#treacherous computing

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The disenshittified internet starts with loyal "user agents"

I'm in TARTU, ESTONIA! Overcoming the Enshittocene (TOMORROW, May 8, 6PM, Prima Vista Literary Festival keynote, University of Tartu Library, Struwe 1). AI, copyright and creative workers' labor rights (May 10, 8AM: Science Fiction Research Association talk, Institute of Foreign Languages and Cultures building, Lossi 3, lobby). A talk for hackers on seizing the means of computation (May 10, 3PM, University of Tartu Delta Centre, Narva 18, room 1037).

There's one overwhelmingly common mistake that people make about enshittification: assuming that the contagion is the result of the Great Forces of History, or that it is the inevitable end-point of any kind of for-profit online world.

In other words, they class enshittification as an ideological phenomenon, rather than as a material phenomenon. Corporate leaders have always felt the impulse to enshittify their offerings, shifting value from end users, business customers and their own workers to their shareholders. The decades of largely enshittification-free online services were not the product of corporate leaders with better ideas or purer hearts. Those years were the result of constraints on the mediocre sociopaths who would trade our wellbeing and happiness for their own, constraints that forced them to act better than they do today, even if the were not any better:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

Corporate leaders' moments of good leadership didn't come from morals, they came from fear. Fear that a competitor would take away a disgruntled customer or worker. Fear that a regulator would punish the company so severely that all gains from cheating would be wiped out. Fear that a rival technology – alternative clients, tracker blockers, third-party mods and plugins – would emerge that permanently severed the company's relationship with their customers. Fears that key workers in their impossible-to-replace workforce would leave for a job somewhere else rather than participate in the enshittification of the services they worked so hard to build:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/22/kargo-kult-kaptialism/#dont-buy-it

When those constraints melted away – thanks to decades of official tolerance for monopolies, which led to regulatory capture and victory over the tech workforce – the same mediocre sociopaths found themselves able to pursue their most enshittificatory impulses without fear.

The effects of this are all around us. In This Is Your Phone On Feminism, the great Maria Farrell describes how audiences at her lectures profess both love for their smartphones and mistrust for them. Farrell says, "We love our phones, but we do not trust them. And love without trust is the definition of an abusive relationship":

https://conversationalist.org/2019/09/13/feminism-explains-our-toxic-relationships-with-our-smartphones/

I (re)discovered this Farrell quote in a paper by Robin Berjon, who recently co-authored a magnificent paper with Farrell entitled "We Need to Rewild the Internet":

https://www.noemamag.com/we-need-to-rewild-the-internet/

The new Berjon paper is narrower in scope, but still packed with material examples of the way the internet goes wrong and how it can be put right. It's called "The Fiduciary Duties of User Agents":

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3827421

In "Fiduciary Duties," Berjon focuses on the technical term "user agent," which is how web browsers are described in formal standards documents. This notion of a "user agent" is a holdover from a more civilized age, when technologists tried to figure out how to build a new digital space where technology served users.

A web browser that's a "user agent" is a comforting thought. An agent's job is to serve you and your interests. When you tell it to fetch a web-page, your agent should figure out how to get that page, make sense of the code that's embedded in, and render the page in a way that represents its best guess of how you'd like the page seen.

For example, the user agent might judge that you'd like it to block ads. More than half of all web users have installed ad-blockers, constituting the largest consumer boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

Your user agent might judge that the colors on the page are outside your visual range. Maybe you're colorblind, in which case, the user agent could shift the gamut of the colors away from the colors chosen by the page's creator and into a set that suits you better:

https://dankaminsky.com/dankam/

Or maybe you (like me) have a low-vision disability that makes low-contrast type difficult to impossible to read, and maybe the page's creator is a thoughtless dolt who's chosen light grey-on-white type, or maybe they've fallen prey to the absurd urban legend that not-quite-black type is somehow more legible than actual black type:

https://uxplanet.org/basicdesign-never-use-pure-black-in-typography-36138a3327a6

The user agent is loyal to you. Even when you want something the page's creator didn't consider – even when you want something the page's creator violently objects to – your user agent acts on your behalf and delivers your desires, as best as it can.

Now – as Berjon points out – you might not know exactly what you want. Like, you know that you want the privacy guarantees of TLS (the difference between "http" and "https") but not really understand the internal cryptographic mysteries involved. Your user agent might detect evidence of shenanigans indicating that your session isn't secure, and choose not to show you the web-page you requested.

This is only superficially paradoxical. Yes, you asked your browser for a web-page. Yes, the browser defied your request and declined to show you that page. But you also asked your browser to protect you from security defects, and your browser made a judgment call and decided that security trumped delivery of the page. No paradox needed.

But of course, the person who designed your user agent/browser can't anticipate all the ways this contradiction might arise. Like, maybe you're trying to access your own website, and you know that the security problem the browser has detected is the result of your own forgetful failure to renew your site's cryptographic certificate. At that point, you can tell your browser, "Thanks for having my back, pal, but actually this time it's fine. Stand down and show me that webpage."

That's your user agent serving you, too.

User agents can be well-designed or they can be poorly made. The fact that a user agent is designed to act in accord with your desires doesn't mean that it always will. A software agent, like a human agent, is not infallible.

However – and this is the key – if a user agent thwarts your desire due to a fault, that is fundamentally different from a user agent that thwarts your desires because it is designed to serve the interests of someone else, even when that is detrimental to your own interests.

A "faithless" user agent is utterly different from a "clumsy" user agent, and faithless user agents have become the norm. Indeed, as crude early internet clients progressed in sophistication, they grew increasingly treacherous. Most non-browser tools are designed for treachery.

A smart speaker or voice assistant routes all your requests through its manufacturer's servers and uses this to build a nonconsensual surveillance dossier on you. Smart speakers and voice assistants even secretly record your speech and route it to the manufacturer's subcontractors, whether or not you're explicitly interacting with them:

https://www.sciencealert.com/creepy-new-amazon-patent-would-mean-alexa-records-everything-you-say-from-now-on

By design, apps and in-app browsers seek to thwart your preferences regarding surveillance and tracking. An app will even try to figure out if you're using a VPN to obscure your location from its maker, and snitch you out with its guess about your true location.

Mobile phones assign persistent tracking IDs to their owners and transmit them without permission (to its credit, Apple recently switch to an opt-in system for transmitting these IDs) (but to its detriment, Apple offers no opt-out from its own tracking, and actively lies about the very existence of this tracking):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

An Android device running Chrome and sitting inert, with no user interaction, transmits location data to Google every five minutes. This is the "resting heartbeat" of surveillance for an Android device. Ask that device to do any work for you and its pulse quickens, until it is emitting a nearly continuous stream of information about your activities to Google:

https://digitalcontentnext.org/blog/2018/08/21/google-data-collection-research/

These faithless user agents both reflect and enable enshittification. The locked-down nature of the hardware and operating systems for Android and Ios devices means that manufacturers – and their business partners – have an arsenal of legal weapons they can use to block anyone who gives you a tool to modify the device's behavior. These weapons are generically referred to as "IP rights" which are, broadly speaking, the right to control the conduct of a company's critics, customers and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

A canny tech company can design their products so that any modification that puts the user's interests above its shareholders is illegal, a violation of its copyright, patent, trademark, trade secrets, contracts, terms of service, nondisclosure, noncompete, most favored nation, or anticircumvention rights. Wrap your product in the right mix of IP, and its faithless betrayals acquire the force of law.

This is – in Jay Freeman's memorable phrase – "felony contempt of business model." While more than half of all web users have installed an ad-blocker, thus overriding the manufacturer's defaults to make their browser a more loyal agent, no app users have modified their apps with ad-blockers.

The first step of making such a blocker, reverse-engineering the app, creates criminal liability under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, with a maximum penalty of five years in prison and a $500,000 fine. An app is just a web-page skinned in sufficient IP to make it a felony to add an ad-blocker to it (no wonder every company wants to coerce you into using its app, rather than its website).

If you know that increasing the invasiveness of the ads on your web-page could trigger mass installations of ad-blockers by your users, it becomes irrational and self-defeating to ramp up your ads' invasiveness. The possibility of interoperability acts as a constraint on tech bosses' impulse to enshittify their products.

The shift to platforms dominated by treacherous user agents – apps, mobile ecosystems, walled gardens – weakens or removes that constraint. As your ability to discipline your agent so that it serves you wanes, the temptation to turn your user agent against you grows, and enshittification follows.

This has been tacitly understood by technologists since the web's earliest days and has been reaffirmed even as enshittification increased. Berjon quotes extensively from "The Internet Is For End-Users," AKA Internet Architecture Board RFC 8890:

Defining the user agent role in standards also creates a virtuous cycle; it allows multiple implementations, allowing end users to switch between them with relatively low costs (…). This creates an incentive for implementers to consider the users' needs carefully, which are often reflected into the defining standards. The resulting ecosystem has many remaining problems, but a distinguished user agent role provides an opportunity to improve it.

And the W3C's Technical Architecture Group echoes these sentiments in "Web Platform Design Principles," which articulates a "Priority of Constituencies" that is supposed to be central to the W3C's mission:

User needs come before the needs of web page authors, which come before the needs of user agent implementors, which come before the needs of specification writers, which come before theoretical purity.

https://w3ctag.github.io/design-principles/

But the W3C's commitment to faithful agents is contingent on its own members' commitment to these principles. In 2017, the W3C finalized "EME," a standard for blocking mods that interact with streaming videos. Nominally aimed at preventing copyright infringement, EME also prevents users from choosing to add accessibility add-ons that beyond the ones the streaming service permits. These services may support closed captioning and additional narration of visual elements, but they block tools that adapt video for color-blind users or prevent strobe effects that trigger seizures in users with photosensitive epilepsy.

The fight over EME was the most contentious struggle in the W3C's history, in which the organization's leadership had to decide whether to honor the "priority of constituencies" and make a standard that allowed users to override manufacturers, or whether to facilitate the creation of faithless agents specifically designed to thwart users' desires on behalf of manufacturers:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

This fight was settled in favor of a handful of extremely large and powerful companies, over the objections of a broad collection of smaller firms, nonprofits representing users, academics and other parties agitating for a web built on faithful agents. This coincided with the W3C's operating budget becoming entirely dependent on the very large sums its largest corporate members paid.

W3C membership is on a sliding scale, based on a member's size. Nominally, the W3C is a one-member, one-vote organization, but when a highly concentrated collection of very high-value members flex their muscles, W3C leadership seemingly perceived an existential risk to the organization, and opted to sacrifice the faithfulness of user agents in service to the anti-user priorities of its largest members.

For W3C's largest corporate members, the fight was absolutely worth it. The W3C's EME standard transformed the web, making it impossible to ship a fully featured web-browser without securing permission – and a paid license – from one of the cartel of companies that dominate the internet. In effect, Big Tech used the W3C to secure the right to decide who would compete with them in future, and how:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

Enshittification arises when the everyday mediocre sociopaths who run tech companies are freed from the constraints that act against them. When the web – and its browsers – were a big, contented, diverse, competitive space, it was harder for tech companies to collude to capture standards bodies like the W3C to secure even more dominance. As the web turned into Tom Eastman's "five giant websites filled with screenshots of text from the other four," that kind of collusion became much easier:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

In arguing for faithful agents, Berjon associates himself with the group of scholars, regulators and activists who call for user agents to serve as "information fiduciaries." Mostly, information fiduciaries come up in the context of user privacy, with the idea that entities that hold a user's data would have the obligation to put the user's interests ahead of their own. Think of a lawyer's fiduciary duty in respect of their clients, to give advice that reflects the client's best interests, even when that conflicts with the lawyer's own self-interest. For example, a lawyer who believes that settling a case is the best course of action for a client is required to tell them so, even if keeping the case going would generate more billings for the lawyer and their firm.

For a user agent to be faithful, it must be your fiduciary. It must put your interests ahead of the interests of the entity that made it or operates it. Browsers, email clients, and other internet software that served as a fiduciary would do things like automatically blocking tracking (which most email clients don't do, especially webmail clients made by companies like Google, who also sell advertising and tracking).

Berjon contemplates a legally mandated fiduciary duty, citing Lindsey Barrett's "Confiding in Con Men":

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3354129

He describes a fiduciary duty as a remedy for the enforcement failures of EU's GDPR, a solidly written, and dismally enforced, privacy law. A legally backstopped duty for agents to be fiduciaries would also help us distinguish good and bad forms of "innovation" – innovation in ways of thwarting a user's will are always bad.

Now, the tech giants insist that they are already fiduciaries, and that when they thwart a user's request, that's more like blocking access to a page where the encryption has been compromised than like HAL9000's "I can't let you do that, Dave." For example, when Louis Barclay created "Unfollow Everything," he (and his enthusiastic users) found that automating the process of unfollowing every account on Facebook made their use of the service significantly better:

https://slate.com/technology/2021/10/facebook-unfollow-everything-cease-desist.html

When Facebook shut the service down with blood-curdling legal threats, they insisted that they were simply protecting users from themselves. Sure, this browser automation tool – which just automatically clicked links on Facebook's own settings pages – seemed to do what the users wanted. But what if the user interface changed? What if so many users added this feature to Facebook without Facebook's permission that they overwhelmed Facebook's (presumably tiny and fragile) servers and crashed the system?

These arguments have lately resurfaced with Ethan Zuckerman and Knight First Amendment Institute's lawsuit to clarify that "Unfollow Everything 2.0" is legal and doesn't violate any of those "felony contempt of business model" laws:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/02/kaiju-v-kaiju/

Sure, Zuckerman seems like a good guy, but what if he makes a mistake and his automation tool does something you don't want? You, the Facebook user, are also a nice guy, but let's face it, you're also a naive dolt and you can't be trusted to make decisions for yourself. Those decisions can only be made by Facebook, whom we can rely upon to exercise its authority wisely.

Other versions of this argument surfaced in the debate over the EU's decision to mandate interoperability for end-to-end encrypted (E2EE) messaging through the Digital Markets Act (DMA), which would let you switch from, say, Whatsapp to Signal and still send messages to your Whatsapp contacts.

There are some good arguments that this could go horribly awry. If it is rushed, or internally sabotaged by the EU's state security services who loathe the privacy that comes from encrypted messaging, it could expose billions of people to serious risks.

But that's not the only argument that DMA opponents made: they also argued that even if interoperable messaging worked perfectly and had no security breaches, it would still be bad for users, because this would make it impossible for tech giants like Meta, Google and Apple to spy on message traffic (if not its content) and identify likely coordinated harassment campaigns. This is literally the identical argument the NSA made in support of its "metadata" mass-surveillance program: "Reading your messages might violate your privacy, but watching your messages doesn't."

This is obvious nonsense, so its proponents need an equally obviously intellectually dishonest way to defend it. When called on the absurdity of "protecting" users by spying on them against their will, they simply shake their heads and say, "You just can't understand the burdens of running a service with hundreds of millions or billions of users, and if I even tried to explain these issues to you, I would divulge secrets that I'm legally and ethically bound to keep. And even if I could tell you, you wouldn't understand, because anyone who doesn't work for a Big Tech company is a naive dolt who can't be trusted to understand how the world works (much like our users)."

Not coincidentally, this is also literally the same argument the NSA makes in support of mass surveillance, and there's a very useful name for it: scalesplaining.

Now, it's totally true that every one of us is capable of lapses in judgment that put us, and the people connected to us, at risk (my own parents gave their genome to the pseudoscience genetic surveillance company 23andme, which means they have my genome, too). A true information fiduciary shouldn't automatically deliver everything the user asks for. When the agent perceives that the user is about to put themselves in harm's way, it should throw up a roadblock and explain the risks to the user.

But the system should also let the user override it.

This is a contentious statement in information security circles. Users can be "socially engineered" (tricked), and even the most sophisticated users are vulnerable to this:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

The only way to be certain a user won't be tricked into taking a course of action is to forbid that course of action under any circumstances. If there is any means by which a user can flip the "are you very sure?" circuit-breaker back on, then the user can be tricked into using that means.

