#this just popped into my head for whatever reason

[laambfuzz]

—- lunch munch club. ft schlatt. ᝰ

summary: watching porn late one night when you come across an interesting video. you're taken by surprise when you see the main male star is also the man who's streams you tune into almost daily.

— tags: smut, lunch club!schlatt, munch schlatt, mentions of oral, schlatt does purn (duh), open ending.. so we can expand upon this if we're interested.

authors note: hii! the two ideas i had originally can wait, because the lovely @fanficfox posted something about lc!schlatt doing porn and it struck me with inspo. so! everyone say thank you fox, and i hope you all enjoy! ♡

it's not uncommon for you to have some time to just yourself and the stash of porn videos that pop up on your twitter feed

twitter algorithm knows what to give you these days, which is nice. it saves you the hassle of finding a good account

but perhaps twitter knows you a little too well, when you're recommended a video of a guy eating a girl out

and you're intrigued of course, because who doesn't love that? especially when the camera is on her chest, helping entice you into the experience. as if it were you

the video is already a few seconds in by the time you click on it, and you're introduced to the scene with obscene moans escaping the girl

you can see her thighs tremble around the head in between her thighs, her free hand reaching out to run her fingers through the male's hair

you can hear muffled groans from in between her thighs, and you watch as the head moves back slightly, taking a breath

"god sweetheart, you taste so fuckin' good. could stay down here all night and take my sweet time with you."

that's when a shiver runs through your body, because oh. that sounded like.. and you supposed when you looked at the figure of the male, and the hair..

no. you were being stupid. of course you were. why on earth would schlatt of all people do porn. you know what he's like, he wouldn't

but oh, he would. and when he raises his head from beneath the girl's thighs with his lips glistening with her slick, you're frozen

it's as if your mind has short-circuited, because what the fuck?? you have so many questions; why was schlatt doing porn, why was he not making it subtle, why was he fucking good at it?

you don't have time to focus on your own questions, because your eyes are drawn back to the screen. you watch as his slim, naked body crawls up the bed, getting closer to the camera, licking his lips slowly as he groans

"words can't describe how good that was. need you to taste yourself, baby."

and with that, he's leaning over the camera to lock lips with the girl

immediately you close the tab. your whole being is flushed, and you feel hot inside for many reasons

you felt like you shouldn't have seen that, like you were.. intruding. which was stupid, he put this on the internet, there's nothing private about that

you decided you'd sleep it off. or that maybe this was a bizarre dream you'd wake up from not too long from now. anything but clicking back onto it

and yet only 10 minutes later, you had re-opened the tab

the next evening, schlatt is streaming and you try to watch it like normal. as if last night didn't happen

but you couldn't

now, every time he makes a suggestive joke or comment, you're transported back to last night

when he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck mid-stream, you remember how he looked doing it in the video, before he crawled towards the camera

when he licks his lips after taking a drink, getting the remnants of whatever liquid he had consumed from them, you can only see him licking the girl's slick off himself

you felt insane, like you couldn't act normal about it

and maybe it was part of the insanity, but it felt like he knew.

maybe you were just psychoanalysing his every move now, but you could've sworn he was never like this before.. he was

you decided to test the waters with a few donations littered throughout the night

when he has ordered food in and was wolfing it down, there were scraps and sauces across his lips

"are you always this messy? i thought you liked to take your time with things."

when he's reviewing a video and he's talking a lot over a particular section

"you ever been told you talk too much, or do people usually like that?"

or, when he's playing a poorly made hide 'n' seek game with fans

"i'm not sure you're as good at hiding things as you may think."

"oops, 'things' autocorrected in."

every time schlatt hears one of your donations come through tts, he feels a shiver run down his back

he knew his little side hustle wasn't exactly locked behind security, it was just.. out there

maybe he was overthinking it, reading too much into your donations for no reason

either way, he's noting down your name on a sticky note on his desk for next stream for.. reasons.

[s0urw00lf]

I saw your post for requests and I was hoping you could write one of mine 🫠. Can you do something like an au where Dean did go to college briefly but left to continue hunting. But while he was in college he met reader and they start dating and when he left he told her he’s come back for her but he didn’t. Time skip to s3 after he sold his soul he comes back hoping to rekindle only to see how him breaking her heart changed her

Whether or not that get back together is up to you

Back into my life

Dean Winchester x Blackfem!reader

an: im so glad you asked this because its been the longest time since I’ve written for dean and i think its time to add him back to my roster. Also the person who requested this PM’ed me and asked for reader to be black.

Dean knew he was wrong. Dean knew sam knew he was wrong. But he couldn’t help himself, he had a year left and he wants to spend it with the woman he fell in love with all those years ago. If you’d let him. He knew you’d give him hell, but he was willing to take it if it meant he could at least see you again, hear your voice one last time.

“You sure you wanna do this man? I mean y/n is a hell of a force especially when she’s mad” Sam asked from the passenger seat. Dean didn’t answer, he stared at the entrance to the bar that a friend of yours had told him where to find you with a smirk on his face when dean mentioned who he was.

Without even answering he got out of the car, Sam followed quickly behind, hoping that this ended well but knowing your fiery nature and deans macho attitude, it wouldn’t.

When they entered the bar deans eyes immediately found you, you weren’t hard to spot, it was like his eyes just knew where to look. You were laughing with a group of friends in a pretty little dress that complimented your skin and your hair was out of the braids you used to keep them in during college.

Every part of you made his heart pound out of his chest.

Before he knew it he excused himself to the bathroom or really just left Sam standing. And thankfully so because not long after you found your eyes wandering as they did very often and your eyes landed on a familiar face, unmistakably Sam. Your heart plummeted to the ground, you knew that if Sam was here there was a really big chance dean was too.

You excused yourself from your friends and made your way over to the man who had grown even taller since you’d last seen him. You pushed your way through the sweaty crowd hoping to reach him before he disappeared in the crowded club.

You reached him just in time to see him start making his way to a table. “Sam!” You shouted over the loud music. The tall man turned around and his eyes widened as if the reason for being here wasn’t for his brother to seek you out, he just hadn’t been expecting you to see him before dean. “Y/n, its nice to see you” he said scratching the back of his head.

