has been working to verify or debunk claims from both the Israeli and Palestinian sides of the conflict, from confirming that Israel Defense Forces struck the Jabalia refugee camp in northern Gaza to debunking the idea that the IDF has blown up some of Gaza’s most sacred sites.

Bellingcat has found plenty of claims and counterclaims to investigate, but convincing people of the truth has proven more difficult than in previous situations because of the firmly entrenched views on either side, says Chaudhuri’s colleague Eliot Higgins, the site’s founder.

“People are thinking in terms of, ‘Whose side are you on?’ rather than ‘What’s real,’” Higgins says. “And if you’re saying something that doesn’t agree with my side, then it has to mean you’re on the other side. That makes it very difficult to be involved in the discourse around this stuff, because it’s so divided.”

For Imran Ahmed, CEO of the Center for Countering Digital Hate (CCDH), there have only been two moments prior to this that have proved as difficult for his organization to monitor and track: One was the disinformation-fueled 2020 U.S. presidential election, and the other was the hotly contested space around the COVID-19 pandemic.

“I can’t remember a comparable time. You’ve got this completely chaotic information ecosystem,” Ahmed says, adding that in the weeks since Hamas’s October 7 terror attack social media has become the opposite of a “useful or healthy environment to be in”—in stark contrast to what it used to be, which was a source of reputable, timely information about global events as they happened.

The CCDH has focused its attention on X (formerly Twitter), in particular, and is currently involved in a lawsuit with the social media company, but Ahmed says the problem runs much deeper.

“It’s fundamental at this point,” he says. “It’s not a failure of any one platform or individual. It’s a failure of legislators and regulators, particularly in the United States, to get to grips with this.” (An X spokesperson has previously disputed the CCDH’s findings to Fast Company, taking issue with the organization’s research methodology. “According to what we know, the CCDH will claim that posts are not ‘actioned’ unless the accounts posting them are suspended,” the spokesperson said. “The majority of actions that X takes are on individual posts, for example by restricting the reach of a post.”)

Ahmed contends that inertia among regulators has allowed antisemitic conspiracy theories to fester online to the extent that many people believe and buy into those concepts. Further, he says it has prevented organizations like the CCDH from properly analyzing the spread of disinformation and those beliefs on social media platforms. “As a result of the chaos created by the American legislative system, we have no transparency legislation. Doing research on these platforms right now is near impossible,” he says.

It doesn’t help when social media companies are throttling access to their application programming interfaces, through which many organizations like the CCDH do research. “We can’t tell if there’s more Islamophobia than antisemitism or vice versa,” he admits. “But my gut tells me this is a moment in which we are seeing a radical increase in mobilization against Jewish people.”

Right at the time when the most insight is needed into how platforms are managing the torrent of dis- and misinformation flooding their apps, there’s the least possible transparency.

The issue isn’t limited to private organizations. Governments are also struggling to get a handle on how disinformation, misinformation, hate speech, and conspiracy theories are spreading on social media. Some have reached out to the CCDH to try and get clarity.

“In the last few days and weeks, I’ve briefed governments all around the world,” says Ahmed, who declines to name those governments—though Fast Company understands that they may include the U.K. and European Union representatives. Advertisers, too, have been calling on the CCDH to get information about which platforms are safest for them to advertise on.

Deeply divided viewpoints are exacerbated not only by platforms tamping down on their transparency but also by technological advances that make it easier than ever to produce convincing content that can be passed off as authentic. “The use of AI images has been used to show support,” Chaudhuri says. This isn’t necessarily a problem for trained open-source investigators like those working for Bellingcat, but it is for rank-and-file users who can be hoodwinked into believing generative-AI-created content is real.

And even if those AI-generated images don’t sway minds, they can offer another weapon in the armory of those supporting one side or the other—a slur, similar to the use of “fake news” to describe factual claims that don’t chime with your beliefs, that can be deployed to discredit legitimate images or video of events.

“What is most interesting is anything that you don’t agree with, you can just say that it’s AI and try to discredit information that may also be genuine,” Choudhury says, pointing to users who have claimed an image of a dead baby shared by Israel’s account on X was AI—when in fact it was real—as an example of weaponizing claims of AI tampering. “The use of AI in this case,” she says, “has been quite problematic.”

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jiminjamms · 6 months

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sex therapy :: 21. daddy toji

chapter tags/warnings: **can be read as a stand-alone!** daddy toji, in every sense of the word. toji also calls himself daddy. unprotected sex. creampies. megumi is down the hall! masturbation. exhibitionism. toji likes that it’s his cousin’s wife that he’s fucking. infidelity/adultery. possessiveness. sexual frustration. degradation. praising. pet names (‘princess’ and ‘sweetheart’). manipulative undertones. family drama. strong language.

word count: 3.6k

notes: tattooed dr. fushiguro can only be a gentleman for so long when it's his little cousin's wifey around. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“Why don’t you give daddy a show?”

Nothing could make you feel more exposed than this very moment on Toji Fushiguro’s bathroom counter—your bosom heaving from irregular breaths, your arms holding up your body, and your legs spreading across the granite surface so that you could offer up a good view. So that you could put your naked self on display.

Just for him. Just for your sex therapist.

Just for Dr. Fushiguro.

You gulped while pressing your back against the cold ceramic walls, hoping for some relief from your impending humiliation. “E-Excuse me?”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Toji crooned, and the pet name had your heart skipping a beat. Lazily, he dragged a lone finger from your stomach to your center, prodding right at your soaking entrance despite your efforts to shrink away. “Don’t be shy. I’m just your therapist. Let me see what you’ve learned.”

With much endearment, he watched you writhe. Being in the spotlight scared you, but he knew you would hate to disappoint.

At the very least, you should demonstrate some appreciation.

“Like what?” you asked, voice barely above a squeak.

“Well,” and amusement riddled his grin, “show daddy what he had taught you, baby.”

And goodness did all this daddy talk really turn you on. Toji could see how your figure tensed at the words, how you clenched around nothing from sheer need. (Did you think he would not notice?)

“Please,” you sighed, poorly hiding how your breath hitched. “Please don’t call yourself that.”

“Call myself what?”

Obviously a rhetorical question, yet Toji loved the bafflement on your ditzy face nevertheless.

“You know…‘daddy,’” you murmured, uncomfortable to the point you were staring at the floor as you spoke. “Because as someone who loves my dad, and hearing this from someone who actually is a dad, I find the name…disturbing.”

Disturbing but also hot, and Toji could tell.

“Don’t lie, princess. You like when I call myself that,” he chuckled. Pinching at your waist, he chortled in that same giddy manner whenever he felt particularly amused. “So, who’s going to be daddy’s obedient little girl?”

He noticed that you were doing that thing again whenever you were a little nervous: pursing your lips into a quivering pout and twisting at the meaningless rings on your fourth digit. Too loyal for your own good. Maybe that was what Naoya really loved about you, enough to keep you as his cute little trophy wife.

Swallowing loudly, in the end, you responded, “Me.”

Using one uneven breath to center yourself, your hands steadily grazed over your hips and your thighs before your dear fingers rested above your clit. Nothing could beat the embarrassment from how you flinched at your own contact.

Here went nothing.

Timidly, you drew your middlemost fingers through your folds and circled the digits around your entrance. The opening was warm, sensitive, and utterly soaked. The slick that had slipped past those puffy lips allowed you to push one, and then two fingers inside as your back arched gently at the stimulation.

A dull pleasure started to thrum in your body especially as you brought your ample juices back in using slow, deliberate motions.

To much frustration, your dainty digits couldn’t quite stroke that special spot within you with much expertise. Why wasn’t Toji helping? You wanted him to help. But, if you didn’t think too hard, you could lose yourself in the sensuality of your ministrations and imagine Toji’s fingers curling inside you instead. His fingers were larger and thicker and longer, after all.

While Toji’s true emotions had always been as mystifying as the man himself, never had that troubled you more than now. Those steely green eyes had been staring at you for what felt like hours now.

Did he like what he saw? Did he want more?

