#bogus paper

[thelesbianthespianposts]

Ted Theodore Logan voice: “TARDIS?” Dude that’s not a cool thing to say, you’re supposed to say autistic

#“Physic paper?! Bogus when’s that due?” #Them casually talking about how they kidnapped a bunch of historical figures and brought them to 80s California #The Doctor curled up on the ground getting a headache bc of the giant paradox that now exists #Look this crossover would mean the world to me #I’m imagining the tenth doctor with either Martha or rose btw #Leaning towards Martha bc she would be so exasperated and also she deserves some fun #bill and ted’s excellent adventure #doctor who #j watches drwho

[fifty-ten]

im in the database mine (finding sources for 3 distinct papers) and i:

•found a source, read through it

•discarded it on the grounds of the fact it was using stuff translated with google translate to try and prove something

•next source on the list is a response to the first source that criticizes it for the exact same thing

#it's really funny that researchers can just do that. write an entire multi-page paper blasting someone else's bogus paper #fiftytenpost

[hysteria-things]

can u do like a chris or matt smut based on wet dreamz by j cole?? 🙏🙏

WET DREAMZ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: virgin!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: matt never takes his eyes off of you in math class. passing notes is normal for you guys, until one note changes everything.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY, swearing

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,108

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i didn’t mean for this to take so long doing the notes part took a toll on me for no reason😭

matt never liked school, especially math class. he was never good at math and flunked it almost every year.

the only thing good in math class is you, his table partner. he fell head over heels the first he laid eyes on you at the beginning of the year.

the way you always looked nice, smelled good, never had a bad day… he thrived off of it.

he would think you guys became friends, being that you’ll always talk and make jokes instead of doing your work; which you guys always got in trouble for. that’s when the notes began.

on this particular day, you were wearing a shirt that had him gawking, and a skirt that hugged your hips and revealed your thighs made him crazy.

as you smiled and laughed at something he said, he couldn’t help but daydream about you and him. the way you’ll look riding him, your tits bouncing in his face. the way you’ll look at him as you suck him off until he can’t take it.

his pants started to tighten, and his eyes grew wide. the teacher was making students come up to the board to show their work on equations, and he was begging to not to be called up.

you tilt your head at the boy whose cheeks are red, biting your lip while you watch him. you rip off a piece of notebook paper, uncap a black pen, and write something down.

he admired how the cap was between your teeth before you slid the paper to him.

he pauses, staring at the note. he glances at you, who’s tilting their head and biting their lip, patiently waiting for an answer.

he opens a blue pen.

what he wrote is a lie, but if he told you the truth he’ll feel humiliated. he hates being an eighteen-year-old virgin. he feels like a loser, despite being one of the most popular kids at this damn school.

you giggle, a sound that he can never get tired of. you write underneath his message, sliding it back to him.

fuck. he thinks.

his palms start to sweat, gripping hard on his pen so hard that his knuckles turn white. his heart pounds in his chest, the tent in his pants continuing to grow.

matt sighs, scribbling on the piece of paper as if he’s not thinking about you naked on your bed right now.

the food he had for lunch churns in his stomach, wanting saturday to never come.

he knew he’d regret writing those, acting all big and bad as if he’d done this before.

taking a deep breath, matt rings the doorbell, the sound echoing throughout your house. he waits patiently for a few seconds before the door opens.

you’re there, dressed in short shorts and a bra, grinning widely at the boy. he looks you up and down, his dick twitching at the beauty in front of him.

“hi!” you beam, grabbing his hand and leading him inside. “let’s go to my room.”

the walk up the stairs seems long, and matt’s nerves get worse the closer you guys get. he watched porn videos like he was studying for a test, trying to figure out how the hell this works. he knew it would be useless since most porns are bogus.

once you guys get to the room, you push him onto the bed. you unbuckle his pants and pull down, palming him through his boxers.

he groans, praying to not cum already when he feels his dick throbbing painfully under your touch. the way your hand feels rubbing all over him doesn’t help either.

then, you flip your bodies to where he’s on top. you don’t break eye contact as you take off your bra, the way your tits recoil once their free makes matt’s mouth agape.

he pulls off his shirt, throwing it to where your bra is. you nibble at the inside of your mouth when he starts to take off your shorts, though he was hesitant at first.

his breath hitches when he realizes you don’t have underwear on. trying to stop his hands shaking, he pulls down his final piece of clothing. you stare in shock, underestimating how big he is.

he unwraps the condom he was holding and puts it on; at least he thinks. he honestly doesn’t remember how it goes.

exhaling, he aligns himself before you flinch and grabs onto it. “wait.” you say, and he stops. you swallow when his eyes meet your face. “i’ve never done this before.”

it’s like a weight got lifted off of matt’s chest, his nerves suddenly going away.

he smiles. “it’s okay. i’ll take care of you.”

you let go of his dick, and he slowly enters into your tight hole.

matt gains some confidence since you still don’t know he’s a virgin, and starts to move his hips softly. you take a few deep breaths as the pain eases, licking your lips at the fact you’re losing your virginity to the kid you’ve been crushing on all this time.

he moves his hips faster, waiting to see if you’ll protest, but you don’t. you moan louder instead, arching your back. his arms wrap under your armpits so he can grip your shoulders and push in deeper. “matt!” you moan in pleasure. “sh-shit.”

he grunts, sighing with relief that he didn’t fuck this up as he gets the hang of it.

“fa— ah!” he knows what you’re asking for so he doesn’t let you finish once he starts to rut his pelvis even faster into your pussy.

your toes curl, whimpering each time he thrusts deep into you.

your noisy, and you being noisy lets him know how good he’s making you feel. his eyes shut, reaching down to rub your clit for an extra sensation.

eventually, he hits just the right spot that has you moaning like a mantra and clenching hard around his cock.

eyes dazed, you roll them back before you squeal out. “matt— i’m cumming! i’m cu— f-fuck.”

he’s balls deep at this point, his sounds leaving his mouth to the feeling of his cock grazing your walls so swimmingly.

tumbling vowels fall from your lips while you squeeze around him one last time before pooling around him.

“oh my god, y/n,” he whines, his thrusts stuttering before spilling into the condom.

he pulls out, your whole body quivering. he disposes of the condom, and then wiping your watery eyes. he lays next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his face in your neck. “thank you so much, matt.”

“no.” he chuckles. “thank you.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @saturncanyon @elliesturniolo1

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!

[llyfrenfys]

I'd like to preface this with that this is a screenshot of a post I saw a few days ago in the #welsh tag and that the OP has since deleted this post, but the sentiment is something I'd like to address since I see a lot of parallels with this kind of thinking in other contexts, such as in LGBTQIA+ rights conversations.

So, the most obvious elephant in the room is the idea that Welsh is super widely spoken in Wales now and that it isn't in as much danger as other Celtic languages. This idea is wishful thinking at best and erases the very real danger that Welsh is in and that it could be lost just as easily as Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Cornish (which is related to Welsh) actually did die out and has had to be revived. To make a metaphor out of this, we classify languages on a scale of non-threatened to endangered in a similar way to how we classify species.

Here are the statuses of Welsh and Irish as of 2010 (above) and the statuses of Lions and Tigers (below).

On paper tigers are more 'in danger' than lions. But that does not mean that lions are suddenly not in danger at all. The little bracket above CR, EN and VU labels all of these classifications as threatened. It isn't (and definitely shouldn't) be a competition of 'who is most in danger' because you do not want the thing you care about (whether it be a species or a language) to be in danger.

To come back to the original screenshot "they* [Welsh speakers] have always had the means and the ways because the English didn't beat or slaughter them for speaking it"- on the most basic of levels, this is just incorrect. The Welsh Not was a wooden token hung around schoolchildren's necks if they spoke Welsh in school. If someone else spoke Welsh the Not would be hung around their neck. At the end of the school day, whoever was wearing the Not would be beaten and caned by their teachers. I needn't go into much detail but there have been concerted efforts to beat Welsh out of schoolchildren. With the lions vs tigers metaphor, making the claim Welsh speakers have never been beaten for speaking Welsh because they always had the means and ways, while Irish speakers were beaten and never had the means or ways is like claiming poachers have never shot lions, only tigers. Bottom line is, lions and tigers are both victim to poaching and both species have suffered as a result. Similarly, Welsh and Irish have both suffered language loss and both need conservation efforts in order to survive.

(*sidenote- the consistent use of 'them' and 'they' in the original post is definitely indicative of a 'us vs them' sentiment which is a deeply unhelpful attitude to have when it comes to endangered languages and the Celtic languages in particular)

I see parallels with LGBTQIA+ rights in this situation. When equal marriage came in for gay and lesbian couples in the UK in 2014, many allies began to act like gay rights had now been achieved and that gay issues had been done, they're solved. Except, they really weren't (and aren't). Progress has been made in Wales and undeniably Welsh is doing the best out of the living Celtic languages. But that doesn't mean Welsh has been saved or that full equality for Welsh speakers has been achieved. It very much hasn't. The sentiment of the post in the screenshot is not conducive to helping Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Putting down Welsh speakers and erasing Welsh-language history will not save Irish or Scottish Gaelic. Pretending Welsh has had it easy in some kind of lap of luxury is a deeply harmful and bogus claim.

I'll address the tags under the cut as this post is getting long.

To address the tags, personal feelings ≠ an accurate reading of a situation. Nor is it praxis, for that matter. Why is pride in Welsh different/less good than pride in Irish? Is it the assumed proximity to England? If so, that's a terrible claim to make. Not only that, but Scotland is also next to England- does that make pride in Scottish Gaelic the same as pride in Welsh according to this metric? It's a ludicrous thing to say and deeply insensitive to the needs of Scottish Gaelic and Welsh speakers, who cannot help any current or former proximity to England.

Additionally, proximity to England ≠ worse. I know it's a popular internet joke to hate on England because of English attempts to eradicate the Celtic languages, but when the joke becomes praxis, it does not help. England ≠ a place devoid of Celtic languages either. Many English counties near the Welsh border actually have communities of Welsh speakers, such as Oswestry (Croesoswallt) in Shropshire. Cornwall is also home to many speakers of revived Cornish. It does a disservice to Celtic speakers in England to insinuate that proximity to England taints or corrupts them somehow. This is how ethnonationalism starts and we ain't about that.

And "#it feels a little.... blehhhhh you were seen as sophisticated and english enough and you assimilated however the Irish and the Scots? #brutish animals that need to be culled". So, this is arguably one of the worst things to say about a Celtic language- or any threatened language in general. First of all, the 'you were seen as' - 'you' is very telling. The switch from 'them', 'they' to 'you' indicates that this sentiment is aimed at Welsh speakers directly. This was likely a subconscious thing that OP wasn't thinking about when they wrote this. But it does indicate unhealthy feelings of jealousy and bitterness unfairly directed at Welsh speakers, who are also struggling. This righteous anger at the decline of Irish and Scottish Gaelic would be better directed at efforts to help promote those languages- some useful things to get involved with are LearnGaelic, similar to DysguCymraeg but for Scottish Gaelic or supporting channels such as Irish channel TG4 by watching their programmes.

The idea that Welsh speakers were or are 'sophisticated and english enough' is insulting and carries with it a lot of baggage of how any of these assumptions came about. Welsh speakers were definitely not seen as sophisticated. Where Welsh was 'tolerated', it was treated as a curiosity, a relic of a bygone age. Classic museification which all Celtic languages and cultures suffer from as well. Welsh was not tolerated in any legal sense since 1535- with English becoming the only valid administrative language and the language of Welsh courts after England annexed Wales into its Kingdom. Monolingual Welsh speakers suddenly had no access to any legal representation, unless they learned English. This is no voluntary assimilation- it is an act of survival for many speakers of minoritised languages to 'assimilate' into the dominant culture, or else risk losing access to legal security and other kinds of infrastructure. You need only ask any non-native English speaker living in an Anglophone country what that process is like. Welsh people did not see English incursion as an opportunity to become 'sophisticated and english enough', they had to assimilate in order to survive.

The "Irish and the Scots? #brutish animals that need to be culled" is also painfully misrepresenting a very complex social and political process that unfolded over the span of hundreds of years. The phrasing itself of 'brutish animals that need to be culled' speaks to righteous anger at the damage done to these languages and cultures, but it reinforces negative stereotypes about the Irish and Scots themselves. It also is more complicated than a simple English hatred of anything non-Anglo, since the English conception of particularly the Irish changed a lot over the centuries. It was (and still is) rarely consistent with itself. See: the enemy is both strong and weak. The very earliest Celticists were by and large, Anglos or French.

Ernest Renan (1823-1892) for example, was an early French Celticist who published La Poésie des races celtiques (Poetry of the Celtic Races- English translation) in which he says:

"... we must search for the explanation of the chief features of the Celtic character. It has all the failings, and all the good qualities, of the solitary man; at once proud and timid, strong in feeling and feeble in action, at home free and unreserved, to the outside world awkward and embarrassed. It distrusts the foreigner, because it sees in him a being more refined than itself, who abuses its simplicity. Indifferent to the admiration of others, it asks only one thing, that it should be left to itself. It is before all else a domestic race, fitted for family life and fireside joys. In no other race has the bond of blood been stronger, or has it created more duties, or attached man to his fellow with so much breadth and depth"

Yeah. This guy (unsurprisingly) was a white supremacist. Note that this sentiment is being applied to all people considered Celtic by Renan- Irish, Welsh, Breton, Scottish, Cornish, Manx etc. None unscathed by the celtophobia of the day. In this period, Celticity was romanticised (yet disparaged at the same time). It is less 'brutish animals' and more 'archaic, time-frozen peoples' in this period. Of course, 'brutish animals' attitudes towards Celticity did still exist, but it is disingenuous to act as if it was this attitude alone which drove English celtophobia. Like many things, it is always more complicated and never clear cut as it might seem.

I'll bring this to a close shortly, but returning to OP's suggestion that the Welsh assimilated and the Scots and Irish did not, is also incorrect in that some Scots did have to assimilate to survive as well. The Statutes of Iona (1609) required Scottish Gaelic speaking Highland chiefs to send their sons away to be educated in Scots and/or English in Protestant schools. Many did as the statutes required, which led to further language loss in the Highlands of Scottish Gaelic. These are acts of survival- and not ones always taken willingly.