This is absolutely true. As you read these words, all over the world, vulnerable people are being tricked into speaking the very specific set of directives that cause a suspicious bank-teller to authorize a transfer or cash withdrawal that will result in their life's savings being stolen by a scammer:

https://www.thecut.com/article/amazon-scam-call-ftc-arrest-warrants.html

We keep making it harder for bank customers to make large transfers, but so long as it is possible to make such a transfer, the scammers have the means, motive and opportunity to discover how the process works, and they will go on to trick their victims into invoking that process.

Beyond a certain point, making it harder for bank depositors to harm themselves creates a world in which people who aren't being scammed find it nearly impossible to draw out a lot of cash for an emergency and where scam artists know exactly how to manage the trick. After all, non-scammers only rarely experience emergencies and thus have no opportunity to become practiced in navigating all the anti-fraud checks, while the fraudster gets to run through them several times per day, until they know them even better than the bank staff do.

This is broadly true of any system intended to control users at scale – beyond a certain point, additional security measures are trivially surmounted hurdles for dedicated bad actors and as nearly insurmountable hurdles for their victims:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/como-is-infosec/

At this point, we've had a couple of decades' worth of experience with technological "walled gardens" in which corporate executives get to override their users' decisions about how the system should work, even when that means reaching into the users' own computer and compelling it to thwart the user's desire. The record is inarguable: while companies often use those walls to lock bad guys out of the system, they also use the walls to lock their users in, so that they'll be easy pickings for the tech company that owns the system:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

This is neatly predicted by enshittification's theory of constraints: when a company can override your choices, it will be irresistibly tempted to do so for its own benefit, and to your detriment.

What's more, the mere possibility that you can override the way the system works acts as a disciplining force on corporate executives, forcing them to reckon with your priorities even when these are counter to their shareholders' interests. If Facebook is genuinely worried that an "Unfollow Everything" script will break its servers, it can solve that by giving users an unfollow everything button of its own design. But so long as Facebook can sue anyone who makes an "Unfollow Everything" tool, they have no reason to give their users such a button, because it would give them more control over their Facebook experience, including the controls needed to use Facebook less.

It's been more than 20 years since Seth Schoen and I got a demo of Microsoft's first "trusted computing" system, with its "remote attestations," which would let remote servers demand and receive accurate information about what kind of computer you were using and what software was running on it.

This could be beneficial to the user – you could send a "remote attestation" to a third party you trusted and ask, "Hey, do you think my computer is infected with malicious software?" Since the trusted computing system produced its report on your computer using a sealed, separate processor that the user couldn't directly interact with, any malicious code you were infected with would not be able to forge this attestation.

But this remote attestation feature could also be used to allow Microsoft to block you from opening a Word document with Libreoffice, Apple Pages, or Google Docs, or it could be used to allow a website to refuse to send you pages if you were running an ad-blocker. In other words, it could transform your information fiduciary into a faithless agent.

Seth proposed an answer to this: "owner override," a hardware switch that would allow you to force your computer to lie on your behalf, when that was beneficial to you, for example, by insisting that you were using Microsoft Word to open a document when you were really using Apple Pages:

https://web.archive.org/web/20021004125515/http://vitanuova.loyalty.org/2002-07-05.html

Seth wasn't naive. He knew that such a system could be exploited by scammers and used to harm users. But Seth calculated – correctly! – that the risks of having a key to let yourself out of the walled garden were less than being stuck in a walled garden where some corporate executive got to decide whether and when you could leave.

Tech executives never stopped questing after a way to turn your user agent from a fiduciary into a traitor. Last year, Google toyed with the idea of adding remote attestation to web browsers, which would let services refuse to interact with you if they thought you were using an ad blocker:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

The reasoning for this was incredible: by adding remote attestation to browsers, they'd be creating "feature parity" with apps – that is, they'd be making it as practical for your browser to betray you as it is for your apps to do so (note that this is the same justification that the W3C gave for creating EME, the treacherous user agent in your browser – "streaming services won't allow you to access movies with your browser unless your browser is as enshittifiable and authoritarian as an app").

Technologists who work for giant tech companies can come up with endless scalesplaining explanations for why their bosses, and not you, should decide how your computer works. They're wrong. Your computer should do what you tell it to do:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/08/your-computer-should-say-what-you-tell-it-say-1

These people can kid themselves that they're only taking away your power and handing it to their boss because they have your best interests at heart. As Upton Sinclair told us, it's impossible to get someone to understand something when their paycheck depends on them not understanding it.

The only way to get a tech boss to consistently treat you well is to ensure that if they stop, you can quit. Anything less is a one-way ticket to enshittification.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/07/treacherous-computing/#rewilding-the-internet

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #maria farrell #scalesplaining #user agents #eme #w3c #sdos #scholarship #information fiduciary #the internet is for end users #ietf #delegation #bootlickers #unfollow everything #remote attestation #browsers #treacherous computing #enshittification #snitch chips #Robin Berjon #rewilding the internet

[httpwintersoldier]

opla men hc || when you beg them to fuck you harder

ᴢᴏʀᴏ ; ᴍɪʜᴀᴡᴋ ; ʟᴜғғʏ ; sᴀɴᴊɪ ; sʜᴀɴᴋs ; ʙᴜɢɢʏ ᴄᴡ: ɴᴏ sᴘᴇᴄɪғɪᴄs

ᴢᴏʀᴏ

⤷ zoro knows he's an intense person so he always tries to be careful not to hurt you

⤷ your moans and cries for his name already have him desperate and panting, so to beg him to go harder was a treacherous path to walk

⤷ "please... harder..."

⤷ his look would instantly change, a conflict between fucking the words out of your mouth and trying not to cause you unwanted pain

⤷ you'd definitely be able to tell that from the way his grip on your body that he was holding back

⤷ zoro would have to slow down and catch his breath, trying to get his mind off of the 'sweet' way he wanted to fuck you

⤷ "that's a dangerous game you're playing..."

ᴍɪʜᴀᴡᴋ

⤷ mihawk was very keen on teasing you, switching paces and positions to rile you up

⤷ he loved to know he was in control of everything, and especially that he had control over you and your body

⤷ mihawk liked to see you squirm and beg, all for him, all because of him

⤷ so to hear you beg for him to go faster, harder... it was exactly what he wanted

⤷ mihawk would look at you with his signature victory shit-eating grin

⤷ he would fuck you until your legs trembled

⤷ "good girl..."

ʟᴜғғʏ

⤷ luffy just wanted to make you feel good, he loved the way you squirmed under him and moaned his name - it was like praise to him

⤷ and most of all, he loved to know that he had this effect on you

⤷ to know he could please you and make you feel good was all he wanted

⤷ luffy already fucked you like a madman, like a dog in heat

⤷ when you begged him to go harder, his brain didn't even compute, he just obeyed

⤷ "t-this hard enough for you, pretty?"

sᴀɴᴊɪ

⤷ sanji is a gentle lover, he's about the technique, not the strenght

⤷ but once in a while he loves to fuck you senseless

⤷ he loves your hands fisted, eyes closed and mouth open without a single sound being able to come out from the overstimulation

⤷ any sound to sanji only served as confirmation that you were loving it as much as him

⤷ but he particularly loved it when you gave him instructions, he just loved to serve you and make you feel good

⤷ so although he was usually the dominant half, he would listen and obey to your demands

⤷ "say no more, my love"

sʜᴀɴᴋs

⤷ shanks is prideful, he fucks you well and he knows it

⤷ and he loves your moans confirming that he is indeed the one person that can make you feel like that - the only time he'd ever heard you beg was when you begged him to fuck you

⤷ but he knows his bratty partner loves to tease him above anything else

⤷ so when you begged for him to go harder, he just chuckled, he knew you were teasing him, but you'd get it anyway

⤷ nevertheless, shanks would never pass up a chance to make you moan louder and scream higher - much less would he give up a chance to show just how well he could fuck you and how good he could make you feel.

⤷ "oh pretty baby, I'll make you regret that"

ʙᴜɢɢʏ

⤷ despite the rough exterior, what gave buggy the most pleasure was knowing he was making his little treasure feel good

⤷ when you begged or tried to give him an order he would fight back and pretend he 'did what he wanted', but it wouldn't take long before he was doing exactly what you had asked

⤷ buggy loved when you were vocal - he loved to hear you and the Captain would follow your instructions like a lost puppy just to make sure he could keep hearing your pretty noises

⤷ but he was very prone to losing control when he was inside of you - he always wanted more, needed more

⤷ more friction, more noises, more speed... you were his drug

⤷ so to hear you ask for more was a dream come true

⤷ "I'm sorry about what I'm gonna do to you..."

#opla #opla smut #one piece #one piece smut #one piece hc #one piece headcannons #one piece hcs #one piece reader #one piece reader smut #mihawk smut #sanji smut #buggy smut #luffy smut #zoro smut #shanks smut

[heich0e]

tomura tries to sneak out of your apartment one morning before you wake up, because he has to get all the way back to his apartment before his dad shows up to take him to a 9AM yoga class.

god forbid he be forced to explain:

a) why he slept over at an apartment that was not his own to his father (toshinori would be calling wedding venues and asking his assistant to look into your ring size before they'd even made it to the yoga studio)

nor b) the fact that he was going to a fucking yoga class at 9 o'clock in god damn the morning with his dad, to you.

he slips out of your bed soundlessly, moving as carefully as possible not to wake you. it pains him to do it. really, it does. your sheets are warm, and soft, and smell like you. and you're still there resting so peacefully, tucked under them, breathing soundly with your face burrowed into the collar of his hoodie that you'd worn to bed the night before. you look so pretty like this, tomura had spent at least half an hour just staring at you while he was laying next to you in your treacherously comfortable bed, and would have happily spent another hour more doing it.

there are very few forces on earth that could tear tomura out of bed like this, but the mortifying prospect of having to explain to his over-enthusiastic father that he has a girlfriend is certainly one of them.

he creeps out of your room and into the bathroom, splashing some cool water on his face and using the lotion that you keep next to the sink that makes his skin feel so nice. you started buying a bigger bottle lately, now that the two of you are both using it, and you never mentioned it but tomura still noticed when the little tube was replaced by a larger version of the same product. next he reaches for the toothbrush that he's started keeping next to yours, double checking the hour on his phone to make sure he wasn't running out of time.

he contemplates stealing one last peek at you in bed before he leaves, but he knows that if he doesn't leave now he won't have time to change his clothes before his dad shows up outside his place, so he heads straight to your front door once he's done in the washroom.

you're standing in his path before he can get to it.

you've got a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, but he can still see the soft skin of your thighs where the hem of his hoodie hangs peeking out from underneath the edges of it. there's a little frown tugging the corners of your mouth down.

tomura freezes in his tracks.

"going somewhere?" you ask him, your voice quiet and a little bit hoarse from sleep.

oh, fuck.

"morning," he mumbles, a bit nervously, as you pin him in your stare.

"it is," you reply, as though agreeing with him. "early, even. so why are you sneaking out of my apartment like a burglar?"

tomura rakes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "i, uh, gotta be somewhere."

"you have to be somewhere?" you repeat, a bit incredulously—like the words don't quite compute. you don't seem mad at all, just thoroughly bewildered by the whole strange situation. "tomu, we went three rounds last night and you're awake before two PM on a weekend. are you okay?"

"'course i'm okay," he rushes to get out, tripping over his words.

"did I like... do something? or is there someone el—"

"are you kidding?" tomura's voice cracks and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. he reaches out and grabs the edge of the blanket you have wrapped around you, his fingers twisting into it desperately. he knows you can't possibly—can't reasonably—think that he's seeing anybody else when the fact that he even landed someone like you is an honest to god miracle. the kind of underdog success story they make multi-part docuseries on.

tomura groans, shuffling forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder as he snakes his arms underneath the blanket around your frame to hold you close.

"you're being weird, tomu," you say quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair and letting your nails drag lightly against his scalp in that way that makes him want to shiver.

"fuck, I know, I know,"—he buries his face further into the crook of your neck, breathing in shakily—"'m not being sketchy or anything."

"you are," you remark lightly. "it's not that I don't trust you, I'm just confused."

tomura mumbles something, but the words are lost to the skin of your throat.

"what was that?" you ask.

tomura steels his nerve and takes one last long breath buried against your warmth. he pulls away and faces you.

"I have to go to a yoga class with my dad."

he loses his nerve about halfway through his admission, his eyes flickering away from yours to a point on the wall just above your front door, as a violent heat surges through his cheeks.

"a yoga class?"

he knows it sounds ridiculous. it is ridiculous. it may have been more believable to tell you he was going to hook up with someone el—

"why didn't you just say that?" your laughter cuts through his spiralling thoughts like a morning alarm.

his gaze snaps back to you, only to find you smiling softly.

"you... you're not...?" tomura isn't even sure what he's going to say. mad? surprised? convinced he's lying?

"i mean, i've noticed you've been looking kind of toned lately, but honestly i thought it's because we've been fucking so much," you scrunch your nose up a little. "yoga makes sense on both counts, though."

you turn and look across your apartment to the clock hanging on the wall.

"what time's your class?" you ask him, suddenly worried that this impromptu interrogation may have made him late. "i didn't mean to—"

tomura grabs either side of the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and tugs you forward, pressing his mouth to yours while your lips are still parted in speech.

(he doesn't make it to class that morning after all.)

#toshinori in his full lulu fit standing outside of tomura's apartment 25 mins later like: :D where is my beautiful son #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha drabble #bnha writing #writing #yoga!tomura

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 3: PHONE SEX

johnny mactavish x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.3k words

summary: on leave, johnny can't resist pestering you while you're at work. or perhaps he just can't resist you...

cw: f!reader, sexting, dirty talk, voyeurism(?), begging, masturbation (m & f), orgasm denial, inferred voyeurism. this one made me blush.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 4: APHRODISIACS ⇾

❝You look so good right now. I can’t actually see you, but I assume you look good because you always do.❞

A grin splits across your lips as you read the text that lights up your phone screen. It lays next to your keyboard on your desk, the lock screen a photo of you and Johnny on holiday in Spain. The sky brings out the blue in Johnny’s eyes– or what you can see of them. They’re almost crinkled shut as he laughs at you, having pushed the icecream you’d both been sharing into your face, creamy white gelato smeared across your nose. 

Peering over your desktop screen, you make sure no one in the office is looking as you pick your phone up. Donna has her eyes firmly on an excel spreadsheet that looks far more like an ancient language than it does data she can make sense of, and Peter has left his desk to make what you could only assume was his signature, watered down cups of tea that made you gag when you tried them. Before he could come back and catch you red handed, you tap your password into the phone, unlocking it to respond to the cheeky text message. 

It was odd to get a message like this now. Texts like these were usually reserved for when Johnny was on deployment, off in some God forsaken sandy wasteland where bullets would fly past his head and threaten to steal him from you. Instead, he was on leave, no doubt sitting on the sofa with his PS4 controller in hand, yelling commands to his makeshift squadron. You’d be home in a few hours – an office job wasn’t quite as long and treacherous as a place on the special forces. 

“Can’t last 7.5 hours without me? x” 

You smile to yourself as you hit send, turning your attention back to the work on your desktop before noticing how quickly the ‘ … ‘ speech bubble appears above the keyboard in your chat. It takes barely a couple of seconds before Soap replies. 

Bzz. 

“Go in the bathroom and take a picture of you touching your pretty pussy. Please? xoxo” 

It’s ridiculous, the way such a simple text sets your body alight. The warmth prickles in your stomach, settles between your thighs as you try to reason with yourself. Lunch was two hours away, and you had no doubt that Johnny would keep pestering you until you finally gave in to his pleadi–

Bzz. 

“Please? xoxoxoxox”

Chuckling to yourself, you lock your computer and stand from your desk. As casually as you can manage given you were soaking your panties, you inform Donna that you need a bathroom break. Making a note to pat yourself on the back for working so hard and earning her trust, you grin and offer a quiet thank you when she nods her head in dismissal. 

As you try to hurry to the bathroom without catching anyone’s attention, you can feel your phone buzzing in your hand. 

Bzz. 

Bzz. 

Bzz, bzz, bzz. 

