#I can't say I think it would be the worst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mochinomnoms · 2 days

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What do you think would happen if Floyd were to meet Riddle's mother?! Cuz I just read your Mama/Papa leech Headcanons about meeting their sons crush. But what if it’s reversed? Riddle's mother Meeting Floyd? (I would also say Yuu's parents meeting Jade, but unfortunately, that won't be happening)

“Wow, I thought Lil Goldfishie was a stick in the mud, his mama has a whole branch up her—” *gets kicked in the groin*

I have very mixed feelings about Riddle's mother, in that with the context we have right now she's a bitch and if I ever see her it's on motherfucking sight. But she must love her son still, right? Is she harsh because he wants to set Riddle up for success, but only knows the way she was raised? Is she scared of her kid getting hurt or failing, and so she tries to shield him from all possible harm? Is she so hyperaware of all the dangers in society that she feels the need to keep him in a little bubble, knowing in the back of her mind that making mistakes and getting hurt is part of growing up? A good mother would never want to see their child ever get hurt if it were up to them. I mean, she must care for him in some way, but how? In the manga or novel (not sure which) they mention that she fought back against the school to keep him in, but was that because she wanted him to have the prestige of NRC in his background or because she wants what's best for him? She homeschooled him herself to the point that he's an immensely powerful mage already as a teen, so she could've hypothetically kept doing the same thing, right? Is she a mother that truly cares for her son but suffered the same childhood, but she “turned out fine” so it must be fine? Or is she just a bitch, lol. Either way, she is emotionally and affectionately neglectful and doesn't realize it at best, and emotionally and psychologically abusive at worst.

I have a lot to say on the topic of Mrs. Rosehearts, about her parenting, the cultural differences of child-rearing that EN players and JP players might have. This post talks about it in depth, but I can say more on the topic later.

In regards to Floyd meeting Mrs. Rosehearts, probably against Riddle's wishes or while he's distracted, the poor guy is set up for disappointment. While it's implied that Mama Leech is overprotective and that she calls very often, if not daily, to check in on her sons, they still had enough freedom growing up to get into shenanigans and hijinks. I mean, they beat up a sturgeon and took some of its scales to fashion into earrings like a trophy. And they both speak very fondly of her, so Floyd is going into meeting Mrs. Rosehearts with the expectation that she might be a bit stuffy. But, she raised Riddle, his crush and favorite human! He's strict and mean at times, but he cares a lot for his dorm and is super diligent, she must be like that too!

But she's so…critical. She looks at him unamused, very standoffish, but is polite. He guesses. He can see where Riddle got his strictness from.

“Hello. Who might you be?” She probably didn't expect to have some random student, not even from her son's dorm, come up to her. He was...tall. Towered over her, and based on the color of his hair and sharp teeth, most likely wasn't human.

“Huh, you're not as red as my Lil Goldfishie is.”

She blinked and frowned, resisting the urge to chastise the strange fellow for his informal tone and rube behavior. Not her son, not her problem.

“Pardon? Do you often speak to your elders like this?” she asked, eyeing him as she turned away to watch her son give orders to his dorm as they managed an informational booth.

“Yeah, why not? They're just people. Not like I'm being rude or anything” She would strongly disagree. “You're kinda prickly, like a lionfish.”

“W-what?” She changed her mind, someone needs to put him in her place. “Now listen here, young man, it's quite rude to call people anything other than their na—”

“They're real mean, ya know. Venomous, a nuisance, can't even mess with it cause it has a bunch of spines—oh! Imma call you Mama Lionfish.” The young man snapped his left fingers like he made a revelation.

Mrs. Rosehearts had learned to control her temper, but she still had her moments, Her face been bright red, her lips thinned, and she opened her mouth to start berating the young man.

“Floyd Leech! What did I tell you about calling people names?” A tall, slender women came up to them, pale skin and hair hue similar to the man in front of her. She wore a cream-colored dress and matching blazer, adorned with gold and pearls, and a matching wide brimmed hat. She was followed by Riddle, who looked a mix of anger and concern.

“Never do it in front of people, yeah, yeah.” The man named Floyd pouted, but brightened at the sight of Riddle. “Oh hey Lil Goldfishie! What's uuuup?”

Floyd jogged over to Riddle, halting him midstep as Mrs. Rosehearts noticed Riddle almost bristle, trying to sidestep and get around Floyd. He was failing.

“I apologize, you know how boys can be!” The woman in front of her also towered over her, though not nearly as much as her son did. “My Floyd doesn't mean anything by it, he just a silly boy.”

The blue haired woman laughed, then abruptly stopped, narrowing her golden gaze as she thinly smiled.

“You're the man's mother, I assume.” Mrs. Rosehearts replied, smoothing out her skirt and clutching her hands together. “He's very...spirited. He's from the Leech family? Is it safe to assume that your the Leech family matriarch?”

The other woman's sharp toothed smile grew as she nodded. “Yes. It's not often that I come to the surface. But it's wonderful to know that I'm as—oh—well-known, on the surface, as under the sea.”

Mrs. Rosehearts wouldn't use the word 'well-known' as much as she would infamous.

“Yes, well. I would just remind your son to not so blatantly call people names to their faces.” she said, clenching and unclenching her fist in an attempt to sooth herself. “I'm not sure what your customs are under the sea, but up here he would be considered a riffraff.”

For all her talk about politeness, Mrs. Rosehearts forgot herself at time and let things slip out of her mouth faster than she processed. She knew she pressed a button when Mrs. Leech's smile disappeared.

It was only for a moment, but with the blank face and the way her gold eyes bore into her, it felt like her body and soul were being grasped by something dark and violent.

Then that feeling was gone as Mrs. Leech smiled again and closed her eyes, tilting her head.

“He'll be fine, I'm sure he'll find his people. After all, it seems he's already found someone in your son.”

Both women moved their gazes to the pair, now bickering. Well, Riddle was, the one called Floyd, was just swaying on his heels as he grinned and make a comment here and there. Each one after the other seemed to fluster her son further, his cheeks growing in color as they spoke. Most people who knew her son would assume that the red was attributed to his rage, and it mostly was. But (fortunately or unfortunately, she couldn't decide) her son was much like her. It wasn't rage that made his eyes dart away each time their eyes met for too long. It wasn't rage that made him scuff his foot every so often. And it most certainly wasn't rage in his eyes.

Mrs. Rosehearts cleared her throat, turning away from Mrs. Leech and walking to her son.

“I don't know what you're implying, but I must be going now. My son and I still need to tour his dorm.”

Mrs. Leech watched the other woman walk away, sighing.

“Oh, what a disdainful woman. And her son is so lovely too…she really is like a lionfish.”

“Yeah, it's a good nickname for her, right Mama?” Floyd came bounding over, stretching his arms. “Is' too bad she's a stuck-up, gonna real annoying if she's my mother-in-law.”

“Hm, I'll just have to overcompensate then and be the best Mama for you and the little Riddle!” Mama Leech clapped her hands excitedly, sighing in bliss at the thought.

“Oh, it will be so wonderful to see the family grow big...oh! By the way, Floyd.” Mama Leech walked away, Floyd following after diligently. “I might have mentioned a little 'something' to him about your cute rambles about him. He was so cute, all red and flushed when I said you're positively infatuated, calling him cute and—”

“Aw what! Mama!”

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts #floyd x riddle #florid #mrs rosehearts #mama leech #anyways its still on sight if i see you mrs rosehearts

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heazueken · 1 day

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Fully Charged

*ೃ༄ summary: Gojo can't wait for you to get home to give him release so he attempts to do it himself

warning(s): MDNI, masturbation, teensy bit of phone sex, explicit sexual content

pairing(s): gojo satoru/reader

w/c; 5k

a/n: another self indulgent fic. I just like thinking about Gojo jerking it and getting desperate...also reader's pronouns are not used, the only implication is the reader having a pussy lol. no use of y/n as well. enjoy!

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“Fuck me,” Satoru sighs when he gets passed the threshold of his front door. He kicks his shoes off, slides his blindfold down to let it sit around his neck, unzips his jacket and beelines straight to his livingroom.

Late into the night was when he finally got home from fighting off four special grades. Day after day this week he was sent on mission that led to another mission and so on and so forth. Three days he’d been away from home, out and about with not even a single moment for himself! He couldn’t even bring himself back any souvenirs, suffice to say the week just hadn’t been all that great. Worst of all— Satoru had a raging boner all day that needed attention.

It was almost embarrassing, walking around town when the pressure of your pants against your hard-on was the only thing you could feel. God, why was it the worst times when he had to get all worked up? He’s the strongest, it didn’t cause him that much turmoil. Satoru could flip a switch and ignore it for the time being, but once home, where he could finally give his Six Eyes a rest and set his ass down on the couch was when the need between his legs became an absolute nightmare to handle. To make matters worse, you were also away on business and you weren’t planning on coming back for another day or two. You had your own business to attend, which led to this very moment— a quiet home, dark and empty of anyone inhabiting it for almost a whole week. Satoru laid across the expanse of the couch and let his head fall backward against the arm rest, releasing a long sigh as the weight of the week finally began to slip off his shoulders like running water.