This has been a long post but it's one which I felt I wanted to address. There's no need for infighting between speakers of Celtic languages over who has it worse. There isn't any answer to that question, nor is it a good use of time or energy. All in all, the Celtic languages have suffered greatly over the years and its only just now that some of them are turning a corner. If you care about these languages, put your energy into something good. Only through active work will these languages be saved for generations to come.

#long post #lukes originals #cymraeg #gaelige #gaidhlig #Irish #Welsh #Scottish Gaelic #politik #not dictionary related #Celticist #Celtic Studies #This took a lot of energy to write so if you found this post useful please consider reblogging

[lazyjellyfish300]

Fortune Cookies 🥠🖤

Miguel O'Hara x Reader s/o

Gif credits to @miguelo-hara

Just more pure domestic Miguel fluff in your established relationship with him. 😇🤧 No mention of readers gender but he does use the feminine form of precioso at the end. Enjoy 🖤 word count 1.1k

------

You let out a little belch after you took a generous swig of your Dr. Pepper, relishing in the biting sweetness it left in your mouth. You pushed away the takeout container of lo mein noodles and orange chicken slightly away from you on the coffee table. 

"Oh God...I can't. I'm so freakin full..." 

Miguel glances over at you, sitting next to you on the couch with his Mongolian beef and broccoli. He smiles as you pull the hood from your oversized hoodie over your eyes and lean back on the couch with more overstuffed groans. 

"I told you to slow down a little." Miguel says, spearing a broccoli head with his fork and popping it into his mouth. "You were hungry, huh?" he says slightly amused, trying to keep his mouth closed as he chews. 

"Yeah. Was..." You take a deep breath and sit up and reach for the white plastic grocery bag from the restaurant with bold red letters, looking inside. 

"Can't forget about these though." You wave three fortune cookies in your hand, setting one of them in Miguel's lap. 

Miguel raises an eyebrow. "You actually read those?" He closes his takeout container as well, setting it on top of yours. 

You look at him, "Whaaaat. You don't?" 

Miguel shakes his head. "Hell no. You realize they're usually the most generic phrases that some factory just mass prints and produces and ships out to random restaurants all over? I'll bet you mine says some corny shit like 'Live Laugh Love'." 

"Sir!" You give him a gentle elbow into his side and he gives a little sputter at you calling him "Sir."

"Must you absolutely shit all over every single little thing in life that I find absolutely the tiniest shred of joy in?"

Miguel chuckles and looks at you smug. "Yes." 

You roll your eyes. 

"I suppose you like Astrology too, huh?" He smirks. 

"You know, for a Libra, you're wayyy too logistical." 

Miguel groans. 

"Shush, mister. Let me have my stuff and I'll let you have yours." 

Miguel shakes his head and turns his attention to the fortune cookie you put in his lap, turning it in his fingers, his large hands dwarfing the small pastry. "I don't really care for sweets that much. If I open mine, you can eat the cookie part." 

You nod at his bargain and watch him open the crinkled plastic, a few crumbs spilling into his lap as he cracks the shell, his thumb running over the tiny scroll of paper that's partially folded on the inside. 

"😊Your charming smile is attracting everyone around you😊" 

The deadpan way he reads it out loud matched with his bored expression makes you cackle, giggling hysterically. 

"Very funny..." Miguel balls up the fortune and tosses it at your head. You snicker when it hits you. "The thing's bogus. I told you." He gets up and puts your leftover boxes in the fridge. 

"Nuh uh! Wait! We still gotta do mine!" 

You sit up and tear the soft plastic from your cookie and split it in half with an easy crack. You pop one half of the wafer in your mouth. Light vanilla, slightly stale, the sharp edges poke the roof of your mouth and you squint one of your eyes a little as you crunch down. You pick up your fortune scroll reading it while you crunch slowly. 

"A vivid and creative mind is just one of your many great attributes." 

You smile, "why THANK you, cookie! Hah!" You pop the other half in your mouth, triumphant. 

Miguel leans against the wall to the entrance of your kitchen, crossing his arms. "Hmph, clearly, they made that with you in mind. Told you those things are phony." 

You turn around, leaning your chin on the top of your couch, peering over at him leaning by the kitchen. "You're not gonna cancel fortune cookies just because they were slightly off on yours and they nailed mine?" 

Miguel chuckles a little and walks back to you, joining you again on the couch and slinging one of his strong arms around you. "I don't give a damn about what a vanilla wafer has to say about me." 

You smile and hold up the third cookie. "Well, that means we can see what this extra one says then, since you don't care." 

Miguel sighs but gives you a gentle look as he watches you eagerly unwrap the final cookie and snap it apart. 

"Your love life will soon be happy and harmonious." 

Miguel smiles. "I don't need a cookie to tell me that. Besides, it already is." He gives your shoulder a squeeze. 

"Awhhh, you!" You smile at him and cuddle a little closer, leaning into his shoulder. The warmth from his body in tandem with your satisfied belly creates a cozy feeling you could get used to. 

"I'm serious." He says, taking one of your hands in his, his fingers stretching out over the back of your hand then locking in between yours.

"I know..." you say softly, giving his hands a squeeze as though to emphasize your statement. Honestly, he was your best friend. You could never get sick of doing these seemingly mundane things with him. You knew you were both well on your way to build something much more serious together. You glanced at your vacant ring finger, trying to picture a ring he picked out just for you wrapped around it. He seems to be thinking the same thing, the way he gently lifts your hand, still locked under his, studying the pattern of your skin. 

Miguel doesn't say anything but just lets out a deep sigh, his heartbeat stirring quietly against your eardrums as you just hold him. 

"Can we watch a movie?" You ask him, running your fingertips along the soft dark hair on his arms. 

Miguel closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the soft way you're touching him. "Course we can." 

You smile. "I'm picking it this time. I'm sick of all those nature documentaries you like to watch." 

Miguel smiles, now drawing circles on your back with his fingers as you lean forward and grab the remote off the coffee table. "You just get upset because the cute little baby deer gets eaten by the wolves." 

"That shit is traumatizing!" You chastise him. 

"It's nature." He says with a smirk. 

"I don't care, I don't wanna see it." You pout. 

He presses a kiss into your forehead. "I know, baby. You're so cute. Your pick tonight." 

"Thanks baby." You smile and lean back into him as you click through a wide selection of movie titles on Netflix. 

"Always for you, preciosa."

-----

🖤

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o hara fluff #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara fluff #Spotify

[artist-issues]

yes I'm a Christian writer. Yes I'm a Christian artist. Yes I'm a Christian whatever--I'm so tired of people being like "I'm not a Christian ___, I'm actually a ______ who is Christian" what?!? No! Say the "Christian" part of my identification louder, it's the only part that matters.

I have been crucified with Christ, therefore it is no longer I who live! No longer I who put pen to paper! No longer I who type! No longer I who thinks and plans and practices and works and communicates--it's Christ who lives in me! He must increase! I must decrease!

If you're a Christian, knock that bogus worldly self-centered crap about "no I'm not part of the 'Christian genre' so I'm not a 'Christian whatever,' because I want to be taken seriously," off. Knock it off, shut up, get out of here with that.

Who cares if you're taken seriously? Who are you doing this for? For others? For Christ? Or just for you and your own credit and your own status? Get away from me with that. Ugh.

Anything you do in your life is supposed to be for Christ. You died. You said He was in charge of you from now on--You said He was the sum total of your identity, from now on. Did you mean it? Or did you mean, "everything except my special interests and career?" Of course not.

Anything you do in your life is supposed to be for Christ. That includes your art, your music, your hobby, your writing, your job. You should be so fortunate, so favored, to be called a "Christian" anything. You're not identifying with the "Christian genre," you're identifying with Christ. The word Christian doesn't mean "little Skillet" or "little Frank Peretti" or "little Dallas Jenkins." The word Christian means "little Christ."

You should be so fortunate to be called "Christian" anything, like the disciples were beside themselves with joy to be called "Christian" prisoners and "Christian" slaves. Because they got to be associated with Christ.

Get out of here. Honestly.

#I can never go on social media again #my algorithm sends me the most ridiculous culturally-acceptable diet “claiming to be Christian” influencers #Christian writer #Christian filmmaker #Christian artist #Christian songwriter #Christianity #christian art #cultural Christianity #trends #influencers #the Bible #Rant

[xreaderanonaccount]

yandere webttore x fem reader smut pls? I wont him....... so badly....

Synopsis: You were just a simple baker in Snezhnaya that was being harassed by a local gang. Lucky for you one of your regulars just so happens to be the 2nd Harbinger of the Fatui. All he wants in return is a favor.

Webttore is a segment of actual Dottore, Reader is wearing a dress,

Tags: NSFW MINORS DNI, DUB-CON, AFAB Reader, slight Stockholm Syndrome, P with plot, Yandere, human body parts, grinding, fingering, orgasm denial, rough s*x, Not Beta read

A/N: Inspired by that one Mafia!Bucky x Reader series here on tumblr. I can't find it and i'm sad cause i really liked reading it. This is also my first time writing a Yandere character so I hope I did a good enough job

Words: 3.5K

There’s a small bakery in a quiet street on the outskirts of the Capital of Snezhnaya. Many of the Fatui Skirmishers come to visit before heading out. They claim it’s good luck. You are always happy to do business with the Fatui, as that rakes in revenue for you. But recently you were having a slight problem. A local gang has been trying to pry money out of you, “for protection” they claim, but you do know that it's bogus. You tried to tell them no but they seem to not take that answer well. They come in almost everyday to harass you about it. At this point it’s part of your routine. You wake up, get the bakery ready, and get harassed by the gang. They normally harass you about money, always coming in disrupting business or graffiti rude and cruel messages on your windows. But you never gave in, you just sighed and fixed everything. There’s no need to cry over spilt milk, that’s what your mother would always tell you. It was one of those days where you were being harassed again by this local gang.

“Just give us the money, then your debt will be paid.” One of the gang members spatted, his temper clearly waning by the minute. 

“Why would I? And what debt would I incur during this time period?” You questioned, cleaning a glass cup. You were not amused by this, it’s the third time this week and you are quite getting used to your new routine. 

“For protection obviously!” Another one spat slamming his fist on your counter. You rolled your eyes at their foolish behavior.

“Oh, protection? But I do believe that the Fatui Harbingers and their men have it all covered. No?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. The gang member stuttered for a bit before another one, a much bigger one, slammed his gun on your counter.

“Listen here, you’re going to give us the money or else-”

“Or else what?” A new voice spoke up, one that you’re not familiar with. Looking over you spot a tall man with icy blue hair sitting idly in the booths stacks of paper scattered around the table. 

“And who are you?” One of the members asked, storming up to the man. You quickly walked around the bar putting you between the gang and the icy haired man. 

“Leave him out of this. You can threaten me all you want but the minute you threaten a customer it’s over.” You glared at them, but a small chuckle was heard behind you. You heard some shuffling before you felt a presence behind you. You looked up seeing the icy blue hair man behind you. 

“See, I really like this place. It gives me time to get away from them and now… it’s ruined. By you lot.” His tone was cold as he slowly approached the gang. But they didn’t move. 

“Oh yeah, and who are you, a high ranking Fatui Harbinger?” One asked, pointing a gun right to his face. You couldn’t see what the strange man did next as he gestured to something on him. But whatever it was it clearly scared the gang away. Their faces were pale as they exited the store. One muttered that they’ll be back, but the other didn’t say anything. Now it was just the two of you.

“Ha, sorry for dragging you into this mess.” You sighed, running your hand through your hair. The man gave out a chaotic cackle before whipping around to see you. You finally get a good view of him. He had striking red eyes, the already described icy blue hair, and his outfit was strange. A white dress shirt with an overexaggerated collar, paired with a black vest. Strange clothing for the middle of winter in Snezhnaya. Let’s not mention the blue earring he wore that has some sort of liquid in it. 

“Hmm,” The man hummed as he circled around you like a predator eyeing their prey. He stopped right behind you, you felt his hands run through your hair playing with it a bit.

“You have nice hair, and very healthy organs.” He chuckled a bit.

“Thanks?” you tried to smile, but this is totally weird. Was he trying to compliment you, or something? You gave a weary look as you watched him slide back into his booth and continue looking around his stack of paper. You sighed as you walked around the counter, you have to repay him with something right? An idea popped in your head as you smiled to yourself. As you prepare your little surprise for the stranger, everytime you glance in his direction he always seems to be looking at you at the same time. Strange, but this man is already strange already. 

After a couple of minutes you approached the strange man again. As you approached him, he seemed to sense your presence and watched you set a plate down. 

“This… is a little thanks for helping me with those nut jobs.” You suddenly felt shy under his gaze. But he didn’t say a word as he took a bite out of the warm pastry. 

“Thanks.” He said muffled by the pastry that was in his mouth.

“No, thank you.” You smile as you walk away, going back to cleaning the mess the gang left behind. It seems that you have a new routine, you wake up, get the bakery ready, get harassed again, but now you have your new regular. The strange ice blue haired man comes in everyday it seems to work? You don’t really know, you never really pry into it. He always comes in and gets the same thing. A pure black iced coffee with a nice warm pastry. You're always confused when he asks for ice coffee as it’s Snezhnaya, the temperatures are always in the negatives. But he seems to enjoy his order. You can’t complain, he seems to help out when the gang comes in to harass you.

But for the past few weeks he hasn’t shown up.You were concerned and asked around but no one seemed to know what or who you were talking about. But something strange started to happen. Dead bodies have started showing up around your bakery. Either in your front door, in your alley way, or in the back door, wherever there is a spot a body was found. And every single time the body belonged to the gang that was harassing you. And every single time there was a message written in their blood confessing their crimes of harassing you. You were freaked out about it, thinking there was a serial killer on the loose and you reported it to the nearest Fatui station. The Fatui seemed to care for about a week but then stopped. They dropped the case saying that the 2nd Fatui Harbinger Il Dottore dropped the case. Which is strange because Lord Pucinella is in charge of the capital’s police so why is the Doctor dropping the case? You were lowkey freaked out about everything, but everytime you were scared to leave the strange man always seemed to appear. Always willing to walk you home, and if anytime you ask about his whereabouts he would just dismiss the question. Although a little freak out you didn’t question why he was here. It was nice to have someone watching over you especially when it seems that someone is clearly doing a revenge for you. 

