#the middle ages were technological as fuck

[heresiae]

lots of people out there making DIY video for wood turning lathes for people that can't afford to buy a professional one.

meanwhile our ancestors:

(when we say we're using the same tools that existed for millennials, we're not paraphrasing).

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah, Ziegfeld Girl)—Look. I'm sure someone has already submitted Hedy Lamarr because she was spectacularly beautiful, and a very strong lady too: she fled both an abusive marriage AND nazi persecution at a very young age and rebuilt a life for herself pursuing her love for acting all on her own!! Her career as an actress was stellar; while she began acting outside of Hollywood (her very first movie, Ecstasy, won a prize at the Venice Film Festival), she conquered American hearts very quickly with her first movie in the US, Algiers, and then just kept getting better and better. If all this isn't enough, she was also an inventor: her invention of the frequency-hopping spread spectrum radio transmission technique forms the base of bluetooth and has a lot of applications in all kinds of communication technologies. I think that deserves a prize, don't you?

Marilyn Monroe (How to Marry a Millionaire, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Some Like It Hot)— Ngl I thought you all were lying about sexual attraction until I saw Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Hedy Lamarr:

The only person you can find both on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and in the Inventor's Hall of Fame--her radio-frequency-hopping technology forms the basis for cordless phones, wi-fi, and a dozen other aspects of modern life. She was also passionate in her efforts to aid the Allies in WWII (unsurprising for a Jewish-Austrian Emigree to America), and her name served as the backbone for one of the best running jokes in what is possibly Mel Brooks' best movie. Look, Louis B. Mayer apparently believed he could plausibly promote her as "The world's most beautiful woman". Is an entire website full of people going to be less audacious than one Louis B. Mayer? I didn't think so!

Described as "Hedy has the most incredible personal sophistication. She knows the peculiarly European art of being womanly; she knows what men want in a beautiful woman, what attracts them, and she forces herself to be these things. She has magnetism with warmth, something that neither Dietrich nor Garbo has managed to achieve" by Howard Sharpe, she managed to escape her controlling husband (and Nazi Germany) by a) Disguising as her maid and fleeing to Paris or b) Convincing the husband to let her wear all of her jewelry to a dinner, only to disappear afterwards. Also she was particularly clever and helped develop Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum (I can't really explain it but anyway...)

Her depiction of Delilah and Samson and Delilah just lives rent free in my head. The woman was gorgeous.

One of the most beautiful women ever in film, spoken by many critics and fans. Beautiful shapely figure, deeper seductive voice, and often played femme fatale roles. She was also brilliant and an inventor. Mainly self-taught, she invested her spare time, including on set between takes, in designing and drafting inventions, which included an improved traffic stoplight and a tablet that would dissolve in water to create a flavored carbonated drink, and much more.

Gorgeous and brilliant pioneer of modern technology and the middle part.

Marilyn Monroe:

She's amazing!!! A classic bombshell, as well as a strong women who overcame so many obstacles. She also advocated for others, like Ella Fitzgerald.

That fucking saxophone that cuts in whenever she appears on screen in Some Like it Hot

I mean, it's Marilyn Monroe. She's adorable. She's gorgeous. She funny. She's the total package

She's the original American sex symbol, an iconic beautiful woman with eyes you could get lost in, legs for days, gorgeous hair, and a cute tummy. Her voice! Just listen to her voice!!!!!

She is considered one of THE sex symbols of the 1960s and one of the greatest actresses of all time! She HAS to be on this list!

no vintage movie woman is more iconically hot

People are most familiar with pictures of her in the white dress or the Happy Birthday Mr President one, but imo she is at her most beautiful and looks most comfortable when she is photographed by women like Eve Arnold

It’s Marilyn Monroe. If Aphrodite was an actual person, she’d be Marilyn. Do I really need to say more?

What can I say that hasn't been said? Marilyn's legacy is so much bigger than she was in life. She's a defining symbol of 50s and 60s Hollywood sex and it's obvious why. She was absolutely stunning and the camera loved her.

[mindmelter]

Riding The Rider

Hawk had always been a man who loved the open road. Today was no different. He had just picked up a new helmet—sleek, white, and impossibly high-tech.

Earlier that day, he went to buy a new helmet when he saw a beautiful white one called Helmetai. The helmet cost a fortune, so he wasn't going to buy it, but the owner of the store insisted that he should take it; when Hawk explained he didn't have the money, he then gave him one for free.

“Consider it a gift. A biker like you deserves the best helmet!" The owner said. Hawk found it weird, but he wasn't one to refuse such an expensive gift.

The helmet boasted top-tier features: enhanced vision, noise-canceling technology, and an integrated heads-up display. He didn’t bother reading all the technical specs—it was just a helmet, after all. But as he slid it over his head, it fit snugly, almost like it was made for him. The visor suddenly flickered to life with a soft hum.

"Welcome aboard, Hawk. Prepare for the ultimate ride." The helmet said in a robotic voice.

"Oh, nice, I didn't know it could do that. Helmetai, play my favorite playlist!"

Suddenly, 'Highway To Hell' started blasting in Hawk's ears as he revved up his bike and took off down the highway. The wind rushing against his muscles and the adrenaline pumping through his veins was Hawk's addiction. As he weaved between cars, pushing the speed limit, something strange began to happen.

He started feeling a small electric flow in his head. He shook it off, thinking it was just the adrenaline—or maybe the helmet was messing with his senses. After all, this was his first time using such high-tech gear. But suddenly the world around him faded, and he felt a disorienting pull as if he was being yanked from his own body. And just like that, everything went black.

One second later, Hawk's body came back to life.

"Transfer Complete, please don't remove the helmet until your ride is finished. Enjoy your time in Hawk's body." The helmet said.

“Oh, I plan on enjoying every second of this ride. Let’s see what this body can really do.” Hawk said. With a swift twist of the throttle, the bike shot forward, rocketing down the highway at full velocity, way past the velocity limit.

This helmet wasn’t just any helmet. Unknown to Hawk, it was part of a secret possession industry designed for the elite. Wealthy men who longed for excitement and adventure would rent out bodies, usually those of fit, and unsuspecting strong men, to live their fantasies. The technology behind it was the most advanced—microchips embedded into the helmets that synced with the brainwaves of the wearer, overriding their control and allowing someone else to slip into the driver's seat.

It was a perfect way for rich men to have a moment of pure adrenaline without worrying about getting hurt or dying in a crash; the helmet was programmed to shut down as soon as an accident happened or if they were pulled over by the police.

"Oooh, fuck yeah, now that’s a body!" Hawk shouted, flexing his thick biceps.

A huge tent started forming in his pants as he tested out his new muscles.

"Look at me! No fucking hands! YOOOOHOOOO!!!!'

Soon, he started hearing the sounds of the police sirens behind him.

"Alert! The police are after you. Do you wish to continue the ride?" The helmet asked.

"Yes I do! I paid for the full experience!" Hawk laughed sterically as he took off at full velocity, trying to escape the police.

Far away, in another state, a middle-aged, overweight man sat in front of his computer in his luxurious dark room, on his head was also a Helmetai.

[delphi-shield]

OLD FOLKS HOME ↪ age gap hcs

the people you love & the shit they do that reminds you of the dreaded Gap (tm). characters included: leon kennedy, chris redfield, jill valentine, claire redfield, rebecca chambers no warnings to speak of. remember kids, if you're gonna date people in their 30s and 40s, you're gonna have different cultural contexts and, most likely, different senses of humor.

Leon is eight levels of irony deep. He started doing Old Guy Shit just to mess with you, and now it's all come full circle. 

It turns out he actually likes watching the weather channel. He’s monitoring storms that are miles and miles away from you, pointing out the feeder bands like it’s some kind of sporting event. 

He's genuinely invested in Ice Road Truckers. He asks you to TiVo it for him when he's gone. You do not have TiVo. In fact, you're pretty sure no one still has TiVo. 

Or you were, until Leon once again committed to the bit and got TiVo.

Really, genuinely annoying about old movies, actors, and directors.

”What do you mean you don’t know who Robert Redford is? The Candidate? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? C’mon. He was even in an episode of The Twilight Zone. You’ll know him when you see him.”

At least you get movie dates out of it.

Movie dates that he will pepper with trivia about the film, by the way. You don't need the commentary track. He is the commentary.

I'm so, so sorry about this. 🤪 is his favorite emoji. I know. I'm sorry.

Chris cannot fucking hear. To be honest, I think most of them have some degree of hearing loss - but Chris in particular seems to have very subjective hearing loss.

Yes, you were just having a full-fledged conversation. No, he didn’t hear you ask him to take out the trash. He didn’t forget, he just didn’t hear you. Sorry, you were standing on his right - come on, you know that’s his bad side.

Explains basic technology to you because he’s not sure if you know what it is. Then, in the same breath, crams in so many military acronyms he may as well be reciting the alphabet. Does not explain the acronyms.

Like, yeah, Chris. I know what a landline is. Dial-up internet, too. Now, what the fuck is an ORE?