Running water. A shower would be nice. With a hup and a swift jump off the couch, Satoru was heading down the stairs of his home to the bathroom. He stripped as he began his descent, slipping off his socks first with little hops to keep his balance, shrugging off his jacket and letting it crumple to the floor. He unzipped his pants but reached a hand behind his head to pull his shirt clean off with a quick movement, flipping the light switch to the bathroom on and not bothering to close the door behind him. He shimmied out of his pants, flicked the shower on and finally reached for his underwear, letting his erection spring free. He let out a not so quiet moan at the feeling of the air hitting his hot skin. His eyes look up at the mirror to see his figure, the hot water already creating steam on the glass.

Satoru knew he was good looking, he knew he was hot as hell for that matter. He smiles at himself in the mirror, pointing at himself with finger guns and raises an arm to see the way his bicep flexes in the reflection. He chuckles to himself, his hand cupping around his clavicle, his eyes follow as he trails his own fingers down, his hand touches over the divot of his scar that was left right in the middle of his chest. His fingers move past it and he cups his own pec, the skin gives under his grip and he almost lets his eyes flutter shut to picture your hand instead of his. But he keeps an eye open to follow the natural path of muscle down, feeling the hills of his stomach, then past his belly button where coarse white hair began to grow and make a path down and down and—

Satoru lets out a sigh, watching the way his skin turns a shade of red in the hot, steamy room. His hand cups over his cock, gently wrapping his fingers around it and his jaw slacks open at just the slight touch. He watches himself in the mirror, his dick twitches in his hand and he doesn’t bite back a groan when he sees his tip bead with precum. God, if only you were here to get on your knees and open your mouth for him, wrap your pretty hands around him and take him down your throat just the way he liked. His chin falls against his chest when his hand grips his dick and he gives himself a good tug before taking a deep breath in and pulling away.

Not now. Shower. Then you can finally relieve yourself.

The beating water atop his skin doesn’t help his need for release. Sure, it soothed his aching shoulders and the way it trickled down and wrapped around him like a blanket of warmth had been comforting. But the water hitting his erection only had him bracing a hand on the wall of the shower and ducking his head under the shower head, fighting back more moans. Lathering himself up with soap only seemed to make it worse. With his skin sudsy and slick, he could easily jerk off right here. He had half the mind to when he had to clean between his legs, letting his fingers find his length again to spread the soap over the skin. His forehead presses into the shower wall and he resists the urge to thrust into his hand. The pleasure becoming all too much, his thighs tremble and his knees buckle when he fists his cock again and swipes his head, a mixture of precum and soap washes away with the water and down the drain.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice low and rough. He supports his weight on one leg and braces an arm over the wall, pushing himself back to quickly wash the rest of the soap off. His dick— still needy for attention, curves with it’s heavy weight and it twitches from time to time as Satoru washes his hair clean and finally steps out of the shower. He doesn’t bother grabbing a towel, insisting on air drying his body all except for the towel he placed atop his head. He shakes the water off the tips of his hair and rubs the remaining water off, flipping his head back out of the towel with a sigh of relief and ruffles his damp hair with his hand. He stumbles back up the stairs, stark naked and picks up the trail of clothes he left on his way back up to the living area. Droplets of water make a trail behind him and follow him down a hallway towards his shared bedroom with you.

The moonlight pools into the room and Satoru lets his shoulders slump, forgetting again that you weren’t home yet. Remnants of you lingered still, your clothes riddled over the floor, your pair of reading glasses on the bedside table, untouched for days including the book that rested across the surface. Your slippers neatly sitting beside each other on the floorboards at your side of the bed. Your scent, albeit barely there, still lingered and the smell sent a jolt of electricity throughout Satoru’s body. His hand clenched into a fist, tossing his clothes into a nearby hamper when his cock springs back to life and he lets out what seems to be a whimper. His skin, still damp, makes his senses heightened, his hair sticks on end and a shudder runs across his body when he takes in that scent of you. God, he missed you. He needed you. He needed to lay down and jerk o—

His stomach grumbles and he holds a hand over his tummy, doubling over in the sudden pain. Shit! Barely even ate today. All he had was the sweet hard candy he sucked on throughout the day to give him the energy to get through his one and final mission of the day. He couldn’t even think about food by the time he was finally free and heading back home. He trots back out the room, passes through the hallway again and into the living room. The open space connects to his kitchen and he grabs his phone from off the couch as he makes his way around the bar that separated the rooms and he opens up the fridge. Nothing. Barely anything except for a bento box nestled in the corner of the top shelf. He reaches for it, pulls it out and inspects it for a moment, he doesn’t remember making anything. There’s a sticky note with his name and a few hearts drawn around it, Satoru smiles when he realizes you had made him this. You must have known he’d be hungry when coming back home, you knew how much the higher ups stretched him thin when making him go on a week long mission to exorcize that many special grades.

Satoru opens the box and his chest flutters with a love for you when it is packed with rice, some steamed veggies, a boiled egg and pieces of pork katsu. He remembers now, the night he was getting ready, you had been slaving away in the kitchen. Your back to him as you chopped some veggies.

“You better take this with you on your trip! You know you’re not gonna get a single thing to eat while you’re away.”

Satoru struts up to you, coming up behind and wraps his arms around your torso to rest his chin on his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll buy some food, and the hotel has a kitchen, you know.”

You scoff, “So you’d rather have subpar hotel food than my cooking?” You elbow him, his Limitless turned off around you so the blow had sent him back a step and he rubs the pain away.

“Ehhh? I just feel bad you’re cooking for me! Should be the other way around, you have to head out soon tomorrow too!” He hugs you again, nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and breathes in your sweet scent.

“You know I love your cooking more. It’ll make me sad seeing food you made when I get home because it’ll be a reminder you’re not here with me.” His hands slide down your waist, dipping low enough to raise your shirt to give him leverage to get underneath it and feel your skin. He closes his eyes, draws his hips forward and grinds into your backside. He hears a sound come from you, a sigh, then a slight whimper. Then, there’s an elbow to his rib again.

“Oi! C’mon! Can’t I have you before we both have to leave?” You look over your shoulder to him and wave a pair of chopsticks at him.

“You can after I’m done cooking! Go over there—“ You point past him to the bar counter, “have a seat and wait, okay?”

Satoru stands where you had been when cooking, the same chopsticks in his hand as he takes a large bite of rice. He flips through social media on his phone while he wolfs down his meal and he pops his hip against the counter. He looks down between his hands, yup, boner is still there. Thinking of you had been enough to keep the blood pumping and feel flushed all over. He had been embarrassed about how red he’d get in the middle of a heated moment; but once you had cupped his blushing cheeks in your hands and wrapped your legs around and locked your ankles together to drive him deeper inside you, you had told him how hot it was that he’d get this worked up over you. Watching his face turn red made him look more needy, thus making him look even more desirable. He always wanted to look that way for you.

He flips to the camera on his phone. He angles it down to his dick, dropping the chopsticks into the box so he can grab the base of it. He made sure to include the vein that created a path down his pelvis to where he was aching and hard. His tip was red and beaded yet again with his clear precum, he fights the urge to spit in his hand and start jerking it right then and there. But the lighting above had been too perfect for him to pass up a chance to send you a picture of himself. He snaps a photo, ensuring the curve of his cock is shown prominent and the veins of his hand that he knew you liked so well were in frame, including the dripping precum that dribbled down the underside of his shaft. He groans, rubbing his thumb where his length begins before typing your name into his phone and choosing the photo.

Missing you. He hits send and goes back to finishing his meal.

He finishes his food, disappointment rising to the surface as time goes by. Five minutes. He cleaned his bento box and set it on the drying rack. Then ten. He went back to the couch and sat there, contemplating the idea of jerking off right here. Then twenty. He decided against it, put on a show and tried to get his mind off the incessant throbbing. Then thirty. He sighs, the feeling too overwhelming to ignore now and lets his head drop, walks back towards the hallway back to their room where he tosses his phone on the bed and flops himself down in the same manner. Legs and arms sprawled over the covers, he groans into the mattress when he moves his hips to gain a little friction against his sensitive dick. Sliding his head to the side so he rests his cheek against the covers, he huffs out a breath and his mouth hangs open. Another moan escapes him when he grinds into the fabric, feeling the pull of skin, imagining he was pressing against you. He picks up the pace and lets his eyes fall half lidded, a hand grapples the sheets into a fist and he’s full on humping his blankets that smell like you. He brings the fistful up to his nose, taking in the scent and he lets out a loud whimper of your name.

“God, please,” he croaks, his throat tightening with a desire that sends his skin ablaze. He stops for a second, his high coming up too fast, he feels for his phone to see if you’ve answered. Still nothing. He lets the phone fall out of his hand with a forlorn sigh. He huffs and rolls over to lay on his back, scooting himself to his side of the bed so he can rest his back halfway against the headboard of the bedframe.

Satoru reaches over to his bedside table and pulls out his small bottle of lube and tissues. If you weren’t going to answer him then he better take matters into his own hands (literally.) He lets the lube warm in the palm of his hand before ultimately wrapping his long fingers around his cock and finally, finally starts to make an attempt to rid of this need.