On one fateful night, a quiet night you were alone in your bakery cleaning some dishes when you heard a high pitch scream. Your head shot up as you gently placed down the cup. The screams died out, and the silence after was deafening. Did you just hear the last moments of someone's life? You hesitated to leave the backroom before you heard a little ding, it rang around the quiet bakery, you were frozen not knowing what to do.

“Darling are you there?” A familiar voice spoke up, it was that man. You quickly walked out of the room already babbling about what just happened. But you were stopped in your tracks, your eyes went wide, and face went pale. There he stood covered in blood, his face like a maniac as he held a little box with a pretty bow on top. 

“W-what happened to you?” You stuttered as you slowly approached the man who gave a crazed smile holding out a box.

“I got you a present.” Completely ignoring the question he set the present in your hands. The blood smeared all over your hand. 

“What is it?” You hesitatingly asked. 

“Open it,” 

You slowly pulled the little ribbon on the top, the ribbon fell gracefully on your blood stained hands. Slowly taking the top off you only caught a glimpse of the inside before dropping it. Falling out of the gift box was a human heart, the blood oozing out of the heart pooling on your recently cleaned floor. You scrambled back, your back hitting against the wall harshly. 

“W-what is this?” You exclaimed looking over at him, all he had was a small smile as he walked around the counter getting closer to you. 

“A profession of my love, darling.” His small smile turned into a smile.You were still scrambling away to the back room.

“With a human heart! What is wrong with you?” You yelled, all he did was start to laugh, a laugh that soon turned into a cackle.

“What is wrong with me? With me? Oh darling, everything.” He made eye contact with you, his eyes blown wide with lust as he continued his approach. 

“Those little gang members won’t hurt you ever again.” He whispered as he encaptured you between his arms against the wall. Inches away from his face as he gave a manic smile. 

“You did this, killed all those gang members?” Your voice wobbled as you tried to grasp the situation. 

“Oh yes, I did, made sure they won’t hurt you ever again.” He whispered, his face inches away from you. You were shaking uncontrollably, you didn’t know how to react.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You whispered your voice quivering with every word. The man just cackled as he rested his head against your shoulder. 

“Hurt you… haha… I can never hurt. Not you, never.” 

“I… don’t even know your name.” He stared straight into your eyes, his ruby red ones shining in the light, piercing through yours. 

“I go by many names, but I prefer you call me Zandik.” Zandik reached out to your face, creasing it, the smell of metal filled your senses as he spread the blood all across your face. He leaned in his lips inches away from yours, you can feel his breath against your face.

“I would kill the whole world for you, I want you so badly. Please…” He pleaded, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I…I…” 

“Please…” You looked away for a second before Zandik let out a sound of frustration before slamming his lips against yours. It was rough, he had your arms pinned, you can’t move an inch. When he pulled away he smiled as he stroked your cheek. You’re pretty sure that the majority of your face is covered in blood. 

“I want you.” He murmured against your skin as his hands trailed back untying your apron.

“Do you want me?” He asked looking straight into your eyes, you just nodded. He started to laugh, the mood completely shifting for both of you. For him he was ecstatic, but for you… you have no idea. You were scared, afraid, but also calm? Like sure this Zandik man killed a bunch of men, but he did it in your honor. He has no ill intention on harming you, and he is clearly doing it out of love. But do you love him? All these thoughts stirred in your head as you felt Zandik’s hands trailed down your dress till it was underneath the frills. 

“Haa, do that again? Make that sound again, you sound so cute.” He breathed as he started to hike up your dress. The dress crumpled up to your waist as you obliged his request by whimpering again as you felt the cold wind of Snezhnaya brush against your legs. Zandik pulled back admiring how you looked. He chuckled as he leaned in towards your ear.

“You look beautiful with all this blood. So beautiful…” He whispered as he worked his way towards your panties. But was stopped your sudden grip on his wrist. He looked shocked at your audacity to stop his advancement. 

“C-could you at least wash the blood off your hands.” You mumbled as you looked away, “I don’t really want someone’s blood inside me.” It clicked in Zandik’s head and he rushed over to the sink, scrubbing his hands clean of all the blood. You stood there in shock on what’s happening. Everything is settling on you like a ton of bricks. This man who you're about to have sex with just killed a bunch of people these past months, and just professes his love to you with a human heart. How… strange. You listened to him mutter to himself something about, “not wanting other guys dna inside you.” that “you belong to him and him alone.” or “I’ll never let anyone hurt her again.” You weren’t going to lie, it was lowkey hot to see him like this. He patted his hands down on his pants before latching himself back onto you. His lips were back onto yours devouring you lips like there was no tomorrow. You couldn’t help but moan against his lips as he started to slowly grind against you. You could feel how hard he was against your cloth vagina. 

“I can’t help myself dear, you are so perfect.” He murmured against your skin, you felt his gloved hands trail down playing with the edge of your underwear. You felt him smile against your skin as he pulled your underwear to the side and plunge two fingers into your soaking wet clit. You heard him groan as he worked your way through your vagina. 

“You’re already so wet for me dear. So perfect, taking in my fingers like this.” He moaned as he fastened his pace. The moans couldn’t stop as you closed your eyes. The feeling was so overwhelming, the foreign feeling of his leather gloves pistoning in and out of you felt strange yet pleasurable. Zandik was biting against your skin, his shark-like teeth biting down on your exposed neck, you felt your blood trickle down your neck. His pace fastened with each thrust, you couldn’t hold back your moans. Whimpering his name every now and then, which seemed to get a reaction out of him. 

“Ha, I’m close.” You breathed out, feeling the coil tighten in your stomach. But the minute you said that you felt Zandik’s fingers ripping out of your inside. You whined at the sudden loss of his fingers. 

“I know darling, but I promise you. I’ll make you feel so so much better. I swear.” He cackled as he fiddled with his pants. You intently watched as he pulled his now hard cock out. He slapped it against your clit, earning a moan. You eyed at the sheer size of his cock. It was huge. You don’t think it would fit inside you.

“It’s not going to fit.” You exclaimed, panicking looking up to Zandik’s glaring red eyes.

“Too big? Haha, don’t worry darling, I’ll make it fit.” Zandik smiled as he lined up his cock with your vagina. 

“It’s not going to fit-” You were cut off as Zandik shoved his girthy cock all the way in one go. You yelled in pain and pleasure by the stretch. You tried to tell him to slow down but your cries fell on deaf ears as Zandik set a rough pace. He seemed to lose his own pleasure to listen to your pleas. You felt tears start to flow down your cheeks by the stretch of Zandik’s dick. Zandik started to laugh like a mad man looking down on you, his eyes wide like a crazed man.

“You look so beautiful like this darling, so beautiful when you cry.” He laughed, slamming his lips against yours, kissing your pain away. 

“Please, I want to cum.” You cried pulling away from him, the pain turning into pleasure as Zandik continued his rough pace.

“Ha, so obedient, so perfect. You were made for me,” He moaned as he gently cupped your face.

“Look at you, you were worried about my dick fitting yet look,” He tilted your head to see his dick disappear inside your vagina with each rough thrust, “your pussy was made for me, molded just me, and me only.” Your walls flutter against his dick with his words, which causes Zandik to groan.

“And now, you’re sucking me in with every thrust. Greedy greedy girl.” He chuckled as he captured your lips again. When he pulled away, a thin string of spit kept you connected.

“I’ve been aching for you for weeks now,” He started his confession, “every night, I would imagine how perfect you would be around my cock. And-ha, just look. It’s perfect, you're perfect, just for me. You’re mine, got it?” His words fell out of his mouth in pure pleasure as he started to draw dizzy circles around your clit. That sent your nerves into overdrive, moans kept falling out of your mouth. Your senses were sent into overdrive, every touch from Zandik made you clamp down around his dick. You couldn’t help it, the pure bliss that you were feeling was out of this world. 

“C-close.” You were able to get out, Zandik just chuckled before quickening his already fast pace. 

“Gods please, I want your vagina to suck me dry. Please, let me cum inside you.” Zandik moaned, “I want you to bear my children. Gods please.” All you could do is nod as you felt that coil tighten again in your stomach. 

“Please Zandik, I want to cum.” You moaned, the mere mention of his name made him go into overdrive. Circling his fingers around your clit faster, and faster. Every sense went into overdrive and you couldn’t hold it in longer. Clamping down on his cock you shook violently as you screamed out of his name. Zandik continue his rough pace fucking you through your high.When you came down from your high, you felt Zandik pull out of your overstimulated hole. You whine from the empty feeling, as Zandik let you fall to your knees, exhausted from everything. But Zandik wasn’t done, he stroked his dick faster and faster aiming it straight to your face. He cupped your chin making you look up at him with your fucked out face.

“So beautiful, so perfect. Just for me, tell me you want me.” Zandik breathed, he continued to stroke his dick before you stop his action. Confused, he watched as you replaced his hands with yours as you started to stroke him from base to tip. Zandik eyes blown wide from your actions he couldn’t help but start to thrust into your hands.

“I’m yours.” You muttered as you gave kitten licks on his tips. Zandik groaned as his dick twitched in your hands. The white warm semen painted your face, he had so much cum in him that by the time he finished you are probably sure your face is covered full of cum and blood. Zandik was breathing heavily as he gave a cackle. He smeared the cum and blood across your face, giving a small smile. 

“You look so beautiful with my cum painted all over your face.” You didn’t respond, only your heavy breathing was heard in the quiet bakery. You two stood in silence before Zandik noticed something outside the bakery, stuff his cock back into his slacks.

“Stay down there darling.” He smiled before turning towards the bakery door. You didn’t peak up but you heard the bakery bell ring indicating someone walked inside. 

“Lord Dottore! We’ve been looking all over for you.” Someone said, Lord Dottore? You mean the 2nd Fatui Harbinger? You looked up at “Zandik” who was annoyed by the disruption. 

“What is it?” He sounded annoyed. 

“We’ve located the gang that was harassing the bakery owner.” One of them stated, you watched as “Zandik” snatched the paper out of the person's hands.

“Very well, get to it then. I want any survivors sent to the lab. Have Prime deal with it.” He sounded a mix of boredom and anger as he dismissed the people who entered the bakery.

“Yes lord Harbinger.” They both said, before you hear them walking out of the bakery. Zandik turned back to you, giving you a wicked smile.

“Y-you’re the 2nd harbinger?” You whispered trying to scoot away.

“Oh are you scared now that you know my identity? Aw, you hurt me dear.” “Zandik” smiled, kneeling down to your level. He reached out for you stroking the cum and blood across your face.

“I promise you no one will hurt you again right?” You nodded at his statement, “Good. Now that I marked you I will always protect you… from anyone.”

A/N: divider credits: cafekitsune

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #genshin smut #dottore x female reader #genshin x reader smut #il dottore #webttore #webttore x reader

[gojo-enthusiast]

Suguru Geto ~ Bad Day, Don’t Fuckin Speak

*Bad Day at work* MDI, 18+ Only! Suguru usually being loving when you two have sex, has an exceptionally challenging day, as he finds out Satoru deleted all of the contract agreements for an account Suguru was supposed to have signed today.

Psa: rough sex, degrading, calling names, P in V, unprotected sex, blowjob, biting, pinching, ass slapping. Fluff at the end okay okay

Word Count: <1750+

No proofread! Like, reblog! Follow me on X (Twitter) 🫶🏻

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suguru was always loving when it came to sex. He was always gentle, and patient. Knowing it always took you a little bit longer to adjust, especially to his size. Suguru the very loving husband of yours, always listening to you about your day, and cuddling up to you on the couch. Watching some tv show he would never pick for himself. But he knows how much you like it, so he didn’t really care.

You had texted him asking him what he wanted for dinner, not getting a response. Suguru was always good about responding, you had even seen that he read it, so why didn’t he respond? You just figured maybe he was just a little busy. Well a little busy was an understatement, he was extremely, ungodly busy. Satoru his co-founder of a company they built together. Sponsoring new celebrities in campaigns, and dealing with marketing, publicity, things like that. Satoru had by accident trashed the contract for a new model they were signing on, TODAY! Satoru didn’t realize the papers he deleted from his computer, had been the PDF that Suguru sent to Satoru. Of course Suguru could have simply printed it again, but they were in front of the new model as Satoru realized not only did he shred the physical copy, thinking it was the draft, but he deleted the PDF. Suguru had to pretty it up, saying they have been having some unfortunate technical difficulties, as Satoru’s laptop had crashed. And they were waiting on his new one to arrive. Making some bogus excuse that everything was done through Satoru computer. Rescheduling the visit for the following day.

“What the fuck Satoru!” Suguru yells, “You had one fucking job!” Suguru hisses, “man it’s okay, they’ll come tomorrow.” Satoru says, sipping his iced caramel frappe. Suguru knocks it out of his hand, making Satoru finally stand up mad. “HEY! THAT WAS LIKE $7!” Satoru exclaims, “YEAH AND THAT CONTRACT DEAL WAS $3M THAT WE CAN POSSIBLY LOSE BECAUSE OF YOUR INCOMPETENCE! You realize they are modeling for the top designer brand in 2 weeks, if he doesn’t sign that deal, WE GET NOTHING!” Suguru yells.

Moral of the story, Suguru was fucking fuming still. He walks in the door, and you hear him. Perking up, excited to see your lovely husband. You made his favorite food, Zaru soba! “Hey baby!” You say smiling, going up to him for a kiss, he brushes past you, causing a frown on your face. You aren’t used to him being upset, quite frankly you had never seen Geto this mad.

You’ve seen him frustrated but never to the point where he brushed past you. “Hey, Suguru. What’s wrong?” You say walking up to him, as he’s walking down the hall to your shared bedroom. No response. “Suguru.” You say again, getting worried. “Suguru Geto!” You shout. You weren’t one to shout, but he was just not listening. He turns around, and gets close to your face, you can see his face is red as a tomato, and he looks like he’s about to burst.

“Quit fucking calling my name. Can’t you see I want to be left the fuck alone.” He says through gritted teeth. You didn’t know what to say, your eyes start swelling up in tears. Your husband had never spoken to you that way. He turns away, walking into the bedroom, walking into the bathroom slamming the door.