Have you ever gotten ‘ok’ in response to a nude? You’re about to. Completely demoralizing, by the way.

He didn't know you wanted him to compose a poem dedicated to your beauty, okay? He tries to get better, but winds up sending shit like 'wow 👍'

Does the dad thing where he insists he's not interested in watching what's on TV and then stands with his hands on his hips in the middle of the living room, enthralled by the show.

Jill does not understand your music. She will not make an attempt to understand your music. If you see her tapping her foot to the beat, no you do not. She is not interested in expanding her musical horizons.

She only bought you tickets to that concert because she knew you would love it. She only went with you because you’re cute when you’re so into this stuff. She only bought that t-shirt because it would be a good souvenir, and eventually, a good grease rag.

Generalized distrust of social media. Do not show her a tiktok. She will ignore the video and lecture you about data safety. Jill, please. Just watch the fucking cat video.

And then she turns around and opts in to literally everything on the McDonald's app.

If there’s a rewards program, she’s in. Already sold. Didn’t even read the fine print. All that shit she was telling you about how you need to be more careful is right out the window for some free fries.

Anything for the thrill of a good deal. If she had more time on her hands, she would be couponing.

Buys in bulk. No, it doesn't matter if the two of you could not physically eat that much rice. It's cheaper to buy it like this. It's fine. It's good for you.

Gotta stock up on non-perishables, too. You gotta be prepared in case something happens. "Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it."

Claire cannot stop shopping from QVC. She's in the kitchen with David. It Takes Two with Mary and Sandra? Wrong. It actually takes three. Mary, Sandra, and Claire.

Infomercials have got her by the throat. You have so many gadgets and gizmos around your home that are just collecting dust.

Gets wine drunk and goes online shopping. Legitimately does not remember what she’s bought.

Absolutely will not let you open the packages. (“Some of this stuff could be for you, you know.” “Claire, last time it was a 10,000 count package of googly eyes.” “And I used all 10,000. You still haven’t found them all.”)

Uses every piece of technology until it’s about to fall apart. Absolutely not interested in having the latest and greatest. She’s one of those people who insists that as long as her phone can make calls and send texts, she doesn’t need a new one.

Speaking of texts. Somehow, she got it into her head that a read receipt is equivalent to a reply. She doesn't get what the problem is. You know she saw your text. Why does she have to reply?

Genuinely doesn't mean anything malicious by it - but also, if you did that to her, you would never hear the end of it.

Rebecca legitimately has facebook humor. They all have some degree of facebook humor, but she's got it the worst. 

Will blow up your notifications tagging you in shit that is just straight up not funny. I’m talking full on tagging you with “😂😂😂”

Unironically sent you a minion meme once.

It's not that she's disconnected. She teaches undergrads. She knows what’s in, even if it’s only from the periphery. It’s just that she doesn’t care. She has no interest in keeping up with trends just for the sake of it. She’s so used to being the youngest person in the room and having to keep up expectations that she just absolutely does not care anymore. She's glad she's not one of the kids anymore.

If it made her laugh it made her laugh, her enjoyment isn’t shackled by feelings of shame!!

If you have a group chat on any platform with your friends please invite her. She's just happy to be included. She'll make a discord if she has to, and she'll brag about it to her students.

Yeah, she says pupper and doggo. She does. Look at her.

[ugh-yoongi]

Soft, romantic and drunk bf Yoongi waking you up by going down on you when he gets in late after a night of drink (with OT7/ after suchwita/ whatever) in which he could not stop thinking about you and your pussy.

I can even give inspo: tu mbl r.co m/poutyniall/714256286018142208/tongue-technology

yeah hey hi hello thanks for sending this. after only receiving PG requests this really sent me into a spiral.

crescendo

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns used, but gendered terms are used for genitalia) genre: established relationship au; smut, fluff warnings: alcohol, swearing, yoongi is tipsy and just a horny pining disaster, previously discussed and consenting somnophilia, oral sex, unedited. rating: explicit. minors do not interact. wordcount: 1k listen to: middle of the night by elley duhé

Amongst his group of friends, Yoongi is the only one who gets like this when he’s drunk.

Some people regress and act half their age (Seokjn). Some people are overly-affectionate and stumble over compliments (Jimin). Some people try to pick philosophical debates over the point at which bread ceases to be bread and becomes toast (Namjoon). Some people bypass the philosophical entirely and go straight to the conspiratorial (Taehyung). Some people take one sip and slump over in the booth, moaning that they’re half-dead (Hoseok). Finally, some people don’t even bother to show up, because they’re too busy staying home and playing Overwatch to check their texts (Jungkook).

Yoongi, though—Yoongi gets horny.

The kind of horny that has him looking away each time someone’s tongue darts out to catch a stray drop of alcohol. The kind of horny that has him doing complex mathematical equations in his head to determine if he could conceivably lock himself in a bathroom stall and get it out of his system before anyone becomes suspicious. The kind of horny that has him sending you half-legible text messages under the table, detailing every dirty thing he wants to do to you, despite the fact you told him hours ago you were going to shower and go to sleep.

Fuck. He needs to get out of here.

“Aw, look at Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin teases, and everyone except Hoseok creates a chorus of laughter. Yoongi’s cheeks burn, made worse by the garish yellow-red lights of this bar. “I can’t decide if I should be jealous or concerned.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Why would you be concerned, Jimin-ah? Sex is a normal, beautiful thing, and it’s absolute bullshit that people use it as a point of shame—”

“Yeah, okay, that’s my cue,” Seokjin says around a fake gag. “Who had the tab tonight? Just send me a request—”

“You had the tab, you fucker—”

Seokjin hears none of it. Just says, “Mm, bye,” and then he’s gone. Which is Yoongi’s cue too, because he’s the second-oldest and therefore second in command, and the rest of them won’t even hesitate to stick him with the bill because it happens every single time it’s Seokjin’s turn to pay.

So he lies. Says, “Hyung will pay it in a minute. Gotta piss first,” and stumbles out the back.

He’ll hear about it later, if not from his four dongsaengs then certainly his ancestors, but he needs to be home. Needs to feel you spread out beneath him—your sleep-warmed skin, still soft from your shower, the scent of your body wash stubbornly clinging on. Needs to press his lips to every inch of it. Needs the smell and taste of you overwhelming him. Needs to hear all those little sounds you make.

The longer this taxi ride drags on, the more paranoid he becomes. Can the driver tell how fucked up he is in his backseat? Can he see the way Yoongi’s fingers are gripping the worn leather? How desperately he’s trying to keep quiet every time something explicit plays in his memory? He’d understand, Yoongi thinks; he’d understand if he knew you, saw you. He wouldn’t be able to blame Yoongi at all.

Seoul passes by in a blur, all neon reds and blues and whites. Everything is still so alive, even at this god-forsaken hour, and it makes him dizzy. Has his head spinning. He’s drunk and he’s horny and he just wants to be next to you.

Somehow, he manages to dig his phone out of his pocket despite how tight they’ve grown over the last hour. Goes straight to his texts, pointedly ignores all the ones in the groupchat yelling at him and Seokjin, and presses on your name. He’s less drunk now than he was before, but the messages still don’t make sense. Yoongi groans, throws his head back against the seat. Next time he’s just going to skip the bullshit and send you pictures. No use speaking in tongues when hieroglyphics could work much better.

The next five minutes play out like this: the taxi stops outside your building, Yoongi hands over a stack of money that’s undoubtedly too thick, he stumbles up the steps two at a time, so close yet still too far away.

And then there’s the door.

“This okay, baby?”

A nip of teeth at the junction of your thigh. Hands gripping at your waist, fingers dimpling your skin. Warm breath ghosting over your wet cunt. Yoongi’s head between your thighs as he kneels on the bed. You’re unsure if you’re conscious or not, but as you tangle your hands in Yoongi’s soft hair, you decide it doesn’t matter.

So you nod, angle your hips closer to Yoongi’s face. A whisper-soft gasp when he presses a kiss to your thigh, one to your clit; a strangled moan when you feel him smile against you before flattening his tongue and licking a stripe up your slit.

“Fuck,” he groans, doing it again, pulling away only long enough to say, “thought about this pussy all fucking night. You taste so good.”

Yoongi indulges in your body the way other people indulge in vices: incessantly, obsessively. But you aren’t a vice, are you? You’re not something to be ashamed of; not something wicked. As Yoongi continues working you over with his mouth, so sloppy and overeager you can feel it dampening the sheets beneath you, it feels like reverence.

It isn’t long before the heat starts simmering in your belly. Not long before everything starts feeling overwhelming; before your visions starts blurring at the edges. “Yoong, I’m—”

He hums against your core. Sucks hard once at your clit, and then you’re tumbling over the edge. “Goddamn, I love you,” Yoongi says into your skin. “That’s it, give it to me, baby, I love you.”

It feels predestined.

[selineram3421]

Hey? I just found your account and absolutely love it!