The people pleaser within you was just looking for a reaction—any reaction—to validate the hard and honest work you were putting in.

“Good kitty,” he complimented suddenly, as though he had been reading you like an open book all along. He did not realize since when, but he had begun stroking his cock through his pants.

How could he not? You had been listening so well, and his free hand reached down to rub tight circles at your puffy clit.

“Toji!” you shrieked immediately, body caving in.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he commanded, dipping his index and middle fingers in as well, his thumb still drawing tight movements at your precious button.

His fingers slid against yours, aided by the thick coat of arousal that lubricated the movements, and his dick twitched from excitement, a situation exacerbated when he relished in the way you angled your hips to accommodate all four fingers plunging into your sopping cunt.

“Don’t stop working on yourself.”

“I won’t,” you struggled to whimper.

“This is nice, isn’t it? When someone else is touching you, too.” His statement was softened by the same tone he liked to use when playing that ‘friendly neighborhood sex therapist’ role. “Your fingers are delicate, but they can’t reach all the places mine can, can they?”

“No, they can’t,” you breathed out in helpless agreement, shaking pathetically at the combined ministrations. “Everything feels better when you are the one finger fucking me.”

Toji hummed deeply in satisfaction. “I know, princess.”

He lowered his head to press his lips into your jaw, but the subtle softness in his searing kisses convinced you to tilt your head gently and bring your unoccupied hand up to run up his hard triceps and dig into the jet-black ink peeking from his sleeves.

In response, Toji sank his teeth into your skin every so often, eliciting your squeals.

Painful. Yes, this was painful.

But more than painful, the gush that flooded your veins was fucking phenomenal.

“What’s wrong?” Toji asked innocently, biting harder as your nails pressed visible crescent marks into his tattoos. “I only want to taste you,” and he soothed the sore spots by licking the assaulted areas, just to repeat the process on another target.

Pussy feeling empty but needy, you shifted on the countertop in order to grind desperately against your therapist’s clothed crotch.

“Please,” you mewled, now begging for Toji’s attention rather than cowering away. “Please fuck me.”

Funny.

Just an hour ago, you were bawling about your loser husband. Naoya Zenin this. Naoya Zenin that. Well, duh. Of course, his baby cousin was an asshole partner.

Now, here you were, pleading for Toji Fushiguro’s cock?

Toji rewarded your change of heart with a deep kiss pressed on your lips, a gesture that you passionately reciprocated. Even as he devoured your mouth like a starved man, your tongue fought like a maniac into his mouth, satisfied sighs slipping from your lips to his.

Only when there was an unexpected slam coming from Megumi’s door did you two pull away, faces only centimeters apart and connected by an almost translucent string of saliva.

Toji panted, watching your chest rise and fall from similarly irregular breathing.

If nothing else stopped him, he would be falling onto his knees right now from how dazed you appeared: face flushed, lips parted, and lids heavy.

But both he and you had one concern in mind right now.

Megumi.

Given the sound earlier, Toji awaited footsteps from the younger Fushiguro.

Was he grabbing a midnight snack from the kitchen downstairs? Was he planning to pace the halls to alleviate stress?

Or worse yet, was he heading to the bathroom?

If his son really did walk into this scene, discovering what his father was doing to his sweet and pretty guest several doors away, Toji would be speechless because the idea was purely mortifying.

Also a little sexy.

But anyway.

“I’m sure he just closed and locked his door for the evening,” Toji deduced when the boy’s footsteps never came.

Immediately, your shoulders slumped with ensuing relief.

“Thank goodness,” you sighed, still tense and high-strung. “We don’t want Megumi to hear us,” you pointed out, completely oblivious to how loud you had been when merely kissing. “Let’s wait for him to sleep first. I don’t want us to get caught.”

The way you cared this much was adorable.

“Why would we have to wait, though?” Toji pointed out, and his tongue swiped over his scar. “I can be quiet. But the real question is: can you be quiet?”

At first, you were stunned and silent.

But after a long while, you gulped and your neck bobbed noticeably. "Yeah. I…can be quiet, too.”

“Good girl," and at that, Toji flashed a quick and lascivious grin. “Then, why don’t we test that out?”

Not waiting for your reply, he grabbed the collar of his white shirt and dragged the top off his shoulders.

His movements were slow, just so he could catch your marveling reaction as he revealed his bare torso, but the fabric had been too fitting and tight for his body anyway.

As soon as he pulled his shirt over his head and off his body, your eyes locked on his body to admire his brawny and toned physique. But more stunningly was how Toji Fushiguro was a mural of tattoos, intricate artworks that had been carefully selected and embedded into his torso—stylized letters, entwined violets, and hyper-realistic scenery. What demanded the most attention, though, was a prominent phoenix that covered his right chest, emerging victorious from a plume of smoke and ashes, its feathers spanning into his shoulder and back.

Easily, you were enchanted. You didn't have a chance to view his tattoos before. But Toji himself had always been enchanting.

“Come closer,” the man commanded, tone low and gravelly. He dragged his waistband down until his hardened dick sprang free with great force. His cock was swollen and red and violently angry, precum beading at the tip after he had long neglected himself from his release. "I’ve missed you."

You shifted forward on the countertop.

“Then do anything to me.”

Just to test you, he experimented a little, pinching your nipples with the knuckles of his fingers and smiling like a mad dog when you squeaked. "Anything?"

"Yes," you breathed out, nodding and back arching into his touch.

Obviously, you were too lost in arousal to comprehend the power placed into your tattooed therapist's hands, and Toji silently wished that Naoya Zenin could hear his wife begging for someone else like this.

He patted your cheek and cooed.

So silly, so cock drunk, so desperate.

That was what you were, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

You reached between your legs to grab at his dick, lining the tip up to your entrance as Toji groaned from the contact.

"How are you so wet for me?” he hissed, gritting his teeth hard.

“Please, please, come on—” After a long bout of negligence, you had become incredibly whiny and desperate, seeking attention and affection like never before. “I’m too turned on. Just…please ruin me.”

Toji had been close to bursting already, but an intense flash stifled him when your words registered as music to his ears, his large hands helping you swipe his dick between your folds slowly. Teasing them both.

He had been well lubricated from the precum that slipped from the head, his massive cock so hard from the anticipation that awaited such that he could feel electricity buzzing at his fingertips. All because he couldn't handle himself when you begged for him like this. Yet, Toji resolved to fuck you with everything he had—for as long as he could, anyway—and slipped himself gradually into your warm and moist heat.

Shudders.

All that filled the room were shudders.

Toji’s eyes darkened as he pressed through the tight resistance, your muscles squeezing around his length. He had to will every fiber within him to not lose himself. He was this close to falling apart, unraveling. Because holy shit, were you fucking tight.

Beneath him, you suppressed a whimper.

“Damn,” you sputtered, abandoning any remaining hesitation and clenching around him. Compared to his pathetic cousin, your therapist was not small by any means. "You feel so good inside of me, Toji."

Ah, hell.

He needed to get you to relax. He could barely move and, if your walls squeezed him any harder, he might just be hurled over the edge and cum all over your thighs, staining your freshly showered body.

“Oh,” he managed to hum in contentment, closing his eyes momentarily so that he could shut down all other senses except for one. His arms wobbled a little, his hands digging hard into your sides as his hips moved slowly—very, very slowly—out before going back in again.

At the languid thrusts, your head fell back and your hips lifted upon instinct, one hand pressed against the counter for stability as the other skimmed over his tattoos. He's so hot. You're so hot. He makes you feel so hot.

Toji growled again when your fingers brushed against the inked phoenix's wings, gliding over his pectoral muscle. He loved being touched like this and only wanted you to examine him more, rewarding you with movements wholly deep and stimulating.

As moans flowed freely from your mouth, Toji would tell you to shut up. After all, Megumi dwelled only a few doors away and must not be forgotten. But how could Toji bring himself to hush the sweet sounds that you sang?

“Yes, just like that,” you whined at some point, fingers clawing into his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, Toji.”

He raised a disapproving brow. “Just Toji?”