He grabs himself at the base, squeezing gently to feel the blood pump through his veins, the warmth spreading across his body and he watches the way his tip leaks even more. If only you were here to be between his thighs— he spreads his legs apart as the image slowly appears behind his eyelids that he’s fluttering shut— your mouth open, tongue reaching out to lick a stripe across his head and taste the saltiness. His hand moves in slow and deliberate swipes, his grip hard enough to bring his foreskin up over his tip to spread his wetness across his shaft. He slides his hand up and up, his tip in the palm of his hand and his hand tightens. Satoru’s mouth opens to release a moan, his hips shift up into his hand as he imagines your throat closing around him. He brings his fist back down to his base, coarse hair tickling the skin before raising his hand back up to the head of his cock. His lubed and wet index finger swipes across the underside of his cock where the pink tip begins, his finger expertly swipes up and down.

“Ugh— ahh— Please!” Your tongue flicks and laps on his tip, he can practically feel it, mimicking the sensation with his own digits to make up for the fact you weren’t here to physically do it for him. Satoru’s eye screw shut and his finger quickens its pace, the stimulation rising makes his skin feel like it’s been lighten ablaze and his chest heaves.

“Please, please— fuck,” He breathes, “Just like that!” He groans, instantly becoming louder. Had you been there you’d be shushing him; Satoru had a tendency to be a little loud, so much so that you’ve gotten a few complaints here and there. The man had no shame in declaring his pleasure for you, even if you weren’t home and he was fucking his own fist to find some semblance of relieve with the lack of company.

He lets out a whimper and a moan of your name as his fist wraps around his head and he twists his wrist, rubbing his tip like that, his thighs trembling with the overstimulation. Satoru’s mouth hangs open when he slides his hand back down to where his cock begins. His hips help his efforts when he thrusts his fist up and down in a deliberate and calculated manner. He tosses his head back, hitting his scalp against the headboard but the pain doesn’t phase him. He’s so lost in his pleasure that he doesn’t feel anything but the tingling sensation when he swipes his thumb over where he’s most sensitive, nor does he notice the drool pooling in his mouth. It slides over the corner of his mouth and drips down his chin. He lets out another groan, even louder than the last, the wet squelch of his hand wrapped around his cock fills his ears and the image of him thrusting in and out of your mouth has his toes curling. He can hear his blood flowing in his ears, barely being able to hear himself when he lets a string of curses release from his mouth.

“Fuck— just like that, let me fuck your mouth like that—“ His fist quickens, one eye cracks open to see he’s swollen, red, and his veins traveling up his cock are prominent. The coil inside his lower abdomen begins to tighten, as well as his hand, the speed unrelenting. “Agh, so wet…and tight for me, huh? Taking my cock so well,” He whines, his legs raise, spreading apart as his hand holds one of his legs open and bent under his knee. His body rocks, the intense feeling of him about to cum is there, it’s almost there! If he can just thrust more into his hand then maybe—

He lets go instantly, breathing heavy and struggling to catch his breath. He looks down between his legs where his cock twitches, it’s heavy and leans to one side, resting against his thigh. Satoru watches creamy white ooze out of his tip. The cold air of the room hits his skin and the contrast of his heated skin has him gripping the sheets beside him and involuntarily thrusting up into nothing. He needed to cum, this was torture! He needed you! He needed to feel your skin, feel your mouth on him, smell your scent— your scent. Satoru whips his head to look around the room, locating a forgotten shirt on the wood floor, he leans over the bed, snatches it up and lays it over his chest. His hand grapples the clothing in one hand and grips his cock again with his dominant one. He brings the shirt to his nose, the smell of your perfume, your skin, your very essence engulfs his senses and his eyes roll back into his head. His drive comes back to life, a thin layer of sweat now sheens his skin. Satoru makes quick work with more lube, squirting more into the palm of his hand and continues fisting his cock. The tip slides in and out of the opening between his thumb and palm, the wet sounds increase in their volume, as does his moans.

It’s almost like you’re with him. Almost. He slinks down so he’s fully laying on the bed, his hair going astray as he presses his head into his pillow. Satoru turns over onto his side, he lowers his head to dig his nose further into the fabric and takes a deep breath in. He thrusts, sending a jolt down his body when he imagines fucking into you, his mouth opens and bites the fabric as if he was digging his teeth into your shoulder. He lets out a loud groan, it turns high pitched and into a whimper as he fucks his own fist and his hand smacks against his pelvis, creating a filthy wet sound. That feeling inside him begins to coil again, veins protrude on his pelvis in his desperation and his throat tightens.

“Ugh, please, please,” His words are muffled with the shirt between his teeth. His hand tightens around him in the same way your pussy would squeeze and attempt to keep him sheathed inside. “Please, I need to cum! Let me cum in you, please—“ He chokes on his words, letting the shirt go and rubs his cheek into the soft cushion. The bed begins to rock and it squeaks under his weight, he can feel you, inside you, the perfect image of you open wide for him and taking him in with an ease that made his hands tremble. He can smell you, he can practically taste you, he can feel you wrapped around him. But it still wasn’t enough.

“God, please, just let me cum. I need it, just let me cum in you! Be good for me,” He begs, rolling onto his back once again, shakes the fabric off himself, leaving it forgotten beside his shaking body.

The scent isn’t helping anymore, he needed more! Maybe more stimulation… Satoru uses his other hand, squeezes his cock and thrusts his hips up into both hands. The head of his cock is wet and sensitive, each thrust against his palms sends electricity down his body, eliciting a slew of connected moans and pleads for release. But it’s not enough, his head falls into the pillow in frustration, he feels that itching in his throat— his eyes begin to burn and his chin trembles as he fights back his angry tears. One slips past his eyelids, his hands begin to slow their movements, his cock twitches with the loss of contact when he pulls away and pats around for his phone. The room is pitch black now, the moon hiding behind the trees in the distance. When Satoru taps his screen to open it, the light blinds him, drawing out a frustrated sigh and quickly unlocking the screen to your contact. He presses the speaker button when the phone begins to ring.

The phone rings once, twice, thrice— there’s silence and when he brings the phone closer to his ear, he hears a slight groan and shuffling on the other end.

“Hello?” You’re groggy, clearly woken up out of a deep, deep sleep. Satoru practically moans into the microphone at the sound of your voice, feeling that adrenaline of a newfound arousal that creeps up his spine. His hand immediately goes back to its previous job. He grunts, and he hears you ask the same question before going silent. He’s sure you know it’s him, he’s sure you can hear him jerking himself off. He’s sure you hear him when your name tumbles out of his mouth.

“Please, please, I can’t cum without you. Just tell me I can cum and I’ll leave you alone until you get home, I promise.” His words are littered with desperation when he uses both hands again.

“Satoru, wha— are you—?” There’s another plea that leaves his mouth and you’re on the other end still struggling to wake up. The realization hits you in the middle of a yawn when his words are finally processed and you’re staring down at your phone as your name and a string of desperate cries surround you. You lay your head back down, eyes fluttering shut and resting your phone beside you.

“You needed me that bad? Couldn’t wait one more night?”

Satoru shakes his head as if you could see him. A strangled grunt leaves him and he’s turning his head towards his phone.

“I couldn’t wait! I can’t now! I tried so hard, tried to get off without you. I thought I could do it but—“ He cries, tears streaming down his face. His chest tightens, his thighs tremble and spread away from each other, his hands squeeze around him, his back arches off the bed. That coil is ready to snap, it just needs your word to do so.

“I thought I could do it but I need you. I need your voice. Please, please let me cum!”

You could be cruel, make him hold off a little longer to hear him beg harder, louder. If you were there you would, you’d have him crying and overstimulated, have him thrusting into you and grabbing you so roughly that he leaves crescent shaped dents in your skin from his nails. He’d grab you to hold onto his own sanity, he’d look up at you with pleading eyes, his mouth open to speak but no words can be made out. He’d be a babbling mess until you finally gave him the word and he was filling you to the brim with his passion. But the effort would be too much, and he clearly had been working on this for a while now. You flicked your phone out of the phone call to check the notification from him.

Ah. A dick pic. One and a half hours ago. So he had been working on this for a bit.

“You looked really worked up earlier. I wonder how much worse it’s gotten.”

Satoru releases a high pitched whimper at the attention finally given to him. The sleep still apparent in your tone, but your voice becomes softer— like the way you’d whisper into his ear to drive his orgasm out of him.

“I was— I am! It’s unbearable! It’s so— I’m so hard for you, fuck! Please, just say the word! Let me cum for you, I’m begging you!!” That tightening inside him is about to snap, it waits for that final word, those words that could drive him to salvation and have him moaning his thanks. You lay in the darkness of your hotel room, letting him plead over and over until you feel your own arousal rise up and spread a warmth between your legs. You open one eye, your hips naturally moving to find just a bit of friction between your clit and the fabric covering you. Sleep almost takes over, it’s stronger than your sexual drive and your eye flutters back shut before you finally whisper to Satoru.

“Cum for me, Satoru. Lemme hear you.”

Snap. Satoru’s jaw slacks open, his eyes widen and go cross eyed as the wave of pleasure takes over his entire body. His reddened skin ignites a fire inside him, his hands tremble and struggle to squeeze like before, his hips driving up into his fists with a sloppy and quick pace. The sound of your voice knocked him right off the edge and his cum spits out in ropes that land across his skin. The pleasure drives throughout his body, his throat closes as he rides out his orgasm, strangling cries come through the phone to your end and you can picture the way he looks. He’s releasing a hand to grab for the sheets again, his chest rises and falls, his muscles ripple beneath skin as more of his cum dribbles out of his tip in now weak spurts that travel down over his fingers. The orgasm has his head spinning, his vision blurs and his limbs begin to feel weak, and yet his cock still twitches and slowly begins to soften. Cum leaks out of him and he lets his eyes shut when the high begins to lower and the rushing blood in his ears deafens. His limbs go limp and he lets his head tilt to the side.