When you write with Alastor I always get this vibe from him:

And absolutely love for it 😭🥰

Oh my god.

Matched Search History

Prologue

Alastor X Writer Reader

Warnings⚠

⚠ Human AU, serial killer stuff so expect murder or mentions of it, oh and blood/gore, cussing, all caps for screeching/yelling, italics=thoughts, mentions of death, slight introvert reader ⚠

It wasn't your idea but your friend's.

There was a website that matched you with someone that had similar search history.

Currently, both of you were in the cafe with coffee and snacks, sitting at a two person table and having the usual friend hangout until she brought it up.

"Isn't that...a breach of privacy? How is this allowed?", you asked concerned.

"They only get what you give them! Like a questionnaire thing. You put down what you search and they set you up with someone!", she says and shows you the site on her phone.

"This is shady as fuck.", you say.

"Ok, maybe a little bit but you put what you want shared!", she smiles. "I mean you can meet another writer or someone who is super hot!"

Honestly you didn't know what to think of it, but maybe you could give it a shot.

I mean what's the worse that could happen? Haha..

"Ok..", you sighed and gave her the go to for making your account.

"Yay!", she squealed and started up a new profile. "Ok, so name, age, occupation..", she started typing furiously.

Once the basics were set up, she passed the phone to you to fill out the questionnaire.

At Matched Search History we only share what you give us! Any information you put into the system will be coded to find your Search History Partner, any other information you add in will also be added but stored away privately.

Please be aware that if any home address is added in the BIO or in MESSAGES it will be made public.

Yup. Shady shit right here. You thought and kept reading.

What do you search the most?

Answer: _______

You snort and type out murder techniques and first aid.

I'm definitely on the FBI list. You smile.

After taking care of the first one, you put down recipes, art and art history, science, little things like radio technology and other in depth research. You also make sure to put down cats.

"Here.", you hand the phone back.

"Wow that's a lot.", your friend scrolls down your list.

"What did you expect? I do a lot of searching on my laptop for the littlest things.", you shrug.

"Yeah, should have expected that.", she nods and looks through her photo album in her phone.

Leaning on the table, you look as she scrolls for the perfect photo.

"Which one are you gonna pick?", you ask and take a sip of your coffee.

"That cute one where you're hugging a cat.", your friend replies.

"Nah. Put the Halloween one."

She stops scrolling to look you dead in the eye, only to see your smug grin.

"No."

"Aw what? Come on!", you whine. "It'll be funny!"

"No! You're covered in fake blood!", she rejects the idea.

"But think of it! It would be fucking hilarious.", you nudge her arm.

"No and that's final! I'm putting this one!", she says and adds a photo without looking.

.

You honestly forgot about the account you both made until you got a bunch of emails about the website finding your match. You ignored most of them as they didn't go over 70%, that was until you saw the one you got today.

"What?", you asked with a mouth stuffed with noodles, being in the middle of eating lunch.

Picking up your phone, you check the email and feel your eyes widen.

You immediately called your friend.

"DUDE!"

"What?", she asks.

"THERE'S A HOT GUY WHO MATCHED 98% WITH ME!! WHAT DO I DO!?!?"

"Send me his pic! Duh!", she replies.

You take a screenshot of his profile picture and send it over.

"HOLY SHIT! I KNOW WHO THAT IS!!!"

"Who is it?", you ask.

"Don't you listen to his podcasts!?", your friend screeches. "He's the hot voice talking about murder mysteries and other creepy shit! You always listen to him while writing!"

"Huh, so this is him?", you ask. "How do you know? You hate hearing creepy stuff."

"I got bored one day.", she says.

Understandable. You thought. "Ok but back onto the topic. WHAT DO I DO!?"

"Send that love message to meet up!", she replied.

You deadpanned.

I have to go outside? I mean it wouldn't be bad if we went to a cafe or library. Maybe a bookstore... You thought.

"Fine. Since we already know his face he won't be able to run far if anything happens.", you said, making up your decision.

"Geez, don't talk like you're about to die.", your friend groaned.

"What? It's true.", you say. "Statistically, women are more likely to get killed on a date. Which doesn't rule out males but it does happen."

"UGH! Send me pics of what you're going to wear already!", she demanded.

.

You sat on a bench near a bus stop, messaging your friend. It was the best location for you to wait, there were multiple people around and restaurants with cameras.

Not gonna find out my address~ You sang in your head as you messaged your "match" that you had arrived.

You messaged him a brief description of your features and what you were wearing, so that way he wouldn't go around like a headless chicken trying to look for you.

Just in case things went south, you had a back up outfit to change into.

As you waited, a sudden thought came up.

Why was he on the dating site MSH? You wondered. Maybe his friend also pressured him to make a profile or someone else.

Then another thought.

What if it isn't him and someone just used a random photo they found to put up? You frowned at that. I hope that's not the case. That would be very annoying to deal with.

"Now, I hope that I'm not the reason my date is wearing a frown."

Turning your head to see who had decided to approach you, you saw a familiar face and warm reddish copper eyes. He was dressed very nicely, white button up long sleeve, dark red knit sweater vest, black pants, and black looking dress shoes.

"I'm Alastor.", he smiled. "And you are my date for this evening, yes?"

Damn it. You thought, trying to keep a straight face. He looks like a bookish nerd and that is definitely my type.

You stood up from the bench and gave a smile back.

"Nice to meet you.", you greeted and then introduced yourself.

Thank you for bringing this to me. I have read this post but forgot about it until you brought it back.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @big-brother-problems @mistpurpl3 @chewbrry @willowbrookhoot @briethekitsune @alastorthirsty @sir-aadiboii @fuzzyturtlepaws @+?

ML II for Alastor🎙

[xjaylyn]

PART 2 - Bad Boys: Second Chances

Pairing: Armando x Black! OC (Rya)

Warnings: blood, graphic, guns, death, mature, language (use of the n word), and some other stuff I probably forgot about sorry

Summary: Its been two years since Captain Conrad was framed. Another mission brings the team back together and new relationships are formed. It's said everyone deserves second chances and room to grow. So maybe this is that second chance.

a/n: Its a long chapter this one

Walking into the precinct, the two partners were immediately met by their captain waiting for them at their desks. Rita nodded her head towards the conference room, causing them to look into the room. There stood four different department leads, all looking over and discussing whatever was in their files.

"What's going on? Why we got the whole government and they momma here?" Waving his hand toward the room, Marcus looked back at Rita, visible stress apparent on her face.

"That's what I'm figuring out now. All I know is that there are a few murders that we have to look into," Rita said, shaking her head and walking towards the conference room. The two detectives followed close behind.

"Well, ain't that what homicide is for? We investigate and handle narcotics."

Opening the door, the three officers stepped into the room, causing the group of leads to look at them. A tall middle-aged man stepped up and handed them all a file.

"Thank you for joining us. I'm Chief Paul Nicola of Homicide. Take a seat, please."

The three officers looked at each other for a moment before taking their seats at the table. "This is going to be a brief description of a case we have been investigating for the past 60 years," Paul said while walking to the end of the table.

A low whistle came from Mike, a confused look on his face. "60 years? And y'all ain't tell nobody? Why are we just getting involved?"

"We have only been studying, no action or busts have been involved. It's the most complex and biggest case we have ever worked on. Even the military is involved. Actually, every department of the law has been involved."

"What exactly is going on? No one has actually answered this simple question… why you bring us in?" Marcus backed his partner, dropping the file on the table.

Clearing his throat, Paul opened the file and took out an envelope of pictures, lining them up on the table. "For the past 60 years, there has been an increase in under-the-table deals. Criminals and serial killers have been on the rise, and taking of children and trafficking has become common. Technology and information have become more advanced and accessible."

Looking at the pictures, there were numerous photos of different faces, some they recognized from past cases they had worked on, others unknown. Some photos were of missing children, crime scenes, evidence, and locations. It was a mess of all the cases the government had worked on, all together in one file.

"Almost every case we have worked on for the past 60 years is somewhat connected. Mike and Marcus, the drug busts you both have operated for the past 20-plus years have all been connected to an even bigger case. Some wars our military has been in are all connected. The murders, the victims, the invasions, everything has been fucking connected this whole time. You understand what I'm saying?" Paul leaned on the table, looking at all the officers.

Stepping back to catch his breath, Paul scanned the room one final time, tilted his head down, pinched the bridge of his nose, and slightly chuckled. "We finally have someone from the inside working with us. She is willing to give us information as long as we help her with one thing."

"Now hold on," Marcus scoffed. "You telling me everything we all have ever worked on for the past 60 years is all tied together in one big-ass mess?" Marcus leaned back, waving his arms around, then leaned forward on the table. "And you have some random female saying she can help because she has 'information' with a case y'all have been studying for 60 years in exchange for something strange."

"She was captured by the military in the middle of a mission regarding this case. We know that she is involved with whatever is going on. This is the most we have come up with in 60 years, so yes, we are taking this chance, and you two will work with her."