“Fuck, daddy.”

And Toji lost his fucking mind.

Since when did you talk like this? Pretty princess with a potty mouth. Who would’ve thought? It was sexy. So goddamn sexy.

"You’re incredible,” he found himself saying.

Toji had never been harder than he was at this moment, his cock like a fucking titanium rod as his listless movements degraded into an onslaught, throbbing and twitching as he replayed your dirty words in his head.

He felt extraordinarily horny, aroused, and invigorated.

Meanwhile, you looked like a fucking fairy—his fucking fairy, to be clear: features glowing golden under the ambient lights, pupils dilated and blown out wide, skin glistening from both water and sweat.

Long ago, Toji figured that you had given up in your attempts to get away from him, the sole struggle from your body being how your walls involuntarily twitched and tensed amidst the storm of pleasure and pain he had brewing within your core.

If only Toji had more hands. That way, he could simultaneously pull at your hair, wrap his fingers around your neck, and swat at your bouncing tits.

In a moment like this, he hated having to choose and grabbed your legs in the end, moving them from the counter to his shoulders. Toji could now go even deeper, and boy, did this new angle  have you seeing stars.

“Oh, goodness,” you blubbered, coughing and drooling and panting. “Oh, that feels so good.”

“I know,” Toji said arrogantly.

Lucky for you, he was a mature man who could hold his load. Other boys didn’t know shit. If they were in his current position, they would have busted their nuts long ago, too impulsive and easily excited to exert much self-control.

Toji, on the other hand, knew how to dig his fat cock into your cervix over and over, brushing that one special spot within you along the way. To make you scream. To keep you addicted. To take his cousin’s wife at his mercy.

The room filled with sounds that resulted from skin contacting skin—squelches and wet smacks—and you were left loud and messy, feeling so good that you could not think straight. 

“Shit, you’re so good to me. Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he grunted, hand pulling back before connecting with the meat of your ass with one loud  slap.

You cried out, fighting back tears that welled from the pain. “That… hurts!”

“But my kitten loves being roughened up, no?” he taunted, licking at his scar again as he observed you: love bites littered over your neck, nipples perked into pebbles, skin marked and slightly bruised.

“I,” several huffs in between, “I can’t take this for much longer. I’m so close. I think I’m going to—”

“Only if you tell me who owns you.”

His words made you whine, and the therapist took great pleasure in the way you contorted. The demand had taken you by surprise because Toji had never denied you the right to your pleasure before. In fact, he had always been the type to coax you to cum, telling you to cream all over him instead.

Tonight, however, he wanted to set things straight. For a while, he had been thinking that he ought to buy you a collar just so you would remember who you actually belonged to—who really taught you what sex feels like—and heat tore through his skin again from the fantasy.

Admittedly, Toji was a tad bit possessive.

But he needed to drill into your head that you were not Sukuna’s or Choso’s or Geto’s.

And most certainly, not Naoya Zenin’s.

“Well?” He was fully aware of what was happening and taking true delight in your futile struggle, knowing exactly what you needed but wanting you to obey him first. Snaking an arm around your body, he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear and purred, “Who knows how to fuck you right?”

“Toji Fushiguro does,” you chanted, lacing your fingers with his, your body in sheer pain from need. “Guys my age could never.”

Which was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Then cum for me, baby.”

So, you did.

His permission sent you vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as your orgasm ripped through.

Your lips parted. Your cheeks hollowed. Your arms wavered.

Despite everything, you continued begging for his cock harder, faster, just like that. At some point, the hand once tangled with your therapist’s now slotted into your mouth to muffle any exclamations of pleasure as the waves continued to ripple fiercely through your body. Throwing your head back against the wall, you could dully feel your teeth puncture the skin between your thumb and pointer finger. Yet, that didn’t bother you, didn’t even hurt, and only served to add to your masochistic satisfaction as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him.

“What a good girl.”

Toji was remorseless as he continued his abuse, the tendons of his hands and arms flexing from the effort needed to keep your lower body still, the tattoos on his wrists appearing pitch black under the glimmer of your juices. The wetness that spilled from you was so abundant, dripping down onto the floor. With any luck, once this was all over, you would have left a mess such that Toji would be forced to assign Megumi to bathroom cleaning duty in the morning.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, baby," was what he managed to say just as his gut suddenly tensed. He couldn't even control it. Without further warning, thick ropes of semen shot from him and into your womb. He grunted loudly, lurid fantasies dissipating as his mind went blank from his climax, his own groan hardly recognizable from how guttural his voice had become.

“Give me all your cum, daddy,” you wailed as you came again, pussy tightening impossibly on his cock and practically massaging every single drop out of him.

Toji was not done, he didn’t want to be done.

Despite his blurred vision and terse jaw, Toji wanted to give you every ounce that he was worth. He gritted his teeth as he fucked up into you, pace irregular and sloppy. He made sure to push every possible milliliter of his seed deep into your stomach, the rest of his load spilling against his balls.

His cock was far too sensitive and overstimulated, but he felt  so goddamn good that he wanted to keep going and going until he was completely spent with nothing more to give.

“Fuck,” he choked, on the brink of tears.

Toji had to take a moment to recover fully, keeping his eyes closed while his chest heaved from the sheer exertion of his orgasm. His breathing was deep, wet, and haggard, and he was blistering hot even without clothes on. His slicked-back hair was soaked with sweat and hung limply in front of his flushed face. As he slumped over, he sensed a new pain in his shoulder, and he guessed that he must have strained something without noticing. Cum inevitably dribbled from your hole as he pulled out, splattering on the floor and mixing with your juices earlier.

He strode toward the bathroom closet, grabbing additional towels.

After wrapping them around you and himself, Toji brought you close to his frame and directed you into his bedroom diagonally across the hall. The rest of the night was quiet, especially since you both were consumed by exhaustion and post-coital haze. You rolled onto his canopied bed without sound, Toji lying next to you and pulling you snugly against his chest. After ensuring that you were okay, he kissed the sweet temple by your forehead and the bruises on your collar, smiling softly when you hummed in response.

He could hardly recall the last time he had felt so warm and so content, wanting nothing more than to cling onto this moment for as long as he could. In the back of his head, his conscience scolded him harshly. He still owed you plenty of explanations. For how he had been hiding his family, his relationships, and his original motive in using you to help him get back at his enemies.

Yet, as he pushed aside these intrusive thoughts and murmured to you ‘Goodnight,’ one thing became clear:

Toji Fushiguro was far too selfish to let you go.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: This is my first time writing smut that comprehensively includes Toji’s POV. While we have always gotten Y/N's POV in sex, I wanted to include Toji's perspective so that we could get into his psyche a little since he's battling his own demons as well.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @blackdragoncigarette @puffaloxx @shoisae @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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sluttywoozi · 2 months

Text

Bloodhound Part II | chs x f!reader

Vernon finally gets to taste you, just not in the way he wants.

Part I

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~2.8k

Pairing: chs x f!reader | Genre: romance, vampire au, smut

Warnings: blood drinking, male masturbation, pervy/horny/feral vernon, dubious consent (read AN at end for details), phone sex

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, she/her pronouns used

Vernon’s knee bounces in a blur as he sits in the stark waiting room on a dreary Monday, breathing through his mouth to escape the sting of antiseptic solution. He’s been to blood banks before, but never this one.

It’s close to the cafe he ran from you met you at, and he bites back a smile when he remembers how you looked at him with bright eyes and an even brighter grin, like you were genuinely ecstatic to see him. Now that he knows you’re not leaving, he can think back on that night without shame grabbing him by the throat, can even reminisce on the few seconds you got together before his appetite for you made itself known.

If he’s not careful, he starts thinking about other details, like how your shirt was cut just low enough for him to see the rise of your breasts, or how you smelled like every dream he’s ever had, like every dessert he’s ever been denied. As soon as he realizes he’s thinking about you like a fucking animal, he veers away from that dangerous train of thought. Some times are harder (pun unfortunately intended) than others, but he’ll never not fight to keep you safe, even from himself.

