#N-Word

[queersatanic]

The Satanic Temple's co-owner "Lucien Greaves" makes his case for fascism

Via The.Satanic.Wiki

On Sept. 11, 2003, future co-owner of The Satanic Temple Doug “Lucien Greaves” Misicko, his friend and collaborator Shane Bugbee, and Shane Bugbee’s wife Amy Stocky hosted a 24-hour Internet radio stream with guests and callers to mark the release of their new edition of the proto-fascist manifesto Might Is Right. The following year, Doug Misicko continued to appear on Internet radio streams with Shane and Amy. “The ABCs of the Alphabet” was one such program. This is an excerpt from one of those recordings.

CW: anti-Black racism, n-word slur, white nationalist symbolism, fascism

Full transcript:

12:01 Doug Misicko

Well, I gotta tell you, the f-word still has 'em all beat. (Shane Bugbee: What?) F-word still has 'em all beat internationally. I go to other countries, I still see "fuck" on the wall. I never see "[n-slur]" written on a wall.

12:13 Shane Bugbee

Interesting.

12:14 Doug Misicko

When I was in Italy, I didn’t see "[n-slur]" anywhere.

12:17 Shane Bugbee

But you went to the fascist leader’s house. (Doug Misicko: Actually, I was in a fascist-) The guy who started the fascist-

12:21 Doug Misicko

I was in a fascist neighborhood, right outside the Vatican, and it was a real nice, clean area, but you would see swastikas spraypainted. You know, like the crosshairs. I don’t know what you call that, you know, but it was a fascist symbol. A circle with just the crosshairs in it. With… little fascist logos or anything else. It was a clean area, nice area. If you went to the shitty side of town on the wrong side of the tracks in Rome, saw little hammers and sickles painted on the walls and shit like that. That was the difference.

12:54 Amy Bugbee

Wow, that’s crazy.

12:56 Doug Misicko

Well, I think it says a lot, and I think it stands to reason...

13:01 Amy Bugbee

And you bought that T-shirt. What did your T-shirt say?

13:04 Doug Misicko

Uh, in Italian it says “you’re with us, or you’re against us.” And it was- it’s a- It’s a fascist shirt. It was a fascist logo on it. I actually got it at a little fascist kiosk outside of Gabriele D’Annunzio’s palace.

13:19 Shane Bugbee

And who is that again?

13:21 Doug Misicko

He was a- y’know- he was like the first fascist. He was the godfather of fascism. Italian World War One hero that occupied the promised territories, after the First World War. With the Blackshirts. One of those- One of those hidden heroes. People should look him up. Look him up on the internet... Good deal.

#the satanic temple #lucien greaves #anti-Black racism #slurs #n-word #fascism #satanic temple #doug mesner #doug misicko #the satanic wiki #fuck fascism #fuck the satanic temple

[xtruss]

I Lost White Friends When I Finally Spoke Out

— Leron L. Barton | Wednesday July 26, 2023

LeRon L. Barton (Pictured) tells Newsweek about the racist experiences he has had with his white friends over the years. Courtesy: LeRon L. Barton

Having friendships with different types of people is a wonderful concept. To learn, trade ideas, have great experiences, and grow with folks from all kinds of backgrounds is a goal that I have always wanted to achieve.

As someone who loves gaining knowledge and immersing myself in various customs, it's essential for me to expand my social circle. I have friends who are Black like myself, Chinese, Filipino, Mexican, Italian, Salvadoran, Irish, Indigenous, and Arab. We discuss politics, food, sports, music, traveling, film, and life. I love having a wealth of friends that will bring different perspectives in life, and that I can impart wisdom to as well.

However, race and racism have always been difficult to discuss with white people due to the possibility that they may deflect, or be in denial—which is why the subject of race has been the hardest to broach.

Remembering back as a young kid, my family did not have a lot of white friends. It is not because they didn't like them; my cousin married a white woman. It's just that in Kansas City, Missouri, our social circles did not cross.

My grandparents, mother, and father instilled a lot of Black pride in us. We were taught that everyone is the same, but also that Black is beautiful. For me, that was necessary living in a time that told you that you were the opposite.

My brother and I went to a predominately white school and mostly played with Black kids. Still, like many African-Americans, we welcomed white people and held no malice toward them.

I did not make any white friends until my junior year in high school. We all played sports together, listened to hip-hop, and ate the same food. Plenty of friend groups were integrated, including mine. We had Black, white, Asian, Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Indigenous folks in our clique.