“Thank you,” He huffs, a whisper so quiet that he doesn’t know if you even heard it. He’s silent for a moment, his heart slowing down with each large intake of breath. Satoru strains his ear for you to say something. There’s a snore, and then another shuffle of what sounds like rustling covers. He sighs, letting his gaze linger at the ceiling as his body finally loosens from the tension that he had been building all day. He rests for a few minutes, letting his mind wander to you finally coming home and hugging him close in a greeting. A smile forms on his lips and his last bit of energy is used to get up and take another quick shower.

When he returns to his room, still naked except for the towel wrapped around his hips, he gets back into bed and leans down to speak into the phone.

“Excited to see you tomorrow. I promise I’ll make it up to you…you know, after waking you up in the middle of the night. Love you.” He hangs up the phone and settles into bed, a wide smile grows across his face as he lets himself fall into another dream of you coming home and stripping your clothes off. Pushing him into the bedroom and locking the door behind you, getting on top of him and exposing your skin to him. Raising his hands up to your breasts to cup them, you grinding down into his lap and then letting his name fall out of your mouth with a heavy need.

Satoru rolls onto his other side, his brows scrunched together in a sudden discomfort. He tosses and turns, a feeling boiling in his bowls and creeping it way downward toward— he looks under the covers, groans and slumps his head back into his pillow. “Hard again.” He groans, grabbing his phone to call you again.

#pepper writes #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo smut #jujutsu gojo #my writing #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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nevermeyers · 19 hours

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regarding the whole jjk& gege hatespread movement going on rn, i think this is the perfect illustration of what happened when """trendhoppers""" (i really do not like that term) get into a popular manga because of the characters (fangirls) or the powerscale (..reddit anime bros?😭). and like, to some extent, that's fine!! fangirls are and will always be a big part of fandoms and are a big part of what keeps the community alive. i think the problem lays on the fact that jjk got a wide audience who is used to very binary good guys/bad guys representation in anime with same schemes repeated all over and never questioned their grounding bases. and some really don't like to be confronted to new characters paths or visions (especially if they do not accord to their own).

also the fact that people tend to move to the next shiny thing when the hype is over usually leaves the fandom with people who are actually interested in the story, whereas jjk never left the big screens. so i feel like a lot of the people who take a lot of place in this discourse are only there because they want to argue about who bodies who and "x could wipe the floor with y" and "x is so me guys" etc. they completely disregard the story and it's building, which is (besides interesting (and it is always good to remind it)) the WORK of SOMEONE who puts his time and effort into it.

most people treat work as content (which is bad)(coughcapitalismcough) and get angry when it's not presented in the way they want it to be☹️

You are so right anon!

And do you know what's the worst thing I've ever seen? Someone who said that Satoru couldn't die because the consumer (us, the readers) is always right ☠️ That take is so fucking disgusting, I don't even know where to begin to express the disgust I feel. There are people in the fandom who don't understand anything, they are the typical self-centered people who believe it's okay to throw trash on the school floor because there are hired cleaners. They are disgusting, I don't regret saying it.

The good thing about these chapters is that it's being shown who in the fandom are good people and who are narcissistic and ethnocentric wrecks who believe they have the power to decide on the author of the work. I've spent the last few months mass blocking these guys, ugh, I can't stand them. Worst of all, they live in their own delulu world where a sad ending (or//insert any ending they don't like) is not allowed. They really think jjk should have an ending where Sukuna is defeated and that is, again, self-centered. They say that, otherwise, everything would have been for nothing. Hmm? Since when does letting evil win undo an entire story? They are unable to value jjk for its history. They are doing the same thing that the jujutsu world did with Satoru, they are dehumanizing everything and they are so self-centered they don't even realize it.

People are literally dehumanizing both the author and the characters themselves, forcing their own vision of the narrative at the expense of whatever. Also, I've noticed that many of these profiles just spew hate, literally. That's their whole personality. You see a review in your dash, you enter the profile and surprise! that person hates everything they consume, they don't have a single good word in absolutely any chapter, they hate the author and claim that “Gege doesn't know his own characters” (as if characters aren't allowed to change and evolve in their views, ideology, etc, lmao)

These people are the worst, they spread super negative vibes. They seem very immature to me, because, if you don't like something, why would you continue consuming it? That's straight toxic, and I don't think they have a proper mental health if they're like this with the rest of things happening in their lives. They like to hate and they live off it, that is the only answer.

On the other hand, they are forcing “Gege has a bad narrative” to cover up the fact they are incapable of leaving the fandom and seeing the characters as characters and not their puppets, they force their fanon vision on them and then cry when they discover that they aren't like they expected. Shoko is an example of this. She was always certainly cold, but the fandom always painted her as Satoru's super hyper bestie, as a victim of Satoru's “selfisness” after the kfc breakup (god forbid a teenager grieving) and forced on her that she's a very good person when in reality she is still a doctor who passed her exams by cheating and who showed no empathy in lots of situations, when seeing, for example, Yuuji's corpse.

People also complain that the final fight is taking too long, lol, fights in shonen are like that, that's the point of the genre, babe, jjk is literally sold and promoted as a fight shonen. I honestly think that those who say that are people with a tiktok span of attention. (they would complain if the fight lasted for ten chapters too) Also, what a coincidence gege's narrative dropped when they started waiting weekly for a chapter, huh? What a coincidence they started disliking jjk when they started waiting, also all characters now seemed to be bad written after they started waiting another coincidence! Fast consuming has RUINED people's perception of media.

The moral of this is: enjoy what you consume, be mature about your consuming choices and have a good relationship with the things you like. Stay away from the negativity! And, most importantly, don't treat the author as your slave.

By the way, ik people have a twitter mentality so i'll say this for those. I'm not saying people can't have their own opinions, don't force that narrative on me lol It's the way you express your views that categorizes wether you're a normal person or an asshole. For example, I would have loved Yūta to stay out of this and leave Sukuna to Yuuji, since it was his time to shine! I think Yuuji deserves to have the spotlight and end everything (or try to), carry the final fight and all that. But I won't complain about it, nor drop the manga, because I'm not an inmature self-centered fifteen year old :)

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

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ms--lobotomy · 10 hours

Text

Man. I was going to write more of the Mertarion fic but uh. Uh. I have fleas,. Help they are coming for you too

Summary: Typhus mashes genitals with his perpetual test subject.

Word Count: 1200

Content Warnings: SMUT, needles, captive reader, I'm going to hell for this one, probably stockholm syndrome or something, oh this is FILTHY filthy, death but you're a perpetual so you're fine, tentacles, overstimulation, impact play,

Image Credit: @squishyowl (sorry)

You couldn't die. You'd figured that one out long ago, when he'd first stolen you away, and it wouldn't do you well to repeat that incident, would it? You'd missed your home planet, and the diseases that he'd given you were painful and ugly (to say the least,) but when he'd rewarded you for being such a good girl for him? When those gauntlets traced your bare skin, when his mouth found his way onto yours and you tasted nothing less than the sickening sweetness of overripe fruit?

You'd grown to love him.

You'd heard the shifting of his armor long before he announced his presence. Ceramite ground against defiled ceramite as he slowly sauntered his way in, calling out your name not long after. It sent shivers down your spine, the way he said it. You were stark naked on the ground of your cell, ever bashful about showing your bare skin. It was all the better to study you with.

"Typhus," you choked out, the window of your cell caked in slime and viscera. It wasn't a clean room, not by any stretch of the imagination.

He fumbled with the key to your cell before swinging the door wide open. You didn't think to escape, it wasn't something on your mind. Not now. The needle he carried in his hand was delicate against him, a small glass thing with a clear liquid in it.

"Stand up for me," he barked. "I'm not going to be able to reach you unless you stand."

You stood up. Although his face was obscured by his helmet, you could tell how his eyes were roving the contours of your body. He knelt down, his corroded gauntlet hard against soft flesh as he lined up the needle with your neck with his other hand. You felt tears form in your eyes as he inserted the needle into you. Your arms fell to his shoulders as he gripped your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look up at him. Even kneeling, he was still taller.

He suddenly released you as he stood up. You keeled over on the ground, grasping at your chest. Typhus chuckled.

"I love how you look when you struggle against me," he said, sitting down on the ground. "So weak, so helpless. Do tell me how you are feeling?"

You keeled over, trying to choke out any semblance of a word as you felt the skin on your neck crystallize. You felt the hardened skin as it spread over the rest of your body, freezing you in place. Your heart froze in your chest, but your brain was still running rapidly, taking in everything for the time being. This wasn't the worst, per se, but it would be nice if you could turn your brain off for a bit.

Typhus stood up, looming over you. "Feeling funny?" he asked. You were still as a statue. There was no blood circulating into your brain, there was no oxygen being delivered. He watched intently as you faded out, slowly but surely. Somewhere along the way he removed his helmet, revealing half of a face. The other half looked withered off, a battered skull remaining. He left his helmet on the ground, absolutely fascinated with watching the disease wreak its havoc.

As soon as you faded away, the crystals on your body began to recede back into your neck before disappearing for good. You inhaled sharply, shivering profusely as he put his corroded gauntlet to the back of your neck.