Especially from himself.

Before he can spiral into thoughts of all the ways he could hurt you, his name is called. He looks up from the space he was staring into, finding a vampire in scrubs waiting with a smile. The chair knocks against the wall as he rises and zips over, still unused to the way his body moves faster than his brain.

“Do you have a carrier?” They ask, looking around for a cooler of some sort.

“Insulated backpack,” he points over his shoulder, following them down a hallway to the distribution center.

This place reeks of cleaning solution too but there’s an undertone of copper, and if he concentrates enough, he can even find notes of you. Smelling you again, even just in traces, has his body thrumming with nervous energy, has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep his fangs from extending.

“Carmen will check you out,” the vampire says as they lead him to a counter with another vamp behind it. He nods in thanks, unable to speak with your scent at the forefront of his mind. Maybe two days wasn’t enough, he thinks, before admitting to himself that he’ll be disappointed if he returns and can’t find you on the air again.

“I would go straight home with this donation, it’s quite potent,” Carmen instructs kindly, bringing up a large styrofoam container and setting it on the counter between them and Vernon. He doesn’t know how he feels about the knowledge that your blood calls to others too.

On one hand, it makes him feel more normal, feel better about his lack of control when it comes to you. On the other, he hates the idea of other vampires thirsting after you, both because he's oddly possessive already and because it means you're less safe in this world than he thought.

“I will, for sure,” Vernon forces out as he signs on the digital pad, his eyes caught on all the ruby red waiting for him. He carefully loads the bags into his backpack, shouldering it quickly and thanking Carmen before spinning on his heel and zipping out of the room. He tries to slow his steps as he walks through the lobby, but he’s starving, desperate, half rabid with the idea of having your taste on his tongue.

He races home, his form a blur on the streets of New York as he weaves in and out of pedestrians and leaps over moving taxis to get to his apartment. Darting up the stairs and bursting through the door, Vernon drops his backpack and digs through his kitchen drawers for a straw, exclaiming triumphantly when he gets his hands on one.

The zipper of his backpack is nearly torn with how quickly he pulls it open, his hand plunging inside and pulling out a single bag of blood. There’s a small covered opening for a straw and while he’s sure some vampires are classier than him and like to put it in a glass, he's happy to drink right from the bag.

He’d be happiest drinking it right from the source, his brain supplies rather unhelpfully as he brings the straw to his lips and takes his first sip, his mind suspiciously absent of the cognitive dissonance he usually feels at drinking blood.

The flavor bursts on his tongue, bright and sparkling like champagne but heady like dark chocolate, with something laced throughout that makes his dick throb.

That something could only be you, the same something that makes you so fucking alluring to him, that makes him want to bite you all over, sink his teeth into your neck and your breasts and your thighs and-

His eyes roll back at the second sip, which is somehow better than the first, and before he knows it, he’s sinking to his knees and sucking mindlessly at the liquid gold. The bag empties and his stomach fills, and still, he wants more. More of your blood, more of you, just more.

He needs to pace himself though, needs to make it last through the week before you can donate again, and going through half the bags in one sitting just because it tastes so fucking good is not the way to do that.

So after just one, he stands on unsteady knees and brings his backpack to the kitchen, reluctantly loading the bags into his minifridge. He closes the door and waits for your scent to go away, except it never does.

Not a few hours later, when he’s working on music and answering your texts.

Not the next day either, giving him nebulous dreams of you as he rests the daylight away, dreams that glow red, dreams of wandering hands and teeth, dreams that taste like you.

When Friday rolls around and his apartment is still flooded with your fragrance, he gives up hope that it’ll ever go away. And if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t want it to go away. He can’t be close to you right now, maybe for the foreseeable future, and if this and your blood are all he can get, he’ll take it.

It would be nice if he could stop jerking off all the time, though.

He just can’t help it. It starts when he gets his first taste of you, the twitching and pulsing and thickening of his dick distracting when all he wants is to focus on his meal. Of course, it doesn’t go away when he finishes the bag, so he has no choice but to take himself in hand and try to suppress the ravenous thoughts that always intrude.

This blood was inside her, don’t you want to be inside of her too?

If her blood tastes this good, what does her pussy taste like?

If you get your hands on her and eat her right, fuck her well, maybe she’ll stay.

He feels bad, guilty, thinking of you when he touches himself. You’re his friend, his only friend, and here he is, dreaming of taking you and keeping you. It would be different if it was just once, but it’s been every night since he first tasted you, and it’s nearly routine by now.

Wake up, let the taste of you fill his mouth, rub one out.

Work on his music, think of you, rub one out.

Do some reading, get a whiff of you on the air, rub one out.

Have synthetic for dinner, think of how much better you taste, rub one out.

As a human, there’s no way he could have sustained cumming four times a day, but as a vampire, he has all the time and fluids in the world. It’s almost a curse, as he has literally no reason not to do it beyond, of course, the guilt. Even that isn’t enough to deter him, it almost makes him feel hotter, dirtier, needier, knowing he’s thinking things he shouldn’t be.

It’s around two AM when the opportunity to stop presents itself.

Vernon is half gone already, his hand slick with lube on his aching dick, when your name lights up on his phone.

You haven't been able to stay up late for him in a few days because standardized testing season has begun, and he scrambles to answer your call with his free hand, the other still wrapped around his cock.

“Hey!” Vernon doesn’t even try to hide his excitement at getting to speak with you, the voice notes you send him not nearly comparable to actually talking with you in real time.

“Hi, Vernon,” your voice is a bit raspy, your words heavy with sleep, and now is the time for him to take his hand off his dick, to devote his attention to you.

Now is the time, but for the life (death?) of him, he can’t.

“What are you doing up so late?” He asks, both out of curiosity and out of the desire to get you to talk more as he slides his hand down to the base of his cock.

“Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, just wanted to hear your voice,” you whisper, a rustling following your words as you readjust in bed. He tries to picture you, wonders if you’re laying on your back or your side or your stomach as you speak. Wonders even more what you’re wearing, his mind conjuring images of you in pajamas, all comfy and cozy and safe in bed.

You ask him about his music and he manages to answer, though he doesn’t know what words cross his lips, just that you respond with enthusiasm and excitement. It’s easy enough to keep you talking, he just has to ask about your class or how your brothers are doing, and then he doesn’t even have to focus on what you’re saying, just how you’re saying it.

The guilt sits heavily in his stomach, claws its way up his throat until all he can manage are hums and grunts and vaguely questioning noises as you speak. His release builds with every word from you, every stroke of his hand, every flash of shameful passion, and just when he’s on the brink, he hears you say his name.

“Vernon, are you- are you… touching yourself?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

His hand freezes on his cock, orgasm out of sight and alarm bells blaring in his head as he waits for the disgust, the anger, the hurt. He deserves it all, and-

“Keep going.”

Your voice is hushed and breathy but urgent, and before his mind can catch up to what this means, his hand moves. There’s a slick sound when it reaches the root of his cock, and he realizes he must have been so entranced by you, he didn’t even notice how noisy he was being.

He hears a gasp on the other end of the line, visualizes you on your back with your fingers between your thighs, and instantly, he’s on the edge again. But before he can cum, he needs to know, “Are you touching yourself too?”

“Yes,” you say, though it sounds more like a sigh.

He lets his eyes fall closed and there you are, phone pressed to your ear in the dark, your hands busy at work on your body as you listen to him jerk off. In his mind, one of your hands is clutching your breast, rolling your nipple, squeezing to test the give of your own flesh. The other is under the sheets, rubbing your swollen clit or filling your little cunt with your fingers.

“Are you wet?” He gasps, his hand a blur on his length as he starts to spiral.

“So wet, Vernon. Just for you.”

And fuck if that isn’t the best thing he’s heard in his all his years on this earth. It’s enough to make his balls draw up tight, to make his cock twitch against his palm, to make it leak like a broken faucet.

It’s enough to make him cum.