You sit on the edge of the bed, feeling that lump in your throat. He finally gets out the shower, You hear him on the phone, with who you’re guessing is Satoru.

“Quit fucking calling me. You’re the last person I want to speak to. You fucked up my whole day, now I have my wife crying because I’m so angry at you!” He yells, “Oh fuck you Satoru. Suck my cock!” Suguru yells before you hear silence. You’re guessing he hung up. He opens the bathroom door, and the light from the bathroom door is showing Suguru the tears down your cheek. “Su-Suguru.” You whimper, “Y/N, no.” He puts his hand up gesturing he doesn’t want to hear anything. “I want silence. I don’t want to hear anything but my cock in your mouth, and your pussy. Do you understand?” He hisses, walking up to you, gripping your hair to have you look up at him. “Do you understand?” He repeats, you nod. Tears streaming down your face, you had never seen this side of him, so you didn’t know if you should feel horny or scared. Honestly you were a mix of both, feeling your nipples harden.

Suguru takes his towel off, exposing his hard member. Bringing your face down, tapping his swollen tip on your lips, his way of telling you to open the fuck up. You open your mouth, taking in his swollen cock, feeling his hands lace behind your head, into your hair. Throwing his head back, feeling a relief already. “Fuck yes.” He moans, “deeper.” He pushes himself deeper into your mouth, feeling his cock in your throat. Your gagging, drool coming out of your mouth, and tears streaming down. “Suck, you slut.” He hisses, as much as this should be hurting your feelings right now, you were so wet from this. You had always wanted Suguru to sometimes turn off that sweet loving husband, and just fuck you like a whore. You start to squeeze your thighs together, feeling yourself get wet. “Spread your legs.” He demands, watching you spread your legs. “Touch yourself.” He adds. You reach down, pulling your panties to the side, feeling your juices instantly touch your fingers, you start to rub your clit, moaning on his cock, as he thrust it in and out of your mouth. “give me your fingers, the one in your cunt.” He demands, you take them out, lifting your hand up to him, he leans down, still have your face pushed against his cock, he sucks your fingers. “You dirty fucking whore. Wet from sucking my cock. Is this what you want? For your pretty little mouth to get fucked?” He groans, face-fucking you. “Answer me!” He hisses, you nod, as you still have his cock shoved down your throat, feeling yourself about to pass out from the lack of oxygen. Finally he cums, you feeling it going down your throat, he pulls out. And you’re coughing, catching your breath. “Are you fucking crying still?” He asks, you nod no, wiping your tears.

Next thing you knew, he had your panties across the room and your shirt was somewhere. He was biting you all over, leaving love bites all over. Not caring if someone will see it. “Suguru-“ you moan out, “what did I fucking say!?” He slams his fist on the bed, your head right next to where he just slammed, “what did I say!?” He questions angrily, “y-you s-said th-that you-you did-didn’t want to hear-he-hear me sp-speak.” You stutter, “Don’t make me tell you again, do you understand?” He hisses in your ear. You nod.

“Turn over.” He demands, you were taking to long, he flipped you over himself, arching your back for you, putting you in the position he wanted, he wanted to fuck you from behind. you didn’t mind this position, but you loved to see his face, and he loved to watch you cum. But today, he didn’t want to look at you, he wanted to look at your pussy pull him in, and cum around him. He slapped your ass, as your knees got weak, “keep your back arched.” He demands, “yes sir.” You say. You weren’t supposed to speak, but the yes sir was allowed after he heard it. “I’m going to let that one slide, since you sounded so fucking sexy saying that.” He whispers in your ear. You had to control your moan, as you felt him sink into you, he was kissing your g-spot so perfectly. He starts thrusting, not even giving you time to adjust, he leans forward, fondling your titties, pinching your nipple. Causing a yelp come out of your mouth, he leans back, back straight, he slaps your ass hard. “Shut the fuck up.” He says sternly.

You are in pure bliss right now. You are loving every minute of this. Loving every minute of being fucked so stupid. He is thrusting faster and faster, slamming into you, with no remorse. He puts his hand on your clit, and starts to rub it fast, wanting you to experience a high level orgasm as well. Because no matter how angry he is, he would never let you go without being satisfied. He loves you to much to do that to you. At this point you forget the whole no sound rule, you are moaning out, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming” you moan, “fuck. Yes. Cum around this cock.” He grits his teeth. Finally releasing his seed into you. And you cum around his cock. He’s slowing down his pace, he pulls out, flipping you on your back. Inserting his cock back in, rocking his hips back and forth again. Feeling you twitch and hug his cock so perfectly, causing a second orgasm to erupt from you, and a third for him. He watches your face as you cum around his cock, his favorite sight. “You look so beautiful when you cum baby.” He kisses your lips, you kissing him back. “Sugu.” You moan, latching your arms around his neck. “I’m sorry baby, was I too rough?” He asks, kissing your cheek. “Yeah but it felt goood, it’s okay Sugu.” You say kissing him back. “Just, don’t ever ignore my kisses again.” You pout. “I’m sorry baby, I had a terrible day. I needed to fuck out the steam. I should have been gentle.” He says caressing your neck, rubbing the parts he left marks on. “It’s okay baby, I liked it.” You say running your fingers through his hair. “Oh did you?” He smirks, feeling his cock harden up again. All of a sudden he grabs his phone and takes a video of his cock entering into your cunt, and sends it to Satoru saying, “Someone was a victim to your incompetence today. Handle the account tomorrow, I won’t be coming in.” He presses send and throws his phone to the other side of the bed, “I’m gonna fuck you all night princess.” Suguru smirks.

Suguru surely didn’t show up to work, and Satoru did exactly what Suguru told him to. Fearing that when Suguru comes in, he might just beat his ass.

#suguru geto smut #geto smut #geto suguru #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #jjk geto #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto #getou suguru x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto

[renthony]

From the article:

This week, the scientific journal Frontiers in Cell and Developmental Biology published research featuring bogus imagery made with Midjourney, one of the most popular AI image generators. The open-access paper explores the relationship between stem cells in mammalian testes and a signaling pathway responsible for mediating inflammation and cancer in cells. The paper’s written content does not appear to be bogus, but its most eye-popping aspects are not in the research itself. Rather, they are the inaccurate and grotesque depictions of rat testes, signaling pathways, and stem cells. The AI-generated rat diagram depicts a rat (helpfully and correctly labeled) whose upper body is labeled as “senctolic stem cells.” What appears to be a very large rat penis is labeled “Dissilced,” with insets at right to highlight the “iollotte sserotgomar cell,” “dck,” and “Retat.” Hmm. According to Frontiers’ editor guidelines, manuscripts are subject to “initial quality checks” by the research integrity team and the handling editor prior to the peer-review process. In other words, many eyes supposedly reviewed this work before the images were published.

#news #tech news #science news #ai use #ai news

[dreamofbecoming]

yeah alright this got away from me. posting in pieces, part one is just stobin, no shippy stuff. steddie and rockie to follow. i'll drop it on ao3 once all 3 parts are done

now on ao3!

platonic stobin

rating: t

wc: 3.5k

---

Robin stopped being surprised by Steve Harrington showing up at her bedroom window months ago. Jesus, there's a sentence her 16 year old self wouldn't fucking believe for a second. The Hair, climbing up the trellis her dad built for the roses her mom planted and then forgot about three months later? Yeah right, as if. But it turns out alternate dimensions and sci-fi movie monsters and Russian conspiracies in Bumfuck, Nowhere, USA are all real, so how surprising really is The King himself, collapsing through her window with all the grace of a baby giraffe, out of breath like he- holy shit, did he fucking run here?

"Dingus, did you run here? What the hell?"

"Had to- hang on, Jesus. Holy shit." He bends over, hands on his knees, panting like he just ran a marathon. Which, she guesses, he almost did.

"You have a car, you lunatic, what could possibly be so important?"

"Didn't think about it. Had to get here."

"Is someone dead?!" Oh fuck, Is the Upside Down back? Oh shit, oh no, it can't be back, right? Superhero girl closed the gates! Right?! Oh god, oh no, oh fuck, it's back, the Russians are back, they realized they couldn't let her live after what she's seen, her parents will never even know what happened to her, and they'll kill Dingus too, and dorky little Henderson, and that menace Erica, oh god, they're gonna die, and Hopper's gone and superhero girl is far away and she doesn't have superpowers anymore anyway, which is frankly bogus because what the hell, Robin never even got to hang out with a real live magic person before, which, ok, that's a selfish thought, but that's ok, we can think selfish thoughts and then set them aside and not act on them, thoughts are not actions, thoughts happen all the time without our consent, they don't determine our character-

"Bobs, you're spiraling. Nothing bad happened, I just realized something and I freaked out and I had to talk to you right away. Forgot to call. Sorry, I should have called. Ran straight out of the house. I don't even think my shoes match, what the fuck?"

She's gonna kill him, she really is.

She loves him so much.

"Jesus, you're insane. Sit, you absolute dweeb. I'm getting you some water, when I get back you can tell me what the hell is going on."

He's sitting on her bed when she gets back upstairs, staring at something in his hands. Christ, his hands are shaking. What the fuck, Dingus?

He takes the water and downs it in one go- ugh, sports guys- then flops onto his back and covers his eyes with a miserable groan.

"I know we've got the whole twin telepathy thing going on, bubba, but I'm gonna need at least a little bit to work with here. Give me something. Is it your parents? The kids? Uh, what was her name? From Thursday? Janice?"

"Janine, and no. Ugh. Here." The arm not covering his eyes flops out towards her, holding- ah. A zine. He had promised to drive up to Indy last weekend to the secret bookshop she told him about and get her some new ones, even though she couldn't go with him because her cousin Randy got caught cheating on his fiancée and her parents made her come with the rest of the family to help him move. Fucking Randy. Maybe he should make better choices, so the rest of them wouldn't have to clean up his messes. Jerk.

Anyway.

"Marked the page." Which, yep, there's a purple paper clip stuck to a page near the middle, because Steve knows how much she hates people who dogear books, even books that aren't really books at all, so he's been training himself out of it, because he's sort of the best. Again, 16 year old Robin would have her committed for thinking that, but here we are.

The pamphlet isn't one of the periodicals she sent him for, so he must have picked it up on his own. It looks handmade, just some folded sheets that look like they came out of a typewriter, bound with the kind of twine you can buy at the hardware store. It's called Awakenings. The page he's marked looks like a personal essay, no title, no real signature, just a pair of initials at the end of the page and a half of writing. She starts reading, trying to figure out what the hell spooked Steve so bad.

"I've always been normal. I've always had crushes on men, just like the other girls. There was never a feeling of "I'm different," or "Oh, this is wrong." There was never anything to think very hard about. I'd giggle and blush when the boys looked over at us on the playground, same as everyone else. Later on when I was older I looked at my poster of Harrison Ford, shirtless and hairy and sweating, and I touched myself, and it felt good, just like it was supposed to. I didn't mind thinking of my future husband, and our future kids, and the pretty house with the pretty garden we'd have, just like my parents have, just like they wanted for me. I was normal. Everything was fine.

I thought everything about me was normal. So I didn't understand why the other girls at sleepover parties would giggle and stop and say "Ew, gross!" when we practiced kissing. It felt nice! I wanted to keep going! But it seemed like no one else did. I didn't understand why none of them talked about getting butterflies in their stomach when Laura, who was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, transferred in our senior year, why they seemed so angry at her. Those butterflies were what jealousy felt like, right? So why did the other girls seem to feel so different?

I made my first lesbian friend in college, on the very first day, right across the hall in my dorm. We sat next to each other at Orientation and I thought I'd never have another best friend that wonderful in my whole life, so I'd hold on to her with everything I had. She came out to me the night before Christmas break, hiding under the blankets in my dorm room with the twinkling lights glowing. She was so scared. I held her and told her I loved her no matter what, and she seemed so glad, to have someone to talk to.

When she talked about falling in love with girls, I was so confused. The way she described it sounded like what it felt like to have girlfriends, I was sure. I felt that all the time. I asked her if she was sure she was gay, and she looked so shocked and angry and hurt, and I didn't know how to fix it, so I tried to explain. That what she felt couldn't be liking girls, because I felt that too, and I was normal. I liked boys, so I couldn't be gay. I couldn't be.

I'm glad it was her I said all that to. If someone else had told me about being bisexual, I think I would have hated them. I would have cried, and screamed, and said horrible things. Because I wasn't gay, I was normal, and it was so scary to think that might be a lie. Thank God it was her, my best friend in the world, who I never want to lose. Thank God I listened.

Because I'm not normal. I'm queer. I like men, and I like women. I can love them both the same, but it doesn't matter anymore, because I love her. I love her, and she loves me, and I don't need to be normal anymore."

Robin's face feels wet, which probably means she's crying. She cries a lot, reading these sorts of stories, in the zines she has to keep hidden under her bed, or, these days, at Steve's house. It's never going to be her, she knows. Not here in Hawkins, but it still makes something ache deep inside her, like pressing on a bruise, but in a good way, seeing love happen to other people. People like her. Seeing that it can.

"So?"

Oh shit. Right, Dingus. They're about him right now. Something about this essay in particular freaked him out.

"Uh. It's. A nice essay? I'm glad things worked out for them?"

Stevie lets out a pathetic whine, sort of like back at Scoops when he earned a particularly bad tally on the You Suck board. "Robbiiiiiiieeeee!"

"I'm sorry! I think I'm missing something, what's wrong with this essay? I don't get it, bubba, I'm sorry. I need some context." She does feel bad. Usually she can pluck whatever's bothering him right out of his brain and into the light, where it almost never looks as bad, but she's at a loss right now.

He's got both hands over his face again, and his response is so muffled she can't make out a word.

"Try again in human sounds, please."

"Ugh! I thought everyone felt like that!"

Huh? "Felt like...what, exactly?"

"Like that!" He flails wildly at the pamphlet in her hands. He's sitting up now, hair all askew from tugging at it, and there's a vaguely worrying crazed look in his eye, like right before he tackled that guard. "Like kissing boys and girls both feel nice, and like seeing a handsome guy and feeling jealous of him makes my stomach flutter, and like having friends feels the same as having crushes! I thought that was just how everyone felt all the time!"

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Poor Dingus! No wonder he panicked and ran here like a crazy person!