"Oh wow, that's great. Work with an informant. We love that, don't we, Marcus?" Mike looked at his partner with a smirk on his face. Marcus just shook his head and leaned back in his chair.

"We will keep you all updated while we work this case. You can pick her up tomorrow." Paul and the others all nodded their heads and left the room. Closing the door, Rita looked at the two detectives.

"Well, we're going to need all the help we can get. I'll call in AMMO, and uh, Mike, you have business in Virginia to take care of. I'll give you the address," Rita said while pulling out her phone.

"Me? I don't got no business in Virginia," Mike denied, pointing at himself.

Looking up briefly, Rita nodded her head. "Yes, you do. Look, I'm not supposed to tell you, but AMMO and I have been tracking Armando. He's currently in Virginia, keeping a low profile. We need you to pick him up. He might know something, and he was a good help on the last mission. I sent you the address." Putting her phone back in her pocket, she grabbed a file off the table and walked out of the room.

"So a road trip to Virginia, huh?" Marcus looked at his partner, staring at nothing.

So he's alive and well…in Virginia…this whole time. Shaking his head, Mike could only think about how Armando might be doing. Is he back in the streets? Does he have somewhere to stay? Why do I only see him when we need help on a mission? It was like falling into a rabbit hole when it came to his son.

"Aye Mike, come on. You can ask all the questions when we get there."

--------------------------------------------------------

…VIRGINIA…13 HOURS LATER…

"You coming in?"

"Nah, but get me a large chocolate shake with whipped cream and sprinkles and a uhhh patty melt with a large fry."

"Marcus, you not eating in my car. I'm going to the bathroom, and we out," Mike said, getting out of the car.

The two had stopped 30 minutes from their destination at a burger place on the side of the road. Walking in, Mike noticed only two people sitting down in the small place. Heading to the bathroom, he passed by a couple of booths.

After doing his business, he walked out and noticed a man sitting in the booth facing his way. Furrowing his brows, he kept walking, staring at the man, then he saw those eyes look up at him.

They stared at each other for a second before his son rolled his eyes, dropped his food, and leaned back into the booth. "How'd you find me?"

Sliding into the booth, Mike ignored the question. "How are you?" Feeling his chest tighten, he couldn't help but feel every emotion he had held in these past couple of years. He had sent his son on a raggedy boat, bleeding out with nothing.

"I'm alive…keeping low," Armando answered briefly. "How'd you find me?" he questioned one more time, squinting his eyes at the man in front of him.

"That doesn't matter. Have you been working? Got a place to stay? What do you mean by keeping low?" Mike pressed further.

Armando just stared at his father. He noticed a pattern early on. Mike only comes to him when he needs help on a job. Granted, that was a way to lessen his sentence, but he's on the run now. Why try to bring him back in if it will only land him back in jail?

"Why are you here?" Armando questioned, leaning forward.

Silence fell upon the two as Mike looked out the window. "We need your help on a mission."

There it is. Armando chuckled, nodding his head. "Yeah, I figured. The answer's no. I barely have anything here, but I'd rather this than go back in a fucking cell, and what, nine months off a life sentence?" he gritted, causing Mike to look at him.

"Listen, I know how it sounds, but son—"

"Armando," interrupting his father. Armando looked him in the eye with a straight face, irritation starting to form within him.

Mike sighed and dropped his hands on the table. Calmly picking up where he left off, "-Armando…we do this one last mission. If it's successful, you're a free man. I promise you, just trust me, this mission will drop it all and you can go wherever you want…you can live your life however you want."

"And if it fails?"

Mike stared back into his son's eyes. "I'll get you out. Before anyone can get you, you'll be long gone, and I won't bother you again, but you'll still be on the run…limited."

Falling back, Armando knew he could trust his father. The man has been trying to help him in every way he can. And if this mission succeeds, then he can start over. Fuck it. Picking up a fry, "Fine…but we need to stop at my place first."

"Ok, thank you. Pack up your food; you can eat in the car."

--------------------------------------------------------

"Damn, is the man taking a shit? I knew we shouldn't have eaten those burritos. I told him his ass would be on fire," Marcus mumbled, shaking his head. Looking out the car window, he saw his partner with someone walking beside him toward the car. Squinting a little, he noticed the man as his nephew.

"Well, I'll be damned…the kid's alive."

The doors to the car opened, and Mike and Armando got into the car. Armando, noticing his dad's partner in the front seat, rolled his eyes, already knowing the man's antics.

"Well, I'm glad to see you too, nephew," Marcus smiled, then looked up at Mike. "See, I told you he'd be fine. He's just like his damn father, can't fucking die."

Armando listened to the two banter and opened his bag of food, taking out a fry and biting into his burger. All of a sudden, he heard Marcus dramatically gasp.

"Oh-ohhh, MIKE, HE EATING IN YO CAR!" Marcus yelled, pointing back at Armando, looking at Mike driving. Mike glanced at Marcus, "Yeah? So let him eat."

Marcus's mouth dropped, and he dramatically leaned back with his hand on his chest. "MICHAEL, SO HE CAN EAT IN YO CAR, BUT WHEN I TRY, IT'S A PROBLEM."

In the back seat, Armando smirked, watching his father and uncle go back and forth. Taking another bite of his burger, a piece of lettuce and sauce dropped on the seat.

"MIKE, LOOK, HE MAKING A MESS."

"Marcus, shut the hell up. Give him a napkin. He can wipe it when he's done."

"Oh-oh, see, that's cold, Michael. That's some cold shit, Mike…we been boys since wayyy back, and I can't eat in your car?! I feel like we ain't boys no more," Marcus shook his head with a disgusted look on his face. "Some bullshit, I tell you…when you think you know someone," Marcus said, turning to look at the window.

Mike looked in the rear view to glance at Armando.

He's okay.

Tag list (lmk if you want to be added):

@blackgirlmagicforever @believeinthefireflies95 @wizewhispers

[callahanisms]

hey, can you make Miguel O'Hara X gender neutral reader? Where reader (Miguel lover) accidentally get teleport or glitch in the spider verse where they (the Spidey's) were in the middle of chasing miles? Thank you! <3

hi anon. i'm happy to write this for you.

i wrote this in the form of headcanons rather than a fic. i'm still recuperating from finishing dragon age: inquisition, the succession finale (even if it was like a week ago), my adrenaline high from the across the spiderverse, and the other things i have written already.

some creative additions i made: this is a spidey! reader. i think it naturally made more sense to have a spidey! reader rather than a civilian. i would have to jump through a lot of hoops for a civilian reader to make sense and my brain does not have the capacity to jump through those hoops right now.

you deserved a well needed rest. after all the work you had been pulling to keep the multiverse safe, it was the least you deserved. especially a nap.

what you didn't expect when you went home was to just fall asleep on the couch.

you had gone out with your friends, finally caught up with them, and changing into some comfortable lounging clothes. you had plans to watch the newest 3 hour long ego project the director called a movie. and naturally because it was 3 hours long and an ego project filled with nothing, you ended up falling asleep.

what you forgot to take off was your multiversal band. you always kept it on in case of emergencies.

you also had a habit of rolling around in your sleep a bit. and you don't have the best luck with technology.

naturally your band malfunctions and you're thrown into the portal and transported back to hq.

ideally you didn't want to be falling through the space. but you were. and that woke you up.

"fuck! fuck! fuck!"

you had no web shooters. why would you? who sleeps with web shooters anyways? (actually there are some spider people that might)

and the worst part is, no one seemed to notice that you were falling. because they were busy doing something else.

when you squinted your eyes, you saw what was happening: every single spider-person that was at hq was chasing after one singular spider-person.

you didn't know who it was but from the looks of it, it looked like a young spider-person. someone who was only a kid.

if only you weren't just free falling-

"(y/n)! what are you doing here!" a familiar voice exclaims.

he caught you in midair, swinging safely to the nearest platform that wasn't stampeding with spider people and other variations of spider totems to set you down.

you took in his appearance. his hair was disheveled and his fangs were poking out. you also noticed his talons were out too and his breathing was heavy.

"i...i was teleported here on accident." you explain. "what is going on?"

"i can't talk right now. go back home! it's supposed to be your day off!" he gives you a small kiss on your cheek and prepares himself to jump off the platform.

"miguel, who is that?"

"miles morales. he disrupted a canon event and now the multiverse is at stake! and we're trying to prevent him from causing another one."

"okay well did you try talking to him?"

"of course!" he exclaims, turning to look at you. "it's the first thing i did. but he doesn't want to listen. now i have to catch him before he disappears!"

he doesn't even wait for you to respond before jumping off. as much as miguel loved you and loved talking to you and cherished your presence, he had to catch up to miles. he had to stop him.

he had to save the multiverse.

you were left with a sinking pit in your stomach. something told you that today was not the day to take off.

but first you needed to find lyla or margo to help with your watch so you can grab your suit and equipment and come back.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Bad For Business: Level One

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.3K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

“You’re late.”