Biting back a stupid grin, you ignore his pining text messages entirely and head straight for the call button, pressing your phone to your ear as you enter the single stall bathroom and lock the door behind you. 

It takes two trills of the phone before Johnny answers. You’re surprised– you expected him to hit the answer button halfway through the first. 

The first thing you hear is the sound of skin on skin, wet, sloppy sounds of Johnny working his cock in his hand as he groans your name down the receiver. 

“Fuuckkk. Yer a dirty girl, bonnie. Leavin’ yer desk to touc–” 

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny,” you breathe, malice lacking in your voice as you quickly pull the hem of your skirt up to your hips, leaning against the wall and burying your hand underneath the waistband of your panties. 

“But– Fuck– I wanna taste you,” Johnny continues pining for you, making your clit throb as you roll it beneath your fingertips with an airy sigh. Johnny sounds far more unhinged on the end of the phone, crackly audio punctuated with heavy, needy gasps of bliss and the slick sound of him fucking into his hand over and over.

“You sound so needy, Johnny,” you coo quietly, pinching your clit and feeling the warmth of your arousal trickle through your nerves when you hear Soap groan desperately. 

“Jesus– Yer bein’ so fuckin’ mean t’me,” he complains weakly, the sound of his thrusts getting louder and quicker over his slurred protests. “Feels so fuckin’ good, Bonnie. Wanna feel you ‘round me.”

Slowly burying your fingers inside your slick cunt, you whimper softly as you grind your clit into the heel of your palm. It’s not enough. Nothing is enough after having Johnny. His months away on deployment are torture, no technique or toys enough to bring the same bliss he consistently pulled from you each and every time you fell into bed together. Or the sofa, or the shower, or the kitchen counterto–

“Need you t’come home, Bonnie. Need you t’come home and sit on my face. Cannae wait all day for ye to come back home,” the timbre in Johnny’s voice is hoarse. It burns something sinful deep down in your gut, pleasure arcing with another circle of your clit. 

“What if I just left you there?” You muse quietly, careful not to be too loud incase anyone was passing by, “What if I clocked off after work and went for dinner with that guy on the payments team… What’s his name, Darren?” 

You’re grinning halfway through your teasing comment, hearing Johnny spluttering in complaint. 

“Bonnie–”

“Or… You could behave. Could wait for me to come home without interr-upting my work,” you hiccup, dangerously close to cumming when you felt the beginning of your orgasm zing up the base of your spine. You arch your hips away from your palm despite your clit’s throb of complaint, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing your voice to sound steady. “And when I come home, I’ll ride you while you play your game. You can be on mic, and Gaz and your friend’ll hear you struggle to keep it together. Hear how fucking wet I sound when you put your dick in me.” 

“Steamin’ fuckin’ Jesus–” Johnny wheezed, the sound of him fucking his hand hastening at your filthy offer. “Hah–”

“You can’t cum, though,” you urge him quickly, grinning at the sound of his desperate wail when the sounds suddenly stopped altogether. It was replaced by the sound of Johnny’s heaving breaths, quiet moans of complaint. You could imagine him now, sprawled out across the sofa, grey sweats around his ankles. He’d have his face buried in the crook of an elbow, cock flushed like his cheeks while bobbing up and down in protest and drooling precum onto his stomach. 

“Stay right there, just like that,” you breathe, excitement bubbling in your chest at the sound of his struggle, “Text Gaz and tell him to be online at 17:30.”

“Fuck,” Johnny slurs, and the sound sparks something so visceral in you that it threatens to spark an orgasm all on its own. “S’fuckin’ torture.” 

“I know, baby. I’ll make it worth it,” you promise him, ending the call before the sound of his keens made you cum. 

An hour or two later, sitting at your desk and vaguely focusing on the spreadsheets of information that were all beginning to blur together, your phone buzzes with another text. This time, a picture is attached. 

“Still here.” 

Johnny’s laying on the sofa, lips raw from gnawing on them in what you could only assume was an attempt to restrain himself. His cock is rock hard, bright red and angry with its neglect as it drools a wet pool of precum across his abs and down his shaft, exactly as you’d predicted. 

You’ve never been so excited for clocking off. 

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

#꒰꒰ ‧₊˚ my works ˚₊· ꒱꒱ #꒰ ‧₊˚ soap ˚₊· ꒱ #johnny mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x you #simon riley x reader #codmwii #john soap mctavish #simon ghost riley #john price fanfiction #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #task force 141 #141 x reader #soap mactavish #soap mwii #soap x reader #soap smut #john mactavish #soap imagine #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #soap x you #soap modern warfare #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #kinktober 2023

[mysticmoondancer]

Ancient Dragon of Wisdom

He is the oldest dragon in the world and lives on top of Dragon Mountain. He is very knowledgeable about a lot of stuff and will gladly share with you what he knows if asked. He can also speak many human languages, as well. Including English. People will sometimes climb Dragon Mountain just to seek his wisdom and advice about something.

#Book Of Dragons page 40 #dragon #mysticmoondancer original artwok #art #his wings are supposed to be worn and tattered looking due to age. which is why they look that #sorry for poor quality but as i mentioned these were all drawn by hand first and then scanned onto my computer #the original is a bit better than this #wisdom #inspired by (mainly Asian; i believe?) stories or tales that have an old wiseman who lives atop a tall and treacherous mountain #that gives advice to weary travelers who were able to make it all the way to the top of the mountain #this is one of my favorite dragons

[waddlewaddlewaddlewaddle]

ᵤₙfₒᵣₜᵤₙₐₜₑₗy ₛₘᵢₜₜₑₙ ₍ₘₐfᵢₐ bₒₛₛ! Gₒⱼₒ ₓ ᵣₑₐdₑᵣ₎

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Summary: Life leads you to treacherous roads after deciding to enter the dangerous life you knew well not to follow.Having gojo by your side inviting you deeper and deeper into all that’s wrong in the world, inciting you to be selfish and carefree wasn’t supposed to be to your liking, so why do you shiver with adrenaline every time he decides to be the devil on your shoulder?

Contents: Mafia boss gojo x secretary reader.(civilian au ig)

-Secret crush!!

-Yandere Gojo.

Gojo being an egocentric bitch! Wealthy gojo! X no nonsense reader.

Tags<33333:

Warnings: Simp Gojo ig, trigger warning if you’re not interested in anything mafia related. The narration of this story is inspired by Latin and Asian mafia.

*　　 　　✦　　　. *　　 　　✦　　　. *　　 　　✦

The car was slightly quiet, besides Gojo’s occasional replies to his phone call. The chauffeur seemed to have his mouth taped shut, only focusing on taking you to the warehouse where your boss's jets are stored.

The 3 a.m. breeze passing through the window and kissing your face is starting to make your cheeks cold to the touch. The night’s temperature makes you kind of regret your outfit choice, but what could you say? Leaving the drugs and mafia behind, it was your first time visiting China! You were so excited for every new experience there was to offer. You may be there on a “business trip,” but considering all your expenses are paid, you might as well make it memorable. That led you to go all out when choosing the first outfit you’d wear when flying private. Your chest was adorned by a burgundy sleeveless turtleneck top, a black miniskirt that hugged your waist, and some below-the-knee leather-heeled boots that combined with your top.

You quickly shook the regret away. Your priority is to progress on this week's worth of work, taking advantage of the current free time you have. Your soft fingertips quickly tapped the warm computer resting on your thighs. Unbeknownst to yourself, the tall figure with fluffy white hair scratched his undercut with one hand while the other lazily held the phone close to his ear. He couldn’t help but dare to take a peek at your smooth legs. He tried to contain himself, which he really did, but his eyes couldn’t help but wander up your thighs. The phone call is now long forgotten, only working as a background nose for his shameful fantasy, where he lies his head on your cushiony, soft thighs while your long nails trace figures along his scalp.

-“Whatcha looking at doesn’t like my outfit or what?”-You question catching him off guard after finally noticing his burning stare.

Gojo’s eyes widened in surprise, but his ego wasn’t going to let him keep quiet and possibly seem embarrassed in front of you or anyone. So he quickly fixed his posture and struck back.

-“Are those the boots I gave you for Christmas? It's the first time I’ve seen you wear them. They don’t look completely hideous on you.”

Gojo thanked whatever god still had mercy on him for giving him the perfect excuse to look your way.

-“It is the first time I’m wearing them!!! How did you notice?” - You giggled at him shamelessly, flashing him your pearly whites. How could you do this to him? Now he wanted to buy every pair of boots in the world just to see your smile as you showed them off to him and blushed at him.-“ I wish I was as easily observant as you. You’re once again correct. I just wanted to save them for a nice event.”

-“You've never been on a plane before?"

-“Not a private one.”

Poor you.

So your first time is going to be with me, huh? How sweet.” Gojo joked proudly, wearing a smug smile.

You threw some sticky notes at his head that you had in your purse, to which he just responded with a low and slow cackle.

The chauffeur looked back in surprise, wondering how you still had all your extremities together after disrespecting the boss like that.

You now rest your chin on the window as you approach the warehouse. After passing various checkpoints with armed men in the middle of nowhere, you finally arrive at his warehouse.

Geto ordered around the employees as they packed something onto the jet. You couldn’t continue snooping since one of your guards opened the door to signal you to leave the car.

As you get off, you feel the rough concrete make friction with your boots. As you start to explore the view, you see like five warehouses surrounding the pathway. As your assistants grab the luggage in the trunk, you look around for familiar faces.

You promptly see your boss appear from the side of the train and shortly walk over to you. 

-“Ladies first.” -He points with his head to the open silver jet door.

You glance back at him in a distrusting manner and soon head into the aircraft. The cabin smelled sterile, the hallways were wide and decorated with cashmere white seats adorned by cedar walls with floating tables and big round windows to your side was a twin bed with feathery pillows and cushiony covers.

-“Can i sleep here? If I fall asleep right now, I might avoid jet lag.” - You ask this question while settling down on the bouncy bed, you avoided giving any compliments to your boss, you didn’t want to seem easily surprised by his extravagant wealth.

-“Tired already? I thought you wanted to spend the night with me.”-He banters as usual.

-“As if you could offer me a good night.”- You joke back, and he simply raises an eyebrow.-“I’m feeling a little groggy, but if you need me up, I’ll be charging you a nighttime fee in USD of course, since we are traveling internationally.”

Gojo opens his mouth to respond but is shortly interrupted by his godmother.

-“Gas tanks are full; flights starting in 5.”-Comments the raven head while serving himself and Gojo a cup of whiskey from the bar.

-“Want some?” -He asks, looking toward your direction.

-“It’s 3 a.m.; what type of question is that? Pass the bottle, bro.”-You respond while tying your hair for a fun night.

 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

 

Your knocked-out body is seen slugging on the before mentioned bed, neck in a creepy pose and your cheeks painted red. Your skirt is slightly riding up on your thighs,barely noticeable to the untrained eye,but still too much for Gojo's liking.

Gojo and Geto are sitting down in the seats in front of you, enjoying the spectacle of your drunken self. They’re still completely sober from their third glass of whisky.

Gojo takes his phone out and is about to take a picture until Geto grabs his hand.

-“Better not; what if she gets mad and fucks up our taxes.”- His best friend intervenes.

Gojo quietly nods and reincorporates himself into his seat, spreading his legs as far as possible , sliding his Ferragamo shoes across the carpet to touch your boots with the tip of his footwear.

After strutting back into the cabin from speaking with the pilots in the cockpit,Geto  let’s gojo know that they’re landing in Sanduzhen in about an hour, just to later disappear into one of the rooms on the jet. Meanwhile, Gojo is still staring at your freshly run-over deer pose.

You look so uncomfortable.

You may even wake up with neck pain.

He wasn’t very content with the thought of you waking up hungover and with neck pain.

He sat up and looked around to see if anyone was looking at him, then strategically hooked his arm under your knees while grasping your arms with the other hand. Once he had you in a bridal position, he crouched down a bit and grabbed your leather purse to later stand back up again. He was so tempted to just stand there and hold you in his arms like a big baby and feel your hot breath tickle his neck, but he recognized you both have a busy day ahead of you, so he simply had to ignore your sweet cotton candy perfume and lay you to rest. He swiftly headed to the back of the cabin, where his bedroom is located, to next effortlessly open the door and shut it behind himself.

He laid your limp body cozily on the comforter, and he then proceeded to carefully sit on the bed while side-eyeing you to see if you would flutter your eyes open and catch him red-handed. Once he confirmed you were out like a light, he gently unzipped your boots and put them aside to then cover you with the thickest, softest blanket he could find.

He just as carefully stood up and was just about to walk off and do whatever shady shit he usually does when he realized he deserved a treat for being such a gentleman, right?

He crouched down to your face level and took his big, cold, and scarily pale hand and tamed the wild hairs that cover your face. His pointer finger then started to trace all your factions. He could feel his cheeks burn as your soft skin met with his finger tips. As if he weren’t already testing the limits of his self-control, his gaze faltered at the sight of your pink, rosy lips, slightly agape. He was better than this; he knew better than to fantasize about locking lips with his secretary. But he needed to get something out of it, something that was worth the agony he experienced at the thought that he couldn’t just lay next to you and cuddle away the cold, something worth his jagged breaths as he tried to ignore your intoxicating scent or worth making him hate himself as he acted like a teenage boy around you, like he wasn’t beheading some messengers from a rival gang then sending some of their parts to their boss and their families.

So he said, Fuck it, and submerged his head between your neck and hair as he inhaled your essence. After getting drunk on your scent, he backed off and planted a chaste kiss on your bare shoulder. He wishes to plant many more, but one is all he can afford for the moment.

Then he decided to finally leave before doing anything crazy, and to his luck he managed to withdraw from his room a few minutes before Geto left his own.

-“Satoru.”

-“Yeah?” The white-haired man replied, concealing his previous high adrenaline rush.

-“Do you think she’ll find out?”

After his best friend muttered that sentence, every drop of joy drained from his system.

-"What’s done is done.”

The godmothers face winced before an announcement was heard on the cabin speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s your pilot speaking; we have arrived in Shanghai, mainland China.”

*　　 　　✦　　　. *　　 　　✦　　　. *　　 　　✦

A/n: Hello my beautiful angels , I hope you enjoyed this chapter. What do you guys think gojo is hiding from the reader? Did you like the secret one sided romance going on? I’d like to remember y’all that suggestions and request are open. Once again comments are appreciated, until next time, kisses.💋

Poll for funsies

#mafia gojo #jjk mafia #mafia romance #yandere gojo #yandere #yandere fanfiction #simp gojo #gojo imagine #comments are appreciated #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jjk au #geto suguru #jjk #jjk x you #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo mafia boss #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #mi gente latino #idk what tags to use #idk what else to tag #dark romance #Spotify

[kimberly-spirits13]

When Bruce Introduced You to the League

Batman x reader

No warnings

• You were a big part of his life for a long time

• When the Justice League was being built you weren’t going to immediately be part of the team

• You two decided that it would be best if there was an available hero internationally and one for Gotham

• You chose to stay back in Gotham when the Justice League needed something but you were involved in helping build the league equipment

• This included the computers, software, the orbiting justice league headquarters, and the other things used for the league

• You didn’t really start hanging out with the league until long after you had met everyone at one time

• They had asked Batman to get you to come to the tower since something had stopped working

• Bruce knew how to fix it but he wanted an excuse to bring you up there and everyone was eager to meet you

• Once he knew that they were worth trusting, he didn’t mind exaggerating one of the problems with the main computer

• You were suspect about it but agreed to come anyways

• Bruce had already left for an early morning meeting with the league and you’d be coming later

• You came in full gear, using the zeta tubes in the cave

• When you walked in you were greeted by one of the managers that maintained the tech

• “So what seems to be the issue?” You were given a tablet with the electronic schematics of the satellite base

• “There seems to just be a loose connection in the mainframe. Probably a coding error with the new update to the system that someone added.” They walked you towards the room where the rest of the league was waiting, “Not sure why someone here couldn’t handle it, but they wanted you to come check it out.”