"I would have died," you muttered, looking away from him.

"You should be used to it by now," he replied. "I almost can't believe someone so fragile would still be around."

"I can't leave," you sighed.

Typhus chuckled. "You're catching on," he said, his other finger brushing your slightly opened lips. "So soft, so fragile. All mine," he said. "Ready for your reward?" He left no time for you to respond, pressing his mouth to yours.

You let out a slight mmph! as you felt his tongue part your lips, tasting yet again of overdue fruit. You relented, wrapping your arms around his neck. Arms and other appendages roamed your body, with a tentacle surrounding your nipple and squeezing.

"Nngh-!" you cried as he bit your bottom lip, chewing lazily. He chuckled into you as one of his tentacles found its way between your legs, rubbing slowly at your apex. His hands were at your bottom, squeezing roughly before one left for a brief moment before he struck you there.

You cried out again, your nude form collapsing in on his rough armor. He chuckled as you regained your composure, hands on his shoulders as he squeezed you and rubbed between your legs.

"Sensitive?" he asked, rubbing the area he struck on you with his hand.

"There's a lot going on--" you whimpered. You grinded on him without thinking to, and he chuckled again.

"Oh, you're so desperate for me, my little lab rat," he said, his voice dry and menacing. "So desperate. I want to hear you say it."

Your voice caught in your throat as you clenched around him. You came on him, hard and wet. The noises coming out of you were incomprehensible at best. He smirked, moving his armored hand so that it cupped your face.

"That's not good enough," he whispered into you. "I want you to tell me how desperate you are."

"I need you," you whimpered softly, "I need you and I don't care-- nngh, how. Gods, I'm so desperate..."

Typhus was already undoing his codpiece. When you were finished, he tackled you to the ground, pinning your wrists down. "That's a good girl," he muttered, grinding on you. "Good girl, my good little lab rat..."

You squealed as he found his way into you, stretching you out further on him. His gaze on you was intense, and his grip was no less so. "Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted as his hips started to buck. "So tight around me, I could break you so many times and you would come back ready for more."

You grabbed for the back of his neck, pulling him down towards you. He smirked, pressing another rough kiss to your lips. His tentacles were still wrapped around you; squeezing your nipples, rubbing your clit, keeping you in place. You shivered before you came again on him, loud and hard. "Typhus..." you murmured against his lips as he pulled away. "Typhus, please, more..."

He bucked his hips harder, sending waves of sensation throughout your body. He grit his teeth, fucking you senseless for what seemed like hours before he finished inside of you, blowing his load into you. You let out a sharp cry as he filled you up. Sticky liquid trickled down your legs, pooling on the floor. Both of you were panting.

Typhus picked you up, guiding you to the corner of the cell before he sat down. He brought you down on him, wrapping his arms around you. "Had your fill?" he asked, running his hands up and down you.

"For now," you said, leaning back into him.

"There will be more," he said, holding you close.

Taglist: @bispecsual@justeverythingnothingelse@bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae@historitor-bookshelf

#im a bit of a coward so i didnt go as far into the degradation this time. oh well. also i feel bad not giving the reader SOME aftercare #warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #typhus the traveler x reader #typhus the traveler #reader insert #dude i am not even sorry for this one #have fun!#also this was my 420th post #very fitting imo

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trans-luis-serra-navarro · 21 hours

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HI ERIC HELLO PLEASE HEAR ME OUT

i literally can't stop thinking about something

i loveee re6 AUs with luis, but

death island!luis !!!!

specifically, a scenario where he saves leon instead of/with rebecca. like imagine him working with rebecca on the vaccine and delivering it to the island to save leon and the rest 😭😭

and i actually see two scenarios here

either luis is obviously alive and all, and leon knows it, and it's just, hey! my husband's here to save the day!!

OR it's a big reveal lol. rebecca shows up there like, 'a friend helped me', and it's LUIS there with her. like, i know rebecca is super capable and she made the vaccine all alone in the movie , but just imagine if it was actually a bit more complicated, so she would have to reach out for help, and who would be better than luis

i NEED to see luis and rebecca team up, they'd work so well together 😭😭

and older serennedy!!!!! omg

i just need to see older luis 😭😭 and the parallel with him delivering the suppressant in re4, and now the vaccine

i don't know what i wanted to say with this and i really didn't think it through that well, and it's rushed, but i really need to share these thoughts 😭

@silverhexrt HI SO UM. THIS ASK WAS SENT IN JUST OVER A WEEK AGO and it gave me SUCH AGGRESSIVE brain worms that I was like Oh this would make for SUCH a cute little Drabble!!!!! But then I just. Kept going. So I accidentally made a whole entire fic for you!! I really truly hope you don’t mind!!!!!!!!! ;^^/

I know this blog is more of a character analysis blog so if you or anyone else still wants to talk to me about the LOGISTICS of what Luis in Death Island would look like I’d be MORE THAN HAPPY TO RAMBLE cuz I am SO FASCINATED by how that would work character and legalities wise,,, but uh for now!! I hope you don’t mind this little thingymadgig I made!!!

Fatigue was the overwhelming sensation dragging Leon’s body down. His breathing was labored and his skin burned against the Velcro of his protective gear- far from unfamiliar territory in terms of the worst symptoms he’d survived. But this somehow felt so, so much worse.

Leon felt like he was dying. Like actually dying. Which was downright terrifying.

He hated that he even knew what dying felt like. Leon could easily pick up on the little ways his body began to shut down; it felt like he couldn’t breath in far enough to fill his lungs, his limbs felt weighed down by an invisible force, his vision was blurry… except, this time, it was his own body killing him from the inside-out.

He was much more used to- even comfortable with- the close brush of death being from the hands of a Bioweapon or loose debris crushing his body. Leon at least had some level of control in those scenarios. He could kick and wriggle and spit and cuss out whatever was holding him down until a miracle freed him and he could load bullets into the face of whatever was hunting him.

But Leon couldn’t run from his own body, no. And oh, how badly did he wanna run until his legs burnt beneath him.

Leon had only ever felt that inherent, gut-wrenching urge one other time. One other time when he was on the brink of death and freedom alike; warm tan hands and cold needles in an isolated village so far from home. Leon could’ve taken the medicine and ran. He could’ve watched the world burn from behind his lovers back as they chased windmills without a care in the world.

He could’ve faced death in the eye. He could’ve taken the blade of the knife for him. He could’ve been just a fraction of a second too late for Ashley. Oh, the possibilities.

What a weird time to be thinking about Valdelobos. Maybe it was just his oxygen-deprived brain desperately trying to connect the dots for one last dream. Like falling asleep with the TV on and having a dream about the movie you’d just watched. Arias had his own ‘inspirations’ from Los Illuminados, after all. Maybe he was just trying to think of one last happy memory to drift off to.

Leon hoped dying would be a little bit like falling asleep. He was never religious, never superstitious- but deep down he hoped that he’d be reunited with the loved ones he’d lost. Finally, finally getting the chance to feel those warm palms against his cheek that he missed oh-so dearly.

Leon sighed and let the concrete below his hands wobble a little. He could just barely make out Chris and Claire’s labored breathing from behind him- the only other thing keeping him grounded.

But god was it getting hard. He couldn’t tell if it was just the pure exhaustion or the virus or what, but Leon’s head felt so heavy. Heavy enough that it almost felt as though somebody was holding it up for him. He let himself pretend, just for a moment, that it wasn’t just his imagination. That the warmth on his cheek wasn’t his flushed skin and were instead the hands of a lover, keeping him upright and rested against a beating heart that Leon was sure was just the blood roaring in his ears.

He let himself pretend that the stroke he felt against his cheek was his lovers thumb. A lover so considerate that they’d wipe the blood off of his skin and tuck the loose hair behind his ears. He pretended that the murmuring of his ears giving in was somebody talking to him, whispering comfort in his final moments.

Leon almost let himself give in completely to the imaginary man holding him- the distant scent of leather and cigarettes felt so real, after all- but a cold prick against his neck and the immedie, cold relief of fluids beneath his skin snapped him back to reality.

His breathing came back to him in time with his heartbeat, his fingertips pulsed with the sudden pumping of blood, and…

The feeling of somebody holding him hadn’t gone away.

His cheek was still warm with another man’s hand. His nose still stung with the smell of leather.

His heart was still beating in time with somebody else’s.

Leon hesitated. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He knew he was just dreaming- that he’d look up and the vision of the man he yearned for every night would disappear like a mirage. He wanted to keep them closed and pretend for as long as possible. Until-

“Leon? ¿Corazón? Mierda, Rebecca, he’s not responding-“

Leon’s eyes opened just slightly.

He was staring down at the concrete, somebody must’ve moved him to get access to his neck easier. But he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t dreaming of the arms clad in white wrapped around his shoulders and the ringlets of curls that fell around his vision, shielding him from the fluorescent Alcatraz prison lights.

Warm hands went back to stroking his cheek.

Leon wasn’t dreaming.

“Leon? Oh, please wake up,”

His voice sounded so broken, so quiet. Leon had never heard of it like that. It broke his heart.

“I can’t- I can’t leave you here, not like this, not again, please…”

Leon couldn’t take it anymore. He was terrified to roll over and face the man he’d chased in his dreams for so long but he had no other option. He’d rather he disappear and it all be his imagination than hear him this sad ever again.