"Stevie, can I hug you? Please?" She's not much for physical touch most of the time, but Steve is, and also she's found in the last few months that she doesn't mind so much when it's him. She sort of understands why other people like hugs so much, if they always feel like hugging Steve feels for her. And she really thinks he needs to be hugged, right now.

He nods miserably. She drapes her arms around his shoulders and holds on as tight as she can, hauling him sideways until he's practically laying down on her. He clutches her back and buries his face in her shoulder. She can feel her neck getting wet with tears, a sensation that would normally make her want to claw off her own skin, but this isn't about her. Dingus needs her.

"It's ok, bubba. I'm so sorry. I know how scary this is. When I first figured out I had a crush on Linda Sanderson I cried so hard I threw up, you know? I get it. It's gonna be ok, I promise. We'll make it ok. We faced down evil Russians and giant meat monsters, what's a little sexuality crisis, huh? We got this! We're the goddamn Wonder Twins!"

He snorts at that, which she's pretty sure leaves snot on her neck, which. Ew. Still. Problems for Later Robin.

"We are not, Will and El are the Wonder Twins."

"Uh, nope, no chance, I barely even met them so therefore I am vetoing their application. Sorry kiddos, better luck next time! Find your own nickname, losers!"

Steve sits back, laughing, and she preens a little at being able to bring him back from the brink so easily. She loves him so much she feels like she's glowing with it, sometimes. It almost makes her wish she was straight, because what girl is she ever going to find who loves her this much? But only almost, because. Well. Girls, amiright? Phew.

"So what now, Stevie? You wanna say it out loud? That helps, sometimes. You wanna not say it out loud? You wanna go to a gay bar and find you a boy? You wanna never think about it again? It's totally your call."

"Say it out loud, huh?"

"Hm. It took me like a month, and then the first time I could only say it sitting in the back of my closet with the bedroom door locked and the closet door closed, and I could only whisper it. Just "I'm a lesbian," to myself, like the world's most ironic little goblin. And I had to throw up again after. But it did feel good, once I rinsed my mouth out, anyway. Cleansing, you know? And it gets easier every time." Steve's eyebrows are raised and he's chuckling again, so that's a win. She's not lying, but it is sort of funny, she supposes. In hindsight, anyway.

"Ok. Ok, I can do that. I think. Yeah, I can do that."

She's so proud of him. He's the bravest person she's ever met, she thinks. "You wanna get in the closet?"

"Isn't the whole point to come out of the closet, Robs?" He's smirking at her. Bastard. She whacks him in the shoulder on principle. He may be having a crisis, but he's still a jackass. Her favorite jackass in the whole world, but still.

"Har har, you're a regular Bob Hope. Alright then, bigshot, let's hear it."

A little of that fear creeps back onto his face, and she wishes she could wipe it off, but that's not how this works. They can't make the scary things less scary. He couldn't make the Russians less terrifying, but he could hold her hand and make her laugh and carry some of that fear with her. She can do that for him now, too.

She grabs his hand, and he clutches back tightly. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm...fuck. Ok. Ok, I can do this. I'm...bisexual." The air leaves him in a big whoosh, and he laughs a little. "Yeah, ok, fuck. I'm bisexual. Holy shit, Robbie, I'm bisexual!"

"Hell yeah you are!" She's grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. She's so fucking proud of him.

He's laughing again, a little hysterically, and he hugs her tight again, and she holds him back just as close and thinks oh, he's like me. I'm not alone. I have Steve, and he's like me, and he's mine forever and ever.

When they separate, she looks at him seriously.

"So do you, like, want this to be a thing? Because we can totally make it a thing, and like, get me a fake ID and go to a gay bar and do all kinds of wild shit if you want, but we don't have to, you know? If you need to just, like. Digest this, for a while. It's totally up to you, I just know it took me a while to feel ok with it, and I have no idea if it's different for you but I just want to be what you need, you know? You've been so good with me, and I've never had a queer friend before, so I don't know how, but I want to be just as good to you. You're my Dingus and I love you and I don't know how much of a gay guru I can be on account of, you know, I've never met any gay people besides me and the pretty lady at the bookstore but I couldn't even get real human words to come out of my mouth when I tried to talk to her so I don't think that counts, you know? But I still wanna help! Let me help!"

"Bobbie! Bobbie breathe, you're gonna pass out. I don't think I need a gay guru, I just need a gay best friend, and I have that, so I promise I'm good, ok? Promise. Also I love you too.”

She takes a deep breath, following his lead the way they worked out in the horrible days after Starcourt, when she couldn't sleep without him next to her, warm and alive and breathing, and even then she would wake up in the night with her breath coming short and her vision tunneling and Steve would hold her hand against his chest and breathe slowly, in and out, until she could follow him, and the world wasn't so terrible and scary and loud anymore.

She still thinks about that awful hour underground, thinking she was strapped to the corpse of a boy she never let become her friend, but Steve is always there now when she needs him, and he never complains when she grabs his wrist or puts her head on his chest to make absolutely sure that big, stupid heart is still beating.

When she's breathing normally again, he drops their joined hands down between them, toying idly with the chain linking her ring to her bracelet. "I think...I think I'm glad I said it, and I'm glad we talked about it, but can we maybe just...put it away, for a while? Like it's not...ugh. I guess this is kind of shitty to say, so like, hit me if you want, I guess, but I kind of don't think it matters right now?"

"No no, that makes perfect sense! Like, you still like girls, right?" He nods. "And you don't like. Have a crush on any boys right now. Or do you? Oh man if you do you have to tell me though, it's platonic soulmate law. It's in the bylaws, Steve, don't make me soulmate fine you!"

He laughs and shoves her face away. "Jesus, Rob, no! I don't have a crush on any guys, who would I even crush on in this town? We're not exactly swimming in eligible bachelors. I don't have a crush on anybody at all, I'd tell you, I swear. I know the rules!"

"Oh phew, good. You have to tell me when you do, though, I'm way excited to get you back for making fun of Tammy."

"It was the God's honest truth, Bobbie! She sings like a muppet!"

"Oh my god, shut up, Dingus! Ugh! As I was saying, you super duper have to tell me when you do, but for now, I think maybe you don't have to think about it really at all if you don't want. I mean, practically speaking, it's not really relevant to your everyday life, so we can totally revisit when that changes, but you don't have to like. Join a pride parade tomorrow, you know? You are you who are no matter what. You don't have to prove anything to anyone, especially not to me, not ever."

He leans his head on her shoulder, and she scritches her nails through his hair. It really has no right being as soft as it is, with the amount of hairspray he uses. It's frankly rude, is what it is.

"Thanks, Bobs. I think I'm just gonna put it away for now. It just...another thing to know about me, you know? Like, I'm bad at fighting people but good at fighting monsters, all my best friends are kids except you, I'm bi but it doesn't matter because there aren't any boys to date in Hawkins anyway. Plus my dad would kill me if he found out. Like actually kill me, not "oh geez I missed curfew, my dad's gonna kill me" type kill me, like I think he'd actually try and beat me to death. So there's really no reason to talk about it right now, you know?"

There's a pit of ice in her stomach, and she tightens her arm around him like she can keep him safe just by holding on tight enough. She hates how casually he said that, just like she hates how casually he always talks about how his parents treat him, like he honestly believes it's normal. "Jesus, Dingus. You know you can come here if you need, right? My parents love you, they already think we're getting married. They'd make you sleep in the guest room, but I could sneak you in here easy."

He snorts again. "We're totally gonna end up married for tax reasons anyway, we're never beating the rumors." That makes her snort, too. He's not wrong, though. She isn't going to be allowed to have a wife anytime soon, and if she has to choose someone to be her next of kin, it's always gonna be him. They're planning to move in together when she goes to school next year anyway. No one is ever gonna believe them that they aren't dating, but that's...fine. Honestly, there are worse things. Better to have Steve by her side than not, and if no one else understands them, well, they understand each other, don't they? That's more than enough.

"Yeah, I know I can come here if I need, Robs. It's fine mostly, I swear. They're not home until Christmas anyway."

He takes another deep breath, like he's settling himself. "I'm just glad we talked about it. I feel better now."

She cards her fingers through his hair again, basking in the feeling of her favorite person so close, and so content. "I'm glad, Dingus."

They're alive, and they're together, and they're queer, and neither of them is ever going to have to be alone again.

"Hang on, did you say you've kissed girls and boys?!"

part 2 part 3

#stranger things #platonic stobin #steve harrington & robin buckley #steve harrington #robin buckley #bisexual steve harrington #steve's bi awakening #my writing #robin calls steve bubba and steve calls her bobbie and i will die on both those hills #you can pry their weird nicknames from my cold dead hands #autistic robin buckley #it’s subtle but it’s there and it’s important to me #also her parents are therapists i’m sure of it

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Ten

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): referenced abusive relationship, PTSD/trauma themes, alcohol use, mild language, very mild suggestive content

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: not proofread, enjoy your dinner y'all <3

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Breathless

“You have any idea what this is about?” Simon shifts the gear into the park, looking over at you with furrowed brows.

The truth was, you had no idea. All you knew was the police found Cal’s body, and you were asked to come here. Nothing more than that.

Simon didn’t take much pleasure in the summon slipped into your mail slot, either. Driving several hours at the crack of dawn to make it to the legal office on time, which of course you’d insisted wasn’t necessary.

You shook your head, giving a sigh of contempt. “No, I don’t.”

He didn’t have to give you the lecture, to not mention his involvement, to go along with whatever bogus story the detectives had come up with. It only took them a day to find him, and then within eighteen hours, you’re here—standing outside a corporate building with legal documents in your hand.

One minute, you broke down in front of Simon, spewing about how much you hated him, and then the next, you’re back in his truck for several hours at a time, all before the sun even rose completely.

No sleep, just nail-biting tension in the hours leading up to this moment. Not to mention, how bumpy things had gotten between you two since his death.

This meeting could be very good, or very bad, and you weren’t so sure you knew the difference between the two anymore. Perhaps Cal, even in death, organized a legal loophole for you to deal with after his death—nothing would shock you anymore, especially involving him.

The tall building was eerily similar to the office where it all went down; corporate chic and bland, only instead of being abandoned, it was bustling with suits and blazers. Lawyers and clients, detectives, mind-numbing coffee conversation bounced off the navy blue walls.

You’d never felt more out of place, despite wearing the most business-casual outfit you could find in your limited wardrobe. Outdressed and outnumbered; never a good combination, especially for someone with a mountain of secrets.

If they knew about Simon or all the carnage, you would’ve been in cuffs and read your Miranda rights, surely. However, no amount of logic could sway the nausea simmering in your gut.

The first person you see inside; a bubbly receptionist way too happy to be working there, especially in contrast to all the hardened corporate faces her co-workers maintained. “How can I help you?”

That beam on her face drops slightly when her eyes wander to your neckline, the half-healed bruises still visible on your skin, then the small cuts on your face you had no desire to cover. She nods to herself as if when seeing those marks, she knew who you were without asking for your name.

“You’ll be on floor twenty, room 3B.” She fishes through her drawers and then pulls out a slip of paper for you—your pass to the upper floors. Well, in examining the document, she guessed correctly when she saw your scars—it was indeed your information on the sheet.

With each ding of the elevator, you watched the small screen displaying each floor number as it increased. Finally, it reached twenty, then the doors whirred open.

It was louder up here than before, several offices and cubicles with appointments of legal counsel proceeding as you stepped out. Your feet carried you to section B, and then you followed the labels until you reached the room with 3B displayed on its metal plaque.

There were no viewing windows, leaving you no clue about the meeting you were walking into. It could be a group of lawyers, or even detectives, for all you knew.

With a few knocks and a small muffled voice behind the door, you open it. At the crowded desk sits a lawyer about your age, deep in concentration as she scribbles. Compared to the suits downstairs, she’s dressed much more vibrantly.

“You must be…” She raises her eyes, giving the same look as the receptionist when she saw your marks. You slide the paper across her desk, ignoring the feelings of humiliation plaguing you. Her freshly done nails fumble with the edge of the paper, reading your name, though she clearly had no need to verify.

“Is anyone going to tell me why I’m here?” You mutter with impatience, digging your fingertips into the strap of your bag.

“You might want to sit down first, as a precaution.” Her tone is light, but firm, like she’s been through this a hundred times with her clients. Your snappiness didn’t phase her a bit.

Now, the nerves had nearly become too much. The atmosphere of the place was bad enough, how cagey the paperwork was, and now, sitting down across from a lawyer.

She draws a line with her fingers, from the name on your sheet, to her stack of folders, until she finds your file. The flimsy cardstock cover wooshes as she opens it, then pulls out a muted green slip. When giving it your first glance, it takes a few moments before you figure out what it is—a check.

All of Cal’s assets are addressed to you.

Next, she lays out a few real estate sheets—estimates on his home, adding a small fortune to the number on the check.

“I’m sure it’s a shock.” To you, her voice is muffled as if it's coming through a wall, and there’s a loud ring filling your ears. Then, it was her rambling about legalities, his death, and your rights, all of which went right through you without a second of thought.

It was tunnel vision, blurring around the edges. From anxiety consuming you one second, to now a wave of awe. You peered down at the number stamped on there, how it must be a typo. More than enough to keep you comfortable, but not enough to run free forever. Still, it had to be wrong, right? After such a series of bad luck, things like this didn’t happen to you, right?

“Miss?” Her hand reaches across the desk, pushing the check further to you, brows knitted in concern.

You shake your head, eyes dry from your unblinking stare of revelation. “I don’t understand. This is all mine? But, Cal sued me, and I… I left him.”

“You left him because you feared for your safety, am I right?” She points a brief finger at your neck, the cruel reminder those marks still give you daily, even here. “You were still legally married, this money’s yours, ma’am.” She says it with a smile of pity, brows still contorted slightly.

You palm the glass table, holding the flimsy slip in your hands now as if touching it would make you actually believe her.

Her words wait until you’ve made eye contact again. “In the eyes of the law, you’re entitled to his assets, even after death. He didn’t have any arrangements in place, and you were merely the first one listed.” She skims through your folder once more, sliding some legal paperwork your way, along with a pen.

“Keep it, spend it, donate it, burn it. It’s up to you.”

—

The second you buckled yourself in, Simon pulled out of the spot and drove in silence, only giving brief scans your way throughout. His iron grip on the steering wheel was typical, but the staring was not, at least not when driving.