He throws his head back, barely holding onto the phone, groans and whimpers escaping his parted lips as cold cum shoots out of his dick to cover his stomach and hand. He lays there, panting just for the sensation of it, until he hears a sharp keen, one that has his cock twitching back to life against his belly. It’s followed by whines and gasps, and Vernon can only assume what they are, what they mean.

“Did you cum?” He asks with desperation, needing to know you found your pleasure like he did.

“Yeah… It was so nice,” you sound sleepy again, but your words are sugar coated, sweet in his ears.

“Was that okay? I mean I didn’t ask you before,” he’s nervous now, knowing that he was jerking off to you, with you, without your consent.

“So many questions, Vernon.” Fuck, he loves his name on your tongue. “You probably shouldn’t do that with anyone else, but it was okay with me, obviously.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” he says instantly, thoughtlessly. He’d be blushing if he could, embarrassed at confessing so quickly, but he doesn’t regret it. Especially when he hears you say, “Good, I don’t want anyone else either.”

There’s a smile in your voice, tired as it is, and he knows he should tell you to sleep but he’s just not ready to let you go yet. So he doesn’t, leading you into another conversation and listening attentively as you give him the details of your newly overhauled skincare routine. He doesn’t need to worry about his skin, and he didn’t when he was human, but he likes talking about it with you anyway.

You’re so passionate about the products you use and their effects, and he can’t help but smile as you rave about the new retinol you added. The conversation evolves naturally, meandering back to his music and the new singer he’s working with, a faerie (which exist apparently) named Seungkwan.

He’s halfway into a story about how he and Seungkwan have a whole song finished bar the last note, something they just can’t seem to agree on, when he notices your breathing slowing, growing deeper. It’s almost four now, and you’ll need to be up in two hours to ready yourself for work, so he’s glad you’re getting some sleep.

He doesn’t hang up for a few minutes, just listening to your breathing and the little noises you make as you slumber, feeling more calm than he has in a full week. Finding release with you seems to have tempered his raging lust for now, though he knows it will come back with a vengeance just as soon as he allows himself to think about it.

About how you said you were wet for him, just for him…

No! Vernon needs to focus, needs to take advantage of not having his hunger for you clouding his mind. He’s got two hours till the sunrise, and he should use them working on Seungkwan’s EP.

First, he needs to take care of the layer of drying cum covering his hand and stomach, scooching to the edge of the bed and standing before walking to the bathroom, not feeling the urge to rush for once.

He only sets the shower to lukewarm but it feels searing hot on his chilly skin when he steps in, a shiver rippling down his spine as he rinses his dick clean. Honestly, he could go again, but he feels fulfilled enough that he doesn’t pay any mind to the way it hardens under the spray of the water.

Instead, he moves through the rest of his routine swiftly, washing his hair just for the sake of normalcy before shutting the stream off and shaking himself fast enough to vibrate away half the water covering his skin.

A towel mops up the rest, gets dragged through his hair until it’s no longer dripping and then gets hung on the hook to dry. He stares at the empty mirror for a while, trying to conjure his own visage, trying to remember how he looks, before shaking his head and returning to his bedroom.

There’s no good in wishing things were different. This is his life now, and it will be forever.

But it’s immeasurably better with you in it, enough so that he thinks he might not regret being turned into a vampire for once, just because it led him to you.

AN: Vernon masturbates on the phone with reader without telling her or asking for her consent, so I'm tagging as dubious consent (she's into it tho)

AN II: i am fr so sorry it's taken me this long to release part 2 �� i had so much inspo and passion for this project and it's faded a bit, but i'm doing my best to find it again and finish this!

i'd love to know your thoughts! pls feel free to let me know how you feel via reblog, reply, or ask!!

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schlattsdoll · 9 months

Note

Could you possibly do smut prompt #46. “leave the heels on.” with Jschlatt, please?

xoxo

head over heels - jschlatt x reader

minors dni

prompt:"leave the heels on."

pairing: jschlatt x fem/afab! reader

warnings: smut {18+}, oral { fem receiving}, p in v, degradation, unprotected sex {wrap it before you tap it!!!}, sex in front of a mirror yum

i haven’t written actual smut in so long omg i hope this is good

it's no secret that jay hated going out, but with you? he's singing a different tune. he loved to see how excited you got to get all dolled up for him, wanting to coordinate outfits. he couldn't help but smile when he saw how you lit up when he told you about a semiformal event for one of his companies. you rushed to find colors that complemented your skin tones, opting for a deep dark velvet green skater dress and a pair of black heels.

"my god doll, you look gorgeous". your boyfriend kissed the back of your neck as he zippered up your dress. "i would take you right now if ya'd let me."

you smirked at the taller man behind you in the mirror. “who said i would stop you big guy?” that was all the confirmation he needed before lifting you up and placing you on the bathroom counter. he was careful not to mess up your hair or makeup, that you worked so hard on.

he got a glimpse of the kelly green lingerie you had on under the dress. his hands went back to the zipper he had fixed for you mear moments ago and pulled it down. as you went to kick off your heels, jay stopped you, his eyes blown black with lust. “leave the heels on, sweetheart.”

schlatt dropped down to his knees, kissing his way up and down your plush thighs. “fuck doll, all this just for me? and you say i spoil you.” he teased your center as he toyed with the band of your lacey panties. snapping the band against your tummy, he pulled them to the side to get a peek at your glistening cunt. “s’pretty sweetheart.”

jay dove between your thighs, eating like a man starved for his last meal. his tongue lapping away at your wetness, spending special attention to your little button. the burn your thighs felt from his mutton chops were so delicious, your hands tangled in his hair. as you gripped tighter, he let out a groan of “fuuuckk doll.” before pulling away to catch his breath. replacing his tongue with his fingers, you whined quickly at the loss of contact before moaning out. his large digits stretching out your tight heat.

“oh, fuck, jay. i’m gonna cum!” you shouted out, your whole body tightening. “be a good lil dolly, cum for daddy baby.”

your legs went limp as his speed increased, occasionally kitten licking your clit. when he removed his fingers they were drenched in your essence, and he licked every drop up. “normally i’d make you return the favor, but i don’t wanna ruin that pretty face just yet.”

schlatt helped you off the counter, kissing you gently as to not ruin your lipstick, before flipping you over and pinning you against the sink. “fuck toots, these heels just make it easier to fuck you standin’ up.” he kissed your shoulder as he pulled out his throbbing cock, pumping it a few times before lining himself up with your slit.

he teased your clit with his tip causing you to whine out. “jayyy baby stop being a tease.” he tsked at you, “such a whiny needy little doll f’me. i’ll give you what you need, don’t worry.” he plunged his large member into you, groaning at the tightness. “that’s a good doll, so wet and tight jus’ for me.”

as he thrust into you, he made sure to get a few good smacks in on your ass. once he realized there was a huge mirror in front of you two he pulls your head up by your hair. “look at you, who’s little slut are you?” he smirked as your eyes rolled back, unable to form a sentence. “so dumb, all fucked out on my cock already.”

your cunt tightened at his words, and his ministrations on your clit. “f-fuck! yours, ‘m all yours daddy. please let me cum.” a dark chuckle escaped his lips. “i’ll think about it, im enjoying having my dumb little dolly so desperate under me.”

a particularly hard thrust had your legs shaking, almost causing you to fall over. “fuck jay! please!” “alright, cum for me sweetheart, cum all over this cock.” you felt his pace quicken as you flew over the edge, and his load spill out inside you.

“fuckin hell. thanks for that princess. i’ll be sure to ruin your makeup later.” he smiled wide as he pulled up his black pants and rebuttoned his matching green shirt.

helping you regain your footing, he slid the dress back on your body and zipped you up.

“can’t wait to do it all again later sweet cheeks.”