You gave him a look “is he here?” You asked, Sam looked as if he was debating lying but a look from you threw the thought right out of his head “he’s uh- in the bathroom” he stuttered.

You inhaled deeply pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation. After the week you had of course the only guy you’d ever fallen in love with and was so kind as to leave you in the dust, was back.

You looked back to Sam who stood awkwardly, awaiting whatever it was you had to say. “Why now do you two decide to pop up? You got hunt or something?” You questioned squinting your eyes.

“Uh no we-“ “I just wanted to see you again” your heart skipped a few beats at the sound of his voice, that love you had for him blossomed in your stomach as if you were taken back to all those years ago, but the rage also built and quickly overpowered any kind of love that was there.

You slowly turned around facing the green eyed man. He hadn’t looked a day older than the last time you saw him, though his hair was shorter and he was a little taller and muscular he was still Dean.

“Hey sweetheart” he said cautiously with an uncertain smile on his face. You couldn’t stop your hand from connecting to his face with a little too much force before leaving the bar entirely.

Dean was shocked by how hard you hit him, yes he was completely deserving of it it didn’t take away from the shock factor. He looked to Sam who was trying his hardest to hold back his laugh before following you.

You didn’t know what to do, you were driven to the bar by Chelsea and she was somewhere inside doing god knows what.

You couldn’t help the tears that formed in your eyes, you always thought that if he ever came back you’d stand tall and give him a piece of your mind and that slap was hardly scratching the surface of what you needed to say.

You felt like the world was spinning and the sound of him calling your name and his rushed footsteps coming toward you hadn’t been helping.

“Sweetheart please-“ “please what Dean?” You whipped around to face him. “What you want me to listen to whatever sob story you make up so I feel bad for you? Not gonna happen” you shook your head.

Any ounce of confidence he previously had was shattered. Standing here looking at your broken teary eyes he felt his throat closing up. “No that’s not why-“ “how could you do that to me Dean? I gave you my heart, my body and my soul and you took it with you when you left. All I had was one lousy message a promise that couldn’t have meant much to you to begin with. You said you’d come back for me. And I waited, and waited, and waited, for you Dean. For years.” You threw your head back, looking at the stars as you tried to keep from letting the tears in your eyes fall.

There was a long silence, you waited for anything from Dean but you were only met with silence. “One hell of an apology” you said, moving around him to go back to the bar. You had to get Chelsea and go or at least borrow her car, thankfully you weren’t too drunk to drive.

“I tried to stay” Dean shouted from behind you. Your steps faltered to an eventual pause. “I tried to call, hell I even tried to come back” he said. You turned around, his back was facing you and his head was down as if he was ashamed. “Why didn’t you?” You questioned, net even positive you wanted the answer.

“My dad. He came back, after a hunt and I’d got home late from hanging out with you. Even though Sammy could handle himself he was pissed” he paused “he questioned me ten ways to hell until I broke. Told him about you and how much I loved you, that you were good for me and accepted me and what I do.”

You had not even noticed when you started walking back towards him, it was like his body was pulling your body back to him where it belonged.

“I mean he was furious. Never seen him that mad in my life. He packed us up and left, broke my phone and the sim. After a while he told me you were better off without me. That all I’d bring you is death and destruction” the more Dean talked the more broken he sounded.

You grabbed his face moving it to face you. “Oh god… dean” you didn’t even know what to say to him. His eyes held so much pain it couldn’t be health for one person. “ ‘m sorry sweetheart, I should’ve came back, I shou-“ you cut him off pressing your lips firmly to his. You held his face with such softness you were scared he might disappear again.

Dean sighed into the kiss, bringing you closer by your hips, you body felt ignited again. The flame that blew out once he left was back, and you wouldn’t let anything take it away from you again.

You disconnected from the kiss “I’m sorry, I spent all these years resenting you and you suffered just as bad as me” you whispered, feeling like if you spoke any louder you might snap into a reality where this was just a dream.

“You’re mine again sweetheart. From now until the end” for him it wasn’t long. But you didn’t need to know that. Not yet at least.

[kazusrightmole]

BACK AGAIN

small note: a small and old drabble to upload before my exams tom lol (also an offering to the dr stone fandom as a celebration for the season 4 of dr stone,, also a bit of a canon divergence here and takes place way before taiju was first revived by senku lmfao) and uhh no dialogues from reader here as this was set in senku's pov

SENKU ISHIGAMI was someone who wasn’t too fond of romance or anything related to it in general, which was why he’d rather spend the rest of his life dedicating to the love of his life—Science.

That, he made it pretty well-known among his fellow peers and the loved ones involved in his life. The blunt male just guessed that the reason behind was simply because he wasn’t all up for the hype of something so complicated. Obviously, Science was supposed to be a concept filled with natural complexities dedicating to everything within and in life itself, but with thorough and careful research, even the most complicated processes of certain materials and life forms could easily be answered if anyone had just taken the time to do simple research or whatever.

Unlike everything else about romance itself. If you liked this person so much, why can’t you just get on and be done with it already? Does it really matter whether you’d get rejected or not? Because frankly, after begrudgingly watching a few romcom films (thanks to Yuzuriha’s and Taiju’s conjoined yet stubborn efforts), most of them could’ve been easily solved if they had just stopped distancing themselves from each other and just communicate everything they’ve been feeling towards the other.

It’s as simple as that, isn’t it? he let out a snicker as he recalled those memories, his movements unnoticeably shaky yet still somehow maintaining relentlessly. Even as his throat silently begged be to quenched of its thirst and his frame on the verge of being roasted under the sun’s harsh light—Senku Ishigami, unsurprisingly, couldn’t find it in himself to stop whatever he was doing even if it was for a quick break.

His calloused hand then popped another one of his, hopefully now working fluid he randomly found in some cave—seeing as the previous fluid he just poured over the stone obviously didn't work.

At this rate, he might just start believing in god and lady luck themselves if the stone ever cracked.