• “I’m sure it’s nothing major, thank you.” You smiled and nodded at the manager who did the same and walked off to attend to other work

• You walked in the room and was greeted by Green Lantern and Flash bickering over a basketball game while Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Martian Manhunter were working over some mythology connections that they had made

• Superman and Bruce were busy talking about missions when you caught Bruce’s eye

• Flash was first to greet you, asking to settle the dispute between he and Lantern

• Bruce’s glare in the cowl got him quite again

• “Everyone this is Y/H/N, I assume some of you have met them before.” Bruce introduced you walking over to where you were standing, leaving Flash to retreat

• They were quick to greet you while Lantern was quick to flirt with you

• “I’ve come here to fix a systems issue, not court you.” You started walking towards the computer and have Bruce a look

• “So it’s a basic computer issue. And you called me to fix it?” You raised a brow challengingly, he knew you had caught on to what he was playing

• “Well, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t something more serious.” He gave the batsmirk causing Flash to give him a suspicious look

• “Well I better make sure this thing isn’t about to drop out of the sky” You elbowed him kiddingly causing him to break a chuckle

• They all exchanged glances at each other before Lantern gave a huge sigh

• “Tell me you two aren’t dating?” He was exasperated

• You shrugged and started working on the code that was supposed to be fixed

• The rest of the team started doing their own thing again and Wonder Woman came to sit with you while you worked

• “I don’t suppose you’ve known Batman for a while?” She asked you, “It is none of by business but I am curious if you’re willing to answer.”

• “You’re fine. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Nothing much to it.” You were hunched over going over the treacherous line, “My only gripe against him is that he called me in to fix one line of code that I know for certain he could have done himself”

• This caused Diana to laugh, “I’m sure he was eager to introduce everyone formally.”

• “Apparently so”

• You two talked for the duration of your stay, which wasn’t meant to be long but you decided to stay longer to hang out

• Superman was there too talking and there to offer a coffee

• Despite his efforts, you could tell he was from Kansas based off of that little twang he had

• When it was time to leave, Bruce was there to see you out

• “I assume that the problem wasn’t hard to wrangle.” He said with a smirk in his voice

• “Oh it was terrible, I definitely see why you called me out.” He gave you a nudge

• “I’ll see you in an hour for the WE meeting.” He said

• You bid each other a goodbye

• Once you left he could hear the snickers of Flash and Lantern before Lantern started off, “BATSY HAS A GIRLFRIEND/ BOYFRIEND” “NEVER IN MY LIFE DID I EVER THIN-“

• And that’s when the usual brooding started again, scaring Lantern off for a bit

#dc x y/n #dc x reader #dc x you #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #batman x batmom #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x male reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #battinson x female reader #battinson x y/n #battinson x you #battinson x reader #justice league x y/n #justice league #justice league x you #justice league x reader #batfam #batfam x you #batfam x batmom #batfam x reader #batfam x y/n

[txttletale]

I just want you to know you're easily one of my favorite posters on here, and I am beyond flabbergasted every time this happens to you. You are so much nicer and restrained than I could ever be about this (and I realize you have to be on account of being a trans woman). Fuck these cunts for real

thank you. it is difficult but i will stay the treacherous path of nice time on the computer for ever

#ask #nicey ask :)

[xsister-serpent]

Earbuds & Intrigue

Warning: 18+ MDNI, cursing, spicy audio, sexual explicit,

Summary: Goth!Reader is a supporter of a spicy audio content creator CraftedClassic on Patreon. Her routine office job takes an unexpected turn when she discovers that her new wealthy CEO is none other than CraftedClassic, the infamous spicy audio creator she admires.

A/N: This has been back burner of my computer for years and I finally had the time to work on it. This was heavily inspired by those spicy audio's on gone wild reddit. This is going to be a series for sure. Might make a playlist for this story. 🖤 Hope you guys like this take on CEO Kylo btw. Kylo's username is: CraftedClassic and Goth!Reader username is DeathMajesty. link for Part 2.

Having worked in the office all day had been tiresome and treacherous. There were daily reports to prepare since the month was almost over. It had been okay for you to come in two out of five days since the lockdown. In addition to not having your former employees next to you, you were able to listen to music and be on Zoom calls at your convenience. Although it wasn't important, you were a shadow in the background, and you appreciated that. Today was different, however; word got around that you were going to have a CEO boss. Rose, your cubicle mate (or, as you both coined the term, cell buddies), messaged you. You placed your dark wave music on hold as you saw her messages ring up.

ROSE: Morning! Hope you had your coffee. Just a little forewarning about the new CEO. He’s a bit uppity. 

Y/N: Aren’t they all? 

ROSE: He’s worse…he’s like a male version of Miranda Priestly. 

Y/N: Good thing I wear all black, huh? Can’t go wrong with that fashionable look. 

You chuckle and then go to work. You didn’t care about new people at this point if you were being honest. You expected an older man, of course, like all stereotypical CEOs, if not a preppy-looking man with a traditional family values background. As you went back to your reports, you saw Maz, your supervisor, entering the building along with a man dressed in a fine all-black suit.

He took off his sunglasses and glanced around the building. He had black shoulder-length hair, an aquiline nose along with beauty marks. He was tall and built, and the suit made him look all the more intimidating. He had an unusual handsomeness to him that caught you off guard.

‘Okay, you weren’t expecting that at all.’ You went back to your work, seeing Maz and him draw closer and closer to your workstation. You withdrew an earbud as you saw Maz wave at you with a kind smile, “Ah, the little ghost! Y/N is one of the best drafters we have here. Y/N, this is Kylo, the new CEO.”

You glance up at him and stuck out your hand, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

Kylo's gaze was tense as he shook your hand, “Afternoon.”

You could see why Rose used that term; even his presence was intimidating. His hand gently but firmly shook your hand. ‘God, even his hands are huge,’ you thought. You could tell Maz was in a rush as she moved on to show Kylo more of the building.

“Reports looking good?” Maz spoke. 

“Always,” you mused as you went back to work.

Kylo trailed right behind her only to look back at you once from the corner of your eye. He leaned over to say something to Maz. She didn’t glance back but nodded assertion.

What did that mean? Was it your workwear? Was cooperate goth not good enough anymore, you’d be damn to wear those awful brown-colored company polos.

You were a ghost in that company, and you wanted to keep it that way; his attention was the last thing you needed. You were clocked out at 3:30 pm and cleaned the temporary workspace. You had messaged Rose on your break about the CEO. However, you didn’t mention the side conversation you saw with him and Maz. You kept that to yourself, trying not to think too much about it. You took off in your black car, blaring the deep vocals of Peter Steele as you drummed to the beat of the song. You pulled up to the light and waited, softly singing to the chorus of 'My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend’. As you glanced over, you saw him. Kylo. He was in a black convertible, of course, talking to someone on the phone with a narrowed look. Immediately, you turned the other way, avoiding contact. As you waited for the light, you quickly glanced at him, gandering him.

“Hmm, looks like you're made of old money—the quiet type of rich. Oh, check out that watch,�� you quietly observed, “Breitling. Not quite a Rolex, though.”

 You turned your attention to the traffic light, and almost incidentally, you saw Kylo glance your way. You gripped onto the steering wheel and kept your eyes forward. 

‘He didn’t see you; he’s just checking out the window.’ You told yourself. 

Thankfully, his light had turned green, and in a roar of the engine, he took off.

You made your way back to your apartment and were greeted by your roommate's corgi, BB8. You gave him a boop on the nose and a little treat.

"Stop giving him treats Y/N, he’s gonna get tubby," Rey chuckled as she slipped on her shoes. You looked at the now-sad pup who shamefully went to his spot and sighed heavily.

"Sorry, BB," You soothed as you went to the couch, "You're out of here already?"

"Yeah, got a weekly meeting with 'the family'," she said as she slipped on her blazer, "I'll probably be back late, make sure BB gets half of his dinner." 

You looked at the tubby corgi who was almost hiding her face in shame. "Of course."

You knew Rey from high school and knew she, too, came from a rich family. One she said was a near mix of Succession. All the more it made you curious about why she'd want to live in a regular 2-bedroom apartment with you in a middle-class area. You could tell she hated family holidays, and most of the time, she spent it with your large, loud family if her dad was out of town.

"Sounds good," you nodded as you landed on the couch, taking off your docs. "Wish me luck; I'm meeting with my annoying cousin," she sighed.

"The one who totaled the car?" You chuckled as you remembered her story of the last Christmas party she went to with her dad.

"Yup," Rey spoke as she ran her fingers through her hair, "I need to get Bravo on my family; we'd make good headlines. Welp, I shall see you two later." Rey waved as she blew a kiss at her dog, leaving you alone.

 You looked over to BB8, who was now snoring into her blanket. With a chuckle, you got up and went to your room. You had changed into your black oversized tee and sweats as you mindlessly scrolled through social media. 

 Until a notification came from your subscription to Audios After Dark, a website for audio erotica. You stumbled across it and immediately got into it a few years back. It was better than seeing those fake pornos and way healthier for your sexuality—over the million accounts you had found one to your liking. A user named CraftedClassic had one of the smoothest and sexiest voices you had ever heard. 

 You listened to his introduction hearing his baritone voice through your headphones and you entered into the rabbit hole of his audio directory. A few times you had left him a tip and a little comment here and there to which he replied with appreciation. 

 You saw a new audio from him this time it was a script he created. In this scenario, he played a submissive something different from what he had usually posted. You just shut the door and pulled on your headphone clinking the link. You closed your eyes hearing him through your headphones. 

“I know it's been a long time since I uploaded but I hope you all enjoy this one, it was quite the experience for me,” he spoke with a deep chuckle.

 You are back on your bed hearing him describe his restraints and how he needed to be fucked. Immediately you felt that heat between your legs grow with excitement and lust. You went over to your nightstand and took out your viberator. His moans and pleas making you feel all the more excited for this audio. 

 You quietly went to work on your release picturing this man kneeling before you begging you for your touch on him.

‘Please I need this! I need you! I need to taste you in my mouth,’ CraftedClassic cried in pleasure mimicking what sounded like eating you out, ‘Fuck you taste soo good, I want you to break me..’

As you worked your fantasy your mind to Kylo as your vibe went a few stages higher on your clit. You pictured him being submissive his hands bound behind him as he buried his face between your legs moaning and whimpering into your throbbing pussy. You heard CraftedClassic wanton pleas and begging that made you finish with a silent cry of pleasure as he made the sounds of his climax. You came hard and fast, your body trembling as you felt yourself melting into pleasure. You lay there in a blissful state, your mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. You heard CraftedClassic heavy breathing through the headset as he released another soft moan coming down from his undoing. As he closed his audio session you left a like along with a short comment:

10/10 Keep up the good work.

Almost within seconds, he replied. 

'Glad I could give you the satisfaction @DeathMajesty ;)'

You looked at his profile photo once more wondering what this CraftedClassic looked like out of curiosity but it was all anonymously which you couldn’t blame him for. 

“No digit footprint at all,” you sighed shutting your vibe off.

The digit footprint was always in the back of your mind but it was fine for this. Better spicy audios than a lecherous porn site that used sex workers’ content. You sighed and logged out of the site setting your phone to charge. 

 You went back to social media and doom-scrolled once more, seeing Rey's post on her social. She was in the upper side of the city taking dinner selfies with her good-natured father Luke and boyfriend Finn. But then something else caught your eye in the background. You paused her video and zoomed in. It was Kylo. A slight laugh escaped your lips connecting the two dots, he was the dread cousin Rey had told you about. You clicked his name but of course, it was private. The only icon of him was a black-and-white photo of his silhouette. 

“Interesting,” You chuckled going back to watching Rey’s post and exiting out of the app.

 You stopped scrolling and went to make yourself dinner settling in for a salmon bake bowl and coke. As you feed yourself you fed BB8 who was already spinning in excited circles for food.

#star wars #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #kylo ren smut #reader x kylo ren #ceo!kylo ren x reader

[apathyofthesympathetic]

@somerandomdudelmao oops my hand slipped

Donnie smiled giddily to himself as he plugged the tiny cord into Casey’s mask, absolutely stoked by the opportunity to analyse and pick apart something of his own creation that he’s never seen before. The technology crammed into every nook and crevice of the mask had him smothering an excited churr, treacherous tail wagging non stop as he wondered what amount of data and information could await him.

He was, for once in his life, so incredibly glad Leo decided to open that big mouth of his. It was, after all, his comment that led to them addressing Donnie’s curiosity and Casey nonchalantly handing over his tech.

His computer takes a suspiciously long moment to download all of the data, and suddenly he’s met by at least three dozen folders and files, all storing incredible amounts of data by the looks of it. The majority of them were labelled in seemingly random letters and numbers, except there was something about it that felt more organised for the purpose of looking random rather than actually being random. He opened one of the folders and was met with more folders, maybe fifty of them, all labelled in various kinds of gibberish. 

It took a good minute or two of wondering why the fuck would he organise files in such a way to recognise his simple-but-complicated titling system: the one Donnie’s been implementing into his recording files for years now. His brain began automatically translating the letters and numbers into their actual meaning, while something in the back of his mind screamed that this was an invasion of Casey’s privacy. 

Donnie soon realised he folder he’s currently perusing should be labelled with the year, but was instead labelled with a simple 21. Maybe it meant 21 years into the apocalypse? Casey never said how long it lasted, but he did say he’s sixteen, so it’s not too far of a stretch of the imagination that the apocalypse could’ve lasted that long.

He’s clicking on another folder just as he realised the implications of there being recordings stored in Casey’s mask.

He was, essentially, perusing through Casey’s memories.

That was bad. That was an invasion of privacy, and he should absolutely be unplugging the mask and telling Casey about this (assuming he doesn’t already know), and yet. 

And yet he doesn’t. And yet he doesn’t unplug the mask and he doesn’t delete the data, and he does select a random file and click onto fullscreen to watch something he may regret seeing.

He’ll only watch one.

Judging from the angle, the camera (probably something stored in the mask) was propped up against something, giving him a decent view of what looked to be some sort of medbay. Someone was lying beneath crisp white sheets on a bed mostly out of frame, and someone else…

… 

Donnie was seated at a surprisingly old looking computer, typing furiously away at a speed that’s more than a little impressive for someone with six fingers. He’s hunched over in a way Donnie knew wasn’t comfortable as he worked, occasionally leaning forward and shifting more of his face into the view of the camera. He’s covered in scars of varying severity and age and appeared to have gained several more markings, including three purple stripes that trail from his chin down his neck. He’s significantly taller by the looks of it, and was wearing not only a version of his battle shell, but also his mask and goggles.

It’s kind of like looking into a warped mirror, even though Donnie could only see maybe a third of his torso, the rest hidden by the camera angle. It made the breath freeze in his chest as he watched this twisted version of himself work in silence, eventually slumping in his chair as he stared at the grainy image of his future self.

Donnie - the one in the video (he’s going to refer to him as Donatello for convenience’s sake) - paused his typing and leant forward, furrowing his brow - god he had worry lines - and frowning in a way easily recognisable as his ‘I’m talking to an idiot and I have to be civil about it’ face.

Donnie couldn’t look away, even though, objectively, nothing interesting was happening. His future counterpart was simply typing, working on something while guarding a sick or injured patient. He silently watched at least two minutes of Donatello typing monotonously before something interesting happened: the person on the bed shifts.

Donnie couldn’t see who the patient was thanks to the camera angle, but his curiosity was soon satiated at the awkward little “uhh” sound Casey let out, sounding noticeably younger. Donatello jolted so violently at the sound a keycap literally went flying, and the small corner of his face Donnie could see displayed a very complicated emotion. Donatello was up and exiting the frame in less than a second, presumably grabbing Casey’s arms while a limb from his battle shell extended to grab something above the camera. Casey had just enough time to ask “Uncle Tello?” (oh come on, Leo and Mikey get master but he gets uncle?) before Donatello was speaking overtop of him.

“How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“No.“

“Hungry?”

“No?”

“Thirsty?”

“A little.”

Donnie heard another mechanical limb reach out and grab something, presumably a glass or mug.

“Want to destroy humanity?”

“Is that a symptom or a suggestion -“

“Do you need anything?”

“Umm…” A short second of silence. “Where is sensei? Is he okay?” 