#jschlatt imagine #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt smut #jschlatt x reader #chuckle sandwich imagine #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader

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graceofagodswrath · 3 months

Note

Omg your Humans are space orcs/deathworlders + Transformers is just *d e l i c i o u s*. My complaints are pretty much the same, it seems that most humans on the franchise are just manufactured to be hated or simply annoying for being so useless. I want transformers to realize just how hard we have to work to simply stay alive *in our own planet*, with the sheer amount of diseases and poisonous animals and predators and weather and so much more, I want them to wonder how such seemingly fragile beings became the dominant species, how can we be so resilient yet so delicate... I'd like a transformer that particularly hates/is disgusted by humans to swap places with us for like a day or so, the first one that comes to mind is Starscream, I want him to get a glimpse at the daily fight for survival here on Earth and can't help but develop a tiny speck of respect for humans, not that he would ever admit it, even to himself, that he's secretly more mindful of where he steps when there are humans around ever since.

I literally just gave a rundown about this to a friend in a drunken rant the other night, so I am so ready for this.

Starscream wouldn’t be my first pick, based solely on the fact that I haven’t psycho-analyzed him the same way I have others, but imma do my best ~

For situation-sake so my writer brain doesn’t kill itself over context, imma do this in the form of Headcannons. Let’s say Starscream gets stuck in a human body and has to exist as such until he magically gets put back. Until then, he’s stuck with a human who is aware of what he is (vague gn oc/reader, up to whoever. Writing from the viewpoint of “one of us”).

(Also y’all can input any Starscream here cause imma write him in his basic form: whiney, stuck-up, clever little cunt).

- Bro is flabbergasted. Disgusted. Horrified. Out-of-his-mind losing it. Keeps praying to primus it’s a drug-induced hallucination or a dream.

- Wakes up on the soft cushions of a… couch? The word pops up in his head. He knew the basics from his overviews when their war traveled to earth. He brought his servos- No. Hands, up to his face, inspected his new honey, fleshy digits. The detail was too vivid to be a hallucination. Colors were both muted and bright. Starscream found himself automatically trying to adjust his optic intake. But nothing happened. Of course. Because fleshy organics can’t manually adjust their own sensory inputs.

- He curls his lips, and is instantly hit with the feeling of muscle contorting. Skin and flesh was an entirely different sensation from mesh and plating. It made his plating- damnit no, skin crawl. Another sensation trailed up the center of his back, spine and shiver popping up in his mind.

- Even the way his psyche worked was different. Like a new plane of existence. Thoughts were unorganized, uncalculated. Like something that squirmed out of his grasp as he tried to keep hold. Everything felt simplified, yet the awareness and sensations were overwhelming. His entire presence felt… hypocritical.

- Sounds distracted him from his insightful, yet horrific reverie. His gaze drifted to another area of the room, half-built walls sectioning it off, but with flat slabs atop. Counters. A face pops from behind the half-wall. Human eyes catch his, and the creature pulls its lips back to bare its teeth. To smile. Even though humans and cybertronians had similar facial anatomy, the little creatures were so ugly that it was hard to recognize similar expressions.

- “You good bud?” The thing asks. Starscream felt his new face twist into his casual sneer, one laced with aggravation and disgust.

- “Good? Is such a thing possible when you’re a skin bag of flesh and bones?” The humans only response was to broaden their grin.

-“Glad you haven’t lost the attitude. Means you’ll make it out alive.” The nonchalance threw the ex-cybertronian for a loop.

- “You… know me?” That grin turned into a smirk that made the non-energon in his lines boil.

- “You’re Starscream, second-in-command to Megatron, lord of the deceptions, yada yada yada… yeah I know who you are.” They leaned back against the wall, eyes boring into the deception. Starscream found himself wondering if human eyes were always so disturbingly piercing.

- “Wonderful.” He shoved the unsettled feeling to the back of his head, determined to figure out a solution and still be in control. “Then you can explain how and why I am in this disgusting organic form.”

- The smirk disappeared into an odd expression Starscream had never seen before. The human flattened their lips and pursed their… cheeks. It looked entirely stupid. But something in the back of his head whispered apologetic.

- “I’m not sure on the exact details, but I can tell you it won’t last long. I’m basically your caretaker until it wears off.”

- Instinctually, Starscream’s brows raised. “That’s it? Is this some new human weapon, cruel imprisonment within one your fleshy bodies?”

- The human tilted their head back and laughed, once again taking Starscream off guard. Their casual presence was so different from the fight-or-die everyday lifestyle that gripped his species.

- “Nope. Just a random accident that you’re the unfortunate victim of.” At the con’s bewildered stare, the human pushed their mouth outwards, changing the pitch of their voice as they said, “aww, poor baby. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.” Then they whirled around and walked into the other room.

- Man is flabbergasted. Is out of his element and cannot function. Cue him trying to stand and do normal things, and bust his ass because the different sensations hitting him all at once. Organic nervous systems feel very different from techno ones.

- First thing he starts doing is eating and drinking. It takes a couple hours, but his “babysitter” eventually gets him to try something. Water first, of course (he refused any organic foods). The con is disgusted, but moderately pleased that the tasteless liquid isn’t slimy or thicker like he expected. It’s actually rather soothing to his human body.

- The first food he willingly tries is melon. Honeydew to be precise. Refused to touch meat, as the idea of eating actual organic flesh was unfathomable. He was pleasantly surprised to find the flavor of the fruit likable. Humans don’t taste things the same way cybertronians do. Whereas energon has a more electrical charge to it (to put it in human words), Earth flavors were smoother. Discovers he has a huge sweet tooth (as his “babysitter” put it).

- His human guardian took this opportunity to drag him out of their home and go shopping for more consumables. Let him pick things he found somewhat pleasing, but chose most others. Lots of fruit to try and other non-meats. Went in to try the other types of fruit. Has a preference for honeydew, strawberries, cantaloupe, watermelon, and grapes. Really likes (loves but won’t admit) pineapple and raspberries. The sour/sweetness is similar to energon. Citruses like oranges and mandarin are also similar, but he prefers more sweetness than straight sour. Kiwi is also a treat.

- (I headcannon that energon is similar to sour patch kids and skittles, super sweet and sour with an electric tang and texture. So all transformers would be immediate sweet lovers as humans because of the similarity).

- Hates anything dull or flavorless. Don’t try to feed this man spinach, he’ll call you grass-eating fleshbag.

- Drinks water only because he has too (stupid human body), but once he discovers those liquid flavors he can put in, it’s all he uses. Tried juices when he found out they were liquids derived from the fruit he likes. Got excited when it tasted almost like energon and tried to only consume juice from then on. His guardian explained that humans couldn’t only exist on juice, but of course he tried to argue that all he needed was nutrients in liquid. He then discovered smoothies. Nearly did the same thing until he actually tried them. Hated the thickness and gritty texture.

- A couple days go by and his guardian decides it’s time to get him tf out properly. Man is lounging around all the time. If he’s not on the couch making fun of human entertainment and politics, he’s following his guardian meatbag around and demanding answers for his current predicament.

- So his guardian starts small. Hauls his ass outside for a jog. This is where things really get interesting. Starscream is unaware of how human bodies work. When his guardian begins a slow run, he gets confused. Why would you run when you can walk fine? Where were they going? Leads to an explaination of exercise, which results in the con doing his usual snide shit of “you force yourselves to go through training otherwise your bodies become slow and unusable? How unsurprising.” And they’re like “yes and nooo, it’s so we can stay strong and get stronger as time goes on. Staying strong allows us to do cool things.”

- Cool things like what? Well his guardian gets an evil idea in their head. Starscream hates running. Hates using his legs and having nothing to do with his arms. Don’t even get them started on the tantrum he threw when he started sweating (fluids exiting one’s body? Horrifying).

- So his guardian introduces him to swimming. The con is a jet in his natural form, and the closest he’ll get to that as a human without a shit ton of equipment will be the water.

- Problem is the man has to learn to swim first. And willingly get in the water. Stays on the edge of the lap pool the first few times, watching with his nose turned up at the humans swimming.

- However, he starts to slowly dip his toes in the water. The sensation is… interesting. It’s not dislikable on human skin. In fact, on the hotter days it’s very soothing, like when he drinks water (finds out he can’t drink this kind tho, chemicals and bodies in it and such).