“No I’m not.”

You were. Twenty five minutes, in fact, and your stomach was still swirling from the night before, remnants of cheap beer and cheaper vodka mixing unhappily with the cold, strawberry pop-tart you’d force fed yourself on the way to work. 

Steve Harrington leant against the wall with a grin as he watched you struggle to clock in, the old machine chewing up your employee card before it finally stamped it. You pushed past him, shoulder into his in a way that was awfully familiar now. The blunt words, the eye rolls, the semi serious acts of violence all part of your work day and they had been since last summer. He didn’t give in to you, arms colliding, the smell of his cologne now on your T-shirt too. 

“Hungover?” Steve asked, enjoying the way you squinted against the harsh, fluorescent strip lights. 

The office was much quieter than the arcade outside of the staff doors and you were trying your best to stay away from the sounds of Super Mario and Pac-Man for as long as you could. Except Steve wasn’t making it easy. 

“No,” you lied again. You were so hungover, stupidly hungover. And tired. You’d barely managed to crawl back through your bedroom window when the sun was beginning to rise, the summer outside starting back up as the sky turned apricot and the birds sang. Eddie had walked you home, both of you sharing the last dregs from a lukewarm beer before he bent at the waist and let you use his back as a footstool, groaning and swearing at you as you took too long to grab the end of the broken trellis. “What’s with the fucking interrogation, Harrington? Did Murray die and leave you in charge?”

Outside the office, the arcade machines jingled, beeping and ringing with each win and loss, the constant clinkclinkclink of quarters being dropped into the coin slots, the yells of sugared up kids making your head pound. 

“Nah,” Steve’s grin only widened, an almost smirk that made you grit your teeth together. You busied yourself at your locker, shoving your bag into the too small space, the rattle of the metal hurting your very being. “Seeing you each morning is just the best part of my day.” 

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s blatant lie, snorting at the possibility you could both be anything close to friends. Steve Harrington lived to annoy you, and had done since middle school. He spent the first couple of grades annoying you at recess, pulling your hair and snickering with his friends when you yelled, all pink cheeked and shocked looking when you stomped towards him, indignant, shoving the heel of your buttercup yellow shoe into his toes. 

It went on like that, spitballs launched from each end of the classroom, backs of chairs kicked and faces pulled at the other during presentations. Then you both got older and the words got colder, scathing remarks made in the hallway, lockers defaced with semi serious insults and potential dates ruined by mocking comments said in front of crushes. 

Then high school was over, Hawkins seemed to get smaller and the only job available to get you enough cash to leave the tiny, backwater town was a position beside Steve at Upside Down Arcade. Run by someone who everyone only knew as Murray - a man who had absolutely no time for anyone under the age of twenty five and was utterly inept with technology - the arcade was a staple in Hawkins. As permanent a feature as the community pool, the town hall and the library; the brown brick building looked bland from the street outside, but stepping in the doors led kids into a maze of gaming machines, air hockey tables and neon lights. 

The carpets had seen better days, the Space Invaders themed pattern a headache of dulled yellows, purples reds and greens, the painted black walls barely seen behind the rows and rows of games, all brightly light and beeping, illuminations flashing pink and blue, leaderboard charts mocking on the screens. 

It smelled like burnt sugar and stale popcorn, despite the machine not having worked for over a decade. A heavy mix of all things bad for you: sour candy, old hotdogs, cherry slush stains and pre-teen hormones. 

“If I’m somehow even bringing you the slightest bit of joy with my presence, Harrington,” you deadpanned, “then I’m doing it wrong.” You slammed the locker door shut and smirked when Steve had to yank his hand back, fingers narrowly avoided. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, moving only to grab his name badge from the board, making sure he knocked yours onto the floor when he shoved the bundle of keys into his pocket that opened up all the coin slots. 

“Murray’s not in until later, Donkey Kong is fried and oh,” he clicked his fingers and pointed a digit at you, all faux sympathy making his face soften. “I knocked you off the top spot on Dig Dug. Again.”

You glared. Steve grinned. 

 You wanted to say something sharp, something witty and mean, but your head was still pounding and your throat felt like the Sahara Desert. “Bite me, Steven,” you muttered instead, shoving past the boy so you could get out the door first, for no other reason than simply to feel like you’d won something. 

Steve was too close behind you when he answered, all charm and flirt, the cadence of his voice dropped to the level he used when he flirted with the older girls that brought in their baby siblings. 

“Bend over then, Princess Peach,” he cooed, “at least lemme see what I’m working with.” His voice was at your ear, his stupid hair tickling at your cheek. 

The stupid nickname made your nostrils flare, but the suggestive comment before it had your toes curling. You scoffed, shocked, because as the summer crawled by and the heat got higher, you and Steve’s snipes were getting more and more below the belt.

But that was his bravest yet. 

You didn’t bother turning round, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, and Jesus, you were sure your cheeks were flushed - but if he dared comment on it, you would’ve blamed it on the hangover you told him you didn’t have. 

“You’re a pig,” you bit out, ignoring how he kept close behind you as you finally braved opening the door. 

The arcade was already full to the brim, bursting with kids, a line of them at the desk, ticket stubs clutched in sticky hands, dollar bills ready to be exchanged for bags full of coins. The door almost hit Steve when you let it go behind you, his hands barely catching it as he scowled at your retreating figure. You planned to lurk in the darkest corner of the arcade for your entire shift, maybe sipping on a stolen slurpee, biding your time and waiting for your headache to soften enough in order to conjure a formulated attack on the Dig Dug machine. 

You turned around just before Steve served the first customer, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. He was already behind the cash register, Erica Sinclairs bundle of tickets in his hands as the girl pointed at a toy sword in the cabinet. 

“And don’t even try and pretend you haven’t looked before,” you called back to him, smug and referring to his lewd comment before. “Oh, ‘lemme see what I’m working with’,” you mimicked. “You’re not sly, asshole.”

A few kids tittered at the insult, Dustin Henderson snorting especially loud, but some gasped at how you cursed in front of them, a sure fire way to know there’d be a hand written complaint about on Murray’s desk tomorrow. You’d hoped your jab would make Steve shrink, maybe blush like he used to when you got all brave and bold with him. Shit, maybe he’d even had the right to look ashamed. 

But he simply shrugged, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking at you but his expression was still the same. 

Pleased. Too cocky. Challenging. 

You went straight to Dig Dug. 

[the-seelie-court-official]

didnt wanna add this to the post about europeans + usamericans being bugfuck stupid about Ukraine and considering it like. some kind of supermarket-and-electricity-less wasteland HOWEVER i just wanna point out that some people are just fucking Stupid.

i moved out of texas when i was young (around the first year of middle school) and the first question one of my fellow students (over the age of 10) asked me was whether or not we had tvs in texas. i legitimately had her convinced (for several hours) that no, we didnt, and we didn't have cars either, and all of the technology we produced was put into texas instrument calculators and none of the rest of us were allowed to have anything more complex than an electric oven

now okay, i forgive her because she was in fact a literal child

my debate partner in college, however,

[sweetpinkchampagne]

sinful II

18+ readers only please lovelies!! (this is for a reason please listen<3)

little synopsis: the reader is tonys daughter (he had her young, canon doesnt exist) theres tension between you and stephen, an obvious age gap keeping you from eachother (26, 40). theyre 'trapped' in an elevator together and the tension crumbles.

its been 2 days since the elevator incident and stephen has left you high and dry.. at an event you spot stephen with a young model in his lap, clearly he has a type. an angry confrontation leads to sex in a bathroom.

pronouns: female pronouns are used

relationship: fem reader x stephen strange not established relationship

note: i do not know what possessed me to write this shit, i will not apologise. i love you <333

warnings: defined age gap, stephen being possessive, controlling smut, dd/lg kind offf, petnames, semi public sex

it had been two nights, two long nights since your slip up with stephen. since you dropped your façade. you had woken up in his bedroom to cold sheets and an empty pillow. he had gone. fuck that, you thought. neither of you texted each other and conveniently he missed two days of work. well, define work - because he managed to find it within him to show up to a gala your father had thrown. a very fancy gala where people bidded on expensive technology and played characters for an evening. mingle with potential investors, keep up with appearances, engage with the press. those were the rules, and you weren’t going to disobey your father. another interesting detail that was headlined by TMZ, “doctor stephen strange seen with blonde supermodel. love or lust?” you weren’t blonde, or a supermodel by trade. that struck a nerve. 

it was 8pm, the gala had started an hour ago but you decided that just in case he did show up, you wanted to make a statement. your dress was a floor length black lacey number, with a sheer element that somewhat exposed your lower back and your ass. cascading down the stairs elegantly, you pushed open the doors loudly, fuck it you wanted to be seen. interrupting some old white man's bid on your father’s new bionic eye invention. the room went silent and heads whipped around. you sauntered over to the round table that seated natasha and maria, plopping yourself down in the seat next to the lovebirds. out of the corner of your eye you could see a man with jet black hair and grey streaks eyeing you, tongue in cheek, jaw clenched and you loved in it. natasha was the only person who knew of your one night stand turned revenge plot - therefore so did maria. you loved them both dearly.