It was dope to be able to learn, build, and enjoy other cultures. However, I always noticed there was a difference in how people of color interacted with each other and how my white friends did. There was a warmth in how we hung out. My family welcomed them and vice versa.

But when it came to my white friends, I felt there was a ceiling, a stopping point. A lot of the interactions were surface-level and not deep.

I was always race conscious; being in Kansas City does that to you. It was, and continues to be, a very segregated city. Still, I would try to laugh off racist jokes I heard at work and amongst people in social situations.

I can recall during an offsite lunch event, police entered the restaurant and a coworker joked: "Oh they must be looking for you LeRon." They all laughed, and me being the only Black person at the table, brushed it off and tried to laugh along with it.

My white friends and associates would ask me things like: "Do you play basketball? Do you know anyone that sells drugs? Have you ever been in a gang?"

And they even asked if it was okay for them to say the N-word in a rap song.

These were my day-to-day interactions with white people. I am not trying to paint them all as being harmful and bad, but I have to be honest.

Things began to change for me in 2012. Trayvon Martin was murdered and there was this national conversation about race. Many people had been arguing both sides of the incident.

When I would talk to my white friends about the shooting, the protests, and the uprisings that followed, they would say things like: "What was he doing out there that late? Do we know for sure if he attacked Zimmerman? Why protest and destroy property?"

It was almost as if the rose-colored glasses I had were flung off. When unarmed Black men such as Mike Brown and Alton Sterling were killed by the police, I would see negative comments on social media from friends.

Someone that I had known for years had complained about the protests destroying their quiet neighborhood. Other folks would say "All Lives Matter" or "What about Black-on-Black crime?"

These were the same people that loved Michael Jordan, listened to Snoop Dogg, and cheered Ray Lewis as they watched the Super Bowl. It was as if they only consumed Blackness as entertainment, not as people.

Soon after, I began to write about being Black in America. I would call out racism white explicitly and highlight the inequities of police arrests and shootings, employment, health disparities, and home ownership.

Some white friends noticed my shift in tone and faded away. My televised interviews and podcast appearances became too much for some. I was known as "militant" to a few folks and angry to others.

One friend in particular could not understand why I was so mad. I explained to him it was because as a Black man, if I scare a white woman or make a white law enforcement officer nervous, that could be my life.

He then said: "I don't see you as Black, just as a man." I replied: "That is the problem, you don't want to acknowledge the issue here, racism." He and I stopped talking shortly after.

I was the cool guy when we were going drinking, clubbing, and talking about non-serious things, but when I discuss "The Talk", a conversation that Black parents have with their children on how to survive when they reach a certain age, I am too serious or divisive.

I realized the ceiling I have with many white people and have accepted it.

I've met other Black people that do not have white friends. While I do not subscribe to nor agree with that thought, I do not judge them. Being Black, or being any racialized person in a world that tells you you are less than, is hard. Having to justify your existence every day to people you are close to is even harder.

I think back to this quote I read from Stud Terkel's masterful book Race. Terkel is interviewing a young African-American man who does not have white friends. He asks the guy: "Why do you only hang out with Black people?" The young man laughs and says: "I don't have to worry about them being racist." I think about that sometimes.

Today, I have a few white friends that are "grandfathered" in. Seriously, they are people, such as one of my best friends "Frosty," that I can have serious discussions about racism and how we can change the system. New friends are "vetted."

Writing and discussing race is a very important part of my life. If I have to argue with you about why we are upset when another unarmed Black man is shot by the police, this is not going to work. If I have to explain to you why saying the "N-word" is wrong, cultural appropriation is bad, something innocuous as the slogan "Black Lives Matter" is a positive thing, or why Malcolm X is my personal hero, then this friendship will not work out. I am not teaching "Intro to Blackness 101."

Some reading this may say: "Well LeRon, what if people don't know? We have to teach them."

To that, I say no.

I believe that Black people live in a country that constantly tries to strangle every bit of self-respect, pride, individuality, love, and life out of them. It is an everyday challenge for us to maintain our mental health.

I ask white people who are well-meaning to practice self-reflection. Interrogate your racist blind spots. Educate yourselves. Fight against the system that oppresses us and others.

Black people do not have enough time in the day to survive and help you become not racist. Being a friend is about accountability and work.

— LeRon L. Barton is a Writer, Author, and Speaker.