Just a little more—can’t let them down now.

Which was exactly why tinkering, experimenting, and discovering new stuff using certain things along with newfound materials, was something he’d been mostly looking forward to do as soon as he got up from bed. While others may find his interest with science a bit too excessive, Senku Ishigami could really care less.

Honestly, the blunt male would rather have his head filled with thoughts of all possibilities of creating something beneficial for all of humanity. A bit of an ambitious dream, but with senku’s intelligence and insane dedication combined? Yeah, no, at this point, nothing was ever going to phase him one bit.

Or at least he thought so.

For some reason, the universe and above had somehow collectively thought to prove the smart teenager otherwise. And what other way could it be if not turning all of humanity into stone by some sort of weird green light?

Yeah, honestly, Senku would’ve been shocked at most if he hadn’t been already turned to stone as soon as the light hit his skin. Too bad he already turned into a living concrete before he could even get the chance to process whatever the hell’s going on.

Thankfully enough, he still managed to maintain his consciousness long enough by counting down every seconds, minutes, months, and heck, even years.

“How annoying,” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes before chuckling and wiping away the sweat that trickled down his temple. A seemingly malicious yet tired grin plastered across his face as he opened his eyes and leaned back once more, a pair of crimson hues glinting in delight at the sight of the stone gradually cracking below him. The small sound of rumbling echoed as multiple lines emerged, smoothly working together across the surface to unveil whatever laid beneath, while an alluring white glow shone from behind the slowly cracking stone—thanks to the recently successful fluid Senku had just poured over today's subject.

The teenage boy, however, just didn’t expect his consciousness would last up to 3,700 years later—but he guessed it should be something more considered as a relief more than anything. Especially since humanity, having been turned to stone, must’ve had their bodies’ aging processes halted, at least until they miraculously broke free from the hard confines encasing them.

Whatever the case—Senku Ishigami was just glad to have you back once more.

“Heh, took you long enough to wake up, huh? While you were busy taking the world's longest nap, I was out here doing all the heavy lifting to bust you out of that stone, you cotton brain.”

TAG LIST; EMPTY SLOT

— MASTERLIST

[minnows-wc-blog]

MOONMOON 4 LIFE

[ID: A small cartoonishly drawn Moonpaw is gazing happily at the moonpool, a bright swirl of colors and stars in the vague shape of a heart, while blushing. Moonpaw is a heavily mottled black and beige cat with corrosponding yellow and blue eyes. Above Moonpaw and the Moonpool is the text: “You’re the brightest star I see tonight!” The text is multi colored with a white glowing affect behind it. The background of the entire piece is a dark purple-blue with faded pink sparkles. “Camp” might be a dull work to describe the image.]

[wishchip106]

he’s gaming

[an-unrecognizable-face]

robert sean leonard you are so incredible and i love you…. my absolute bestie forever (he’s almost the exact same age as my mom)

[xxlady-lunaxx]

“Do you like the snow?” Kokushibo asked, his three pairs of eyes gazing momentarily at Muzan before flicking back down to the floor. He sunk deeper into his bow, waiting silently. It was an odd question to follow up an order for a mission, yet it had slipped out nonetheless. Perhaps because he’d just been brought into the Infinity Castle after being out in the snow all evening, but it’d been the first thing on his mind.

“The snow?” Muzan repeated. His tone was surprisingly full of inquiry—and maybe he was holding back from reading Kokushibo’s mind, or was asking purely through courtesy (unlikely, but possible), but he sounded genuinely curious.

“Yes,” Kokushibo agreed.

“If I like it…” he mused, shaking his head. “No, I never cared for it. Is there a point to this question?”

“No. Apologies, Kibutsuji-sama.”

“Ah. Well, then—“ He signaled vaguely with a hand and, with the strum of a biwa, Kokushibo was teleported back outside. His steps sunk into the thick layers of snow as he began to walk towards the nearest village.

Meanwhile, Muzan had himself transported to a town where one of his crafted families were. As he walked idly down the streets, the snow crunched under his feet and seeped into the cuffs of his pants. He frowned down at the footsteps that walked in all directions. When he glanced up, he was met with a row of small snowmen, twigs sticking out as arms for the army of snowballs.

“Do I like snow?” he asked himself, gazing, confused, at the snowmen. “No, no I don’t.”

The sound of chattering brought his attention back up, drawn to the laughter. A little girl, whom he recognized as the one he was meant to be the father of, ran towards him, mindless of how the snow and mud splattered against the hem of her dress.

He crouched slightly, picking her up when she jumped onto him.

“It snowed!” she informed him, unnecessarily, a wide smile splitting her face. “Can we play outside before dinner? Can we? Please, Chichiue!”

“Mm? Did Kaa-chan say that was alright?” he asked, feigning excitement and patting her head.

“Yeah! She said ten minutes!”

“Ten minutes, it is,” he assured her, and placed her back down. She giggled, picking up a clump of snow and tossed it at him. Instinctively, he dodged it, and she pouted.

“You’re no fun!” she told him, then went off to play on her own, shouting something about making a forest for the snow people.

Muzan watched, conflicted. A memory, somewhere in the back of his mind, nudged him. Quietly bothering him, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. As he watched the daughter that wasn’t quite his begin to roll in the snow, he gave in, closing his eyes with a soft exhale. His breath was visible before him, but he didn’t see it, instead transported centuries into the past. Back when he had been his daughter’s age, equally elated over the concept of snow.

—x—x—

“But I want to see it—!” Muzan protested, his whining loud despite the frailness of his body. His nurse fretted over him, shaking her head.

“No, no, you’re not fit for it! You’ll catch a fever if you step out,” she told him, pushing him gently back into his bed. He was small, not just because he was a child, but even more than the average for his age. Recently, his appetite had been low, and with winter at its peak, his condition had worsened. Yet he was immediately awake at the mention of the snowy wonder he’d yet see for himself.

Grumbling, Muzan wiggled out of the covers, pushing the weight of them all off. The air outside the blankets was chilly, and he shivered, but persisted. “So? I’m always sick!” he all but yelled. “I’ll get sick either way! I wanna go!”