Leon turned his head and blinked up at Luis like a newborn deer. His big, brown eyes were wet with tears but that stupidly charming smile was unmistakable.

“Hey there, Leon…”

Luis managed to croak out, the hand against his cheek trembling from the tears. Leon reached his own shaky hand up to brush Luis’ long, grayed locks out of his face just as he had done moments before for him.

“I must be dreaming,” Leon huffed out, and Luis chuckled, shaking his head and the tears from his reddened cheeks at the same time.

“If you’re dreaming, then so am I, I’m afraid”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Luis chuckled and Leon wasn’t far to follow suit. Even with the end of the world on his shoulders- even with Dylan fighting tooth-and-nail to break down his, Jill’s and everyone else’s spirits- Leon still found time to laugh with Luis like it was autumn of 2004 all over again.

“Just like old times, eh, Sancho?” Luis gave a little sniffle, and while Leon had more than too many questions to ask- how he was even alive was obviously the most pressing- he just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Yeah,”

He let himself rest his head against Luis’ chest. Heart beating strong, almost as if to mock Leon for ever doubting his lover's strength.

“Just like old times, Don Quixote…”

#ask #asks #fanfic #serennedy #luis serra #luis serra navarro #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #serrenedy #serrennedy #luis sera navarro #luis sera #re4r #resident evil 4 remake #re4 #resident evil 4 #resident evil death island #re death island

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that-trans-autistic-guy · 7 hours

Text

Even More DBD as Incorrect Quotes from a Random Generator

Charles: So like, how far do you think the distance is from that window to the ground? Edwin: Enough.

Crystal: I never said I was gonna get back together with them. But I was thinking, they're in town, would it be the worst thing in the world if I gave them a call? Jenny: No. No, Crystal, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It would be the fourth worst thing. Number one: a super volcano. Number two: an asteroid hits the Earth. Number three: All the Evel Knievel movies are lost. Number four: Person F calls Person C. Number five: Niko gets eaten by a shark. Niko: I’m Niko, and I approve the order of that list.

Charles: Some people are like slinkies. Edwin: What? Charles: Not really good for much but bring a smile to your face when you push them down the stairs. Edwin: Edwin: Please don't push the Cat King down the stairs. Charles, pushing the Cat King down the stairs: Too late.

Crystal: If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're impressed. Edwin: But you do know better.

Edwin: Ew. What kind of tea is this? Charles: I boiled gatorade.

Niko: Are you mad? Jenny: No. Niko: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

Charles: What the fuck is with english teachers and being like; "write a story about a deep and personal memory that impacted your life". Ma'am, if I do that you're going to send me to the counselor's office.

Crystal and Charles: Isn't it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

Charles: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I’ll wait. Edwin: You and me. Charles: *tearing up* Ok.

Crystal: Hey, can I get a sip of that water? Esther: It’s not water. Crystal: Vodka! I like your sty- Esther: It’s vinegar. Crystal: …What? Esther: It's vinegar, PUSSY.

Charles: Underestimate me. That'll be fun.

Edwin: Welcome to Fucking Applebees, do you want apples or bees? Crystal: Bees? Edwin: THEY HAVE SELECTED THE BEES! Crystal: Wait- *Charles approaches, shaking a jar of bees menacingly*

Jenny: What’s something you guys are better than Edwin at? Crystal: Mario Kart. Charles: Yeah, video games. Niko: Emotional vulnerability.

Charles: So apparently the "bad vibes" I've been feeling are actually "Severe psychological distress."

Charles: You're a lying piece of shit! Crystal: Oh yeah? You're the idiot that thinks you can get away with everything you do, WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD! Edwin: I'm leaving and I'm taking Niko with me! Jenny, gathering cards: Aaaaand that's enough Monopoly for today.

Charles: If you were to have sex with any insect scaled up to human size, what would it be? Jenny: What the hell is wrong with you?

Charles, about Edwin: I would never say that my partner is a bitch and I don’t don’t like them. That’s not true… My partner is a bitch and I like them so much!

Esther: *writing a letter* Esther: Dear Santa, I'm writing to let you know I've been naughty... And it was worth it you fat, judgemental bastard.

Charles: How do those little boys on XBOX parties always know what slur to call you? Crystal: They're empaths.

Charles: Mama. Just killed a man. Charles: Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he's dead. Charles: MAMAAAAAAAA OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Edwin: What?! Let me hide the body, where is it? Is there anyone around that can hear us? Edwin: ...Are those song lyrics? Charles: Those are song lyrics.

Crystal: What’s the straightest thing you’ve ever done? Edwin: *sighs* Edwin: I killed a man.

Edwin: Unfortunately, due to several experiences in my youth, I cannot just 'walk up and join a circle of people talking', but it does sound lovely, thank you.

Edwin: What's this? Charles, hugging Edwin: Affection! Edwin: Disgusting. Edwin: ...Do it again.

Edwin: If you've ever had a crush on me, god bless your poor, misguided heart.

Crystal: I'm gonna need a human skull but you can't ask why. Edwin: Only if you also don't ask why. Edwin: *pulls four pristine human skulls out of their bag* Crystal: ... Crystal, grabbing a skull: This one will do.

Niko: Source? Crystal: Divine intuition.

Crystal: Made you all playlists! Crystal: Jenny, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul. Crystal: Edwin, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression. Crystal: And Niko has the ABBA Gold album.

Charles, to Niko: You know, the Cat King can be really aggressive, so it's important to take all the necessary precautions when approaching. Charles: *blows airhorn at the Cat King* GET FUCKED!

Niko: Croissants: dropped Charles: Road: works ahead Crystal: BBQ sauce: on my titties Monty: Shavacado: fre Jenny: Miss Keisha: fuckin dead Edwin: Edwin: ...I didn’t understand a single word of that and I hate every single one of you.

#dead boy detectives #incorrect quotes #edwin payne #charles rowland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #esther finch #monty the crow #the cat king

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another-lost-mc · 2 days

Note

I have a thought... What would your OCs do when they find out about the incident where Belphegor killed MC (let's say your OCS are really close to MC)

The demons have the worst reaction, assuming that the angels aren't in the Devildom and don't learn about this until much later.

AZRA & ZEE

They find out the same way. Asmo spills the beans to Azra about some family drama but reassures him (to a suspicious degree) that things are fine and MC's okay.

"Something happened with Belphie, but...well, Barbatos fixed it!"

Belphie? The same Belphie that's supposed to be in the human world? Nah, that doesn't check. They know something is definitely wrong.

Azra heads over to the House of Lamentation after collecting one or two of his favourite weapons from his private collection. "There's nothing wrong, *eye twitch* I'm just going to visit MC and have a little chat with the others." Most of his blame for what happened falls on Lucifer because he's basically Diavolo's right-hand man and MC is staying with him and his family. How is this not his fault? Azra invites MC to stay at his home and no, he doesn't care what Lucifer thinks about that.

Zee is the wild card. The others can't anticipate the level of anger or violence he's capable of when he snaps. You know, typical wrath demon things. If he shows up at the House of Lamentation in a bloodlust-fueled rage, can anyone really blame him? Underestimating him might be something they regret later on. He's bigger and stronger in his demon form but most demons don't know that. It takes more than one sibling to keep him from getting his hands on Belphie. Hopefully MC's brave enough to try and talk him down - it's probably the only thing that'll work. (He blames everyone involved for failing to protect MC, but he blames Belphie and Lucifer the most.) Once he's calmed down and reassured that MC is unharmed physically, he desperately wants to take them home with him.

KARASU

I expanded on this a while back, but it's basically what you would expect from him. He's very worried about MC, he's concerned about their safety in the House of Lamentation, and he's staying there or he's taking MC back to his nest. No, it's not a request and yes, he's very very angry and doing his best not to show it (for MC's sake). His protectiveness is in overdrive and there's not much that's going to calm him down until he can be absolutely certain that MC is fine. Mammon's probably the one that tells him what happened if MC doesn't (or if Karasu doesn't see something when checking all the erratic D.D.D. activity during that time). He's also the best mediator between Karasu, who is as angry as he's ever seen him, and his brothers.

TENEBRIS

He's instantly suspicious the moment Diavolo calls him and starts his explanation with, "I want to emphasize before I say anymore that MC is fine." Tenebris blames his brother as the face of the exchange program and the realm's leader - he promised to keep MC and the others safe, and obviously he didn't do that. He wants to stay close to MC and asks to stay at the House of Lamentation, or that they both stay at the castle where there's some distance between MC and the demon brothers who he doesn't trust very much right now.

BELIAL

Chances are that he only learns what happened when MC contacts him directly. It's not unusual for a day or two to pass without hearing from MC, but when he finally does, he can tell there's something wrong. The truth of it - or what MC shares with him - is enough to send him in a bit of a tailspin. He hasn't had much reason to pick a fight with Lucifer or his siblings before - he's been respectful enough since they joined him on the other side. He never considered making a fuss or picking fights with them, but it's never too late to start. Punching Lucifer in his smug face might make him feel better, if only for a minute or two, but he has to reign in his impulses so that he doesn't make things worse. MC probably wouldn't like it if he set the House of Lamentation on fire either, so he wants to take them home with him. He'll make sure Diavolo hears his grievances personally once MC is safe and under his protection.