You hadn’t come out in handcuffs, or with a police escort home, so things couldn’t have gone terribly wrong—at least by his standards. But you were quiet and more distant than usual.

“Mind tellin’ me what that was about?” He stops at a light, only flicking his gaze to traffic every few seconds. Without the distraction of the traffic, playing cold shoulder with him was much more difficult.

You scoff at the question, not at him, then speak with cynical sharpness. “Well, my husband’s dead.”

Your joke did little to lighten the mood, only prompting him to shift his hips in the seat awkwardly, then stare harder. “Robbery gone wrong, I guess. Found on the sidewalk in front of his apartment, pockets empty, too.” The words are coated with irony, and you can only wonder how Simon managed to stage the scene so well—though, that was one thing you truly didn’t want to be privy to.

“Hm.” He nods, foot laying on the gas the second the light turns green.

For someone so good at hiding his feelings, he did little of it now. He was acting stiff and thorny, unlike his usual self entirely.

The ride goes silent again; past the cityscape, past the backroads and highways, even when the next town was several miles away. Currently, it was a dirt road stretching straight for eternity, and there were very few other cars. Until you looked at the small screen on his dash, you hadn’t realized just how long things had gone quiet between you two—clearly, it was so long that you would be home again in an hour.

“It was a check. His assets.” You finally speak, parting the tension between the two of you. For once, it wasn’t a disgruntled tension, only a hesitant, wordless one.

For several seconds, the gravel crunching under the tires fills your ears. Then, Simon turns his head for the first time in hours, cocking it, “enough to get you out of here for good?”

“What? Are you eager to get rid of me?” You cocked a brow. It was as if so much tragedy, so much of it had caused your snarkiness to come out. Of course, directed at the most humorless man on the planet, nonetheless.

He snarled under his breath and shook his head, disgruntled at how he set himself up for that one. If only he had the power of words on his side, he would say so much at once—and probably too much. It was a blessing and a curse at the moment, considering the setting, everything in the past, and the building of the future as his tires covered the miles back home.

All interactions hushed again, as the mind-numbing ride resumed.

The miles on each sign you passed decreased, soon becoming single digits instead of doubles. Now, with all these assets in your possession, and a home to sell, it seemed your options were both limitless and petrifying.

Would it be smarter to find a more upscale apartment, to stay in the city you still know?

Should you return to the home where it all began, and risk more harm to your fresh wounds?

Or, perhaps, you could take a page out of Simon’s book; live a life of misery, tormented by your own thoughts, only making it to the next day with a bottle to tie you over.

—

One thing you knew, or really, the only thing you knew was how much thinking you had to do. Just what you needed after going to hell and back—more time alone with your thoughts. But you weren’t truly alone, because Simon hadn’t left your side. Not since the night you told him to stay, not since you broke down in front of him.

“You gonna stop stirrin’ that thing?”

His monotone voice snapped you out of it, gazing down at your hand, aggressively stirring the drink in your hands; the way the metal scraped against the porcelain mug was like nails on a chalkboard. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed it when you were stuck in your mind.

You took the spoon out, no longer wanting the drink you made a point of grabbing when you arrived back home. You slid the mug across the table, the steaming cup of caffeine now in front of his spot. But he didn’t touch it, only gave it a small deprecating look—no different than his usual attitude.

In truth, it was the paperwork and the check on the surface that you were staring at, trying to make a mental decision without the pressure of actually rereading those numbers. 

Some people would be ecstatic, with so much money at their disposal. But it wasn’t like that, not a lottery win, it was only more pressure.

What you were supposed to do—that was literally still on the table, just like the reason he was still here—unbeknownst to you. It’s not like you were going to ask Simon, that would only complicate things further. Besides, even you knew deep down you weren’t in any state to be left alone. Perhaps the graceless feelings and tension would be just a little less if your company was anyone else.

There was no one else, though.

“You’re starin’ again.”

Your head shakes away the trance again, seeing his head cocked with confusion, still the steaming cup is untouched. “Was I?”

“Sorry, I’m just—” You draw in a quick breath, lungs, and body both unsteady from the crushing weight of the meeting this morning. Just how everything worked out this way, it had to be a miracle. Perhaps, fate, even.

“I know.”

The fabric around his eyes wrinkles slightly, as do his eyes when they squint. At first glance, he looks displeased. But they have that softness to them again, like the night he saw those photos, and most like the night on the rooftop—when things between you were still fresh and untouched.

You didn’t need to finish your sentence. His gift was observance, noticing each small cue and quirk, and it seemed he was miles ahead of you before your lips could draw a response. Still, he stayed; enraged, distraught, grieving, screaming, even through your fugue state of speechlessness.

Your fingers combed through your locks, riddled with small cuts and mended scars, a tense grip causing white knuckles and a searing scalp. By now, your forehead had met the table, almost in a dramatic way, “you don’t need to stay with me, pity me. I’m an adult.”

“I see that.” He says and would chuckle at the sight of your grump if the circumstances weren’t so serious.

“And I’m not pitying you. I would never do that.” His last sentence wasn’t one of empathy, it was reality. Support, protection? All potent qualities of his. Pity, charity? None, whatsoever. One sure thing about him, he wasn’t going to pretend to be something he’s not.

You propped your face up with your elbow resting on the table, and a fatigued cheek smushed against your palm. Why was he still here? “Good. I don’t need it.”

“You need something, or you’re gonna put a hole in that shotty drywall,” he began, rising to his feet with a small grunt, “am I correct?” It wasn’t a question, just like his first sentence was an experienced observation—one he had seen within himself many times.

There is a clinking of glass, and then a scape against the table, before the bottle hits your arm, halting the force of its smooth slide across the wooden table. You give a disgusted look, but it was true, you needed something.

“Whiskey isn’t the solution… But I’m going to drink it.” You twist off the metal cap, smacking it onto the table with the whole force of your troubling convictions. It had been months since you had a drink, let alone straight from a bottle.

Perhaps, it was Simon’s only way of bonding without verging on feelings territory—a line neither of you needed to cross again.

You toss back a quick sip, sliding the bottle back to him. The burn of it coats your throat, down your esophagus, and through your stomach, sticking there as it simmered. It made your face contort, but the smoothness of the amber liquid was easily addictive.

Simon lifts his shirt and wipes the tip off the bottle, ridding it of your careless salvia, before turning away to take a small sip of it, an arm raised to lift a small bit of his mask. When he turns again, it slides back your way once more.

You agreed to a shot, not a drunken seesaw with him.

But here you were, taking another sip of it. This time, the wrinkle of disgust was a little less strong, and the potent taste of it had dulled when your taste buds numb to it.

Your nerves did diminish a bit, the longer the alcohol sat with you. “Well, you were onto something, I’ll give credit where it's due.”

“Don’t need credit.” He lets out a loud sigh, despite his tolerance to the substance.

You scoffed at his answer, coating your tongue with a bigger chug this time. Might as well, right? “Do you have an off switch, or are you always a wet blanket?”

To your surprise, it’s not a defensive comment or a snarl coming from his clothed lips. Instead, he chuckles—genuinely, void of his usual sarcasm—well, half of it, at least.

“Good one, I’ll remember that.” You had no doubts about that statement, and it would probably come to bite you in the ass later, much like every other thing you’ve said.

“At least when you’re buzzed you have a sense of humor.” Through the fabric of his mask, there is a smug brow cocked.

For the first time, bouncing off the other didn’t mean a conflict of half-empty comforts, it was a wholehearted conversation. A human one; a small aspect of life you had been missing so dearly, but without noticing the need for it.

A hand rested on his clothes thigh, legs spread wide in the dining chair as you both returned the bottle once you were done. Each time, he repeats his routine of turning away to take a sip—a habit that surprised you very little, in actuality, not at all. His privacy was one thing he never lost, despite all that you had been through at his side.

The stoic man with a mask treated you more authentically, more humanlike, than the one with no crooked teeth and a thousand material things to buy you.

The wounding irony of it made you nauseous, made you want to pound your fists into concrete.

This drinking game persisted for several minutes, and neither of you showed any intention of pacing yourselves. Simon, of course, was relatively unfazed by the substance, only speaking a little sluggish and reeking of it from across the table. You had gone off the deep end, with little restraint in holding yourself back. You had nothing binding you to sobriety, no job or husband, no worry of how to pay your rent—most significantly, your own personal guard was right here, with no sign of leaving.

There was only a shot left, more or less, when you slid the bottle back to him for the last time. He raised it, finishing it off until it was nothing more than a hollow glass vase.

“I’m… gonna get you a tea. This is my fault.” He muttered, a slightly widened look when he saw your current state.

You weren’t babbling like an idiot, or slurring like a drunken nuisance—your face was in your hands, a somber expression written on your face as you whispered to yourself, depressing phrases he couldn’t quite pick up on.

He hadn’t anticipated drunken clarity paired with depressed thoughts. What he wanted was less tension in your shoulders, an ease in your troubles, not the urge to find the roof and jump off.

On the bright side, for Simon at least? You hadn’t spewed yet, you were too occupied clawing at your insides for that.

“I’ll get it.” You snapped at him, legs moving a little slower than usual. But you had made it to the counter regardless, a hovering, offended hand shoving him out of the way. You swirled your finger, groaning under your breath when you had to find the effort to grab the items needed.

Simon placed a hand on his hip, leaning against the counter as he watched your odd mannerisms. Eyes reddened, hands twitching as you clumsily began boiling the water. To be frank, he was baffled that you could read the knobs on the stove.

You did it, eyes half open as you impatiently waited for the audible bubbling, and soon the loud whistle of the kettle to give you a migraine, surely. “You have a scar on your neck. Hm.” You pointed to it, but didn’t touch it—you weren’t that foolish, and you still had a desire to have your hands tomorrow.

He nodded and rubbed his thumb against it; the scar that showed when he wore t-shirts, stretching from his collarbone all the way to his chin, a once nasty laceration he got during knife combat, several years ago.

You truly hadn’t noticed it before, at least in its full magnitude.

There was a story there, one you didn’t want to know about. In truth, you only commented on it to pass the waiting time, not because your clouded mind told you to.

His fingers found the bottom of his mask, lifting it until the fabric rolled up to his bottom lip, the rest of his face still hidden. “See? A nasty bastard when it was fresh.” He figured, what the hell; you were in no position to hold this against him tomorrow.

You tilted your head, seeing that it deepend in the middle like that was the part the blade went deepest, then tapered off into a light indent when the slice finished. It wasn’t red or brown, it was scarred enough to match his pale flesh.

“Can I?”

No, you could not.

Nonetheless, he did nothing to stop the hand from reaching out to feel the mark. He wanted to close his eyes when he felt his muscles tense, how gently your fingers traced the scar. But they remained open, watching for any jerks in your movement—he couldn’t help it, his defensive instincts on high alert.

Your touch wasn’t predatory, nor invasive, despite his inner voice screaming at him to clench around your wrist, to squeeze it tight until you never did this again.

That self-protective part of him, he could contain, because it was foolish.

He couldn’t contain the way this made him feel, for the same reason, because it was foolish.

You could feel the tenseness of his shoulders, the small inhale when the pads of your fingers made contact with his neck, and most of all when they landed near his lips.

“Sorry.” You removed the hand, putting it back on your side.

But, he wasn’t irked, that much you could tell. In actuality, it was all you could pay attention to currently—him.

“Your water’s boiling.” The kettle hissed not a second after his words finished, forcing your attention to the stove. You found the knob and twisted it off, cutting the heat before your jumpiness caused a nasty scar of your own.

To reach the cleanest mug, you reached past him, head almost in the crook of his elbow. His height was an advantage, nearly an archway for you where the space of his arm opened enough for you. You grabbed it with haste, fighting every urge to run out of the room and bellow into the nearest cushion.

Waiting for the tea to turn was yet another opportunity for deafening silence. You set the mug aside after placing the bag of tea leaves in. For the liquid to have any effect, you needed it strong, so you were smacked in the face with another several minutes of staring.

It didn’t have to be like this, but it was, whether you were sober or inebriated did nothing to change that.

You had leaned down over the counter, face in your hands with regret. “I didn’t mean to push you. So you know, Simon.” You murmured against the wood countertop, left with little urge to lift your head and face him again.

What was once boldness and depressing clarity, was now pity on yourself and your actions—the one thing you so vehemently didn’t want from him.

“You’re…” He trailed off, lips tightening under his mask. “It’s nothing, ‘s alright.” It pained him to explain what had happened away, because it wasn’t nothing, to him. He still felt he needed permission from some unknown force to feel these basic things—attachment and touch.

“It’s not nothing.” You finally lift your head, picking up the steaming mug that wasn’t done yet. Your brows had contorted, and the reddened eyes had turned glossy. “I shouldn’t have pried like that. I’m sorry.”

Your past was talking for you, that dooming feeling of punishment for slipping up, for committing the crime of being yourself. Once met with a blow or insult, now met with a gentle touch to your shoulder, urging you to set down the cup.

“Let’s drop it, alright? I said it was nothing.” His tone was firm, but he wasn’t upset. His hand hovered again when you only gripped the porcelain mug tighter, looking into his eyes for proof of sincerity. 

Simon felt he couldn’t be any more sincere than he was right now, in his own way. “How about you sit down somewhere… Please?” As much as he wanted to remain firm, he couldn’t. It wasn’t your fault for dipping into old habits out of distress, as much as it wasn’t his.

“I don’t want to sit.” You wanted to step back from him, distance your body from the potential harm of another brooding man, though he didn’t have an ounce of that in him—for you, at least. “This is what I didn’t want, for you to be upset with me.”

Your fretting look made his body ache, how convinced you were of repercussions coming your way in the form of his own two fists.

“Do I look upset with you?” He questioned rhetorically, reaching for the mug again. “Just… Find somewhere to sit this out, before someone gets hurt.” It came out worse than he wanted it to, wide open to your wounded analysis.

Once a worried expression, had dropped into a compliant look, the pound of your heart overtook any urge to retort or argue. That wasn’t how he meant it, it couldn’t be. If you weren’t inebriated, could you have believed that?