“Muzan-chan,” the nurse tried. She retrieved one of the blankets and draped it over his shoulders. “Your mother won’t be happy.”

“I don’t care!” he decided. “Okaa-san would understand!”

“But…”

Muzan turned to her with wide eyes that were full of longing, a pout forming. “Just a couple minutes? I never get to do things.”

The nurse struggled with herself for a moment, then sighed, sagging. “Alright. Five minutes. I’ll find you some clothes, you can’t go out in that.”

A few moments later, Muzan stumbled outside, bundled up in scarves and several layers of haori. The nurse held his hand tightly, gently helping him step into his shoes and then onto the snow. Red eyes alight with wonder, Muzan gasped and prodded tentatively at the snow with his foot. When it formed a cavity in the bright white mound, he laughed and stomped down, the widest of smiles splitting his face when the snow went flying.

“Careful, Muzan-chan!” the nurse warned, not quite letting him go even when he began to waddle through the snow. His excitement was palpable, his breath visible in the air where he spoke.

“It’s so cold,” he remarked, his cheeks and nose bright red—a contrast to his pale skin. However he seemed unbothered by the temperature, even elated by it, uncaring for the sacrifice if it meant being outside. “Ne, can I play?”

“Ah… You’re not well, yet, so be cautious,” was his answer. But the nurse reluctantly let him go, keeping close as he giggled and spun in a slow circle.

Abruptly, he sank down, poking the snow with a finger. He sucked in a breath and pulled his hand back. “It’s so—“ he started, then plunged his hand in, laughing breathlessly at the iciness.

“Don’t do that!” the nurse chided, crouching and pulling his hand out, wrapping it in one of the scarves. “You’ll give yourself a frostbite.”

“But it feels funny!” he said, only to be distracted by something else. He stood, slowly, then hurried off to soothe his curiosity. His enthusiasm was ceaseless, smiles bright and full of life. They ended up staying out for ten minutes, until Muzan began getting dizzy from all the movement.

As he was ushered inside, shoes pulled off and tucked back onto bed, he began recounting his adventure. His mother listened patiently while the nurse made some tea, readjusting the blankets so they were up to his chin.

“It was so cold, and really mushy, and kept getting on my clothes, and then it melted and—and then I made people! Out of snow! And we got sticks and put them in the snow for arms, but then the people fell apart—but, but then we made even more, and then there was a bunch of footprints in the snow—“ he said, without even stopping for breath. His face was still tinged red where the air had bit his skin, and he seemed as if he’d run miles for hours. But his happiness was infectious, and his mother couldn’t resist the smile that followed her understanding hums.

“Is that so?” she asked, when he finally paused to catch up with himself.

The nurse returned with tea for all three of them, and they helped Muzan drink his first. When he finished a few sips, he nodded.

“It was super fun, I wanna go outside again tomorrow!”

“Maybe another day,” his mother suggested. “You rest well today and tomorrow, and we’ll consider. How about that?”

“…okay,” Muzan pouted, but agreed, burrowing into his blankets. “I’ll sleep now!”

“All right, then,” his mother said, amused, and patted him gently. “Sleep well, and you’ll see the snow in a bit.”

She and the nurse left the room once they were sure he’d sleep, taking the tea with them. Muzan tucked his face under the blankets, bringing his hands up to his cheeks and feeling how much colder they were.

“Like the snow,” he said to himself. “I love the snow!”

That night, his dreams consisted of snow in the summers when he was allowed out for small bits of time—the snowmen he’d made now with arms that stayed, relaxing in the shade beside him. Every year, he must go out when it snowed. He’d make sure that it happened. One way or another!

—x—x—

“Chichiueeee!”

The whiny voice brought Muzan back to the present and he hummed, glancing down at the little girl that tugged on his pant leg.

“Yes, Teruko-chan?” he asked, pushing away his impatience to bend down.

“I’m cold!” she said with a huff. “I wanna go inside!”

“All right.” Muzan scooped her up into his arms, wandering towards their house. “Where’s your mother?”

“Kaa-chan’s making dinner, and she saw you outside so she said I could play with you,” his daughter informed him, wiggling in his grasp. She pressed her cheek to his, and he felt the coolness in her skin, reminding him of when he’d pressed his hands to his own face.

“Is that so? Then why don’t we go inside to eat?” he suggested, and pushed the door open. The little girl immediately squirmed from his arms and dashed off to the kitchen where, presumably, the food was being made. He tapped the snow from his shoes, then took them off as he entered. The door closed behind him, and he remained at the doorway for a moment, gazing aimlessly at the hall.

At dinner, he assured his wife that he’d eaten lunch late so he’d eat dinner later. He sat patiently at the table, glad for the clouded-over sky because it allowed him to walk freely in the snow today. As he waited, he gazed curiously at his daughter.

“Did you like playing in the snow?” he asked, stopping her from shoving too much food into her mouth.

“Yeah!” she said happily, batting his hand away. “But the snow was super cold, so I don’t wanna go tomorrow. One day is fine! Tomorrow, I can sit by the fire and have milk.”

Her mother laughed softly. “I thought you liked the snow?”

“Not for long times,” the girl said matter-of-factly, shaking her head. “I like making the snowmen and stuff, but then it’s too cold so I wanna go back in.”

“Ah, well, I like the snow,” Muzan piped up, as the dishes were collected to wash.

“Why?” his daughter asked almost judgmentally, a perplexed frown plastered on her face.

Why? Muzan paused. “It’s nice?”

“Boring!” The little girl ran off to her mother, shouting, “Kaa-chan! Chichiue’s boring!”

“Don’t say that about your father!” was the distant response from the kitchen, the clattering of dishes and the sound of water following.

Muzan’s previously pleasant expression dropped with the absence of company, and he murmured something about going to sleep early, trudging to the bedroom. He wasn’t sure if it had been the snow, exactly, that he’d loved as a child. Or maybe it had. It was hard to say. Such small things hardly mattered to him, now. Now, he could go out whenever he wanted. So maybe he didn’t care for snow. Such trivial things were unimportant—and liking it or not, it came only briefly each year. Ah, well, he’d avoid the snow tomorrow and have Nakime bring him where he needed to go, instead of going on foot. Perhaps the girl had a point—he should just stay inside; the snow was too cold to actually enjoy.