Donatello moved to sit on the edge of Casey’s bed, allowing a small portion of his body to be displayed to the camera.

“I remember I attacked him,” Casey continued, and okay, what??

“Yeah, well.” A small sigh. “You didn’t succeed.”

“But I tried,” Casey’s voice wavered, “he’s not mad at me, is he?” 

“I don’t think so,” Donatello said, voice both soft and stern. “But he has his responsibilities, so he couldn’t stay here all day - he tried though.”

“Hm.”

Donnie could practically feel his future self panicking through the screen - thankfully, though, he seemed to be saved by the proverbial bell, and faint footsteps became audible as two people rapidly approached the medbay. Donnie managed to catch the end of “pretend I’m dead, and use your brain instead of mine for once” as he heard mechanical doors slide open, light illuminating part of the floor.

Leo - a very much taller and older Leo with a freaking metal ARM - dashed into full view of the camera, and Donnie barely had time to take in his appearance before, with a quick shout of “Sensei!” Casey practically flung himself into the turtle’s arms. The turtle in question looked suddenly very conflicted and concerned as his hands hovered over Casey’s back, listening to his little repetitions of “I’m sorry.”

He seemed to realise that Casey would not, in fact, fall apart at the slightest touch, and gently placed his metal arm (METAL. ARM) on his shoulder, patting Casey’s head with the other. “You don’t need to apologise, Case,” Leo said, sounding like his voice hadn’t aged a day despite the twenty-two years that’d supposedly passed, “you didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you did amazing!”

In one smooth motion Leo was suddenly cradling Casey in his arms and turning in a circle, a movement somewhere between twirling him and just holding him as he spoke, “You were literally too cool for the kraang! How can I blame you? Haha, Casey Jones is now certified cooler than aliens!”

Despite the joyous laughter filling his ears, Donnie felt dread creeping up his spine as their words began to paint a very unsettling picture.

“Maybe even I won’t stand up to him now!” Leo laughed, now holding Casey bridal style in a way that finally displayed his bandages to the camera.

“Pfffhaha!” Casey laughed, smiling so easily despite the bandages and cast covering his arms. He used the arm not in a sling to reach up and grab Leo’s mask tails, tugging on them with a smug smile that matched Leo’s as he successfully blinded the slider.

“Oh no! My only weakness!” Leo crowed dramatically, slumping onto the ground as if bested by a mighty foe, Casey giggling childishly as he slid down to sit in his lap. “Donnie,” Leo said, facing the direction of the purple genius, “can you help Raph lead the resistance instead of me? I think I’m defeated.”

And just as Casey let out another boisterous laugh and Donatello his own amused chuckle, the recording ended, displaying their smiling faces as the footage sat frozen on the last frame. 

Donnie exited fullscreen with a slow blink.

Was he misreading the situation, or had Casey been… kraangified? 

That… would explain a lot of his scars. Not that Donnie could exactly confirm or disprove his theory, because it would reveal that he knew of and had access to these recordings.

Speaking of which, he really should stop watching these. He really should unplug the mask and delete the footage from his computer, and finish his examination before giving the mask back to Casey with an explanation regarding the footage.

C’mon, Donnie, just exit the fucking files, you’re being insane. This was a ridiculous invasion of privacy and he’d probably try to kill - or at least maim - Casey if he did this to him but god damn it, his hand. Won’t. Move.

It’s like he’s hovering his hand over a hotplate. He had the autonomy and know-how, but no matter how much he tried he couldn’t even brush the red hot surface. His hand was hovering midair, only inches away from doing something part of him will inevitably regret, but that’s all it would do. Hover. His eyes were glued to the screen as he scrolled through the files, and god, there were dozens of them - hundreds, even.

Donnie exited the folder and perused through the 21 folder for a moment, before clicking the last folder listed. They seemed to be organised and labelled as different weeks, so this one would’ve taken place around Christmas time.

He clicked on the first file, entered fullscreen and pressed play.