“he’s staring, oh he’s livid.” natasha chuckled, adjusting her necklace. you swiveled turning back in your seat to grab a glass of very expensive champagne from the waiter, thanking him. 

“who’s that?” maria cocked her head, studying the blonde sat next to him. you knew it was her, you didn’t bother to look.

“stella whitford, shes a 26 year old model for dolce and gabbana.” natasha nearly spat out her red wine at your retort and maria snorted. 

“jesus stark! what are you, a stalker?” nat composed herself before looking back at the model. whitford was laughing, stephen whispering something in her ear. must have been fucking hilarious. 

“not a stalker, i'm just...well–read.” 

“didn’t think TMZ was your kind of read.”

“oh, so you guys saw it too?” maria nodded before mumbling an insult directed to stephen under her breath and nat agreed. you shrugged in response, "it's clear he’s just a middle aged man who preys on young women. i couldn't care less. honestly." you lied

“oh come on..” natasha responded, giving you an all-knowing look. 

“sold!! to edward tieran for 6.5 million dollars!” the sound of the mallet against the wood ringing in your ears as the crowd clapped. you heard the blonde pleading behind yo, far away and stephen firmly saying no. controlling prick. stella stood up, dismissing stephen before making her way to your table. you appreciated that.

“hi! oh my god, i know this is totally unprofessional but i’m like a big fan and i just- i'm sorry i just wanted to meet you! i’m stella.” she grinned widely, adoringly looking at you. she was so sweet. it was clear she had no idea about you and stephen. 

“oh! no, don't apologise, that’s so sweet!! it’s so nice to meet you stella” you shook her hand before natasha queried politely. 

“are you sitting with, strange?” she said with a smile on her face. you kicked her ankle from under the table and maria bit her cheek to hold back her laughter. 

“oh, yeah. he’s just a hookup, to be entirely honest with you i just wanted to attend a gala. i begged for him to take me and he finally gave in! he’s not my type, he was just in the right place at the right time.” a wave of relief washed over you, drowning you. you all continued chatting, politely mingling and she swiftly checked her phone seeing it was 10:30pm. 

“i'm so sorry! i have to go, i have this like really important club event to go to, you know how it is. there’s a buncha modelling scouts there. it was so lovely meeting you guys!!” she quickly hurried off, abandoning stephen. 

“i love her, can we take her home? she’s so precious” natasha teased at how threatened you were by stella. you felt stupid. she was lovely. more than lovely, and she was absolutely gorgeous.

“okay, okay.. i got it. she’s very sweet and i feel like an idiot.” you groaned, your head resting against your hand, your elbow on the table. it was bad manners, but whatever. servers holding plates of the regular beef and chicken circulated the venue, placing meals to the left of attendees. 

“i'm just going to go to the ladies room, i’ll be back” you sighed, ducking in between the servers, apologising but still confidently walking. you opened the doors to the lobby, it was entirely empty. the bathroom was beautiful, with gorgeous marble pillars and sinks. you touched up your lipstick and stood there composed. you washed your hands and dried them with a paper towel, still embarrassed. you walked with your back to the door to the bathroom, throwing your balled up paper towel into the bin. and suddenly, thud. a lean but muscular body hit you. before you could turn around to see who it was he spoke. 

“nice shot” you could recognise that baritone voice anywhere. you rolled your eyes and turned around. 

“i could get you kicked out for harassment for standing in the women's bathroom” you bit back. you were all riled up. 

“what? you're lonely, date leave you or something??” you said turning around. he was smirking. god you wanted to slap him. you swore you weren’t an angry person but he did things to you. 

“oh don’t tell me you’re jealous, dear.” he walked forward, essentially pushing his way into the bathroom before he shut the door. jealous?? please. 

“you were the one who left, didn’t speak a word to me and then hooked up with stella whitford - who by the way, can do so much better than you.” you scoffed. 

“you reading up on me, baby? i didn’t know you cared for me that much” he chuckled, looking around the bathroom, continuing to step forward before your lower back hit one of the beautiful marble sinks. 

“drop your panties” he said lowly, undoing his dress shirt’s sleeves, before efficiently rolling them up and backing you against the sink and lowering his head down to look at you. 

“excuse me? you can’t just barge in here after you left me in the dark" you were swiftly cut off. 

“do I need to repeat myself? i said, drop your fucking panties, stark. don't be bratty.” he had your chin positioned up, looking into your eyes, tutting. that cold, sexy stare. would you be weak for giving in, because god you wanted to.. without thinking you complied, shimming down your skimpy black lace underwear and throwing them at his chest. he chuckled at your childish response before he spun you around and unzipped your dress. he didn’t rip it, he unzipped it.. that was new. the dress fell to the floor. 

“elbows on the sink for me, pretty girl, can you do that fr’ me??” you were putty in his hands.

“this isn't fair and you know it.” you retorted, the cold marble stinging your elbows. 

“i know baby, let me kiss it better for you, yeah??” the sound of him undoing his belt sent shivers down your spine. this wasn’t exactly a private bathroom, anyone could walk in at any time and he knew it. before you knew it he was pounding into you as you gripped the sink, hot breaths fogging up the mirrors as the sound of skin hitting skin echoed through the room. 

“oh stephen.” you moaned, throwing your head back slightly, he wasn’t kind, this wasn’t making love - this was pure sex. 

“fucking christ you’re addictive.” he groaned before speeding up his pace. he was hitting your cervix unmercilessly. his knuckles white as he dug into the plush of your hips. god he looked good in a suit. the pounding against your g-spot made you whimper, your eyes glazed over and your mouth parted. your hair wasn’t in the pretty curls they were before you stepped into the bathroom. 

“god- i’m.. go- gonna.” you whimpered and he smirked at you in the mirror, watching you intently. 

“right there with you, come on sweetheart. give it to me, make a mess fr’ me.”  

you were done for. you came with a loud cry, your body shaking and trembling as the last waves of pleasure washed over you. he released your hips and kissed the back of your neck, giving you a satisfied, cocky smile. you collapsed in his arms, your heart still pounding as he cleaned you up, redressed you and propped you back up on the sink. his scarred hands gently taming your hair and tucking a curl behind your ears. he kissed your forehead as you looked up at him dumbly, face flushed, freshly fucked, head empty. how could you have said yes?

“fucking christ you’re addictive” the words he had spoken previously, ringing in your ears, stuck in your head.

[theinfiknight]

Everything about Kisuke Urahara is so fucking funny. He was a reclusive shut in. His childhood best friend is both the leader of the assassin corps and heir to royalty. He was an assassin himself. He lives in and runs a small candy shop that barely gets any custom. He constructed an underground artificially lit desert the size of an army base, underneath his little shop.

He is a middle aged man. His go to method of social interaction involves giggling like a highschool girl and making bad jokes. He was once in charge of running the hardest most underground gulag of the afterlife. He frequently got kicked in the face by his own vice captain, out of choice. His skill in unarmed combat is unrivalled. He adopted four high schoolers and lives with one middle schooler, one robot (?) and the former captain of the spellcasting corps. Said captain is almost certainly at least a century older than him, but acts as his general handyman and calls him 'manager'.

His first action after being appointed to the post of captain was to move the clutter and mess of his room into the official captains quarters. He then proceeded to kick back and laze with the other members of his squad who were attempting to escape working. He founded the Bureau of Technological Development. He was kicked out of the bureau of technological development for practicing illegal science. He was innocent. He broke out of court while being judged.

He wears a stupid fucking striped hat and wooden geta everywhere and carries a paper fan just to smile ominously behind. He was late to the first ever captains conference following his appointment to the post of captain, the conference held specifically to welcome him. He was framed for murder and is on the run from the law.

He created the anime version of an infinity stone. At any given time he carries at least five inflatable balloons that are indistinguishable from himself. He captured the man responsible for framing him and cleared his name. He still lives in exile in his little candy store, with his adopted kids and captain.

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Yandere! Gellert Grindelwald x Muggle! Female Reader.

One shot. Topic: Reader Chan who loses hope.

Grindelwald caressed your effeminate cheekbone with affection to get your attention. The two of you were bare naked and laying outside on the beach Grindelwald owned. He told his henchmen to close the land for today. It was just him and you.

You peeked at his awaiting expression. Just to get him off your back. You gave him a fake smile and ran your long piano fingers across his gray hair. 

You two married four days ago. When Grindelwald is finished with the last papers, he will take you to a real honeymoon. He wanted to take you to Denmark and then Libya. 

He imagined you wearing foreign dresses and jewelry. Grindelwald wanted to fuck you without taking them off. He fondly smiled at the memory of the wedding night. 

He didn't remove your huge sparkly wedding gown when he consummated the marriage. He let you bleed on the expensive silk material. To remind you, he is in charge. After that, Grindelwald didn't use his magic to clean the gown. He hung it up and placed it behind a glass case for display in his study. 