#Newsweek Magazine #My Turn #Black | Chinese | Filipino | Mexican | Italian | Salvadoran | Irish | Indigenous | Arab #African-Americans #Kansas City Missouri #Asians | Puerto Rican #Zimmerman #Black-on-Black Crimes #Snoop Dogg #Ray Lewis #Super Bowl #Frosty #Racism #N-Word #Black Lives Matter #Malcolm X #Self-Reflection #LeRon L. Barton

[politicallolcenter]

Twitter 0,005 seconds after Musk bought it

#memes #twitter #elon musk #n-word

[postersbykeith]

#quotes #n-word #Jean-Paul Sartre #words are more treacherous

[hezigler]

OJ and the "n-word"

The American language, institutions, and customs are the conscious content of our daily lives. The Juice is gone but he left a lasting impression on the tablet of American Culture.

#Youtube #oj simpson #oj #the juice #the n-word #n-word #garrison hayes

[amanonthecorner]

I really like how the world is getting better like my white grandparents could use the n-word freely now I can't even catcall a femboy in thigh highs without disapproving looks and objections

#femboy #n-word

[vedette-venti]

[part 3 - non-black conversation (2021)]: for context i’m black and he’s latino

i just... who tf tells their partner who is black and has expressed that they feel weird about other people who aren't black that they said the n-word when no one was around, but the dog to hear it ? i still don't understand.

- i fully understand that someone being called the n-word historically was based on their looks and by excuding those who do not look black or are non-black from being permitted without consequence to saying the n-word operates on that same principle. it’s all phenotypical racism.

- i just feel uncomfortable with the videos he kept sending me of white people saying the n-word in the early 2000′s. they weren’t funny to me and i don’t know what response he wanted from me even after expressing my stance and feelings on the matter in the past. most black people don’t think this is funny in my limited experience so i was confused.

- apparently the call went well, but i don't remember much of it. i'm going to assume he made a lot of assumptions of what i meant and didn't read my text message all the way through so when he heard my tone it changed everything. i did elaborate on the 'classroom debate' part so he would understand that i wasn't dismissing him. i just believe what he was maybe talking about was a different conversation altogether.

♥ || ♥ || ♥

- personally, and now, i do think the n-word shouldn’t be said publically in the same fashion as any other slur. so like anyone could say it (cause freedom of speech), but you should maybe keep it to yourself and within your friend groups that accept it or something.

- i am working to get rid of the n-word from my vocabulary. i never used it as a term of endearment. i’ve only used it as an insult with the same connotation as insults like ‘dumbass,’ ‘idiot,’ or ‘moron.’ 

♥ || ♥ || ♥

[part 1 || 2019]

[part 2 || 2020]

#vedette vents #notes to stoneheart #interracial relationship #racism #racist #text messages #n-word

[softwaring]

reblog for larger polling please 🖤

#poll #polls #food poll #food #genres isn’t the right word but im using it lmfao! #and i wanted to exclude ethnicities n focus mostly on cooking styles ! #answer cause i’m curious lol #recipes #comfort food #please reblog for larger sample size !

[sutorus]

THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach. 

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility. 

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do. 

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man. 

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you. 

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—). 

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like. 

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year. 

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it. 

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives. 

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him. 

but you damn well managed to. 

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair. 

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit. 

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately. 

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class. 

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there. 

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours. 

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed. 

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are. 

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know. 

but you knew for a fact that it was personal. 

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance. 

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively. 

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow. 

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply. 

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class. 

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious. 

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test. 

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you. 

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well. 

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak. 

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class. 

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild. 

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another. 

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages. 

you smile, waving at the screen. 

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.” 

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying. 

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had. 

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip. 

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help. 

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.” 

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you. 

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong. 

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself. 

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again. 

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that. 

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this. 

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest. 

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know. 

damn right it’s personal. 

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation. 

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off. 

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over. 

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger. 

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on. 

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair. 

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet. 

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you. 

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums. 

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.” 

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from. 

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo. 

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction. 

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently. 

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you. 

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest. 

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom. 

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue. 

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly. 

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now… 

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun. 

you could so easily forget what you came here for. 

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn. 

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest. 

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together. 

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two. 

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh. 

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief. 

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips. 

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan. 

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core. 

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin. 

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside. 

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips. 

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you. 

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again. 

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat. 

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive. 

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock. 

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds. 

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly. 

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.” 