- Eventually he gets in, staying in the shallow area. His guardian helps him learn how to swim. It feels humiliating, learning to kick and tread water, while watching human children do it with relative ease. It feels strange to use his body in such ways. But with his guardian constantly reminding that none of his cybertronian peers knew or will know of his situation, AND their constant praise, he finds it in himself to continue.

- The praise he receives from his guardian is also something he’s not used to. As well as other humans willing to help him learn. It apparently wasn’t uncommon for many adult humans to not know how to swim or do other things, and gave him more confidence to learn. He’d never admit it, but he tried harder to learn just to hear the praise from others. It felt nice to be treated kindly. Better than nice. But again, he’d never admit it. He’d just respond with a clever quip. Never did anyone hear a thanks (but most quickly figured out he was grateful from the obvious burning red on his copper-toned neck and ears).

- Weeks drag on, and to distract himself from the impatience of going back to his normal, Starscream becomes an excellent swimmer. He finds it is like flying, the way the water holds up his body. When he holds his breath and dips under the surface, he can almost imagine his rocket boosters on his pedestal holding him aloft in the sky.

- From the work it took, he gained a slight appreciated for how his human body worked. At first he thought it was a hindrance. But as he worked with the others, he began to have an understanding that unsettled the cybertronian part of him.

- Humans were incredibly versatile. After he began to improve greatly at swimming, he asked about other activities humans did for exercise. The resulted in learning that humans didn’t always “exercise” to become strong. Many did it for fun. It was a hobby to them, and the exercise was a great benefit. It kept their minds clear, it kept their bodies healthy, and it satisfies a part of them that he was only beginning to discover.

- Starscream was aware of human creativity. It’s what had made their species a slight hindrance when they aided the autobots in the war, but because of their size, they were seen as nothing but bugs. Pests at the most. But as the con experienced this small bit of human life, he began to understand there was more to them than he’d like to admit. There was this drive to do things, to push themselves beyond their current capabilities.

- He learned of skills that human no longer needed but still learned to take pride in for fun. Swimming was only a base skill. There were humans that attempted to swim across the oceans just to see if they could, even with the high chance of death. Beyond swimming, there was running across land for days on end, jumping off cliffs and diving in spectacular ways, gliding across the sky’s on flimsy metal pipes and fabric, and so much more. Their adaptability to any environment was envious.

- It nearly terrified him, the thought of what if humans were the same size as cybertronians. What if they could acutally measure up to other species of their universe? They could do anything. They would be a real threat. Or the greatest ally any race could ask for.

- His lid has been flipped.

- Eventually he wakes up back in his habsuite in his normal body. The euphoria that rushes through him at the familiarity his nothing he’s ever experienced before. Checking his info screens, he discovers no time passed. As if he had dreamed all of it. But when he looks to his desk in the room, he sees it.

- Starscream picks the item up, inspecting it, and feels his spark skip a pulse. It’s a small ring and chain, attached to two metal objects. Both in the shape and color of a pineapple and raspberry.

#humans are space orcs #humans are crazy #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #humans are weird #transformers #transformers prime #shower thoughts #maccadam #starscream #transformers idw

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whumpsday · 8 months

Text

Power Play

Writing Masterlist

content: kidnapping, ritual sacrifice, begging, hand whump, impalement, mouth whump, knives/skin carving, demon whumper, creepy whumper, major character death, gore

this is my piece for @zineofgid !! this was such an awesome project to work on :)

you can still buy the guys in distress zine here! proceeds go to the charity RAINN. there are limited physical copies and unlimited digital copies, as well as some merch left. do keep in mind that while my piece is sfw, this is an 18+ zine and a lot of other contributors' pieces are very much NOT sfw!

this piece was done as part of a collaboration with @whump-queen, with ocs we made together! he made art that accompanies this piece, you can view it here! it depicts the end of the story so you might wanna wait til after you read it though if you care about spoilers (also linked at the end)

Jonah’s breaths came hard and fast as Reese dumped him out of the large duffle bag, onto the cold floor of his basement.

He immediately tried to struggle to his feet, but his wrists and ankles had been bound with way too many layers of duct tape, making it impossible. Reese easily kicked him to the floor, placing a boot firmly on his chest and keeping him there.

“Ah-ah-ah.” his captor tutted, ripping the tape off his mouth. “I’m sorry to say that you will never see outside this room again.”

“You’re crazy!” Jonah screamed, unable to keep the terror out of his voice. His heart hammered in his chest, right under Reese’s boot.

“You have been messing with my campaign.” Reese countered, as if kidnapping was equivalent to Jonah doing his damn job. “Arnett didn’t start climbing in the polls until she brought you on as manager.” He dug his boot in deeper, making it a little hard for Jonah to breathe, pressing his bound wrists painfully into the floor under his back.

Despite admittedly-minimal efforts to retain his composure, Jonah found himself trembling. “So, what? You’re going to- kill me?”

There was no way he could fight this man off. Reese was bigger and stronger than him; it was pathetic how little he’d been able to struggle when Reese had initially incapacitated him. Now he was bound with tape and at an even bigger disadvantage. The thought that he could really die here blared through his mind like a siren, urging him to do whatever he could to escape, as if there was anything he could do.

“Not exactly. I’m not going to kill you.” Reese finally stepped off Jonah’s chest, only to kick him over and press a knee into his back instead. “Don’t mistake this as petty vengeance. I needed someone, and you happened to be an enticing target.”

It was only then, staring across the floor instead of at the ceiling, that Jonah noticed his surroundings.

A large pentagram, easily five feet, laid painted red in the center of the room, a hammer and nails set next to it.

“What the fuck?” he whispered in cold horror.

“Thanks to you, it’s clear that a good, honest campaign by a good, honest man isn’t enough to make it in politics. Luckily, there are other ways to get ahead in life, if you do enough research,” Reese explained, like it made perfect sense.

“Is that blood?” Jonah asked, voice small, staring at the red of the pentagram painted meticulously into the floor.

“It is. My very own.”

Jonah’s line of questioning was instantly interrupted when felt the side of a blade against his forearm.

He writhed, his struggles renewed. “Get away from me with that thing!”

“Hold still, or I might nick you. You want that tape off, don’t you?” Reese leaned down. Jonah could feel his breath on the back of his neck as Reese’s knee pressed further into his lower back.

Jonah went still, barring the tremors he couldn’t control. As much as he hated to admit it, Reese was right: aimlessly moving around with a knife millimeters from his skin would only get him hurt. He didn’t resist as he felt steel slide harmlessly against him, the layers of tape cut away and peeled off.

Before he could even think about running, Reese grabbed both his newly-freed hands and dragged him over to the pentagram. Jonah started struggling again, but there was little he could do against the iron grip.

Reese pointed to one of the triangles making up the pentagram. “You will kneel or I will make you kneel.”

He didn’t know what else to do, and pissing off his captor seemed like a recipe for disaster, so he knelt as indicated.

Reese bound one hand to Jonah’s body with more tape, bringing the other to a point of the pentagram. He pressed Jonah’s palm against the star’s tip, stepping firmly against his wrist to hold it there.

“Now, stay nice and still.”

Reese picked up the hammer and one of the nails.

“What are you doing?!” Jonah tried to pull his hand away, but Reese just pressed his boot down harder.

“What I said. Just making sure you stay still.” Reese positioned the nail in the center of Jonah’s hand, the sharp tip pricking at his skin. Jonah’s breath grew rapid in anticipation of what was about to happen to him.

“Wait, don’t, don’t don’t no no no-!”

Pain exploded in his hand as the THWACK of the hammer hit the nail and pierced his skin, and Jonah finally screamed. He tried again to pull his hand away, to pull his whole body away, but it was useless. He was trapped.

“Stop! Stop stop stop, you’re crazy!” he cried, tears spilling over and running down his face. The nail settled on the floor’s surface, just barely poking through the tender skin of his palm from the inside, making its way through muscle and ligaments and tendons.

“You can think what you like. Doesn’t matter to me,” Reese commented nonchalantly.