“What? It wasn’t me, I swear!”





~~~





His brothers (plus Casey and April) were just finishing cleaning up after breakfast when Donnie burst into the kitchen, clutching Casey’s gear to his chest and with his purple hoodie slung over one shoulder, shouting, “SHUT UP LOSERS WE’RE GOING TO THE ZOO.”

Pretty much everyone did that slow blink of what the fuck did I just hear, staring at Donnie with expressions ranging from pure bafflement to startled surprise.

“…What?” Leo spoke up, putting down the plate he was in the process of drying. 

“I had a revelation while reviewing Casey’s tech,” Donnie started, holding out said gear to the human, “thank you, by the way - it was very informative.”

“You’re welcome?” Casey squeaked, accepting the gear and placing most of it on the table he stood next to. 

“But yes - the revelation!” Donnie slid the purple hoodie off his shoulder and began squeezing the fabric as a stim, smile spreading slightly when he saw how Casey eyed the fabric with recognition. “Casey grew up in the apocalypse, yes? That means that he’s missing quite a few experiences we deem normal nowadays, such as eating certain foods or watching certain -“

“Yes yes,” Leo interrupted with a roll of his eyes, “we’re working very hard to introduce him to fast food, science fiction and Lou Jitsu. Your point?”

Donnie smirked triumphantly as he slammed both hands on the table (a little louder than he intended), “Animals.” 

Casey blinked. “…Animals?”

“Animals,” Donnie nodded, “what with the those-that-shall-not-be-named rampaging across the world, it’s not hard to assume that a lot of animals would’ve gone extinct, or at least become very rare. Tell me, Casey - have you ever seen a horse?”

“What’s a horse?” 

“See!?”

“You don’t know what a horse is!?” Mikey exclaimed, practically materialising in front of Casey. “Even I’ve seen a horse! What else have you never seen before!? Sheep? Cows? At least tell me you know what a kitten is!”

“U-uhm, I do know what a cat is,” Casey stuttered, leaning away from the hyperactive teenager. 

“Have you seen one?” Raph asked, giving him a look that said ‘your life as you know it depends on how you answer this question’.

“No?” 

“We must rectify this!” Mikey shouted, darting out of the kitchen and ignoring Donnie’s mutter of “why do you know what rectify means but not imminent?”

“We must!” Raph agreed, practically sprinting out of the room. April rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, only to close it as a faint crash could be heard from somewhere else in the lair. She promptly disappeared to look for the source.

“Great!” Donnie said, “Now that that’s settled…” He turned back to Casey, holding out the ball of fabric that was his hoodie, “Wear this. Just for today.” 

“Oh, thanks Unc-Donnie,” Casey stuttered, accepting the outfit and promptly putting it on. It fit him almost unreasonably well.

“What!?” Leo exclaimed, and Donnie had the distinct feeling that if he was still holding a plate it would be shattered across the ground. “You’re giving him your hoodie!? You don’t give anyone your hoodie! Not even Mikey!”

“Oh shush,”  Donnie said, rolling his eyes and blushing slightly. “I do so, stop being dramatic. Besides, it’s cold out and Casey doesn’t have any winter clothes.”

“Then we can get him some!” Leo sputtered, gesturing wildly as he struggled for words. “Why are you giving him your hoodie!??” he eventually hissed.

“Would you believe me if I said out of the goodness of my heart?”

“NO!”

“Well then, I guess l’ll never tell you.” With that, Donnie walked past Leo into the living room, planning to grab his winter jacket from the cupboard, only to stop as Leo grabbed his upper arm and whirled him around.

“What’s going on with you?” Leo asked, voice low as he gave Donnie a surprisingly concerned look. He searched his twin's eyes for a long moment, taking note of his deep eye bags and his missing mask, and how he adamantly refused to make eye contact. He saw how his hands shook as they were folded against his plastron, and that he looked a little pale and off-balance.

“Nothing.”

“Donnie…” as Leo looked closer at his twin's face, he could’ve sworn he saw dried tears covering his cheeks. But that’s impossible, because Donnie never cried.

His mouth flopped open and closed uselessly for a moment, before Leo finally spat out, “Are you okay?”

His question was enough to startle Donnie into making eye contact. Eye contact with his brother who, objectively, deserved to be asked that question a thousand times more than him.

Donnie’s eyes wandered over to the cracks in Leo’s plastron, held together by fibreglass and covered by resin, and suddenly he was surging forward and wrapping his arms around Leo, burying his face in his neck willing himself not to cry.

They were both frozen for a long moment, before, slowly, Leo slid his arms around Donnie’s softshell and held his twin close. They both felt as Donnie’s breath stuttered in his chest, and as he pressed his snout deeper into Leo’s shoulder and neck. “I’m okay,” he whispered, and they both knew he was lying.

And with that, Donnie withdrew without another word, walking away and leaving Leo to ponder what the fuck just happened.

#oneshot #writing #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #Rottmnt fic #my writing #dual post

[fruitsoxs]

New Year's Kiss

pairing(s); Gale x (GN)reader summary; You somehow end up kissing your rival at midnight OR you seriously misinterpret the vibes Gale is giving off (modern au) warning(s); reader is a dumbass, they are so bad at understanding social ques, Gale can't flirt, this is mostly fluff wordcount; 1.8k notes; this was beta read by both @linklebard and my partner! i couldn't have done it with out them &lt;;33

You never really liked parties. They were often too loud and too crowded. You hate being forced to socialize with other people. You’re definitely an introvert, and when given the choice would rather stay at home. You especially hate work parties though. Not only do you have to talk to people, but these people are your peers. Your educated, rude peers that have an “I’m better than you” outlook on life. The hardest part about work parties? You can’t escape them. Unless you are on your deathbed, you HAVE to attend. It’s an anxiety fueled nightmare

That is exactly how you ended up at your university’s New Year’s party. 

You grip the champagne glass with so much vigor that it may just explode in your hands. People around you are talking, creating a sea of noise which threatens to drown you. Face a little pale, you slowly raise the drink up to your lips and sip. The liquid does little to help you unwind, but it serves as your life vest on this treacherous adventure. Without it in your hands you’d just be standing there awkwardly amongst your peers. 

The party is being held in the Performing Arts center, in a large room adorned with gold  decorations and giant pillars. In the center there is a live band playing. A jazz band whose music should be relaxing, but in this environment it only adds to the stress. Many people are dressed in their finest clothing, showing off their expensive brands. You opted for something a little more simple, but elegant nonetheless. You’ve done your best to look presentable, but you can’t deny the fact you struggled to force yourself off your computer for this event. Despite it being winter break, you’re working relentlessly to put together a research paper that will HAVE to pull in grants.

You’d much rather be putting all of your energy into that than standing here awkwardly at the party. You need to work hard in order to draw in the attention of benefactors, especially with that certain someone who always seems to be fighting with you for the same grants. It wouldn't be such an issue if the man didn’t beat you almost every time. It was only recently that you lost against him after presenting what you thought was your best work. It didn’t even seem to be a fight in the end, his project was chosen without a second thought. You worked your ass off day and night to perfect every inch of that proposal, and in the end you were left with nothing. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” A voice rings out beside you, pulling you from your solitude. When you look over you are met with the big brown eyes of the coworker you were just thinking about. Gale Dekarios, the most annoyingly smart person you know. The one who you are constantly butting heads with, and the person you can safely say you hate the most. The worst part about him? He always seems to be correct in a way you can’t refute. He’s wickedly smart, with looks that match. You don’t think there’s a single soul who would describe him as anything but handsome.  It’s utterly unfair. Despite your harsh feelings for the man, he always seems to worm his way into your thoughts

“I think you may have misread the email then, Professor Dekarios. The word required was used more than a couple of times.” You answer, crossing your free arm over the one holding your drink. You would know, you were the one in charge of sending out that email. He lets out a soft chuckle and nods. “I happen to thoroughly read every email I get, especially the ones I get from you. I just figured you’d skip out on the festivities seeing as the word “required” doesn’t always guarantee your attendance, Professor.” He points out, taking a sip of his own drink.  

While he’s not wrong, you don’t appreciate the way he says it. Everything sounds so sassy coming from his mouth. It feels like a slight on your attendance to these ordeals, or like he’s comparing himself to you. There’s no doubt in your mind that he shows up to every single one of these events. They seem like something he would enjoy. You, on the other hand, do like to skip out on parties, even when they are technically required to go to. The reason behind you playing hooky though, is the man in front of you. He’s always somehow one upping you, making it so you have to work extra hard to earn any amount of attention. And while you could earn that attention by attending these parties, and schmoozing up to the department leaders, you’d much rather gain attention by doing good work. Besides, you’ve never been all that great at networking. 

“I do value my job, you know.” you snap, clearly angered by what he said. It is all his fault after all. If he wasn’t so goddamn competent at his job, you might be able to relax every once in a while. 

He doesn’t seem phased by your anger, simply nods along. “Ah yes, and how lucky are we to have you here. One of the finest Historians I know.” 

‘But never the best’ You think bitterly, sipping your champagne again. You find yourself thinking back to those late nights, scrolling through Rate My Professor to compare your scores. Despite your best effort, he always seems to have the most positive reviews. The students love him, the faculty love him. It seems he will always be better than you, no matter what he is doing.

You intend to end the conversation there, but it seems Gale has other plans. Always the sociable one, he opens his mouth again. “It does seem like you’ve been much more engrossed in your work lately. Planning anything big?” he asks, genuinely curious about your work. However, you have never been good at social cues. Thinking he’s making fun of you, you narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Professor” you snap.

He always seems to be trying to gawk at your work. For what? You aren’t sure. Every chance he gets he’s asking what your most recent project is. Sometimes he even asks to view your lesson plans for classes, which always pisses you off. What right does he have inserting himself into your work? Not only that, but what intentions does he have? There’s no way he’s trying to help you, right?

He holds his hands up in feign surrender. “Alright, No need to get snappy. I'm just curious. Who would I be if I was not interested in my colleague’s work?” he asks, offering you a smile. 

You really have no idea what to make of this guy. You’ve always hated conversing with him, because it genuinely feels like he has some secret motive behind his kind words and smiles. He has to be making fun of you for something. There is no other explanation. At least not in your mind. Still, maybe you are being too harsh. You let your glare fall, and give him a small nod. You shift your eye over to the clock. Only five minutes to midnight, which means it’s almost time for you to go home. 

Your eyes go back to Gale, who is still by your side sipping his drink happily. Why is he still next to you? Doesn’t he have some other poor soul to chat to? You open your mouth to voice this, but he cuts you off by clearing his throat. 

“The music is rather lovely today, is it not?” he asks you, avoiding eye contact as if he’s nervous. 

What? Why is he talking to you about the music? You seriously don’t understand this man’s intentions with you at all. Is he trying to get you to lower your guard so he can learn all your secrets? No…he’s much too smart to need to do that. He goes above and beyond, relying purely on his brain alone. He would never commit messy tricks to get what he wants. You arch an eyebrow at him, and look over at the band. They’re playing a pleasant tune.

“I guess.” you mumble.

“And the decorations are nice!”

“It’s a little cheesy.” 

“Perhaps, but cheesy isn’t always bad.” 

You take another sip of your drink, realizing it’s growing quite empty. Well, It’s only three minutes until midnight, You can survive with what you have.  You start to get comfortable with the silence, before Gale starts to speak again. “You know we are probably the smartest people in our department. How would you-” You cut him off this time, utterly confused as to why he’s STILL talking to you. “Don’t you have someone else you’d like to talk to?” you ask with complete sincerity. He seems a little taken aback by your question, his smile disappearing for a small second. Within a few moments it’s back on his face though. “No. I actually quite enjoy talking to you.”

Two minutes until midnight.

You’re stunned. What does he mean? You feel your cheeks heat up despite yourself. You clutch onto your drink a little more intensely. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I enjoy talking to you. You are great company and I-” he cuts himself off.

One minute.

“You?”

He clears his throat, his face turning a bit pink. He then turns to you, taking a deep breath. You expect him to say something, but this time he’s quiet. He just waits for a moment. Once the clock strikes midnight, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in closer to him. He does it slowly, giving you time to move away if you want. You find yourself wanting whatever he is doing though, a flame lighting up inside you. Carefully his lips meet yours, and the room disappears.

The kiss only lasts for a moment, but you can feel the fireworks light up inside you.

“I quite like you.” he admits after pulling away, his face inches from yours. Unsure how to respond, you reach up and kiss him again. This time the kiss lasts a few seconds longer. His lips are warm, a little dry, but so pleasant against yours. When you pull away, he’s smiling again. “I’ll take it, you feel the same?” he asks.

You nod shyly. 

“Good. Now, might I propose something that I meant to ask earlier? Would you be willing to do a joint proposal with me?”

How could you possibly say anything but yes?

#gale x reader #gale x tav #gale x you #gale dekarios x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader

[pernadette]

Ghost: Are you touching my sister?

The soldiers were speaking to Robert Smith, the lecherous head of security at the mall you worked for. You were initially nervous when they approached you, looking quite serious and official in their tactical gear. “Need to view your security footage,” one of them told you bluntly. He was a fearsome sight, face completely closed by a skull-covered mask. 

You were forced to call Robert on the radio, despite your serious apprehension. The man was a pervert that enjoyed cornering shop girls and speaking as inappropriately as he could to get a reaction. He seemed to get off on embarrassing and intimidating you all. You tried to avoid him as much as you could, but being that he was your boss and you were new, and the only female security guard, it was near impossible.

With trembling hands that hopefully went unnoticed by the soldiers, you pressed down on your radio and spoke into it, "Robert to the downstairs office please, Robert to the downstairs office."

Several very awkward moments passed as you all were forced to wait for him to get there. The soldier with the Scottish accent looked you up and down, assessing you. "How'd a little bit like you become a security guard?" he asked conversationally.

You shrugged, not entirely certain yourself. "I needed a job and there isn't really much trouble here besides misbehaving teens and shoplifters."

The door to the office opened before he could reply, and Robert stepped inside. He was a tall man in his late forties, with narrow blue eyes and a hawkish nose. After a short exchange with the soldiers, he rather unhappily brought the security footage up on the computer and stepped back to let them watch what they needed to. “Hello lovely,” he greeted you quietly as he stepped to your side. 

You shifted away, trying to be subtle. “Robert,” you greeted formally, dipping your head an inch. A nervous smile lifted your lips. Why were you smiling? He didn't deserve politeness nor civility. Yet you found you could not help the defensive smile that always came when faced with anxiety.

He leaned closer, lips far too close to your ear than was appropriate. “Those pants look good on you today. Nice and tight in all the right places.”

Panic filled you, but before you were forced to come up with a reply to the outrageous comment, the soldiers stepped back from the computer, looking pissed. “He was here hours ago,” the Scotsman complained.

“Missed him,” the skull-masked man affirmed with blunt irritation as they headed for the door. They were about to leave you alone with Robert. Heart hammering in your chest, you opened your mouth, yet words failed to escape your lips, caught in your treacherous throat. Don’t go, you wanted to cry out, but nerves struck you dumb. What if you spoke and they didn’t believe you? 

The brawny Scotsman dipped his head courteously to you. “Thank ya’, lass.” The skull-masked man barely offered a glance.

"Wait!" you blurted out then, halting them both in their tracks. They turned and looked at you with mixed irritation and curiosity.

"Yea, lass?" the Scotsman asked, crossing his brawny arms over his chest.

Decision made, heart thundering in your chest, you moved swiftly to the skull-faced man and grabbed onto his arm, earning a sharp look. "This is my brother," you told Robert with a pointed look. His face paled a shade at the skull-faced man's attention. He looked between the two of you, eyes narrowing further as he picked apart the obvious lie. The skull-faced soldier remained silent, assessing the situation. Licking your lips, you pressed on, "He would prefer if you stopped speaking to me and the other girls inappropriately."

Robert's eyes widened then, and he stammered out, "I don't know what she's talking about!"

"Also," you pressed on, words coming fast now as you clutched the soldiers arm, "He would prefer if you stopped making all sexual advances, and stopped cornering us. And stopped touching us," you added as an after thought, though that was loosely covered under the first one.

Silence followed, and you risked a glance up at the soldier. He was staring hard at Robert, who was stammering out all kinds of defensive drivel. What if he didn't believe you? Your hands tightened instinctively on his thickly muscled arm. Please believe me, please believe me.

He took a step towards Robert then, pulling you with him as you refused to let go of his arm. "You touching my fuckin' sister, mate?"

Robert's ruddy complexion went about two shades paler as the blood drained from his face. "She's not your sister - I mean - no I - she - they're always-"

"Always what?" The Scottish soldier asked then, walking over, eyes glaring. "What exactly are they always doing that makes you think it's fine to harass the girls here?"

The skull-faced man removed his arm from your frightened grip but placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, eyes still on Robert. "We hear anything about you touchin' the girls here again, we'll be back."

"You understand?" the Scottish soldier pressed.

Once they received a sound affirmative from the stammering man, the soldiers deemed it fine to leave the two of you in pursuit of whoever it was they were chasing after. You watched the two march back down the long hall and disappear up the stairs that led to the second floor. Apprehensively, you looked at Robert.

Good news: That was the day Robert stopped the touches and comments.

Bad News: It was also the day you got fired.

#cod #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #call of duty #call of duty imagines #ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap x reader

[frozenjokes]

Mumbo Doesn’t HATE Furries, But He WILL NOT Go Back To Jail

Mumbo’s phone didn’t ring very often these days. He didn’t care at all to speak to much of anyone, far preferring to text, though he didn’t do much of that, either. These past couple years were lonely, certainly, but in more ways than one, loneliness was far less stressful than his prior alternative. There was peace in loneliness, in his one bedroom apartment, on his laptop, playing games and talking on forums. It was quiet. He liked quiet. He liked this.

When his phone did ring, 9/10 times it was a spam caller, so 10/10 times, Mumbo would end the call with deft fingers, hardly looking at the number. If someone really wanted to reach him, they’d call back. Though, this time, his phone did ring again, a rare and unwelcome occurrence, especially now, since Mumbo was quite focused on the game he was playing and didn’t particularly feel like stopping. So again he hung up, again without looking, huffing at his computer screen.

When it rang a third time, Mumbo groaned out loud, canceling the call before the first ring concluded. There was only one person who called more than twice in a row, and Mumbo did not want to talk to HotGuy. Mumbo didn’t actually want to talk to HotGuy ever, but that didn’t stop the superhero from calling him over and over until he picked up. A battle of wills, one Mumbo had yet to win because seriously, he could waste thirty more minutes ignoring HotGuy’s calls, but then that was thirty minutes of his time he was forced to think about HotGuy, and even if he turned his ringer off, he would still see HotGuy’s name calling when he looked down to check the time, and then he’d feel bad, his conviction would crumble, and he’d pick up, so really, might as well just get this over with.

On the fourth call, Mumbo eyed his phone with great ire, then promptly fell entirely out of his chair with a squeak.

That- That wasn’t HotGuy-

Mumbo scrambled to his feet, his desk chair ending up being a horrible choice to steady himself, and he toppled over as the wheels slid out from under him. Getting to his knees, he hit his head on the underside of his desk, and needed to lay on the floor for a second to recover before moving more slowly, carefully, on this treacherous journey to his phone. All this to say, he did not make it before the ringing ended automatically. Though, Mumbo didn’t even get far enough to pick up his phone before it rang a fifth time. Immediately, he answered.