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of. 

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees. 

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper. 

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face. 

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants. 

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved. 

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside. 

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth. 

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would. 

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones. 

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man. 

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo. 

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time. 

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over. 

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt. 

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core. 

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you. 

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs. 

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else. 

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear. 

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt. 

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn. 

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him. 

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you. 

he notices you looking. 

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk. 

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip. 

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him. 

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head. 

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better. 

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair. 

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized. 

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers. 

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this. 

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle. 

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back. 

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening. 

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts. 

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out. 

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. 

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you. 

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade. 

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go. 

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin. 

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt. 

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips. 

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you. 

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom. 

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined. 

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.” 

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you. 

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts. 

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you. 

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you. 

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer. 

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release. 

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got. 

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“ 

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you. 

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure. 

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you. 

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of. 

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy. 

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows. 

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.  

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips. 

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?” 

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession. 

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles. 

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

#OOF. #this was a doozy it feels like sooooo much more than 5k words tbh #i wanted to wait to post it bc im rly proud of it i dont want it to flop but : #i cant resist it i want it out #✩.kinktober #✩.geto #geto suguru smut #geto smut #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x reader smut #geto suguru x you smut #geto x you smut #geto x reader smut #ummm what else #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw power dynamics #jjk smut #kinktober #jjk kinktober #geto reader smut #✩.tw power dynamics #✩.petra.doc #geto suguru x female reader #geto x female reader

[smcclintonjr]

My Take: Racism at Country Thunder and of course, that small-town song.

The late Malcolm X once stated this quote: “The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.” Speaking of that, read the tweet below from TMJ Multi-Media Journalist, Taylor Lumpkin: Went to cover this event tonight for a news story.Left humiliated after a guy ran up and…

View On WordPress

#101.7 The Truth #Country Thunder #N-Word #News Story #Racism #Taylor Lumpkin #TMJ4 #Try That In A Small Town #Twin Lakes

[stoopidstapler]

SO IVE BEEN GOIN INSANE SINCE THIS TRAILER DROPPED. JUST. SIMON. SIMON. SIMON.

#simon petrikov #fionna and cake #adventure time #goin insane over him #thers no words to describe how im feelin #i wish i could draw somehtin better but i am goin INSANE #FINALLY. AFTER ALL THESE YEARS. we are being FED. #ALSO?? HOW THEY SHOWED HIM EXACTLY WHEN THE LYRICS GO ''WHATS WRONG WITH ME'. LIKE HELLO??????? #ive seen so many good theories PLEASE GOD WRITE FICS I AM BEGGIN I LL DRAW U FANART BLS HEL P #IDK WOT IM GONNA DO FOR A WHOLE MONTH #SOMEONE KNOCK ME OUT TIL THE 31ST. HIBERNATE ME. HELP. #also i need to put it out there the first thing i thought when i saw this trailer was simon is tryina rewrite fionna and cake #which is why their world keeps changin so much? idk idk #ive seen so many different ideas and they are all so good please help #ALSO GOD. THIS MAN IS JUST GOIN THRU IT. AND ITS ONLY BEEN A QUICK TRAILER. #im sorry for so many tags idk where to put these help #maybe i should make an actual blog for like. whatever. n reblogs. help.

[queersatanic]

Lucien Greaves on "N-words"

Via The.Satanic.Wiki

On Sept. 11, 2003, future co-owner of The Satanic Temple Doug “Lucien Greaves” Misicko, his friend and collaborator Shane Bugbee, and Shane Bugbee’s wife Amy Stocky hosted a 24-hour Internet radio stream with guests and callers to mark the release of their new edition of the proto-fascist manifesto Might Is Right. The following year, Doug Misicko continued to appear on Internet radio streams with Shane and Amy. “The ABCs of the Alphabet” was one such program. This is an excerpt from one of those recordings.

CW: anti-Black racism, n-word slur, lynching reference

Full transcript:

08:36 Shane Bugbee What are your N words, Doug?

08:40 Doug Misicko I have neighbors, Nazi…

08:43 Shane Bugbee Did you say neighbors?

08:44 Doug Misicko Yeah.

08:45 Shane Bugbee Is that the other N word? (Amy Bugbee: *laughing*)

08:48 Doug Misicko Other N word? You mean be-

08:50 Shane Bugbee That’s the other N word. Like "nigger". And then you go, "nigger", and the other N word is neighbors. They’re a nigger.