#jes.replies #jes.oc asks

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queeranarchism · 23 minutes

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This is going to be a bit of an emotional, exhausted rant. I spend some time on anti-psychiatry work again and it's a fresh, painful reminder that there are still marginalized communities whose experiences are almost entirely unacknowledged by the vast majority of what we might call 'social justice' movements.

Like, I'm lucky by comparison. There's a lot of transphobia out there but when I argue for my right to exist and to not be stripped of my human rights simply because I'm trans, that narrative is familiar to many people, and will be agreed with by some percentage of the population in even the most conservative towns and in some places it will be agreed with by the majority.

But when someone argues that people experiencing mania or psychosis should be allowed to exist and should not be stripped of their human rights, incarcerated and drugged against their will simply because they experience the world in a way that doesn't match most people's observations... crickets. It's rare to meet just one person who understands and agrees, even in activist spaces.

I've seen activists and even anarchists call the cops on people in mania or psychosis, claiming it 'protects' them, without a shred of awareness that more than half of the people murdered by cops in my country are people in mental distress. Without a shred of awareness that someone arrested for being 'mentally confused' can be held for days in isolation, denied access to a lawyer, tied to a bed. Having done both prison support and institutionalization support, I can say without a moment of doubt that I'd choose 70 days in prison over 7 days in forced psychiatric care. And yet activists incarcerate their 'crazy' comrades.

But I doubt whether it will achieve anything to sum up these horrors when most people refuse to listen to the victims of psychiatry and refer instead to the 'expertise' of psychiatrists who have never had to experience any of these things. Smart insightful activists who, on any other topic, would let the oppressed speak for their own experiences, don't listen when it comes to this population and instead let the powerful and privileged define that 'protection' means, no matter how many of their victims testify how abusive and traumatizing it is.

It makes me feel so angry and so so scared on behalf of the people who have to deal with this. And when I think honestly about how mental health, like physical health, is a thing that we can not fully control, that we can lose control of, it makes me so scared for myself. Would my activist community - the people I've trusted with my life and have fought alongside during some of the most difficult experiences of our lives - would they call the cops on me and have me incarcerated in the worst way if they thought I was 'crazy'? I can't say for sure that they wouldn't. And that's horrifying.

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weirdmorefics · 4 hours

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My Birdy Took Flight

A/N- I am aware I really need to write my asks and my Spencer Reid story but I am currently obsessed with Simon Riley okay!

Simon Riley x Sniper Reader

Readers pronouns- She/her

TW- Swearing, falling, injuries, and military inaccuracies but I mean it's COD and they have a zombie game so are going to attack them too? lol

Summary- Who knew the complete off-the-books mission would go off the rails and leave you with the worst rope burns of your life. The injuries however were not the scary part it was having to face Ghost and admit you fell out of the heli.

Word Count- 1991

This mission was completely off the books, asshole Shephard did not care at all that Kate had been taken hostage and would not send reinforcements for help. I've been working with Price and Kate since I was a recruit they are my family. There was no way I was leaving Kate to be killed. The plan was simple enough I stayed in the heli for overwatch while Price, Gaz, and Farah worked their way up the line. Things were going smoothly I've worked with Nik before he is one hell of a pilot. Things however took a turn for the worse an explosive hit the copter and I fucking fell out. I'm sure Nik and Captian thought I died for a moment but I was bloody hanging from the rope. I am lucky my sniper skills are still top-notch when I'm hanging upside down though I would prefer not to test it again. After that hiccup, we recovered Kate and she luckily had no physical injuries.

We returned to base that night and Price insisted I go to the med bay to get checked out. To quote his words, "You look like shit kid, get the hell to med bay before I drag you myself."

The medic rushed to treat me, but something told me that was Price's doing. They wanted to keep me here for observation due to my concussion from the explosion impact. I begged them not to I'd sleep way better in the barracks I hate the sanitary hospital smell, I even prefer the smell of gunpowder. The medic would not take no for an answer I wanted to fight them harder but they said they preferred my anger to Price's wrath. The medic left shortly after and would return sporadically to do random vital checks. At least I knew the concussion wasn't that bad as it didn't beckon me toward the darkness like other times. Though my raw skin kept me from finding any peace I honestly kind of miss the darkness. I spent the night tossing and turning the pain and clinical setting keeping sleep a far distance away from me.

The clock ticking was mocking me as I watched it hit four am. How are hospital settings supposed to help you heal when there is so much beeping and someone always coming into your room? Speaking of which I heard the door creak yet again didn't they just take my vitals ten minutes ago! I can't take this without thinking I launch the flat uncomfortable pillow at what I assumed would be the intern medic yet again only to lock eyes with Ghost looking as shocked as I did.

"That's one hell of a greeting darling," he says in his usual deep voice. My eyes are still wide with shock that I just hit my superior with a pillow but he takes this opportunity to speak again. "Heard you took flight today, Gaz was telling everyone."

I wince at the thought of everyone knowing I failed to hold on during the explosion and try to change the subject to avoid thinking about it, "Aren't you supposed to be on a mission with Soap?"

"Just got back. Johnny and Gaz are out celebrating," he responds.

"They are out celebrating at four am?" I question.

"You know Johnny no one can outdrink the Scott," he says like it's the most obvious thing the world.

"Well, why aren't you out there celebrating with them?"

"My birdy took flight and thought it only decent to check up on her," any other time I would have dwelled on the fact that he said 'my birdy' but he placed his hand on my welted ankle and I could not suppress the groan. His eyes quickly shift to concern and he rips the scratchy hospital blanket off me.

"Ghost!" I shout at him for having the audacity to rip the blanket off me. He has no right to barge in here and act like he's in charge, he may be the boss of me in the field but he is not my doctor and I do not care for showing off my nasty ass wounds to my team members.

He does not acknowledge my shout at him in the slightest instead his full attention is on my rope-burned ankles."What quack treated this," he growled.

"I'm fine," I try to yank my foot out of his grasp but he holds tighter.

"Yeah because the skin falling off your ankle looks spectacular," he says sarcastically.

"Wow you sure know how to treat a girl," I roll my eyes.

"Haven't heard any complaints," he says nonchalantly as if that innuendo wouldn't have Soap applauding.

"Seriously, it's fine. Go celebrate with the team," I assure.

"If you think I am letting you let your ankle get infected you are off your rocker. I am going to need names, sweetheart," he commands.

The nickname glides out of his mouth so easily it's as if he had said it a hundred times. I want to stay as calm and collected as him but I unfortunately stutter, "What names?" God, it's a good thing I'm a sniper and not a spy because I would be dead.

"Of the idiot docs who treated this," he speaks as if it's obvious.

I sigh, "It's not their fault... I didn't tell them. Price only knew about the concussion and I just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Ah so you're the idiot," he growls.

"Can you not be mean to me I did just fall out of a heli."

"Shut up you lived," he rolls his eyes, gently places my foot down, and turns to leave.

"Please don't take your anger out on the medics," I beg.

"Oh trust me darling I will be taking my anger out on you," he growls yet again.

I shiver, "Where are you going then?"

"To get some medical supplies for your dumbass. No one way I'm letting a medic treat you when you will just lie to them."

"What makes you think I won't lie to you?" I tease well aware that I am in no place to be teasing.

He chuckles an evil kind still it's one of the best I've heard, "Me and you both know you aren't capable of it."

He exits the room and I am unsure if I want to slap him or rip that mask off and kiss him... I am definitely incapable of either. I may be able to beat Soap, Gaz, and even Price on the mat but no one can best Ghost. I, unfortunately, hear him shouting at medics for a damn first aid kit... so much for him taking out his anger on me.

He returns rather quickly but does not speak as he meticulously places the first aid supplies by my bedside.

He pours some alcohol on my rope burn and I hiss loudly, "shit a little warning would be nice."

"You would have just fought harder. Need to clean the debris out who fuckin knows how old that rope was."

"Aw is Ghosty worried about me," I pout.

"Thought I told you and Johnny to stop calling me that, you want me to make this hurt worse than it already does?"

I roll my eyes at him and in response, he presses the gauze harder than necessary. "You asshole!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I can see his wicked smile through his balaclava.

"Yeah sure," I huff. "You know..." I smile mischievously. "This would go a lot faster if you just kissed it better."

"Oh really," I could hear the grin in his voice. I was expecting him to make some snide comment in return instead he finishes wrapping my ankle and lifts his mask to rest on the bridge of his nose.

I am sure my eyes widen to the size of saucers. I feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankle. His grin widens it could only be compared to the Cheshire cat's smile. He gently lifts my ankle to his lips but does not stop there. He places delicate kisses all the way up to my thigh. I think I have officially stopped breathing. Then my heart decides to do the most embarrassing thing ever. It speeds up so atrociously fast that the monitors start beeping incredibly loud. That's it I have officially died there is no coming back my face is melting off from how flushed I am.

Ghost sits back and laughs and I mean properly laughs, I have never seen him like this. "This is a good look on you birdy all red and flustered, all for me too." He pulls his mask back down but I can still see the smile in his eyes.

"Shut up! I am a highly trained sought-after sniper, I don't get flustered!" I feel like that would have sounded better if I didn't stutter each word.

Ghost glances at my heart rate monitor, "Your heart says otherwise."

A medic comes in as the dumb machine won't stop beating, "Are you alright? You're looking quite flushed and your blood pressure is higher than it was when you first came in."