Goodness, such a bother for something like snow. What was he thinking? He had other things to worry about.

The thoughts were shoved aside as he entered his study room and picked a book from the shelf. He’d go to the library tomorrow and continue browsing through the books. The blue spider lily was at utmost importance now. Unless it thrived in the snow, he shouldn’t let himself get distracted again. He’d better tell Kokushibo to not ask such things anymore.

[medicinemane]

Everyone's against cringe culture and shit like that, but pretty much everyone seems to have an arbitrary line they draw in the sand

I'm not talking concrete lines where like you have some quantifiable metric for it. You think I don't have lines? Of course I do, there's stuff that's blatantly stuff that causes direct harm to people, though at that point it's not about someone being weird, it's about someone doing actual bona fide harm

But that's the thing, a lot of people it's just they'll be like "no, we shouldn't make fun of people... but this person's being weird"

And it's like... you can say anyone's being weird. If that's where we draw the line then literally there's no reason for people not to make fun of you for innocent but slightly weird shit, and we're right back where we started

"Yeah, but this person's being weird", yeah, not shit, I think they're weird too but like... that's not the point, that's irrelevant. The point is that you can't just shift the rules. If it's wrong to shit on some people for being weird, it's wrong to shit on any people for being weird. You need to produce some quantifiable bad they're doing like say... going in to strangers in boxes to say stuff that makes them uncomfortable, now we've got a clear reason why what they're doing isn't ok

Though to be clear here, they're still not bad for being weird, they're bad for their other actions

Like... I don't want to give an actual examples, cause it honestly doesn't matter, but do you think I don't browse the internet and find all kinds of stuff where I think "could you fucking not"?

...but then I move on cause it's honestly not worth my fucking time. Either there's an actionable offense that needs reporting or I can just move on (or a need to change things so certain destructive or dangerous behaviors can be reported, though that requires being able to say why this needs to be a thing in concrete terms)

Just... I don't know... drives me nuts how people, including people I like, will talk a big game about cringe culture needing to die, but then do the exact same shit

"But you don't get it, this time they we're being too weird, it was creepy", yeah, but they weren't actually hurting anyone, and guess what? There's someone out there who'd be happy to use that excuse to shit on you

So there it is

[avidlylivid]

so many swag epic awesome tmnt iterations (/gen /pos) and then I realise I Have Not Solidified Mine

anyways need to actually make the au premise other than random fun facts about them and their dynamics then come up with a name and then :3 the guys !!!

[reblog-house]

I am so desperately trying to sleep but I can't stop giggling. Why am I always like this with my blorbos. At least if it were a crush or hell, a squish, it'd make sense. But no. I am just. I just go very giggly and kick-feet and hehehehe.

[brutalmasks]

@facesblind asked: ❛  are you always so competitive?  ❜

there is a certain simple pleasure in playing games with others. and due to the fact that it seemed like neither of them had much else to do at the moment, but wait for their bus to come around; bunny mask had decided to suggest that her and fate play something she'd bought recently. uno — a card game that destroys friendships, allegedly, though she honestly didn't have a clue why. bunny was having a lot of fun playing it with the other after all. and this was to the point where she'd say that it was actually helping to forge at least an acquaintanceship between the two of them. however, bunny mask had to acknowledge that she might've been a bit biased, because she was currently winning.

people seemed to play it differently, she'd learned from fate, as some liked to make it a rule that they could stack quote unquote 'plus fours' on top of other plus fours and sometimes even stack plus two's on top of those. bunny mask was playing it according to the first parts rules as of now and she was having one hell of a lucky streak for whatever reason. she just had one card left, in fact, and although it wasn't a card where she could change the color to blue (the card that she had at that moment)... it was only a matter of time before bunny mask claimed her victory in her mind. she was practically brimming over with excitement as she watched fate put down another card, thinking maybe this was her chance to win. but it was sadly green.

bunny mask kept a poker face though and reached out for another card, only to lay it on top of the other's. she shot the other an endearing smile then, ❝ mm, well, this is the first time that i have played this game. but i have always had a strong desire to win in situations like these where there is a clear opponent. so, i suppose the answer to that is 'yes,' ❞ bunny nodded and gripped onto the bench they were sitting on out of anticipation as she waited for the other to make her move. it was a good idea for her to purchase this game, she thought, because tyler seemed to be quite competitive himself. which would probably result in them just enjoying themselves while playing it together even more.

bunny mask carefully watched the other put down her card and was almost tempted to let her lip frown in disappointment due to it not being blue. but bunny supposed being patient was also part of the game, her free hand reaching out to take a card from the deck, and then another whenever it wasn't the color required. she placed the color-changing card she got on top, ❝ blue. say, you are having fun yourself, yes? because i would not want to continue if i am making you feel frustrated, ❞ bunny let her blaring white eyes meet the others as she asked fate this question. even though she was really close to winning, it wouldn't feel right if bunny did it while the other wasn't having a good time. or that's how she viewed things anyway.

[seventh-district]

tag limit my beloathed... continuing my analysis of my potentially Sun x Moon coded ships here ↓

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 8:46

“Do you have dimples?”

Bakugou doesn’t understand it himself, but you always find your way back to his house after your first visit—asking these out-of-the-blue questions that seem to have no end to them. It’s like a curse has befallen him, one that follows him wherever he goes.

For a moment, his eyes snap in your direction, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side, though his intense glare never once wavers. He didn’t know what the hell you were getting at, and he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to even want to know why you were asking about something so random.

Honestly, he should be used to it by now. But the thing is, he isn’t, because sooner or later you’ll be popping out of nowhere with another of your pointless questions.

“Hah?”

“I asked, do you have dimples?” you repeated.