“Grian! Goodness, you are persistent, aren’t you? Sorry I didn’t pick up right away- In the restroom I was, couldn’t answer the phone. Don’t feel bad though, about calling all those times I mean, it’s good for me, sometimes I don’t look-”

There was a lot of feedback from Grian’s end, the kind of sound Mumbo remembered well from times Grian would pick up the phone while flying. Mumbo always hated talking to him like this, unable to hear most words in lieu of the wind. Wasn’t Grian ever afraid of dropping his phone? “Mumbo!” Grian sounded out of breath, almost heaving, “I don’t feel bad.”

“Ah! Good then, that’s-”

“I want to catch up. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, pal? I miss you. I want’ta catch up. Would that be fine? Was thinking about you lately. Sound good?” The noise came through sporadically, and predictably, Mumbo understood less than half of what was said. In the sky, Grian had two volumes; mumbled garbled nonsense, and LOUD, which would always make Mumbo flinch. He’d probably scold him over it if it hadn’t been so long since they’d talked. Boy, that was a little sad, wasn’t it.

“That sounds great. I’d love to. When-”

“What’s your address?” Grian’s voice came through so loudly over the wind, Mumbo couldn’t claim he hadn’t heard correctly. Even still, he wasn’t sure he had. Surely Grian hadn’t meant what Mumbo thought he meant.

“You- You want to meet now?”

“Yes. At your house. Right now.”

“Grian, it’s 11:30 at night!”

“Is that a problem?”

“I-” Mumbo shed a somewhat guilty glance at half empty coffee across his desk, mostly forgotten, but certainly not drunk at a reasonable time. Regardless, he and Grian knew he wasn’t sleeping anytime soon. “I guess not- wait.” Mumbo steeled himself, taking a firm breath, “You’re not running from the police or anything, are you? Because I told you, I’m done, retired, no more of this, and I won’t let you talk me into anything either, I’ll send you right on your way.”

“No! No, not that, promise. I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t.”

“There’s been some interesting stuff in the news about you lately. You sure? Not coming to recruit me, are you? I swear, if HotGuy sent you-”

“No! Mumbo, no! Please, I just need a friend.”

Mumbo took a step back, physically and mentally, closing his eyes. No need to go off on the man, not when they hadn’t talked in years. Grian had always been impulsive regardless, this wasn’t exactly out of character.

“Okay. I’ll text you.” Mumbo bit his lip, quite the bad habit given his sharp teeth. Was Grian okay? He sounded winded, but it was a little hard to tell, and flying could be pretty intense exercise.. Mumbo wasn’t sure. This just felt so odd.

“Be there soon.” Grian hung up as he finished the sentence, and Mumbo sighed, navigating to Grian’s contact to give him the address. But as he was hitting send, finger just about pressing the button, he got another call, accidentally accepting it at the same time he sent his text.

He didn’t even see the contact before the speaker exploded into noise, “MUMBO!” HotGuy wailed from the other end and Mumbo groaned, falling back in his desk chair with a hefty thump.

“What do you need.”

“Mumbo, I think I just made a huge mistake and I don’t know what to do! I-I met this guy, and I met him as HotGuy and my normal person identity, and he hates HotGuy but really likes normal person me, and tonight we just had this moment, y’know? He told me like every crime he’s ever committed and all about how he doesn’t feel crazy with all those alter egos and I was just like wow! I don’t want to feel crazy anymore. I want to be known! I want to be seen! So I took the mask off and told him exactly who I was and then he screamed and ran away and then I had a panic attack and I’m still kind of panicking, but I also don’t regret it?? I’m glad I did it! I’m glad he knows! I’m relieved!”

“Great, what’s the problem then, bud?”

“He screamed and ran away!”

“Could be worse.”

“I do not think it could be worse! Five minutes before that we were talking about being a polycule! Well. I was talking about it a little more than he was. It’s complicated. I don’t actually completely understand what’s happening here, but like, he’s kinda in love with his roommate, right, and I’m also a little in love with his roommate and we were going on dates and I think his roommate likes me too but then..” Mumbo started to tune HotGuy out as another call came in, from Cub, what the hell? It had been- fuck, at least ten years since they’d talked- Why? He didn’t even know Cub still had his number.

“HotGuy, buddy, I gotta let you go. Got someone else on the line.”

“Wait- But I’m not-“ Mumbo didn’t wait to hear the rest, hanging up a little more aggressively than probably warranted. He didn’t much care.

“Hello?” He asked, somewhat timidly. Cub had always intimidated him, even when he, Mumbo, and Grian had shared an apartment junior and senior year of college. They had never gotten along quite as well as Cub and Grian did, though, maybe that’s because Grian was the easy sort to talk to, comfortable, at least in his opinion. He could be prickly, but he was fun as well, the type of extremely bad influence that draws you in. Goodness, maybe catching up was a bad idea. Mumbo pursed his lips. But Grian seemed to have changed his tune, at least a little, switching from Criminal to Still A Criminal But Government Approved This Time- maybe it would be fine?

“Hey, Mumbo, sorry for calling so late,” Cub said in the same monotone drone that Mumbo remembered well; that made him so nervous sometimes, but this time, there was a bit of an anxious edge, “I know it’s been awhile, but Grian called me and told me he was visiting you, and he didn’t say so, but I think he’s upset, and I just wanted to make sure- I don’t know,” Cub sounded so lost for a moment, and Mumbo felt his own anxiety fall away. Well, the Cub-related anxiety anyway, the Grian anxiety was alive and well.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I was a little confused when he called me as well, I won’t lie.. I can’t tell you if he was having a hard time, I can barely hear when he’s flying, but-“ Mumbo stopped when his phone started to buzz, seething, “One moment please. I Will Call You Back.”

“Uh-“ Cub sounded a bit startled, “Yeah, man, sure.”

Mumbo hung up, reeling on the other line, “HotGuy. Stop. Calling me.”

Mumbo was pleased to hear stuttering over the speaker, but the satisfaction didn’t last, turning to guilt when HotGuy started to speak, “I- I’m sorry! I’m just having a bit of a crisis here, I needed to talk to someone and- I don’t know- I always just think of you-“

“HotGuy.”

A small pause, then a meek, “Yes?” nearly as quiet.

“I will call you back, but later. Maybe tomorrow. I am dealing with something right now, and you are stressing me out.”

“You’ll call me back?” The change in tone was jarring, HotGuy lighting all the way up and his voice ablaze with what Mumbo could only describe as unadulterated joy.

Mumbo grit his teeth. “Yes. I will call you back.”

“Okay!” HotGuy didn’t miss a beat, any distress that was previously there, gone. Mumbo got the distinct feeling he had just been conned. “Bye, Mumbo!” And not a moment later, HotGuy hung up. Mumbo sighed deep, redialing Cub’s number.

“Hi. Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem,” Cub spoke quickly and quiet, half mumbling, “Did you say Grian called you tonight? Just wanted to make sure.”

“Uh,” Mumbo hesitated, wondering if he was about to get Grian in trouble, “Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago he did.”

Mumbo heard Cub exhale loudly through his nose and cringed, very much not wanting to be in the middle of this, but Cub didn’t sound frustrated when he spoke, “Okay. He told me otherwise, but I think.. I don’t know what he’s thinking sometimes. I know you know how he can be sometimes, and really, he’s been better lately- I guess I just mean to say if this is too much for you tonight, shoot me a text. I’ll come pick him up. I might be a while if you live far; we don’t have a car right now, but I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Mumbo shook his head, a bit alarmed, “No, no, you don’t have to. If need be, I’ll drive him home. I’m just as much of an insomniac as I was before, this won’t be a disruption for me..” Mumbo trailed off, feeling bad for even thinking to ask, but anxiety always got the better of him and- damn it, his lip was bleeding again, he had to stop doing that- “You don’t think he’s in trouble, do you? With the police, or any other superhero business.. I- I won’t send him away or anything, but I really don’t want to get tangled up in anything, those days are firmly behind me.”

Cub was quiet for a long moment, clearly taking the question seriously (which Mumbo appreciated), but the silence was also driving him a little crazy. Finally, Cub answered, painfully honest, “I don’t know. I really don’t think so, and I believe that Grian respects you enough to keep that business out of your hair.. He really feels awful about what happened to you, and I know-”

“Please, don’t. I’d rather not discuss it.”

Cub gave a small noise of assent before continuing, “To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what could have happened. Could be as small as a perceived humiliation that he just can’t quite cope with, or as big as.. Well, he’s had to confront a few things about himself in the past few weeks, and change is never easy. Maybe he just needs some space from me. We’ve had some pretty intense, uh, relationship dealings.. It’s not important. He’ll tell you if he wants. But to answer your question, it’s been a bit since Grian has been in trouble with the police. I can’t say for sure, but I really don’t think he’d be dragging something like that to your doorstep. He certainly won’t try and talk you into anything, I’m sure of that.”

Mumbo managed to let go of the breath he’d been holding. “Okay. Thank you, Cub. I should go now, tidy up a bit, but I’ll text you if anything happens.”

“Okay.” There was a bit of a pause, the distinct kind of silence that held unspoken words, so Mumbo waited, though he didn’t need to wait long. “I don’t think anything will happen. I just worry. I just wish he would tell me the truth sometimes.”

Mumbo nodded, though Cub couldn’t see. “I understand. Bye, Cub.”

“Bye.” Cub hung up, and Mumbo was left a moment to breathe. But only a moment, because seconds later, his phone rang once again. Grian. Mumbo picked up.

“I’m here.”

“Alright. I’ll buzz you in. Come right up.”

And Grian wasted no time, scaling the stairs in what must have been record time and knocking on Mumbo’s door no less than a minute later to Mumbo’s great distress. His place was a bit of a mess- no one had visited him in ages, though, Grian wasn’t likely to care. Mumbo took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax. This was fine. This was exciting! It really had been too long since they’d seen each other, and maybe if Grian had really turned himself around, they could even be friends again.

All that hope dropped right through his stomach when he opened the front door.

“Grian.”

Grian looked startled, genuinely so, as if he wasn’t standing in Mumbo’s doorway in full costume, chicken mask tucked conspicuously under his arm. Even his wings were painted, for goodness’ sake, this is not what Mumbo wanted tonight. “I-” Grian seemed to understand what Mumbo was looking at a moment later, looking thoroughly embarrassed, as if he had accidentally shown up at his door dressed as Poultry Man- You know, at this point, Mumbo wasn’t even surprised. “Would you believe me if I told you this is a fursuit.”

“No!”

“Well then you would be wrong, because it is, and has served me well through many cons. She’s a little old, could use some touch-ups, but I take good care of her, and have for years. Did’ja know Poultry Man is a hen, Mumbo? I bet you didn’t. There’s a fun bit of trivia for you.” Grian invited himself in, pushing past Mumbo like he wasn’t even there.

“I- I don’t care if it’s a fursuit or not, Grian!”

“Kinda sounds like you do. Y’know, I didn’t take you as the type to make fun of furries; a bit low in my opinion. I thought you had more class than that, I’ll be honest.” Grian set the head down on the arm of Mumbo’s sofa, then looked back, eyes blinking wide as if noticing for the first time how upset Mumbo actually was, “I’m serious, though. I’m not in trouble, I just wanted to run HotGuy around for a bit. I had a couple things to talk to him about, and I wanted him to know about the other stuff I do in my spare time. No crimes committed tonight, not one,” Grian released a shaky breath, looking distant as he turned his gaze back to the mask.

Mumbo didn’t feel much better. “I don’t really believe you, Grian.”

“I-” Grian turned, having the gall to look angry, but the expression didn’t last, maybe in part due to Mumbo’s own dark look. Still, Grian shook his head, shoulders hunching, “That’s fair. This was stupid of me, I’m sorry. Wasn’t thinking. This was an impulsive thing, dumb. Shouldn’t have called you. I’ll go.” Grian scooped up the head of his costume, turning back toward the door.

“Damn it, Grian, don’t do that.”

Grian’s eyebrows twitched, anger maybe, or distress; his expression was shifting too much to tell. “What? You want me to go. You didn’t want me here in the first place, not like this, and I still came exactly like you told me not to, like a fucking asshole, because I just wasn’t thinking. I’ve done enough, Mumbo, I shouldn’t have come.”

But Mumbo stood in Grian’s way, anger and conflict fighting with the deep desire to see him, to reconnect, to meet and not fight. If Grian left, hating himself, things would be as they always were. Or maybe they’d be worse, their ties severed completely. Mumbo didnt want that. And he promised at least to Cub he’d drive Grian home, but Mumbo didn’t really want that either.

Maybe this had been an accident. A stupid accident, showing up as a long-time criminal, but if Grian had really been so upset like Cub suspected, maybe he wasn’t thinking.

“Tell me about the suit.”

Grian startled, blinking up, “What?”

“Your fursuit. They’re characters, right? They’ve got names and stories I thought, at least some of them do. It’s, uh- sorry, I don’t know the terminology. Does yours have a story?” Mumbo took a seat, giving himself and Grian room to breathe. Grian stared for a moment, body stuttering in his confusion, before sitting on the floor. That was just fine.

“Uh, well, she’s- her name is Adelaide. She’s kinda.. well, she’s not a great person. She’s just.. angry. All of the time. And a lot of things get under her skin, a lot, but what gets to her the most is feeling like other people don’t take her seriously. Drives her mad, really. Makes her feel completely out of touch with herself, with humanity- I know she’s a chicken, just bare with me, okay?”

“I’m baring! I’m baring! Go on.”

“Well, she’s so angry, and it makes her feel less than human. She feels very primally animal, like a wild dog or starving coyote or something- again, metaphorically- this isn’t about like furry racism it’s just- ugh, I’m embarrassed. This is embarrassing.” Grian drew his hands over his eyes, and Mumbo frowned.

“Don’t be, please. I’d really like to hear about it.”

“The story is so old. I kinda got into this stuff after college, just kept it to myself. It needs about a thousand reworks.”

“Well it means something to you, doesn’t it?”

Grian chewed on his lip, reminding Mumbo to stop biting his own. “Yeah. Guess you can tell it hits a little close to home. I just don’t like her very much anymore. I don’t want to be like that. We’re out of touch.”

“That’s fine, Grian. I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you through the chicken character you made ten years ago.”

“Ten years.. Oh god, don’t say that,” Grian gave a small chuckle and Mumbo risked his own, grateful for the ease in tension.

“You don’t have to tell about Adelaide if you don’t want to.”

Grian cringed inwardly, and Mumbo threw up placating hands, worried he’d done something wrong, but Grian only laughed, “Sorry- That was like- super weird for me. To hear someone else say her name out loud, I mean. I don’t know how to explain, but it’s like this person that has lived in my brain for years just got plucked right out and looked at. And I felt it. In my brain.”

“I’m sorry for touching your brain then, mate, ” Mumbo chuckled with the smallest roll of his eyes, “I’m serious though, I feel like I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not. You’re perfect, I’m just- a little painfully me sometimes- not- I don’t mean to self deprecate, I just can’t tell a story. But I would like to try. If that’s okay.”

Mumbo nodded, “Sure.”

Grian took a breath, and then one or two more. “Adelaide.. She feels out of touch with the world, and she starts to wonder if maybe things would be different if she was a rooster, right? Maybe she wouldn’t be so angry all the time, and maybe people would start to take her more seriously. She’s already got a pretty large cone; that’s the red thing on chickens’ heads by the way, hens also have them, lots of people mistake hens for roosters because-” Grian cut himself off, looking embarrassed, “Anyway, she’s been mistaken for a rooster before, and she’s always liked the idea of having spurs, which, again, are a rooster thing, they’ve got sharp bits on the backs of their legs. So she decides she’s going to give it a shot! See if anything changes. Surprise, this does not solve her anger issues.”

“I figured.”

“Yeah. She’s not treated exactly the same, but she has these different challenges she wasn’t expecting, and she’s pretty reactionary when things don’t go as planned, and is still getting into a lot of fights. She holds her own, though, especially with the new knives on the back of her talons, and one night after a fight outside a bar, she’s approached by this guy, and he tells her he thinks she’s got talent for this kind of thing, fighting and stuff, and that she could earn quite a bit of cash doing it professionally. Cock fighting, essentially. Do you know what cock fighting is, Mumbo?”

“The.. blood sport? Don’t they tape knives to roosters and make them fight until they die?”

“Yeah, essentially. It’s pretty awful stuff, and very illegal- it’s illegal in this universe as well, though the chickens in the ring aren’t actually fighting to the death. Deaths do happen though. It’s shady business, and Adelaide knows that, but she also sees an opportunity here for release, and she’s excited by it. She wants to do this. All under her alias as a man, of course. And so she signs on. Calls herself Poultry Man, which, yes, in a universe where chickens are humanoid, is a ridiculous name, but she doesn’t care. She does care when the audience is betting against her though; she’s smaller than most of the other roosters, and a little feeble looking, so without knowing anything else about her, gamblers think she’s going to lose a lot of her first fights. And that really pisses her off, because, again, she hates being discounted.”

“So she kicks ass.”

“Yeah. And she’s an amateur fighter, but up against other amateur fighters, she’s quite the beast to behold. So she causes quite a few upsets, and suddenly there’s this ‘rooster’ that came out of nowhere and people love her. Life has never seemed so perfect. Yeah, she’s an animal and she’s violent and angry, but that’s okay here. And.. well.. this is kind of where I fall out of touch with the story. Originally, she starts climbing up in the ranks and becoming this more well known cock fighter, but that just doesn’t make much sense to me anymore, and honestly, feels a little cliché. I want her to be challenged sooner, not because she’s met her match or anything and has to rethink this when she can’t win easily anymore.. I don’t know. I want her to change, but I want it to come from herself, you know?

Mumbo hummed to himself, giving it some thought. “What if she kills someone? Early on, but after all the upsets. It’s an accident, but maybe it has something to do with the homemade spurs, right? They’re sharper or longer or something that gave her an edge, and it doesn’t matter to anyone else, it doesn’t even matter that the guy is dead, but she’s never killed anyone before. And that could stop her in her tracks, you know? Really shake her, make her ask if that’s what she really wants.”

“Ooh..” Grian tapped his lips, eyes distant, “That could do it. I feel like I’m so desensitized sometimes, I didn’t even consider..” Grian pursed his lips, “Nevermind. I like this. And she could try to get away from this place, but people like Poultry Man, too much to let him leave. The ring is all sorts of shady anyway, she might have signed some sort of contract and didn’t even realize. By the time she tries to get out, it’s too late. And suddenly, someone who’s never been afraid to die before is petrified, because what if she dies like this, angry and bitter and a murderer, and she never gets the chance to change.”

Mumbo raised an eyebrow at that, and Grian jolted up, catching the look before Mumbo could hope to conceal it, “You said you weren’t psychoanalyzing me!”

“Hey, I never said anything.”

“You say things with your dumb face just as loudly as you speak words!”

Mumbo gasped in mock offense, turning his head away, “How dare you! I’ll have you know, this face is not nearly as dumb as it was a few months ago when I nixed the mustache, and here I was thinking I was finally starting to look normal again.”

“You- You shaved it? Why?” Grian wailed and Mumbo laughed, sighing contentedly.

“Had a bit of a crisis. Was an impulse decision I'm afraid, very impulsive. Truly a tragedy. And you should’ve seen me after, goodness, I was speedrunning the five stages of grief like my life depended on it, and just when I thought I had accepted it, it would start all over again. You would’ve laughed until you ran out of air to make fun of me.”

“I would have cried, Mumbo!”

“You would have laughed!” Mumbo pointed an accusatory finger, and Grian did laugh, resting his hands behind his head and leaning against the arm of the sofa with a sly look.

“I probably would have laughed.”

“Uh huh. I would have sent a picture in a complete panic and you would have called me just to laugh at me. And maybe you’d feel just a bit bad and try to tell me it was fine, but then you’d see the picture again and start cackling just like you do, and I’d be in complete ruin.”

Grian huffed, though the smirk never left his face. “Maybe then it would be your fault for sending me the picture. Since you know so much about how I’d react. Speaking of, do you have one?”

Mumbo gasped, affronted, “Even if I did, I would not show you!”

Grian snickered, slinking up onto the couch, “So you do have one,” he grinned, sharp teeth on full display, “I bet you haven’t changed your phone password since we were in college. A few months ago, hm?”

“Grian!” Mumbo yelped, scooching to the other side of the couch, but Grian crawled after him, stalking like a cat. “You don’t even remember it I bet. You don’t remember anything!”

“How about you hand over your phone and we’ll see just how much I remember,” Grian spoke silkily, batting his eyelashes, and Mumbo scowled, sticking out his tongue, however, was distinctly not ready for Grian to actually pounce, screeching as flapping wings battered his face and talons poked holes in his shirt. Perched on his shoulders, Grian bent over Mumbo’s head, snatching his phone out of his lap (dropped as Mumbo tried to protect his face with his arms) and entering the password with a few swift clicks. Grian did not move from Mumbo’s shoulders when he finished, apparently satisfied, and unceremoniously dropped Mumbo’s phone back at his knees. The flapping stopped when he got his balance, and Mumbo grumbled, shutting off his unlocked phone.