He wanted everyone to know he owned you. 

He was a fan of nature. So, he didn't make love to you on a bed in a bedroom. Too original and boring. No, he fucked you on the grass in the dark woods next to his old school, Hogwarts. His powerful magic skills blocked predators and made you two invisible. 

He felt as if he was the original Adam making love to his wife, Eve when they got expelled from Paradise. 

What a grand feeling.

You couldn't say the same. A elderly stranger whom you never met kidnapped you and chained you to a room. He didn't touch you but forced you to wed him. You tried to fight but he would whip and burn you. He tamed you like a horse. 

So, you had to respond to his kisses and look at him as he raped you. You felt like a coward. But who likes pain?

Grindelwald purred like a damn cat when you gave him his fake affection as if it was medicine. But, now. He noticed how lacking you were. As if you were not trying. You stopped giving him fake smiles and seemed to not mind getting hit by his slapping and hair pulling. 

How rude. He gritted his teeth at your defiance. So, he got his belt and whipped you. To his horror, you didn't seem to even feel him. You flinched and winced at the right time. But you didn't utter a word. The fuck is wrong with you?

He didn't feed you for two days. Then he finally came. 

"All right. That's enough!" He snarled and shook your shoulders. "Why are you acting like a bitch?"

"What's the point of my opinion? You're always offended by my answers anyway and deny them." You sarcastically replied as tears came out.

Grindelwald clenched his jaw. He demanded why you were ungrateful. You lost it. You pushed him out of his grip. You sobbed how you lost your freedom and all people you loved and how it was unfair that he expected you to love him like a mindless slave.

You clutched your face as you crumpled to the ground. The middle aged man watched you with a clean expression and said nothing. He didn't say it. He actually pitied you. He agreed he was rather mean to you. Grindelwald walked to the door. "Don't try to escape." His tone mellow and heartless once more. 

He was sitting on his favorite arm chair in his study with the fireplace lit. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Fuck. He screwed up. He didn't mean to break your spirit. When he told you he loved you. It was real. If he didn't love you. He wouldn't feel guilty or ask why you were unhappy. Grindelwald is too proud. He will never apologize or admit his mistakes. 

But, he is affectionate and will make it up. He decided to give you more freedom. Going on leisures alone in the Muggle world only. Not the Magic world. And have your technology devices back. 

Yeah. That will do.  Hopefully, he will make you lovey dovey and wrapped around his finger. But he will make conditions. Nothing is free. Everything has a price. You have to suck his dick well and hard before stepping outside. A smirk graced his gray cracked lips. Not a bad deal. 

[radioisntdead]

(To maybe save our hearts from the angst, how about a cuter idea? could be any gender really and be seen as platonic or not just very vague fluffy fun)

A reader who is similar age to Susan and is the opposite type of old person, a gentle Grandparent who has old person candies at all times. Most importantly however is the only one who can calm Susan's feral chihuahua energy, only when they need to of course.

They play cribbage on weekends, and definitely both chat about the youngins- maybe playfully feud on which is better Knit or Crochet

Good evening my dear! This is a little shorter then I wanted but I did write it in a hair salon, where at the time of posting I'm still in.

Bitter and sweet

Warnings!!!

Cannibalism, Reader is GN but gives off old lady grandma vibes, this is written in little drabbles mainly because I wrote them in an hair salon

Susan had a neighbor, she lived to the left of her house, while Susan's house was more stale and strict appearing her neighbor's was more soft colors, with gnomes outside and a lovely garden filled with all types of hell's flora,

You'd think the two would be at odds but they got along well, going out for tea each day, on weekends they'd go to bingo or play a game of cribbage, although they did get into tiffs about what was better between crochet and knitting, like how crochet is easier for some to pick up with the sole hook, or how knitting uses less yarn then crochet, They were dear friends, and this is some tidbits with them.

You and Susan had opposing aesthetics but that didn't stop the two of you from matching outfits in some way or another, she wore her usual pinkish dress? You were two feet away from her in more brighter attire.

"Kids these days are getting more and more foolish each day, fucking crying in the middle of the streets!"

Susan said, sat on a bench looking across the street at some poor cannibal gal sobbing as her dearest assumingly ended things

When you didn't respond she looked over at you only to see that you were gone,

"Where the hell- [Name]!"

You had dashed over to the gal, swatting at her former lover with your handfan, scolding him for breaking things off in the middle of the streets inside of somewhere private or inside a restaurant as the girl sobbed into your arms,

"Shh, it's alright you deserve better, someone with manners!"

You said patting her back, glaring at the unmannered former lover while Susan groaned from her seat, you just had to butt into other people's business didn't you!

Like she didn't do the same at times.

......

"You uncultured, red-40 looking, bad dental hygiene, modern technology radio man!"

Susan raised her cane to the Radio Deer man, you had just entered Rosie's Emporium for a snack,

"Susan! No! That is terribly rude!"

You shouted dashing over quickly before Susan could do anything, pushing down her cane, while apologizing,

"My apologies! I'll escort her out, here buy yourself something tasty"

You said taking the radio demons hand and placing some money and a few pieces of candy into it before linking an arm with Susan and taking her outside while scolding her as she grumbled, leaving the Radio demon lowkey stunned and missing his mother.

You were how he imagined she would've been if she lived to be elderly.

.....

"For fuck's sake! Why are you in my house?"

Susan shouted as she walked into her kitchen only to see you adorned in an old lady apron chopping away at some vegetables while some type of meat simmered on the stove,

"Making us lunch obviously! I have news about that lovely gal we met on the street a few months ago! She's going steady with my nephew, the one with the good job not the one that's married, and I must tell you what her scandalous ex lover had to say-"

You rambled on, mixing up slang from different decades Susan could care less about the gal who was sobbing on the streets but you seemed to hellbent on telling her about the 'tea' as you called it.

.....

"Susie, let's listen to what the princess has to say before booing her off the stage, this is why she called you an old bitch''

You said linking an arm with Susan before shouting over at Charlie as Rosie pulled her aside,

"My apologies!"

You chased down Charlie at a later date to give her some candies for her troubles with Susan,

You paid visits to the hotel after that, bringing treats for the residents.

....

"Knitting is superior, it uses less yarn then your hook, knitting takes far more skill and that little crochet thing seems easier.''

Susan said knitting a scarf as you sat across from her, crocheting a net.

"Susie, you are my dearest friend and I love you, But I can and will surplex you into a wall if you say that again."

Hearing that while you wore the sweetest smile would strike fear into the average sinner.

......

"Are we thinking barbecue? Grilled? Perhaps baked? Oo I recently picked up some new seasonings we could try!"

You shouted over to Susan as you threw a net at an exorcist pulling them down and stabbing them with an angelic weapon before discarding them to the side to harvest their wings later,

"I don't give a donkeys ass as long as they taste good!"

.....

"Susie?"

"Hm?"

"I'm dying again."

"Don't be dramatic!''

She smacked you gently on the head with her cane as you broke out in laughter, angel wing in your hand and gold around your mouth.

Good evening folks! I am actively dangling Susan around like a keychain, I should invest in a Susan keychain, are Susan keychains a thing???

[lulublack90]

Prompt 8 - Headphones

@jegulus-microfic February 8 Word count 940

Previous part First part

CW- Blood, cuts, the aftermath of torture.

Time slowed as they descended the stairs. Each step took an age. By the time he reached the bottom and stood at the door to the cellar, he was certain that an hour had gone by. In reality, it had been less than a minute. 

Sirius reached around him and opened the door. 

“Come on, James. He needs us.” Sirius urged him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. James nodded and walked through the door. 

He was immediately hit by a strong, metallic smell—Iron—Blood! It was too dark to see clearly, but he could make out a figure slouched on a chair in the middle of the room. 

Sirius muttered a charm. A floating orb appeared, illuminating the small room. 

James gasped at the sight before him. Regulus’s head was lolling back, his face swollen and bruised. His body was covered in thin slashes, slowly oozing blood. James looked down at the pool of red collecting on the floor around the chair and grimaced. 

This was his fault. Regulus suffered because of him. 

He rushed forward, determined to help him. He yanked at the ropes, binding Regulus to the chair. Regulus groaned weakly at the movement. 

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.” He murmured into Regulus’s ear. Sirius had pulled open the slim cupboard in the corner and started rummaging through the collection of glass vials. 

“What do we need?” He shot over his shoulder at James. 

James looked Regulus over again. 

“Blood replenisher, pain potion and dittany if they have it.” James heard the clatter of vials being moved aside, and then Sirius was beside him, ripping the stoppers out with his teeth. 

“Reg, sweetheart, I need you to open your mouth so we can give you the potions.” He carefully lifted Regulus’s head upright and tried to pry his jaws apart. But Regulus chomped down, refusing to cooperate. 

“Regulus you absolute prat. Open your damn mouth, and let us help you!” Sirius butted in, taking a different approach to James. 