You turned on your heels, eyes darting toward the dining table feet away, white-knuckling the mug of tea to soothe this all-too-familiar feeling stabbing you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says from behind you, now a concerned looming figure, “if you want to stand, you can stand. If you want to talk, then talk.” He placed a hand on your tensed shoulder, but it barely made contact, in dread that his touch would make matters worse.

A stray tear floated from your eye down your cheek, and you wiped it quickly before turning around, finding him close and hovering. “This is pathetic, isn’t it?” You chuckled snidely at your own pain, but there was little humor he could find in your own struggles.

“Crying in front of you again, seems to be a pattern when we’re together.” You sniffled, thumb finding the corner of your eye to smear away more tears.

His hand lifted off, but remained outstretched in a tense fashion like the appendage itself was unsure of the next step. “Drink your tea, and… relax.” Even his voice hesitated, a worrying stare on the shaking mug, daring to spill from your unpredictable hold.

You couldn’t bring yourself to drink it, not right now. Not when he was in this position again, just like when he had hovered over you after the argument, or when he pulled your head into his chest. Your focus was limited right now, as was your ability to regulate your being. The tender look in his eyes wasn’t helping, nor were his exposed lips, chapped and tension-filled.

“I’m so sorry, Simon.” You let out a sharp breath. “This isn’t your burden.” Your words mirrored that of the night you sobbed in his chest, before the meeting you had this morning set off this domino effect of emotions, landing you here.

It seemed he had forgotten his mouth was exposed because you could see the frown on his face. You shouldn’t be the one giving the apology, the only one that should be was in a morgue, unclaimed but still mourned by the woman in front of him.

One of his hands found the side of your cheek, resting a light palm on it for you to nuzzle. The other reached for the mug, the sheer size of his hand overtaking yours in an instant. He was supposed to take it from you, to help you find a comfortable seat, hell, to tuck you in for the night. But he didn’t. He had only restricted you, your cries like a knife in his side, twisting with each one.

Instead, he had leaned down, finding his chin on your shoulder for a few seconds, then your faces were inches apart, both sets of eyes squinting from their own troubles. Then, they met each other, heavy breathing escaping each of you as the other mouth stifled any rejections.

The trend of letting you cry it out prevailed, but it was different this time. So different, his fingers were clammy and his stomach turned. It was wrong, so wrong he would bludgend himself if he could.

The mug he was holding had slipped, sending it shattering to the ground. You jerked in his grip, eyes wandering to the tea spilled on the ground, but the firm hold he now hand on either side of your face prevented a recoil. The most agonizing part of it for you wasn’t the kiss you didn’t want, it was how you wanted this act of intimacy.

His mouth was agape now, hot breath against your chin, his own saliva dribbling down your chin, and you didn’t want to go anywhere. The act resumed again, this time with more force, your back finding the counter with some force, fingertips digging into your cheeks ever so slightly.

It didn’t hurt, it only urged you further into this.

The kiss wasn’t a placeholder for deeper intimacy, he meant every bit of it—up until his emotional walls rebuilt themselves. What the hell was he doing? Right here, right now, of all places?

From each side of your face, his hands now found your arms, yanking you away from this. “No.” Simon hissed, nails digging into your flesh to keep you from returning it anymore.

You couldn’t figure out which party those words were meant for—a scold for himself, for initiating this kiss, or you, for being vulnerable enough to kiss him back.

Still, your eyes were glossed and pouring, and even more now that the entire relationship would be altered permanently from here on. Maybe it was your fault, you thought, using physical intimacy to make up for spats, yet another habit Cal had embedded in you.

Simon wanted to apologize, so badly. But he couldn’t, no matter how shameful his gaze was now. His fingers found the rolled-up fabric of his mask, yanking it downward until his mouth was concealed again.

He couldn’t find those two words—the ones you had just said to him before the kiss. Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of you, fingers finding the shards on the tile and scooping them up without care for his skin, despite how deeply they pinched it.

Your thumb found your saturated lips, wiping away the evidence.

“I’m… going to bed.” You murmured, more to yourself than him. The smell of alcohol on your breath only acted as a reminder, as would the hangover tomorrow morning. With hesitance, you whipped around his kneeled position and exited the kitchen, eyes still wide with shock. Your stumbling feet carried you all the way to bed, a slow crawl until you could cover yourself completely with the duvet, like a cocoon of denial.

When forced into solitude with your racing thoughts, there was one dim light at the end of this tunnel.

You came to a decision about those papers, one that would land you far away from this chaos.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery @ramadiiiisme

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #call of duty #simon riley #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #ghost mw2 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #simon riley angst

[lucidreamer-uwu]

Being their seatmate: Dateables Edition I

Link to Part 1: Brothers Edition

Diavolo

Would try his very best to set an example and not talk to you during class but ends up striking a conversation anyway.

Can he copy your notes? He didn't catch that last part. And by last part he means half the lesson.

Gifted you a fountain pen once as an anonymous admirer and thought he was being so sneaky about it leaving it on your desk, telling you that it was there when he got there.

Wiggles his way out of trouble until Barbatos finds out and scolds both of you.

He absolutely loves the idea of passing notes and makes it extremely obvious that you two do it. He gets too excited and makes major reactions to each note you send him too.

Likes teaching you things you don't understand.

Barbatos

Another Mr perfect.

Has the cleanest most organized notes.

His desk is always neat and tidy.

Offers to teach you how to arrange your things too.

Will bring you surprise water bottles of his freshly brewed tea when he starts noticing how you can't focus for too long and get burnt out. He says the tea will especially increase focus and brain attentiveness, which you greatly appreciate.

I have a feeling that he'd watch you panic and suffer for a few minutes when you forget your pen or a sheet of paper or a notebook before he lends you one of his spares. Unlike Satan though, he doesn't intentionally bring extra supplies exclusively for you, he just does because he's Barbatos.

Will tell you not to pass him notes before you even write a single word.

I bet he'd rat you out for talking with or passing notes to anyone other than himself just because he doesn't want you to. If you did talk to him however, he'd still encourage you to pay attention. But that doesn't mean you can tend to others other than him! He finds it unpleasant to see others satisfying you when it should be him doing that.

Simeon

Alternates from being the one asking for a spare pen and lending you a spare pen.

He accepts and reads the notes you pass him but he only smiles as acknowledgement and doesn't write back because he's trying to set an example :((

Angelic handwriting

Likes to play with or hold your hand to keep him motivated and focused. His hands are warm and super comforting too!

Torn between wanting to sit next to you and not because when he does sit with you, he notices that he often ends up staring at you more than he listens to the lessons and focuses on his tasks. You're his biggest distraction and motivation.

Once when you had free time during class, you taught him how to make paper airplanes and he is obsessed with them. Consequently, he got really into origami and starts to gift you with paper flowers whenever you had class together. Different origami figures will be waiting on your desk every time you had class.

Doesn't remember to put his phone on silent so you help him every time.

He smells like a bakery.

Luke

Brings you sweets that he makes every once in a while.

Has cute stationary.

This boy is the living breathing sunshine of the Devildom so he is more than enough to keep you from drifting off to sleep. Heck he even motivates you to do better without saying a thing!

You both tutor each other and help the other out.

Positive vibes all around ~ ! But will rant every now and then about Mammon calling him names again.

Offers to help you with homework after class.

Would doodle cute drawings on scratch paper that you give him.

Solomon

Interested in every lesson in class so he is focused and is surprisingly quiet despite you trying to chat.

Mischief when he doesn't pay attention in class. You two try to get away with your shenanigans. Being the only humans, you guys felt like you'd been friends for forever. So you have a lot of inside jokes about human world things.

The witty sorcerer WILL try to get you in trouble at times when you two are messing around. He will make noises like fake coughs or just flat out calling the professor's attention for bogus reasons when you try passing him notes. And you do the same with him.

Both of you struggle to understand Devildom lessons so you do wholesome study sessions with each other.

If he gets to class first, he will purposely sit on two seats, his own and yours, just to tease you. He'd say that it's taken and that you had to find another seat. When you give up fighting for your seat back and pulled up an extra chair, you find that he is seated properly in his own seat acting all sheepish and innocent. He's done this childishly more times that you're willing to admit honestly.

You are often his shield from Thirteen's trap attacks. And he feels NO SHAME whatsoever using you like that. He do you dirty >:c

But he'd offer to make it up to you after class every single time.

Will let you lay your head on his shoulder in case you're tired. And may or may not pull little teasing pranks on you while he's at it.

#obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me fluff #obey me headcanons #obey me #obey me incorrect quotes #obey me dateables #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me shall we date #obey me shenanigans #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanon #obey me hcs #obey me mc #obey me solomon #obey me swd #omswd #omswd fluff #obey me love #obey me fic #obey me dateables fluff #obey me x y/n #mc x obey me #obey me headcannons #obey me thoughts #obey me swd fics #obey me scenarios

[peachiemilkytea]

ᴘʀɪᴢᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ

Pt 1 , Pt 2

Summary: you’ve always worked at Frebear’s diner as an engineer. Since your dad is long time friends with Henry Emily. Though life gets overwhelming with home life and work.

Parings: Michael Afton x Reader

Warnings: slowburn, semi strangers to enemies to lovers, more so strangers to friends to lovers, mention of Y/N, AFAB!reader,

A/N: I am so excited to be bringing this series onto Tumblr. I am a little nervous considering this is the first series I am purring onto tumblr- please enjoy! I love hearing about critical criticism from others. Tumblr writers are like.. deities to me so 😭 I’m really nervous.

WC: 28K

☆════ ⋆★⋆ ════☆

In greek mythology, humans had four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Zeus split them into two separate people. They long for their other have. they throw themselves into relationships to search their lives for their other halves. A woman who was split from a woman looks for her other half, a man who was split from a man looks for his other half, and a man who was split from a woman looks for his other half. When a person meets their other half they are struck by their senses of love. A sense of belonging to one another. They don't want to be seperated from each other, not even a moment. The soul of every lover longs to be whole. We look for our other half to find ourselves. This is apart of Aristophanes Tale of Love.

I hope I can find my other half soon so I can get out of this house. I muffled myself further into my pillow. Making it cover my ears. Yet no matter how much I rolled back and forth I'm still hungry! I sighed and got up from my bed. Passing by my mirror. My hair was a bird's nest. I strike a pose in the mirror with a smile. Then walked downstairs where all the noise was coming from.

In the kitchen was my mom leaning on the kitchen counter. A red turtleneck, fluffy curly outward hair, and mom jeans with a belt. Another woman known as my best friend's mother, Darlene Jo. Brunette big curly hair going down to her shoulders with bangs leaning to the side. Chestnut eyes with natural shadows. In a green striped suit jacket, a collared ruffle shirt, and a pendant on the collar. A black skirt with black heels. Sitting at the table. Always a sweet face. Gossiping like they always do.

"Mom, do we have anything to eat?" I whined annoyingly.

"Did you look, Dottie?" Mom says calling me by my nickname. I opened the fridge, looked at it, then closed it again. I turned to my mother, holding out my hands to the fridge. My mother looked down and shook her head.

"Oh (Y/n)! You're becoming so big, how old are you sweetie?" Darlene asked.

"I'm nineteen," I answered causally, pulling out leftover lasagna out of the fridge. Reaching up past my mom to grab a plate. I put the lasagna on a pan and lit up the stove.

"You're growing up too fast, you've certainly grown into a young woman. Oh do you remember the times you and Cheryl would go to the park? Then you would push her on the swing? Oh memories~" Darlene swooned in memory lane with nostalgia twinkling in her eyes. I chuckled at the memory and nodded my head subtly.

They went back to gossiping. I got curious and listened in while I reheated the lasagna. Apparently a new girl named Betty just got stationed at my moms office. Going on about how Betty doesn't do her job right and bosses other people around. She would boss my mom around about what should be in the paper and what not should be. Which was just a bunch of bogus. Then my mom told her off politely, schooled her. She is a journalist. Darlene is a lawyer. I always loved listening to her cases and crime stories. Though it's classified I'm an expectation.

There was this one case where four employees were killed at Chuck E Cheese, one was injured. The shooter was Nathan Dunlap, a 19 year old former worker. He was full of rage after being fired 5 months after the incident. He went into the restaurant and ordered a sandwich then played arcade games. Dunlap hid in the bathroom till closing time. Once it was closing time he came out of the bathroom with a pistol. Dunlap shot Sylvia Crowell, she was cleaning the salad bar. She was 19. Shot closed range from her right ear. Ben Grant was vacuuming till he was shot close to his left eye. He was 17. Colleen O'Connor begged for her life on her knees till she was shot by Dunlap in the top of her head. She was 17. Bobby Stephens survived the shooting. When he came back from taking a smoke break out in the back. He thought the noise inside the restaurant was kids popping balloons. He was 20.

When Stephens came back inside he unloaded the dishwasher. Though Dunlap came through the kitchen door and shot him in the jaw. Stephens played dead. Dunlap made Marge Kohlberg unlock the safe. She was 50. Once it was opened Kohlberg was shot in the ear. He took the money and shot her in the other ear after he saw her move. The manager that fired him wasn't there. Stephens escaped through the back door. There was an apartment complex, Mill Pond. He alerted the people there that others had been attacked and shot. He was hospitalized at Denver General Hospital. When the police arrived they found the bodies. Crowell was half alive and they hospitalized her. Though she was brain dead and died from her injuries in Aurora Regional Medical Center.

Dunlap ran away with 1,500 dollars of cash and game tokens. He was arrested at his mothers apartment a few hours later. Darlene actually met Stephens and Dunlap. She got more facts on the shooter and the full story from the survivor. She said how he was behind bars when she interrogated him.

Nathan Jerard Dunlap, born April 8, 1974, was raised by his adoptive father and biological mother, who married each other when Nathan was a few months old. He had never met his biological father. His mother had schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Atleast twice in Dunlap'slife, he tried to commit suicide.When Dunlap was 14, his adoptive father asked the psychologist at Overland High School to evaluate him, and testing revealed signs of hypomania. Scary stuff, I know. I don't know how Darlene does these cases.

"Vivian, don't worry about that girl. Sometimes we need to put up with arrogant people." Darlene says, taking a sip of her coffee. I noticed my mom's coffee on the counter next to me. I slowly snuck my hand over to her coffee. It looked good! I wanted a sip! Mom smacked my hand away. I jumped away holding my wrist jokingly offended.