His eye twitches at the repeated question, and as much as he’d like to give you a snappy remark to get you to stop, he can’t seem to come up with one. So, for the time being, he decides to humor you (and hope for the best that you drop it and move onto another topic).

“Why the hell are you asking?”

“Because Kaminari and I made a bet whether you have dimples or not. I went with yes, you do have them—even if it’s a singular dimple, but Kaminari says otherwise,” you explained, tapping your finger softly against the coffee table.

He scoffs at the childish reason. “And what makes you think I do have one?”

“A hunch,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “I also have just one.” You smiled, showing off your obvious singular dimple on your right cheek.

Bakugou glances at your dimple for a brief moment, eyes scanning over your face and the way that the dimple seemed to perfectly dip into the soft skin of your cheek. He almost found himself entranced for a moment, but his gaze returned to your eyes as he huffed out in mock disinterest.

He was about to dismiss your hunch—maybe just flat-out refuse to even show you—or come up with a lie. But Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t a liar.

“What happens if you win the bet?”

“I get 3000 yen,” you answered.

That’s a lot, he thought.

“I can pay you 3000 yen to shut the fuck up and stop with the useless questions.”

“There’s no fun in that!”

He scoffs again as he leans back against the sofa, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at your stupidity. He eyed you for a moment, his head tilting to the side as he sighed. “And what happens if you lose the bet?”

“He gets 3000 yen.”

Bakugou almost wanted to laugh at the fact that you were putting so much faith and money on a simple guess, but he managed to hold back on the amused expression and forced himself to remain calm and unbothered.

He leaned back a bit more, relaxing against the plush seats, letting out a mocking “tch” before he said, “What if I don’t show you if I have a damn dimple or not?”

“Please? Oh my god, Bakugou. Don’t do this to me now! Kaminari’s going to do a ‘victory dance’ when he finds out he won by default,” you half-whined.

He was about to give you his final choice when suddenly you started whining at him. Bakugou rose an eyebrow at you, lips quirking to a frown. As idiotic as it is to him, it looks like it was quite a serious matter to you.

“Tch. Whatever.”

You threw your hands to your face, groaning. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top? Spare me some sympathy—and be a team player for once!”

He found himself fighting a scowl at the way you acted. It was somewhat different this time around, and it was making him feel weird. Damn it. You’re a goddamn nuisance.

“Alright, fine. Just—” He motioned with his hand for you to come closer, an almost annoyed expression on his face. “If you tell anyone else about this other than Dunce Face, I’ll make sure you don’t ever see the next sunrise.”

“That doesn’t sound heroic at all—but yes, of course!” you cheered. “Just a little smile, and I shall confirm the goods.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, already regretting giving into your stupid request but at the same time knowing that he would never let Kaminari win against you in all circumstances possible.

He let out a huff and hesitantly let the sides of his own lips quirk up into a half-assed attempt at a smile, but from the way it was so rigid, it looked more like a painful grimace.

You gave him a confused, somewhat flat look in return. “Dude, you look like you’re about to shit yourself—mmph! ” You didn’t get to finish what you were saying as Bakugou’s palms immediately squished your cheeks together to shut you up.

“Oh shut it, dipshit,” Bakugou grumbled, his grip on your cheeks tightening ever so slightly as he forced you to pout your lips. “You were asking for a smile. I give one, and you wanna give me smart ass remarks about it?”

“I didn’ even gwet toh shee anythin’! That’s how bwad ith was,” you muffled out through pouty lips.

“Are you gonna keep yapping and bitching about what you asked for, or are you gonna accept my goddamn smile?”

“Fine, fine!” you yielded, pushung his hands away from your face. “Do it one more time, and I’ll actually check this time.”

He narrowed his eyes, almost as if he were wondering if you were going to actually do as you said or go against it and keep making smart-ass comments. But as you yielded, he let out a sigh and decided he’d rather just get this done and over with. 

Less hassle for him.

He repeated his ‘smile’ from before, which looked more like a forced sneer, and he waited for your verdict. This was his last straw; he was going to murder you (not).

You had to hold back your laughter but failed to do so. “I really can’t— Bakugou, please! ” you mused, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Your ‘smile’ reminds me of that time Kirishima had to hold the biggest shit before the bell rings.”

That caught Bakugou off guard. He remembered the memory of Kirishima’s panicked expression and the weird waddle he’d walked around in as he desperately tried to find a bathroom made Bakugou snort under his breath.

“Oh my god, you’re laughing!” you gawked. “And have a dimple! Just a singular one, like mine! We’re matching.”

There it was. A singular dimple on his left cheek.

Bakugou tried to regain his lost composure and let out a scoff in an attempt to mask the slight tint of pink that reached the tip of his ears. He forced his hand onto your face, shoving you (lightly, if he may add) away from him to prevent you from getting another look at his dimple.

“It’s not a worldwide discovery, dumbass. I can fucking laugh if I want to, and it’s just a fucking indent on the cheek.”

“Still cute,” you shrugged, pulling up your phone to text Kaminari. “I need to let Kami know that I won the bet, then we celebrate with bubble tea— my treat!”

“Hey wait— You—“

He tried to protest against your sudden celebration, wanting to tell you that he wasn’t going to let you treat him for anything. This whole damn thing started because of a stupid bet, and he doesn’t really find joy in gaining something from it, but as you pulled out your phone and began to text Kaminari, he sighed and leaned back again with his arms crossed tight against his chest.

“Whatever. You’re fucking annoying.”

“Kay,” you answered. “Also, your actual smile is pretty charming, if you ask me. It’s different from the usual sneer you have on your face. That’s just my opinion, though.”

Bakugou’s face grew a bit warm at your unexpected compliment, but he quickly tried to hide it and turned his head to avert his gaze away from you. His mouth opened to reply with a snappy remark or something like that, but he found himself hesitating.

He eventually scoffed and muttered a low, “Tch. Stop spouting nonsense.”

“Bakugou Katsuki has a singular dimple,” you sing-songed aloud, though you knew that no one would hear since his parents weren’t even home.

Bakugou felt his eyes twitch at your teasing, resisting the urge to tell you off and even going as far as to just punch your shoulder lightly. “Shut the fuck up, dipshit.”