I swear I could see the smugness radiating off Ghost. God I want to strangle him.

"She's fine thanks to me," his eyes squint at me and I know he has a huge grin under that balaclava. He then turns to the medic, "Don't you know the 141 are notorious liars and the worst patients! Next time call me down here as soon as she is being treated."

The poor medic flinches at Ghost's rough voice and can barely whisper, "Yes, sir"

I mouth, 'I'm so sorry," to the medic he looks appreciative.

The medic flees as soon as my blood pressure normalizes. Ghost roughly throws his body onto the uncomfortable hospital chair and groans.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be going back to the barracks," I glance as he makes himself comfortable well as comfortable as one can be in a torn hospital chair.

"In a rush to get rid of me birdy?"

"Is that name going to become a thing," I roll my eyes.

"Only for me, if anyone else has the nerve to call you that I'll gut them," he replies.

"Even Johnny?"

"Especially Johnny," He grins.

I smile, "Seriously Ghost you should go sleep in your own bed that chair cannot be comfortable. I'd be in my bed if they would let me escape."

"I know you can't stand hospitals, I won't let you be sleepless and cranky alone."

"Fine, then at least share the bed with me, I forbid you from sleeping on that fifty-year-old chair."

"The fact that you think you can forbid me from doing anything sweetheart is laughable. Are you sure you want me to be over there might make your heart monitor scream again?" He makes his way over to the bed despite his words.

I roll my eyes, "I'll manage."

He lays on the small hospital bed and takes up ninety percent of it but I don't mind it because it doesn't smell like hand sanitizer and blood anymore it smells like him.

"Goodnight birdy," he kisses the top of my head and my heartrate monitor instantly starts beeping annoyingly again.

"Goddammit," I groan and he just laughs.

"You would make a terrible spy with all those emotions, you're lucky the red face works on you." he chuckles.

"You're just jealous of my amazing sniping abilities you must point out my flaws," I poke his chest.

"You ain't got no flaws birdy except the fact that you're stubborn as hell. Now go to sleep before I knock you out myself."

"Yes LT.," I fake salute him and he rolls his eyes.

Sleep comes so much faster in the med bay when you aren't alone, I wish falling asleep would always be this easy.

#simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #ghost simon riley #ghost simon riley x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x y/n

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intercal · 1 day

Text

here's your computer post ya freakin nerd

tl;dr hash algorithm art

left: sha512 empty string, using the nibbles (4 bytes) choosing a color from a 16-bit color palette right: sha384 empty string, using the openssh "randomart" algorithm choosing a color from a 16-bit color palette

technical stuff below the cut

problem

one of the common issues in computer science and systems administration is comparing hashes. but the problem arises when you, the human being, have to compare two hashes. hashes come in the form of a very long hexadecimal string. It might look something like this:

da39a3ee5e6b4b0d3255bfef95601890afd80709 (sha1)

e3b0c44298fc1c149afbf4c8996fb92427ae41e4649b934ca495991b7852b855 (sha256)

cf83e1357eefb8bdf1542850d66d8007d620e4050b5715dc83f4a921d36ce9ce47d0d13c5d85f2b0ff8318d2877eec2f63b931bd47417a81a538327af927da3e (sha512)

these strings of text can be very long, and expecting a human being to check the exact match of 128 characters in a row (in the worst case) is unreasonable. it is unlikely to happen, but you can also get very very very close hashes. I remember seeing a twitter post (can't find it for the life of me) that showed two hashes that were different, but a cursory glance at them made them look extremely similar, eg:

e3b0c44298fc1c149afbf4c8996fb92427ae9800998b934ca495991b7852b855

versus

e3b0c44298fc1c14d41d8cd89961b204e9800998ecf8427ea495991b7852b855

it's pretty hard to tell at a glance that these are different. they have the same start and end prefixes, and there are some parts in the middle that are the same. but they're different! that's important! that means you've hashed different data, but it looks the same!

proposed solution

generate some art.

openssh does this. when you generate an SSH key, they give you a "randomart" (which is one of the algorithms I used above) of the key. From the comments:

If you see the picture is different, the key is different. If the picture looks the same, you still know nothing.

(source)

which I would say imparts some wisdom already. all you can use this for is determining if a hash is different. you cannot use it to determine if they're the same. what I've done is added a new dimension for what determines something being "different": a color palette. if you take the two extremely similar hashes from the example and generate a piece of hash art using the nibble method, they look like these:

first on the left, second on the right. they look pretty similar, but then you add the element of a color palette and you get visibly different images.

this is not a perfect solution by any means. I completely made up the two example hashes, and actually ran into an issue where my program chose the same color palette for both of them - I had to tweak them. but I think it adds some more value to it.

methodology

this is just an explanation of how this all works. I'm going to avoid posting source code for now because it has my real name attached and I don't like that. maybe I'll strip my name and post it later.

image generation algorithms

there are two image generation algorithms that I have chosen: direct representation using each nibble of the hash, and the openssh "randomart" algorithm (linked at the bottom).

nibble algorithm

the "nibble" method takes each nibble (hex digit) of the hash, laying them out on a grid, and choosing the color that it should use on the selected palette. since all palettes are 16 colors, each value 0x0..0xf is represented. for example, taking the sha1 hash da39a3ee5e6b4b0d3255bfef95601890afd80709, the first row of the image would start with palette indexes 0xd, 0xa, 0x3, 0x9, etc. if we are using the red palette, the first row would start with blocks of these colors: #dd0000, #aa0000, #330000, #990000, etc. it's a direct representation of the hash, and completely lossless. the main downside is explained above - if you have two extremely similar hashes, it will yield two extremely similar images.

randomart algorithm

this has been derived using the openssh randomart algorithm. when you generate an SSH key, you will get some kind of "randomart" that looks like this:

the algorithm is as follows:

start a pointer (called a "worm") in the center cell of a 0-valued matrix (in our case, the matrix is 9 rows by 17 columns).

look at the bottom two bits of the first byte of the hash.

if the bottom bit is 1, then move the worm right - otherwise, move it left. if it cannot move in this direction without exiting the matrix, then don't move left or right.

if the top bit is 1, the move the worm down - otherwise, move it up. if it cannot move in this direction without exiting the matrix, then don't move up or down.

wherever the worm lands, increment the value of that cell.

continue this through the value of the hash, two bits at a time.

this is your output matrix. assign colors (or ascii characters) as you see fit.

I think this is a neat way of doing it, provides a simple piece of art, and two different hashes will, usually, look different.

the main weaknesses that stand out to me: this is a lossy algorithm that could create ambiguities - there are sequences of bytes that could hypothetically produce the same image twice (I am too lazy to come up with these, so that is an exercise left to the reader). additionally, I have noticed that this algorithm tends to drive the worm into a corner, and creates lots of diagonal streaks on its journey. unless the worm hits a wall, it can only ever move diagonally, for better or worse. it looks okay, but I think we can do better.

overall, I think this is a good basis for a new image drawing algorithm, and I might play around with that in the future.

sizing the output image

the images are just a matrix, each cell treated as a pixel, and then I size it up to 32x32 pixel blocks. the number of rows and columns are determined by the art algorithm used, and maybe the hash type (depending on which algorithm is chosen).

for the randomart algorithm, I just use 9 rows by 17 columns - this is what they use in openssh, but I want to play with this because you get pretty boring/dark randomart for hashes with fewer bytes. md5 hashes usually just look like black rectangles with a few lighter blocks, not very useful.

for the nibble algorithm, I tried to make the art as square as possible. for example, sha1 hashes are 160 bits long, or 20 bytes, or 40 nibbles (each nibble = 1 block in the art). 40 nibbles can be sized as a 40x1, 20x2, 10x4, or 8x5 matrix. I opted for the 8x5 matrix, but I want to make this customizable in the future. here are the image sizes I choose for all the hashes I support:

md5 - 128 bits, 16 bytes, 32 nibbles - 8x4

sha1 - 160 bits, 20 bytes, 40 nibbles - 8x5

sha224 - 224 bits, 28 bytes, 56 nibbles - 8x7

sha256 - 256 bits, 32 bytes, 64 nibbles, 8x8

sha384 - 384 bits, 48 bytes, 96 nibbles, 12x8

sha512 - 512 bits, 64 bytes, 128 nibbles, 16x8

choosing the color palette

each palette is 16 colors. there are 8 base color palettes: red, green, blue, black, cyan, yellow, magenta, and white. red palette is #000000, #110000, #220000, ... #ee0000, #ff0000. blue is #000000, #001100, etc. Black and white are the only ones that I think may introduce some ambiguity - black goes from #000000, #111111, etc to #ffffff. white goes in the reverse order, #ffffff, #eeeeee, etc to #000000.

the color palette is chosen by taking the sum of all the bytes in the hash, mod 8. for example, the sha1 hash da39a3ee5e6b4b0d3255bfef95601890afd80709 is broken into the parts 0xda, 0x39, 0xa3, ... 0x07, 0x09. These are added together to get 0x92e, or 2350 in decimal. 2350 % 8 = 6, so we choose the 6th color palette (zero indexed) of RGBBCYMW, magenta.

more ideas

rotating or reflecting the image based on the input hash might yield useful results

adding more color palettes may ensure fewer "similar" images

doing something using a noise algorithm (perlin noise, simplex noise) to generate image matrices using the hash as the seed.