"I guess you're right, Dottie, you left your comic books all over the table in the living room." Mom said, stroking my cheek and holding my chin.

"I'll go clean it in a second mom, Darlene what's been happening? Any cases?" I asked, rubbing my hands together.

"Nothing you need to know Missy, that is until Viv leaves." Darlene winked, leaning her cheek on her hand. My mom gasps dramatically and holds her hand on her chest.

I chuckled and left the kitchen. There was a pile of my magazines on the coffee table. I groaned at the sight. Since when did I become such a slob? It's fun being a slob though. Lazing around all day. Now that's the dream. I picked up my comics. It consisted of Akira, Vampirella, Daredevil, Spider man, and etc. The phone rang on the nearest coffee table next to the couch. I dropped my comics back on the middle table. If it's another advertisement call. I picked up the phone.

"Hello?" I asked, holding it up on my shoulder and picking up my scattered comics again.

"Hello (Y/n)! Can you come down to the diner? I have some new plans to show you." My good friend Henry Emily, a close friend of mine. He was friends with my dad in high school. Henry was invited over by him to have dinner with my family. Ever since I first met him at dinner I warmed up to him. I could sneak out sometimes to see him and helped him around the diner. He is a family man, very joyful. A ray of sunshine. He always had bright ideas to make others happy and do what he loves. If he would be a flower he would be a sunflower. Sweet as honey. A teddy bear of a man. His smarts were outstanding! It always amazes me at how his brain works. My best friend!

"Yeah I can come down, I'm excited to see those plans. I'll be down there soon." I said and hung up. I dropped all my comics again and put the phone down.

"Mom! I'm going to the diner!" I yelled and ran to the kitchen. Peeking out from the hallway. I don't need permission to leave but I should at least tell her where I'm going.

"Okay Dottie be safe!" Mom said and walked over to me. Holding my face and kissing my cheek. That's going to leave a mark. She's wearing red lipstcik. My nose scrunched from all the love and affection.

"Mooommm!" I whined.

"Bye (Y/n)!" Darlene waved.

~~~~

"Thank you for coming (Y/n), I got some new ideas for the animatronic I'm working for you." Henry said, waving his hands around excitedly.

"Is this about Trickster? Oh! Now you got me all excited!" I said with a bounce in my step.

"Yes it is! I got the blue prints all ready and I was hoping you'd come and help me pick out the materials you want her to be made with." Henry asks, looking down at me. Trickster was a jester animatronic that he was making for me that is inspired off of me. This little project has been going on for months now. He led me inside his office and opened the door for me.

I looked over his desk. There were blueprints of Trickster. A clown animatronic with (h/c) (h/l) hair and a hat that has outstretched on two sides with jingle bells. The hat was (f/c) and white. Around her neck was a ruffled collar that stood out at every end. There were light reddish pinks on her cheeks and nose, red lips, and blue eye shadows. Jingle bell dangle earrings hung from her ears. A (f/c) corset with a ribbon tying in the middle. Ribbon bow straps around her arms that were also (f/c). Pearls that slung down her arms, neck, and thighs. A (f/c) tutu that pointed outwards with jingle bells on the ends of it. A lace thigh harness. Jingle bell ribbons around her wrists and thigh. Lastly was Mary Janes with white Lace ruffled socks to top it all off.

My pride and joy. I came up with this design with Henry. I remember the awe on our faces when the final design came to be. Now it's time to choose what to make it out of. What I didn't notice was how Henry was admiring me. My fingertips traced the thin lining of the blue prints drawing.

"I was thinking that for its endoskeleton we would give it a thin skeleton with all the wires connecting in the middle. The shape of it will be similar to the human skeleton. The head should be smaller than the body. The wires will make it move and the control flannel. That will be in the center. The chest capsule. The control planned will be programmed with movement and commands to give to Trickster. Then we'll have a voice box in the throat that you've picked out." Henry rambled writing what he was saying on another piece of paper next to the blueprints on top of a folder labeled 'Trickster prototype.'

"You should probably make her out of light-ish things. Nothing too heavy that the endoskeleton couldn't take. Maybe something like aluminum and steel? For the wires we can use rubber. The servos will be all around. Arms, legs, hips, you know the rest. The sphero RVR will be in the parts that most need support like the chest, legs, head, and arm. The tensorflow will be with the motherboard in the chest or it can be in the head. Either one is okay really. It's just to do tasks. The cameras should be in the eyes too. How does that sound?" I explained tapping the pencil on the desk against my lips. Moving my fingers to what parts should be where.

I learned this geeky computer and robotics stuff from my science robots club. It's an engineering club that they held when I was back in high school. I took what I learned and ran wild with it. Though I was teased for it. Always being called a nerd and being thrown in trash cans.

"You always amaze me (Y/n)," Henry said, pushing his hair back with a grin looking down at his newly made list of things I rambled about. I nodded bashfully.

"I should get back to work now but we'll hang out later (Y/n), how does a movie and dinner sound?" Henry asks, rubbing his hands together.

"Sure! I'd love to see the twins again." I beamed. Sammy would always jump in my arms and make me hold him. He would never leave even for his parents. Always a quiet little sweetheart. He would read books with me. He would sit on my lap and flip through the pages after I read them to him.

"I'm sure he and Charlie would love to see you. Now I should get back to work, we'll have it on Friday at eight." Henry said and sat down at his desk. I was leaning on it using my arms as support.

"I'll see ya later Henry," I hugged him leaning into his touch. He held me back and rested his head on mine. Henry pulled away but I was still holding onto him. He chuckled and hugged me again. I finally pulled away. I closed the door behind me.

Maybe I should go bother Will. I walked to the office that wasn't too far away from Henry's office. On the door read 'W.A." I knocked on the door and walked right inside. There William Afton sat at his desk tapping his finger on his desk while his other hand held his head stressfully.

"Sod off, I didn't even tell you to come in." William groaned not looking up from his work.

"Wow, not even a hello?" I said smirking, leaning against the doorway. He finally looked up from his work. He softened with a smile, lifting his head from his work.

My friend, William Afton. A sophisticated man. He is practical and cold. Though at the same time he is a tease. I met him through Henry. He is known as Henry's best friend and partner in the business. Henry brought me in to work to have me help around and spend more time with him. Henry introduced me to Will when he was coming out of the spring Bonnie suit. We would see each other more and more around the diner. Though he ignored me and was annoyed at me trying to talk to him every time, till I dealt with animatronic fix. I repaired the broken Spring Fredbear parts. He was actually amazed at my work! Though he wouldn't admit it, it still showed. Since then we've been friends. Let's just say, it took a year for him to warm up to me...

"Come here dearest, have you come to help us again?" William asked, his British accent slipping out. He went back to working on the papers.

"Yes I have, I just got done talking to Henry about our little project. Relax a bit, Will." I said, walking behind him and rubbing his shoulders.

"You know how I love that, duchess." He sat back leaning into my hands. When he gets stressed he gets snappy. The last thing I need is him being snappy. I love little moments like this. He's rarely showing his sweet side. I feel him relax under me.

"Now what's got you so stressed out?" I asked him palming his back. He sighed happily leaning his head back.

"Just work. I have so many papers on the company's taxes and ordering more supplies. Food for the chiefs, materials for the animatronics, more plates and silverware, and you know the rest. Just keeping the building running. It's been so stressful lately." William pauses on his words as if he was forgetting his worries.

"Adulting is hard. I feel bad for you. Why don't you take a break?" I patted his shoulder. He picked up his pen and started signing off his papers.

"Because my job is very important, (Y/n)." William said not looking up from his papers.

"When's the due date?" I asked, tilting my head.

"In two weeks." William said. I picked up his pencil and threw it far away. He looked up at me with a gruff on his face. The corners of his lip twitched.

"Oops." I said smiling. William sighed leaning back in his chair. Tapping his finger against the desk.

"Guess I'll have a break, so dearest, what did you have in mind?" William asked, putting his elbows on the table, his fingers intertwining together, and resting his hand on the back of his hands.

"Want to play cards?" I suggested pulling out his card deck in his desk side drawer. I shuffled them on his desk.

"What will we play?"

~~~~

The door slammed behind me. I was kicked out of William's office by yours truly. All because I won a game of monopoly.

Maybe I should become a millionaire.

#five nights at freddy's #michael afton x you #michael afton x reader #first tumblr fic

[freakoont]

Lights Out

Featured content: Bungo Stray Dogs

Character: Edogawa Ranpo

GN reader

Oneshot story of you and Ranpo hanging out until the lights go out. PLATONIC/ROMANTIC

Warning: none

READER TYPE- lazy, empathetic, inactive, tired easily, friendly (to an extent), lighthearted, head in the clouds

It was around 8 and the moon was out. The weather has been decreasing slowly this past month, so it's been a little cold in Yokohama.

You sit on your couch watching some cartoons on your phone while being wrapped up in your blanket. If it gets any colder you're going to have to tie the blanket onto your body while you go out.

Suddenly you hear your door swing open fast, "(____)!!" You turn to see Ranpo pouting with a paper bag of, most likely snacks, in his hands.

"Yes Ranpo?" You give him a innocent and curious look. You knew exactly why he was pouting and upset. You had told him you guys would get ice cream last night but... You were to lazy to actually do that. You also told him this morning you'd do it... But you didn't.

He ran over to you, ignoring to close your door. "So? Where's the ice cream, huh?" He gave you a very annoyed look.

"I forgot."

"Are you serious, that's obviously bogus." His emerald eyes were glaring at you.

Of course you knew he'd find out, he wasn't the greatest Detective for nothing.

"you're just to lazy to go get ice cream with me!!"

"correct."

"Get up." He started pulling on your sleeve to get you up but you were practically stuck to the couch. "You promised!!"

"it's too cold!" You whined. "Besides, we can do that later. Now go shut my door."

He huffed but didn't oblige, "No! Get up!!"

"no."

"(____)."

"Later, let's just watch some cartoons and do nothi--" you words were cut off by you apartment light shutting off completely. This left your place completely dark, except for the window, there was a small glimpse of the moon.

Before you could even get up to do anything you felt Ranpo quickly jump onto your lap and holding onto your waist like he was holding onto the gates of Heaven.

"....Ranpo?"

"yes?"

"what are you doing?"

"hugging you, duh."

You knew exactly why but you didn't feel like saying anything about it. Ranpo feared the dark, he always needed a small glimpse of light to even go to bed. Even though he was being direct about his answer you could feel he was a little embarrassed or even ashamed about it.

You stood up off the couch with Ranpo still holding onto you like a baby koala holding onto it's mom. His arms wrapped around your body and his legs securely wrapped around your waist. His head hiding in your shoulder.

It was rare to see him like this. The prideful and egotistical Detective scared of the dark? Any person would find it funny... But seeing him hide like this, holding onto you... It was like a way of saying he trusted you.

You walked over with Ranpo, still holding onto you like a backpack, to shut your door and try finding something. The switches weren't working so you had to look for a flashlight.

Good thing it wasn't hard to find one, handing it to Ranpo.

You placed him down on the couch, "Stay here, I'm going to look for--"

"please stay with me."

He had a serious expression on his face but you could sense to anxiety from him.

"... alright."

You sat down on the couch allowing him to hide himself in your warmth.

He laid his body down against yours, his arms around your stomach with his head hidden in your chest. Grabbing the blanket and covering him with it, you felt a feeling of relaxation.

Any moment the lights were sure to go back on..

"... Let's go get ice cream when the lights turn back on." You suggested.

"...alright."

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #bungou stray dogs #x reader #anime #anime and manga #bungou stray dogs ranpo #ranpo x reader #ranpo edogawa #bsd ranpo #bungou sd #bungo stray dogs x you

[abibliophobiaa]

right where you left me chapter two

10/31 @ 8:30pm EST

tag list: @definitionwanderlust @aurora-austen @muamazon4 @aol19 @hazzaismyreligion @corrodedseraphine @xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @ash5monster01 @cathx91 @eddiesguitarskills @nervoushottee @totally-bogus-timelady @dumbasscorn @tomsrebeleyebrow @upside-down-angel @spoookysix @alwayslindie @josephquinnsfreckles @palmtreesx3 @alana4610 @starry-sarah @alice-tweven @rvelvetsitty @ahoyyharrington @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @scoopshxrrington @katethetank

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #Spotify

[sapphire-weapon]

I keep getting the question of: "You don't really think your meta is canon, do you?"

And I need to explain something to you guys.

Literary analysis is not Sparknotes.

Literary analysis is not Wikipedia.

Being a meta analyst, my goal is not to state what happened in canon. My goal is to interpret what happened in canon in hopes that it helps people to understand it better.

When I say "x is canon" I do not mean it in a black-and-white text sense. I am not stating that x thing is an immutable law of canon. "x is canon" is my thesis statement.

This is the best explanation I've found of this concept:

If it helps, think of me more as a scientist presenting my paper for peer review. I am not stating that I have irrefutable proof that x thing is an immutable fact. I am putting forward the argument that x thing is true and intended, and here is my evidence supporting that conclusion so that everyone can see how I got there.

Every description for every link on my meta analysis master post is the thesis statement of that post. If it helps, put "This is my argument that..." in front of every single link.

This is my argument that Resident Evil 4 Remake's story is structured like the plot of a romance novel

This is my argument that RE4 Leon is still mentally/emotionally 21

This is my argument that Remake Ada is a selfish character

This is my argument that eagleone is canon

This is my argument that Remake Krauser was not an abuser and Leon loved him

And the thing about building an argument is that... it can be argued against. But no one ever does that part. They just jump straight to being haughtily asshurt instead.

But, all the same, the question of "You don't really think your meta is really canon, do you?" is kind of a bogus question that has a paradoxical answer. The answer is: Yes, I do believe that this is true, which is why I'm arguing in favor of it being true -- but no, I don't believe that it's explicit, inarguable canon and belongs on a fact list.

It is a canon fact that Leon and Ashley affect each other's character growth in RE4make. And I will make the argument that that bond is romantic in nature.

It is a canon fact that Leon was hesitant to kill Krauser and was distraught after doing it. And I will make the argument that that distress was born of real grief and affection.

One thing is true. The other is something I believe to be true.

One thing is immutable law that can't be changed. The other is something that's up for interpretation, but I will stand by my own interpretation as being the correct one.

Is any of this making sense to people? lmao