The hammer came down again. Jonah’s second scream was less intense than the first, as if his voice itself were scared, breaking off into a sob. A few more taps left the nail buried snugly in the floor, the head resting against the back of his hand as a bit of blood escaped from under it.

Jonah panted hard, adrenaline coursing through him. His hand wouldn’t move from where it sat fastened to the pentagram even after Reese removed his boot from his wrist: even twitching his fingers sent a horrible jolt through it.

“Good job, you’re doing very well.” Reese praised, patting Jonah on the head. “And now, the other one.”

“NO!” Jonah cried. “Stop! You have to stop!”

“Shh, it’s okay.” The sheer calm Reese talked about it with sent shivers down his spine. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Reese freed his uninjured hand, and Jonah clutched it protectively to his chest, shaking. “Leave me alone,” he begged tearily.

His captor grabbed his hand and brought it to the opposite point of the pentagram, stretching him out painfully and forcing his head and chest to the ground. Much to his dismay, Reese stepped down on his other wrist and readied the hammer and nails again.

Jonah strained his neck to look up at Reese, desperate. “What do you want? I’ll quit, okay? I’ll stop running Arnett’s campaign, you’ll never see me again. Just stop.”

“Oh, Jonah. Like I said, I needed someone. It just happened to be you.” Reese started on the other hand. No matter how much he screamed, it wouldn’t stop. Unlike the first nail, which seemed to slip in between his bones, this one landed right on top of the small, delicate bones inside his hand and smashed through them uncaring, the pain blinding.

Jonah was a mess by this point, sobbing into the floor. “I don’t wanna die like this,” he sniffled.

Reese cupped his face. “Look at it this way. You’re dying for something bigger than yourself. More powerful. Now, I think that’s about enough complaining out of you.”

The grip on his face grew tighter and tighter, fingers pressing tightly into the sides of his jaw, until Jonah was forced to open his mouth. Reese grabbed his tongue and pulled it, touching it to the center of the pentagram. Even among the throbbing pain in his hands and the horrifying situation, Jonah’s face crinkled in disgust.

Reese grabbed another nail.

Jonah’s disgust was immediately forgotten, replaced by overwhelming terror. He tried fruitlessly to shake his head away, making what little terrified noises of protest he could manage, as Reese settled the tip of the nail against his tongue.

A whine of fear escaped him, and he looked up at his captor pleadingly. Please don’t do this.

“Just try to relax,” Reese advised, as if it was at all possible.

The hammer slammed against the head of the nail, sending it straight through Jonah’s tongue and into the floor. Jonah wailed with intolerable pain, hot tears slipping down his cheeks, no longer able to form pleas. All he could taste was his own fresh blood, running over Reese’s painted on the floor.

Reese gave it a few more firm taps until the head of the nail almost crushed Jonah’s tongue under it, undeterred by Jonah’s cries.

“There we go.” Reese disappeared from Jonah’s tear-blurry line of sight. A moment later, he felt the side of the knife against the back of his neck. He squealed in distress, unable to even thrash against his bonds anymore.

But the knife didn’t plunge into him. Instead, it glided downward to the sound of tearing fabric until Jonah’s shirt fell limply in front of him. Reese ran a hand over his exposed back, Jonah’s tense muscles shuddering under the touch.

“This is the final step.” Jonah jolted as best he could in his immobilized state as he felt the tip of the knife between his shoulderblades- not digging in yet, but threatening to.

“Nghh!” Jonah couldn’t say much else with his tongue nailed down. He couldn’t even shake his head. Nothing he could do to indicate NO would be enough here, anyway. Reese didn’t care for his opinion.

He screamed as the knife buried itself in flesh, not deep enough to touch bone, but far from shallow. It glided along his back in a sweeping stroke, before Reese lifted it and picked a new spot to carve into him, no matter how much he cried and tried to writhe away from the sharp, insistent pain.

Slice after bold, swirling slice, Reese painted a pattern in the splitting of his skin, spending the most time on an intricate design between his shoulder blades. Jonah was pretty sure it was supposed to be an eye, but he was too hazy with agony and blood loss to tell.

Finally, Reese pulled the knife away from his mangled back. “There, all done. Soon you won’t even feel it.”

Jonah could only sob in response, trembling from pain and fear. Everything hurt. His entire body felt like it had been through a paper shredder. He could feel the blood running off the sides of his back and pooling beneath his folded-up legs, soaking his knees.

He watched as Reese lit candles in a circle around him, painting the room in a warm glow, and began chanting in a language Jonah couldn’t understand- Latin, maybe? What a pointless thing to die for. What would happen to him when none of this worked and no demon showed up? Would Reese concede and let him go? Probably not. Jonah imagined the knife plunging into his chest, the last thing he ever saw the face of his murderer. At least the pain would stop.

Slowly, as Reese chanted, The sigil carved into Jonah’s back began to burn.

Just a little at first, but getting hotter and hotter until Jonah was writhing in pain, trying to free his hands despite the nails holding them in place and hurting worse and worse the more he tugged on them. What was happening to him? It felt like someone had run boiling oil through the gashes in his skin. It was unbearable. He needed it to stop. Jonah squeezed his eyes closed, releasing a sound akin to a dying animal at the excruciating pain.

When he opened his eyes… a figure stood in front of him, half-materialized, like it was creating itself out of thin air. The warm orange glow of the candles began to shift to a cold, too-bright violet.

He strained his eyes up to see, the angle much less than ideal with his tongue bolted to the floor. He wasn’t sure if that was the reason they looked so massive, or if they really were abnormally tall, but a glance at Reese for comparison proved it to be the latter.

Everything about them looked unnatural, all bright colors that might mark a plant or animal as toxic, screaming at his nailed-down body to run. Glowing fuschia markings slithered all over their skin, the pattern looking suspiciously like the one Jonah could feel carved into his back. A giant scorpion-like tail snaked out from behind them.

Jonah stared up at the- the demon, apparently. As their form became more solid, Jonah’s back burned less and less, the only thing he could possibly be thankful for in this moment.

The demon eyed him back threefold, an impossibly-wide grin full of sharp teeth splitting their six-eyed face. Jonah couldn’t help but whimper under their gaze.

“Izuloth!” Reese shouted, suddenly seeming so much less intimidating compared to the monstrosity before him.

Izuloth broke eye contact to direct their attention to him, their smile faltering and their eyebrow twitching with annoyance. Several of their eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’ve summoned you! I’ve captured a sacrifice, carved your sigil, drawn this pentagram in my own blood. You will now grant me power, as promised,” Reese declared confidently.

The smile returned. “Awfully presumptuous, human. I don’t remember promising anything.”

“What- what are you talking about?” Reese sputtered. “That’s what it said in the book! You are now under my control!”

Izuloth smirked. “Oh, is that what it said. That was nice of them to put in there. Makes fools like you much more likely to summon me. Hm, I don’t think I care for your attitude, though.”

They snapped their fingers.

Jonah watched in horror as Reese’s body began to unravel in front of him. Skin peeled from muscle, exposing raw, bloody flesh and piling on the floor below in a wet heap that splashed Jonah’s face with blood- he could taste it on his outstretched tongue.

Reese tried to scream, but all that came out was a gurgle as his tongue joined the rest of his exposed muscles in shredding to bits, as if taken to on all sides, inside and out, with an invisible cheese grater. It was over within a minute: the remnants of his body collapsed to the floor, twitching with life for only a moment before going still.

Jonah was alone with Izuloth.

He whined in terror, too frozen to even try tugging at his restraints. If the demon could do that, it wouldn’t be any use anyway.

Izuloth, to his dismay, turned their attention back to him. “Now, where were we?”

They reached a hand down to pet his hair. Jonah squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body tensed up in anticipation.

Suddenly, Izuloth grabbed his hair and pulled. Jonah’s eyes flew right back open as his tongue ripped right out of the nail, bisecting it down the middle with an agonizing tear. His scream of pain cut short when Izuloth grabbed him by the frayed end of his tongue, their many-eyed face inches away.

“Pretty thing, I think I’ll keep you.”

ART BY AKIA WHUMP-QUEEN!!!