James stared in wonder as the younger man shot daggers at his brother but opened his mouth just wide enough for the potions to be poured in. 

“That’s the blood replenisher. The next one’s a pain killer, okay, Reggie. You’ll start feeling better in a minute.” Sirius assured his brother as he tipped the second vial into his mouth. 

James started using the basic healing charms that he knew. At least nothing seemed to be broken. He could heal cuts and bruises alright, but bones were another matter. 

Soon, Regulus’s face looked almost back to normal. The bruises would fade completely in the next day or two.  

James decided it would be easier for Regulus and themselves if he laid down, so he transfigured the chair into a cot and helped Sirius to lie him down flat.  

Sirius pulled out his headphones and carefully placed them over his brother’s head. 

“What the fuck have you just put on me.” Regulus’s hoarse voice croaked. He seemed more alert, so the potions must be helping.  

“Headphones,” He said as he pressed play on his walkman. “Brand new muggle technology. Thought it might help you relax while we fix the rest of you.” James had already started healing the cuts along one of his arms. 

“Ugh, fine. Who’s singing?” Regulus didn’t have the energy to fight his brother, and the music blocked the sound of his healing skin. 

“Bowie,” Sirius answered simply. 

“Bowies shit,” Regulus complained through gritted teeth. 

“Only because you’re a heathen. Bowie is magical. Do not dis, Bowie!” It took James a few frustrated moments to realise that Sirius was deliberately bickering with Regulus to keep his mind off what they were doing to him. 

He healed the last cut on Regulus’s left arm. His fingers brushed against the ugly black brand on his forearm. How different their lives could have been if Regulus hadn’t joined Voldemort. He drew his eyes away from the mark and started healing the next section. 

They healed every cut, and Sirius had the bright idea to add the essence of dittany into his body cream to make it easier to get it on all of Regulus’s sore body. 

When they were finished, Regulus cracked open an eye. 

“Can I go to sleep now?” He asked quietly. James and Sirius looked at each other, knowing they needed to get something from him, or Moody would come straight back down here, and they wouldn’t be allowed back down again. 

Not yet, love. We need some information. Something important that we can give to Moody.” He stroked his cheek delicately with the backs of his fingers. 

“Was this the plan all along? Bad Auror Moody, and then you two come in all, ‘let us save you, Reggie.’” He looked hurt like they were playing with him. 

“What? No, of course not. We had to plead with Mad-Eye just to be allowed to come down here.—”

“We’re trying to help you, you git. Do you really think James would try and trick you like that?” Sirius butted in, trying his more direct tactic again. 

Regulus looked up at James sadly and nodded. 

“Okay. I’ve got something. But I get to keep these things.” He pointed at the headphones. Sirius looked outraged. 

“I’ve only just got them. Plus, you don’t even like Bowie.” Regulus gave him a small smirk. 

“He’s growing on me.” 

“Gah. Fine. Keep them. Now tell us the information you have.” Sirius gave in quickly. This was more important than a walkman. Regulus swallowed hard and stared into James’s eyes as he told them.  

“He’s going to attack the Ministry.”

Next part

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you are still taking questions, could I ask about Uryuu? Or Mizuiro, I have always loved him and wanted to see more of him.

The day after The Stabbing Incident in which Ichigo's Shinigami Powers were activated, Lunchtime:

--

"Rukia!" Ichigo called from the door. "We got a club meeting!"

"What? Oh, right!" She giggled, all bubbly persona, which immediately vanished in the hall "-You signed me up for a club? Ichigo, you know I don't have time for extracurriculars!"

"Calm down, this one doesn't assign homework. We just meet on the roof for lunch." He explained, marching resolutely against the stream of traffic in the hall.

"Oh? Up to something illicit are you?" Rukia teased, ducking behind him to avoid being swept away.

"Nah, we just meet on the roof so Kon can join us." Ichigo shrugged kicking open the door to the roof.

" 'SUP NERDS!" Ichigo bellowed affectionately at the gaggle of teenagers already assembled on the roof. "Okay Rukia, this is the "I Can See Ghosts And It fucking Sucks Club", guys, this is Rukia."

"Hi miss Rukia!" Waved a readheaded girt that puberty had hit like a truck.

"-Rukia is a shinigami like the freak that used to live in my dad's attic, and last night one of those bigass monster ghosts attacked my fuckin' house and Rukia kinda accidentally-on-purpose stabbed me and now I got fuckin' shinigami powers, which is mostly being able to ditch my body and summon a bigass sword to kill the monster ghosts with."

Those assembled stared at him in silence.

There was a rattle and Kon appeared at the top of the chain-link fence around the roof. "You know Ichigo, I think I know why your Literature class grades suck." the cat sighed. "Rukia got injured and used her magic sword to transfer her powers to Ichigo to fight off the hollow, and accidentally gave him too much and now she's stuck here until the Shinigami skills bleed back out of Ichigo."

"Ohhhhh..." the group nodded.

"-By stabbing me." Added Ichigo. "I feel like the stabbing part is being lowballed here."

"Welp. time to reset the counter." Sighed a lightly disheveled young man with brown hair, and the youthful looking lad with black hair beside him opened his laptop, typed for a few seconds and then turned the screen to show the group a digital counter that read

DAYS SINCE OUR LAST SUPERNATURAL NONSENSE AND/OR GRIEVOUS BODILY INJURY: 0

Previous streak: 17.324 Days.

"Thanks. Very helpful." Sighed Ichigo. "Tweedle Dee and tweedle Dumbass here are Mizurio and Keigo."

Ichigo pointed to the brunette. "Keigo here comes from a long-ass line of psychics and has been documenting every instance of supernatural activity in Karkura town going back to the middle ages since he was like. Ten? Don't let the fact that he's deliberately failing out of school fool you, he's probably the world's most brilliant moron."

"Iiiiiichigoooo, why you gotta make me sound like a loser in front of the actual-factual ghost girl?" Keigo whined.

"I'll stop making you sound like a loser when you stop being a loser." Ichigo huffed, and pointed to the black-haired youth beside him. "Babyface McGee here is Mizurio, he's our other technology geek, and he can cast Summon Gun."

"Pleasure to meet you Miss Rukia!" Mizurio said, extending his hand politely. "If you need some armament against the- what did you say they were called? Hollows? - I can provide you with something. First one's on the house, as my Uncle says."

"Oh!" Laughed Rukia. "By 'summon gun' you mean you have a way of purchasing weapons! I thought for a second you had the magical ability to spontaneously manifest guns or something ridiculous like that!"

The group collectively grimaced at her, except for the silent Giant, who was too busy snuggling Kon.

"Have you ever fired a weapon like a handgun Miss Rukia?" Mizurio asked holding his hand up beside his head, as though holding up an invisible object.

"Uh." Said Rukia, staring at his hand. ""...No."

"In that case I'm going to reccomend a Glock-17 lightweight pistol-" Mizurio nodded, and a small, bright blue light ignited in his palm, swirling and drawing Reishi into it, forming a physical object.

"-it's very reliable and easy to sight accurately, and doesn't have much of a kickback so I'm confident you'll only need a little practice to be able to handle it reliably!" He smiled cheerfully as the object finished manifesting in his hand, and he easily unloaded it with a practiced motion, set the saftey out of habit and offered it to Rukia to inspect.

"UH." Said Rukia, recoiling from the weapon with alarm.

"Oh don't worry!" Mizurio chirped. "Any gun that I make- And I make them, not summon them- has infinite ammo once the clip is loaded, and it's perfectly effective against hollows! You'll be perfectly fine using it!"

"I- You- I mean-" Rukia sputtered, staring wide-eyed at the gun. "-Did you. Learn? to do this?"

"Hm-..." Mizurio frowned at the gun. "Well, I've gotten better at it over time, but it's not like anyone taught me, if that's what you mean."

"Uh-huh." Rukia nodded, teeth bared in an attempt at a smile that completely failed. "You. Uh. You got any German ancestry?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know!" Mizurio laughed. "I don't actually know who my father is, and I strongly suspect he doesn't know his father either! Why?"

"...Mizurio, I think you're a Quincy."

---

Downstairs in the lunchtime meeting of the Karkura High School Crafts Club, Uryuu Ishida sneezed in the middle of a demonstration of different stitch types, and knocked over a large bottle of glitter, coating the entire room.

"...That's a bad omen if I ever saw one." Muttered one of the girls, sparkling.

---

"What's a Quincy?" Mizurio asked.

"It's a- Okay, before I start an explanation, is there anyone else here with weird supernatural powers?" Rukia asked.

There was a whirl of energy behind her and she turned to see the Silent Giant that had been cradling Kon had manifested a strange, sleek armor over his right arm. Kon was still cradled like a very spoiled infant in his left arm, purring.

"Hi. I'm Sado Yasutora, but I go by Chad." he spoke, voice barely above a mumble as he cautiously peeked up at Rukia through his bangs. "This is my punchin' arm."

"...Great." Whimpered Rukia.