“Point proven. You know I hate when you do that, right?”

“Steal your phone?” Grian asked, innocent, and Mumbo rolled his eyes.

“Sit on my shoulders. This has never ended without me getting hurt. You losing your balance, hitting me in the head, digging into my shoulders, pulling my hair, scratching my face-”

“Hey, hey, it’s been a while since I’ve done any of that! Years, even!”

“Yeah, only because we haven’t seen each other for that long, I’m sure nothing has changed. This night is going to end with bloody scratches across my face, guaranteed.”

“I’m offended.”

“Good!”

“I’ll forgive you if you show me that picture.”

“I am not-” Mumbo stopped himself, eyebrows furrowing in thought, “I’ll show you..” he began, careful, “if you tell me what you’re running away from tonight.”

Grian quieted, his talons digging a little in Mumbo’s shoulders, “Alright. But you show me first because this might kill the mood.” He shifted his weight, leaning forward expectantly, and Mumbo relented, starting the scroll through his photos to find the picture. As expected, the moment Grian laid eyes on it, he cackled, flapping his wings for balance then falling off Mumbo’s shoulders altogether in a giggling heap.

“It’s really not that funny.”

“But you look so distressed! So- so upset! Your upper lip, oh no! Mumbo! You poor thing!” Mumbo did not get the sense Grian actually felt very bad, curled up and snickering as he was. “A Mumbo without his mustache,” Grian continued, almost dreamily, “That’s a cruel world, a cruel cruel world.”

“Alright, alright, it’s your turn then,” Mumbo batted at a wing that flew a little too close to his face, and Grian giggled, sighing before spreading himself out to lay down properly, talons draping over Mumbo’s legs. It was comfortable, a thing like this. Like decades old friendship. Like nothing had changed.

“Okay.” Grian began with conviction, raising his hands in a vague gesture, “I’m going to need you to imagine you’re me, alright? Not only are you me, but you are me who has been off his meds and faffing about in therapy for a few months, so you’re a me who isn’t in a good state. So you’re me. And your roommate, Cub still, finds out you’re a somewhat prolific supervillain, confronts you about it, and your brain just short circuits, so you run away determined to make your own life worse somehow in order to not think about what just happened ever again. Hey, wait a minute-“ Grian stopped, turning an accusatory glare Mumbo’s way, “How did you know I was CuteGuy?”

“Uh, it was pretty obvious, mate. Especially the recent stuff with you on the news and all those clips of you talking. Can’t say you make a massive effort to disguise your voice, and even mostly covered by that mask, you’ve got a pretty recognizable face.”

Grian groaned into his hands. “That is so annoying.”

“In all fairness, I wouldn’t have guessed you were Poultry Man like, ever. The mask that covers your whole head and the fact that you never speak in costume makes you near impossible to identify. Continue, though.”

Grian huffed, grumbling something inaudible to himself before going on, “Fine. Okay. So you’ve imagined you’re me and you’re having a bit of a crisis.”

“I’d rather not be having a crisis, but for you Grian, I’ll pretend.”

“Thank you. So you go to this bar, and it sucks, it’s awful, it’s everything you were looking for, and you meet this guy, and maybe you cried or something, and he’s kinda worried about you, so then you make a complete fool of yourself at his feet, like bad, like beg to go home with him- yes, in that way, and also ask him to buy you drinks and probably other extremely embarrassing awful vulnerable things because you’re having a crisis and you don’t want to go home and face it.”

“Yikes. Can’t believe I did that.”

“Exactly! Yikes. But this guy is very nice, he’s very very nice, and when you tell him you can’t go home, he says he has a spare room, and that you can have it as long as you need, and right now you’re desperate and you’re having a crisis so you just say yes, but later when you’ve calmed down a bit and you’ve gotten a little sleep, you realize how lucky you are that you met such a nice guy, and you’re so unbelievably grateful, and you still aren’t ready to go home, but this guy doesn’t mind, he likes having you around, and even though you do eventually go home and talk about your problems with Cub, you and the guy from the bar stay friends, and you go over to his house to hang out with him and watch movies and bake cookies and it’s fucking awesome.”

“Yes. I can see it. This guy is great.”

“Yes! And what’s best, is that you really feel like you can tell him anything. So whatever’s on your mind, you say it, and you know what’s on your mind a lot? HotGuy. YOU HATE HOTGUY. He’s arrogant, egotistical, does zero research on basically every sponsor he takes, he’s careless, he’s stupid- seriously, he is so fucking dense and people just eat that shit up and it drives you CRAZY. It has for months! You sit and doomscroll in your room and you just see clips of him acting like a fucking idiot and everyone in the comments is like ‘oh my god, he’s so cute!’ ‘oh my god, I hope I can meet him one day!’ ‘oh my god, I wish he would talk to me that way!’ So you start making burner accounts just to leave hate and argue with people-“

“Okay, you know, I was on board until that last bit-“

“-but it’s not enough! It’s never enough for you, so you decide to punch someone about it, and then you keep punching people and you call yourself cUtEgUy to satirize him and eventually you punch enough people that you get his attention, and guess what? HE’S A FUCKING ASSHOLE.” Grian took a deep breath, centering himself, and Mumbo didn’t dare speak. “But it’s okay. Because the nice guy from the bar doesn’t like HotGuy either. And he’s more than happy to listen to you and even commiserate a little bit. And you feel great! You feel great. Cub doesn’t care very much about superhero stuff so he kinda spaces out when you start ranting, but also- forgot to mention, you can’t actually throw shit fits about HotGuy around him anymore, BECAUSE HOTGUY WANTS IN HIS FUCKING PANTS!”

“Wait- wait-“

“I KNOW!” Grian shrieked into his hands, completely misunderstanding the meaning behind Mumbo’s bewilderment, “So HotGuy, who you hate, gets eyes for your roommate, who you’re in love with by the way, and you have to watch the two of them bumble about- well, Cub doesn’t bumble, but HotGuy bumbles, god, he’s so fucking pathetic around Cub I just want to tear out my fucking hair- But. But. It’s okay. One: Because you have the guy at the bar, and you’re pretty sure he likes you as well, and maybe while Cub is putting himself out there, you can too, and it can all be great. Two: You are a mature adult, and you can talk to other adults about how you’re feeling, and be honest with them, and even though you don’t like HotGuy, you’re willing to admit he’s not as bad as you first thought, and that you’ve been unfair to him, and you’re going to try to stop being such an asshole.”

Grian paused, but it was not the type of pause that invited conversation. And even all these years later, Mumbo could spot an incoming Grian explosion from a mile away.

“And you know what HotGuy says to you? After all that?”

Mumbo stared. Grian didn’t need an answer.

“HE AND MICAH. ARE THE SAME! FUCKING! GUY!!!” Grian beat the couch with his fists, and Mumbo moved to give him the space to do so, pretty sure he could assume ‘Micah’ was the same as ‘guy from the bar.’ Hm. Yeah. He didn’t need to speak, Grian seemingly far from done. “How am I supposed to be nice to him now. How am I supposed to go to work? What the fuck is wrong with him! Seriously, what is wrong with him? I swear to you, I swear, Micah is a completely different person- and I’m not being unobservant either, they have different mannerisms, completely different voices! I pegged them as brothers, and Micah told me I was right, he told me this horrible tragic backstory and how the two of them had grown apart and couldn’t mend their relationship- it was so real Mumbo. Their- personalities, I swear to you, different. And what breaks my brain the most- HotGuy was talking total shit about himself for weeks. WEEKS. I don’t- does he just fucking hate himself? What is happening? Why did he do that!? That is an Objectively insane thing to do. Is this like- revenge? Is this karma? Was this some sort of elaborate plan by him to fuck my head??? I want to kick his shit in! I want to cry.” Grian collapsed limp into the sofa, an arm, wing, and leg hanging off the side.

Mumbo considered him, unsure whether or not he should speak. But Grian looked thoroughly burnt out, his assault on the couch along with the tirade seeming to snuff the fire. Now, he just stared blankly at the ceiling, not moving, not crying, just.. gone.

“Do you want a hug?” Mumbo couldn’t offer much more, but it seemed to bring Grian back, the other side-eying him through lidded lashes.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, and he sounded just as winded as he looked, “I just don’t have a back up plan anymore. I don’t have anyone. Anyone that isn’t Cub, I mean, and this whole- my whole plan depended on Micah. He was going to take me out tomorrow. Help me make friends. We were going to-“ Grian cut himself off painfully, unable to finish. His wings quivered. Mumbo’s heart ached for him.

“You know my boundaries now, Grian. I know you do, and I can see that things have changed pretty drastically since we’ve last talked.. I know it. And I don’t know everything, obviously, but I.. it really feels like you’re trying to turn yourself around. Like you’ve made a lot of progress. I’m proud of you, Grian.” Again, Grian eyed him from the side, and Mumbo hoped he could tell he was being genuine. “Listen.. If you need a friend, then you’ve got one in me, alright? You’ve got one here.”

Grian was still for so long, Mumbo wasn’t even sure if he heard, but then Grian was up, and in a flash of feathers, strong arms were locked around his waist and fuck did he mean it when he said strong, christ, it was a good thing Mumbo didn’t actually need to breathe. Grian didn’t seem to notice, nor did Mumbo see fit to tell him, instead wrapping his own arms around the shorter, tight above the base of his wings.

Grian sighed, something deeply shaken. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” And Mumbo meant it. God did he mean it.

#hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #grian #cubfan #cubfan135 #hermitfic #hermitcraft fic #hermitshipping #but not much #cubscar #waffle duo #hotguy #cuteguy #poultry man

[lxtstrip]

Homesick | C. Sturniolo

TW: weed/drugs mention

AN: first sturniolo fic — also don’t do drugs, smoke a joint (pack a bowl, rip a bong, eat an edible idc!) where/when legal and enjoy.

WC: 935

Pairing: Chris x Reader

“Stay in Boston.” Chris read with confusion from a crumpled note he found in his newly thrifted hoodie pocket. He didn’t think much of it, just some trash left by an artist in Los Angeles. Whether it was a photographer, videographer, songwriter, or maybe a failed sketch was anyone’s guess.

What he wasn’t aware of was the treacherous journey that hoodie had taken to get to him and its ties to the city he called home. The hoodie had gone through a family vacation, a boy’s high school career, moving into a college dorm, a relationship, many italian ice date nights, and a breakup. The hoodie signified an era of someone’s life; the same tagline as everything else you lay your eyes on at a thrift store.

He thought about everything he had ever known as the items were piling up in his newly found second hand collection. Donating his skates when he was 13, his mother cleaning out the garage of all their holiday things, and even down to his brothers piling clothes on the bed to list for sale online. He didn’t own much, just enough to keep him out of trouble, so the thought of someone having enough to give away was enough to make his head spin.

He kept the paper regardless of whether it was trash or not. Chris adored Boston and only associated positive memories with it. Fenway Park, Gillette Stadium and TD Garden were his go to places to hang with his friends, brothers, or even alone. He remembers frantically Googling ‘free things to do in Boston’ before dates and eventually dipping into his wallet after he couldn’t find anything good with pride. He was someone who would do anything to make anyone happy, whatever the cost, but he couldn’t apply that theory to himself.

When all was done and dusted for the day he decided to shut himself in his room and unwind. He ran his fingers down the spines of the books you gave him, reading the titles to himself, hearing your voice with each syllable. Empty promises of going to visit him came flooding back into his memory as soon as he saw your favorite book; tattered edges, taped spine, and a receipt paper bookmark. He shook himself out of it and went to his desk to pack a bowl.

With a swift flick of the lighter Chris pressed the glass to his lips and inhaled for a moment feeling the weight of the world lift off of his shoulders. He sat in his computer chair and looked around his room for signs of you - something, anything. He repeated the motion a few times and grabbed the torn piece of paper from his thrifting excursion.

“Stay in Boston.” Chris repeated to himself countless times before grabbing his phone. He knew your number by heart and as soon as he hit the call button an all-too-familiar ache came over him. He took another hit and exhaled when he heard your voicemail message play. He never thought he’d be here; alone, in his room, pining after a love lost.”

“Hey, it’s Chris…” he started. “I wish you were here. I’ve said it every day to myself while I’ve been out here. I know neither of us wanted this… I don’t think either of us knew what we wanted. I’ve been getting by on memories of stumbling to diners and stealing the mugs or skipping classes to go hang out at the park…” he took another hit and sighed. “What I’m trying to say is my heart will always have a space for you, my brain has always had one.”

You looked at your phone to see another voicemail from Chris. You shrugged it off thinking it was most likely another message he recorded at a party where he would preface it with whatever drug he was taking at the time; the west coast ruined him. As much as you hated to admit it you kept up with their videos and you locked in on Chris looking more gaunt every time.

You hadn’t answered a call from Chris in months and you never reached back out. You listened to his newest voice message as you recanted the first call since the split. He had just done a few lines of cocaine and he described it as feeling a sense of finally being able to focus to a greater extent. It shook you to your core that a once happy-go-lucky boy turned into… this. You couldn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling.

Chris often called to describe his high to you; cocaine, ayahuasca, benzos, acid, angel dust, salvia - the list went on. You were still his safe space and since he drew the conclusion you weren’t even listening to them he let his troubles go in the safe space of voicemails and dial tones.

Chris clutched the “Stay in Boston” note and thought about what it meant to the previous owner of the hoodie. Chris also thought about why this would fall into his lap and when it did. He slowly fell back into his nightly routine while he continued to contemplate that random piece of paper.

After a night of continuing keeping up his high, losing games, and melting his brain over three words Chris decided to head to bed. The second he was in bed it’s as if on cue he saw your name flash across his screen. It knocked his next breath out of him as he answered with a simple “Hello?”

“Chris…” you said followed by a shaky exhalation. “Please stay in Boston.”

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #tw: weed #tw: drugs #lmk if we need anymore tw’s friends!

[maleindistress]

Shadow Code

In the neon-lit streets of a futuristic metropolis, Kyle Mercer, a young, exceptionally fit hacker with a chiseled physique, lived a life shrouded in mystery. By day, he was a student in computer science. By night, he delved into the darker corners of the web, uncovering secrets that powerful entities would kill to protect.

Kyle's apartment, a high-rise with panoramic view, is paid with the money he made with stock actions and some luck. It was late in the evening when he decided to take a shower. He emerged, muscles rippling and skin glistening with droplets of water. The steam from the shower outlined his athletic build, as he wrapped a towel around his waist, his toned abs and broad shoulders still on display. He decide to open his computer have a look at the trojan horse he planted, see if they were successful.

Unbeknownst to Kyle, a masked figure had silently infiltrated his apartment. This intruder, a skilled assassin, had been tracking Kyle, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. As Kyle is focused on his screen, the masked man creep behind him slowly.

Kyle is completely unaware of what’s to come.

There is a crack sound from the floor and Kyle look back to see what it was but it’s already too late for him

Despite his strength and agility, Kyle was caught completely off guard. The ambush was swift and brutal. As the silk tie tightened around his neck, Kyle fought back valiantly. His well-defined biceps bulged under the strain, veins popping as he strained to break free. He attempted to grip the towel, but his wet hands slipped frustratingly off the fabric.

The bathroom floor, still slick from his shower, became his unexpected enemy. Every time Kyle tried to plant his feet firmly to leverage himself against the attacker, his feet slid out from under him. Desperation set in as he scrabbled for purchase on the slippery tiles, but it was futile. His every attempt to stand and overpower his assailant was thwarted by the treacherous floor.

As the struggle continued, Kyle's movements began to lose their initial power. His once forceful resistance turned into weaker, almost caressing motions as his strength ebbed away. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face turning red, then purpling as oxygen deprivation took its toll.

The last of his energy spent, Kyle's body started to go limp in the assassin's unyielding embrace. His once powerful limbs, symbols of his athleticism and vitality, now hung uselessly as he succumbed to the deadly chokehold. Finally, his struggles ceased, and he became motionless, a tragic end to a life that once burned so fiercely.

Hours later, the coroner arrived at the scene. The apartment was eerily quiet, with only the faint hum of city life outside. The coroner, a seasoned professional, was taken aback by the sight of Kyle's physique. Even in death, Kyle's athletic build was striking – his well-defined arms, firm chest, and sculpted abs spoke of a life dedicated to physical excellence.

Carefully, the coroner examined Kyle's body, noting the marks left by the tie and his drooling mouth. It was a rare method of killing, one that required strength and skills. They move him gently to find any evidence.

After completing the examination, the coroner gently positioned Kyle on the bed and removed his shoes, for further examination before bringing the body in the ambulance. His resting body resembling a marble sculpture of a fallen warrior.

He is now placed in a body bag gently to be brought for further examination at the morgue.

Kyle's demise sent ripples through the underground world. He was not just a hacker; he was a symbol of defiance against those who abused power. His untimely death was not just the end of a life, but the extinguishing of a beacon that many in the shadows had looked up to.

In the aftermath, whispers began to circulate in the hacker community. Who was behind Kyle's death? Was it a corporate giant he had crossed? A government entity? Or something even more sinister? As the city's neon lights flickered in the night, the quest for truth began, turning Kyle Mercer from a solitary hacker into a legend.

#chloroformed #knockout #strangled #dead #unconscious

[foyle-writes-things]

So hi! The name is Foyle, formerly known as (that-cyber-writer/that-chibi-writer).

As far as writing goes- I've been doing this for a hot minute (sent my first query letter at 15 f'in years old what pluck i had as a child lol), and among my works I can include:

A high fantasy novel

An Urban Fantasy YA Novel Based on Them Thar Greek Gods

And a few other Urban Fantasy Style Novels (because they are fun sue me)

However, more recently I've stepped into a space where sci-fi, hacking, technology, and crime/psychological-thriller all intersect.

Blog Break Down:

@foyle-writes-things Will be my main account from now on, will mostly be limited to my writings if I decide to start posting snippets again.

@foyle-fumbles For shit-posting and signal boosting other writers.

Shoot me a note if you want to be on my tag list 🫡

-Tags-

TangledWires (for snippets)

foylefumbles (for my commentary and more)

WIPS UNDER THE CUT....

-WIPS-

Tangled Wires Book 1 (STATUS UPDATE: complete in last round edits before beta/professional editing)

Raz knows two things, computers - and that people can't be trusted. However on the run, and with the head of the Russian mob seeking to put her back in a cage Raz must quickly decide if Emet Shultz of the FBI can be trusted, and if he can help her unlock the treacherous secrets of her past. As the past reveals itself, one thing becomes clear- nothing is as it seems, and sometimes lies are easier to stomach than the truth.

Ethereal Mischief: Book one of the EM Trilogy (complete)

Summary: Okay, really. Who expects to be murdered on their birthday? Definitely not Althea; and especially not by a god straight out of mythology. Hades however, is real and hell bent on using Althea as a tool to fulfill his own desires. From her own identity to her mother’s death, Hades reveals that her entire life has been a carefully constructed lie. In a world where a broken promise can lead to a lifetime of debt, Althea must fight against those who seek to control her.

Divine Intervention: Book two of the EM Trilogy (also complete but first draft)

Summary: Dealing with the reality that mythology is NOT in fact myth was one thing. Dealing with the fact that her dead mother was NOT in fact dead- but a goddess, and very much alive was another. Now Althea has new problem. As real as the Greek God of pantheons has become, she is suddenly dragged into a deep feud between the Greek and Norse pantheon, when twin girls show up on her doorstep half dead and desperate to get home. Will Althea be able to help them? Or will helping them only push her further down the path to madness? 

A World Apart (in progress) 

Summary: Ya Fantasy novel split between the lives of two young women in parallel dimensions (urban fantasy YA).

Legends of Taelaec (completed)

Summary: High fantasy story about young girls discovering who they truly are after the tragic and sudden death of their mother (high fantasy).

#writer #writerblr #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #foylefumbles #back on my bullshit already folks