He later found out that there was no bet, and you had just made up the whole scenario to confirm your curiosity. That Bakugou Katsuki does have a dimple, a singular one at that.

Could you imagine how furious he was?

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[connorsui]

Marked in Metal

Caleb... loves ... buying you rings.

It wasn’t something you directly questioned—at least, not seriously. He had always been like that, always finding little things to slip into your life as a form of joy. Bracelets, necklaces, little earrings here and there.

But ...rings?

Oh, those were his favorite.

— Princess cut, Briolette, Trilliant, Radiant.

Oval and round. The entire catalog.

And it wasn’t just about the aesthetic. No, it was something else entirely—something unspoken in the way he always lingered just a second longer when slipping the ring onto your finger, something in the way his eyes darkened with quiet satisfaction whenever you lifted your hand, light catching on whatever new piece he had picked out for you.

Like now for instances.

"Here," he said one afternoon, handing you a small velvet box. His voice was casual, but his fingers brushed yours when you took it from him. "Saw this new piece on my way home and thought of you."

You barely glanced up from your work before popping the box open, the soft click of the latch followed by a quiet inhale as you took in the ring nestled inside. A smooth sterling silver band, sleek and polished, with fluted rose gold prongs holding a citrine gem. The cut was extravagant, the kind of thing that should have been reserved for engagement rings, but you had long stopped questioning Caleb’s taste.

"Caleb," you groaned, rolling your eyes but still sliding it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, as they always did. "You have to stop doing this."

"And why should I?" He smirked, leaning back against the couch, arm thrown over the backrest as he watched you admire the ring despite your protests. "Looks good on you."

You twisted your fingers, letting the metal catch the light. He could see it in your face—the way your lips curved slightly, the way your brows relaxed—that moment of pure, genuine appreciation. He memorized that expression every time.

Because no matter how much you insisted it was too much, you never turned them down.

And he never had to worry about you asking how much they cost.

But it wasn’t about the price anyway. It was about the way you wore them, the way your hands danced through the air when you talked, your fingers adorned with pieces he had chosen. It was about the quiet thrill of watching everyone else notice, of knowing that every time someone asked where you got them, your answer was always the same.

"Caleb, obviously. He’s the reason I have half my jewelry box."

That was enough for him.

But this one was different.

"Wait, Caleb?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, amused and lilting. "Did you know this was engraved?"

You held up the ring between your fingers, tilting it just enough for the small inscription inside to catch the light.

.C.

Delicate, subtle, almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

He raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. "Oh? …I don't actually remember seeing that anywhere?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You seriously didn't notice?"

"Guess not." He shrugged, and you huffed out a laugh, shaking your head.

"I don’t think I believe you."

He didn’t respond, only watching as you lifted your phone, snapping a picture. Within minutes, your messages flooded with the usual teasing.

"Another one? Does Caleb just collect rings for you now?"

"That’s basically a proposal, babe!"

"Correction. This is the one billionth proposal"

And, as always, your reply was the same.

"Of course it’s Caleb. Who else spoils me like this constantly?"

He loved that. Loved knowing that when others have noticed the rings on your fingers, they knew exactly who put them there.

But even when he adorned your hands, his own ring was different.

It never sat on his finger. It had its own place, strung securely onto the same chain as his tags, resting against his chest beneath the layers of his uniform.

Same material, same weight.

But the chain never left his body. It was there in the dead of night, cold against his skin. There in the thick of the day, clinking softly against metal. It was there when the world was loud and chaotic, when exhaustion pulled at his bones, grounding him with the quiet weight of something real.

Something that brought him back to you.

And when he returned home?

when he was finally home, the chain came off—but the ring never stayed in some forgotten drawer.

No, it belonged in the same place it always did.

Right where you were—pressed close against his heart.

[wriokitty]

part two

Starting an internship at the company Satoru’s father owns but you don’t know who he is just yet.

He’s annoying. He always comes back from lunch late, lets his phone ring at his desk (that’s conveniently placed next to yours) past the three ring policy, writes emails with silly and immature sign-offs, cracks jokes during meetings, and somehow, despite always finishing his paperwork late, he never manages to lose his damn job.

You try to mind your own business. But you can’t help but feel him slowly grate at your nerves as he acts so unprofessional and for some weird reason, not one person seems to care.

He seems pretty intrigued with you, too, if matters couldn’t get worse.

“Hey,” he grins. You try to ignore the tilt of his lips in amusement as you just barely fight off rolling your eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” You sigh, “I’m currently in the middle of something that requires my full attention, but maybe we could—”

“You really love your office jargon,” he hums, cutting you off with a wider grin, “so dedicated.”

“Oh, my apologies,” you smile tightly. He seems to straighten a little, some sick, twisted form of excitement rushing through his system at the way he seems to get under your skin. “Allow me to use simpler language for you to understand: go away, I’m busy.”

Someone has to stand up to this prick, you think. He puts in half the effort, and somehow, you’re pretty sure your boss has a soft spot for him. You don’t understand it, and quite frankly, you’ll be damned if a lazy, lackluster man snags a promotion before your hardworking self.

“Oh wow,” he snorts, “breaking your strictly professional streak, are you? You must be really occupied. I guess I’ll borrow your stapler later.”

Gritting your teeth, you give him yet another tight lipped smile before grabbing the stapler off your desk and handing it to him. (A small part of you resists the urge to throw it square at his face. Maybe the image of him on the floor with a bloodied nose would make your day a little easier, but then you’re sure you’d be jobless).

“Here you go,” you say with as much kindness as you can muster. (It’s not a lot). “Please do bring it back when you’re done. Some of us actually complete paper work, so the stapler is a necessity.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, “don’t worry, I won’t hold your stapler hostage for too long. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the flow of your productivity.”

You watch with wary eyes as he walks back to his desk, stapling some small, tiny note of sorts before walking right back, handing the paper and the stapler to you.

“What’s this?” You raise a brow.

“Some paper work for you to fill out,” he grins, the vagueness of his answer making a vein all but pop in your forehead.

Before you even have a chance to tell him that you most certainly will not be entertaining whatever silly prank he’s playing, he walks right off, sagging into his chair as he does an obnoxious little spin and goes back to typing at his computer. Probably yet another email with a ridiculous ending, you think to yourself.

Against your better judgement, you stare at the note, eyeing the small flap he’s stapled over an index card. You lift it up, quickly scanning over his scribbled writing.

Want to grab coffee during lunch? Check your answer:

▢ yes! ▢ absolutely! ▢ most definitely!

Your eye twitches.

Grabbing a pen, you quickly add a box underneath his (very confident) options, checking it off and writing in neat, pristine handwriting:

▣ not a chance!

You stand, walking over to his desk and ignoring his perked up, excited little smile as you drop the note back on the table and head back to your own desk. A tiny wave of satisfaction weaves through your body when you notice him read over your response and deflate, a small pout forming over his lips.

Regretfully, a small part of you can’t help but acknowledge that he’s actually…kind of cute when his lips are curled like that. But a larger part of you shakes that thought away and cringes internally. It’s a shame his personality ruins the genetic blessings he seems to have been bestowed with.

And you think that’s the end of it—but of course, with someone like Satoru in the office, there’s never the end of anything.

You watch as an email pops up on your screen, opening it only to stare blankly at his name and roll your eyes at the subject line:

────────────────────────

Follow-Up on Submitted Paperwork

Greetings office neighbor,

Thank you for submitting the paperwork. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but notice that it does not fully align with the outlined guidelines. Could you please provide clarification or revise the submission accordingly?

Thanks a million,

Gojo Satoru :)

────────────────────────

And there he goes again with those obnoxious sign-offs, you think bitterly. Instantly, you’re clicking away at your keyboard as you type back an agitated response. Of course, you really shouldn’t entertain his ridiculous schemes, but something about him gets under your skin enough that you simply can’t help yourself.

You huff in approval at your response as you read it over before hitting send.

Instantly, as if he was waiting, you see his hand reach for his mouse and click on his screen to open your email as his eyes scan over your reply:

────────────────────────

Thank you for reaching out,

Unfortunately, I was unable to fully adhere to the outlined guidelines, as they are not viable in this situation. To address this, I adjusted the submission to align more effectively with a more practical outcome.

Hope that helps!

Your office neighbor :)

────────────────────────

Just when you think he’s given up, he rolls his chair over to your desk, causing a couple of annoyed heads to tilt up and glare at him for the noise before turning their attention back to their work. You pinch your nose as his chair rolls to a stop in front of your desk.

“Yes?” You grit through your teeth.

“Hey, office neighbor,” he hums, “just wanted to clarify your most recent email with you. I’m a bit confused.”

“Which part confused you?” You bat your lashes in faux charm, sarcastically smiling at him as he hums, grabbing a piece of candy from your little bowl of sweets at your desk and helping himself.

Your eye twitches a little at the gesture. Those are for you to enjoy throughout a miserable work day.

“Um…” he trails off as he pretends to think, “I’d say all of it.”

“I see,” you nod slowly, fighting every bone in your body not to snap at him with a colorful choice of words. “Essentially, the options in your original document did not highlight a plausible set of deliverables, so I corrected them for you with a more realistic one. Make sense?”

“Not really,” he sighs dramatically, pretending to scratch his head in confusion. You want nothing more than to grab those snowy locks and slam his face into your paper shredder. “Could you go over it one more time? I’m still lost.”

You’re just about to lose your patience with him when suddenly, the entire office seems to collectively take in a sharp breath, everyone scrambling to look as productive as possible while a tall, older looking man with suspiciously familiar white hair and blue eyes walks through the office. Something in your brain sets off alarm bells, but you can’t quite completely piece it together what it is about him seems so….recognizable.

“Who’s that?” You frown, scrunching your nose in confusion as everyone straightens up.

“That would be the final boss,” he snorts. You roll your eyes at his word choice before blinking and straightening up yourself.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, voice a panicked whisper as you ask, “you mean the owner of this company?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, raising a brow at you in amusement. “Never seen him before?”

“No,” you hiss, “I’m just the intern! Now go back to your desk before he thinks we’re goofing off, I’d like to keep my job, please.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he hums.

You send him a nasty glare, just about at your wits end as you whisper-yell, “I am going to throw my stapler right at your—”

“Satoru, I need you in my office,” comes a stern, deep voice, interrupting you as you quickly shut your mouth.

“You got it, old man,” he salutes in mock seriousness. Suddenly, your spine goes rigid and your eyes widen. The man walks off with a firm nod as Satoru stands, giving you an innocent smile.

Suddenly, it dawns on you just why he looked so strikingly familiar.

“Did you just call him old man?” You blink, mouth agape.

“Yup,” he winks, walking backwards as his eyes stay trained on you while he heads for the elevator. “I’ll put in a good word for you when he’s in a better mood at home tonight. I think we can discuss the specifics over coffee during our lunch hour, yeah?”

[memento-morri-writes]

Dream goal is make some progress (any progress, honestly) on a real, true wip that I'm writing completely from scratch. Ideally it would be Divinity WIP, or maybe High Fantasy WIP (they take place in the same world, I'm pretty sure), but at this point I'll take literally anything. As much as I adore my dnd writing, I miss writing a story that is completely 100% my own.

But I really am going to have my work cut out for me. Divinity WIP is currently just a big pile of concepts and themes with no plot or developed characters, and High Fantasy WIP is literally just vibes. I don't even have the faintest idea what kind of characters I want, not to mention the complete and utter lack of any kind of plot whatsoever. So even just doing character work and worldbuilding would be good enough for me, but I'd love to also get the ball rolling on some plot ideas for one or both of these stories...

If I can't manage that, then I'd like to write more of my dnd character snippets, especially ones that aren't just session scene rewrites, be they backstory vignettes, AU / what if things, or just fun little character exploration.

✨ What are your writing goals for 2025? ✨

This can be anything from “write one sentence” to “publish a book!” It’s all valid!