08:55 Doug MisickoWhy "nigger"! I didn’t think of that.

08:56 Shane Bugbee Amy’s uh, father gave us that one.

08:58 Amy Bugbee That’s what my dad says.

09:00 Doug Misicko What? He says "neighbors" is the other N word?

09:01 Amy Bugbee He says that "neighbors" is the other N word, yeah.

09:03 Doug Misicko  Oh, Right. Well... then what- what do you do if your neighbor’s a nigger?

09:11 Shane Bugbee Fuckin' hang him high. (Amy Bugbee: Sell your house.) Hang him high, OK?

09:14 Doug Misicko *laughs audibly into the mic* I also had news, nurses, and noise...

#anti-Black racism #tw lynching mention #slurs #n-word #satanic temple #lucien greaves #doug mesner #the satanic temple #doug misicko #the satanic wiki

[profgandalf]

Huck Finn: Profoundly Anti-Racist, Not to Be Altered But Tom Is Still Sometimes Annoying

When approaching a nearly universally praised work of literature like Huckleberry Finn there is a temptation to just throw up one’s hands and say “it’s a masterpiece” and anyone who says otherwise has rot in their brains.  But this is too easy.  One must respond to the text to evaluate and incorporate it as must be done to all art.  Conversely, those who judge any work with their own parameters of social worthiness—the secular mirror of religious acceptability that once dominated so many who judged texts—are traveling into a narrowing black hole and dooming themselves to literary spaghettification. Thus one must respond to the text within its own understanding of reality.  One should not complain that a Puritan from the 16th century (like Robinson Crusoe) does not understand the concept of animal conservation any more than to fuss over the fact that the poet Homer does not acknowledge the existence of the one true Jewish Christian God.  The concepts just did not exist when the work of art was created.  What should be considered is what was the author struggling over during his or her own lifetime?

In the same way the social abhorrence to the word “Nigger” (now only spoken by black comics and referred to as the “N word” by everyone else) did not exist in Twain’s day.   Instead in 1885 it was still used often. However Mark Twain was certainly aware of the stain of slavery in America and the racism upon which it was built.  He needn’t go after slavery, the terrible war had doomed that institution, but the prejudice still needed to be addressed. The rise of the novel’s action, its regular presentment of personal folly which those who use the term while supporting slavery (people as diverse as Pap Finn and Aunt Sally) and Huck’s gradual growth to the wrongness of this position so that he declares that “he will go to Hell” if it means not helping his friend Jim escape from slavery all show an author critical of his own culture. However the fact that so many currently are encouraging the expurgation of the word “nigger” because they feel it is such a foul word, completely miss the powerful anti-slavery anti-racist elements in the novel and dilute the narrative as they do so.  

Actually I think that Twain pushes his abolitionist perspective too much in one part of the text at the cost of its artistic verisimilitude.  Huck, who is pretending to be Tom Sawyer,  tells the tender hearted religious Aunt Sally about a supposed explosion in the steamboat on his way down river.

           "Now I struck an idea [on how to explain himself], and fetched it out:

           `It warn’t the grounding—that didn’t keep us back but a little. We blowed out a cylinder-head.’

           `Good gracious! anybody hurt?’

           “No’m. Killed a nigger.”

           `Well, it’s lucky; because sometimes people do get hurt. . . .’”

This woman is pictured as a religious, affectionate, good woman whose husband has church services for the local slaves and who joyfully takes in two rambunctious boys and who is treating Jim the captured slave very well.  She would likely weep over a wounded dog and yet is then credited to such insensitivity. This indifference to a slave’s life while effective as humor and commentary seems to fail on being true. It still shows Twain’s commitment to the antiracist nature of his book—and makes its alteration in the name of inclusion all the more absurd.

If I have a complaint about the novel, which took Twain eight years to compose, it is Huck’s submission to the ascendency of Tom Sawyer’s cultural and educated superiority near the novel’s end. Huck begins the novel playing with Tom with make-believe pirate fights, pursing the role of attacking robbers against rich merchants thwarted by evil magicians (whom Huck says looked more like a Sunday School picnic defended by its teacher).  The fact that Tom answers Huck’s queries by filling his explanations with references to Don Quixote shows what a dream world Tom lives in.  That’s all well and good.

But when Huck escapes his dangerous alcoholic father and goes down river with a runaway slave, there is no more fantasy. But there is glorious spectacle and imminent danger. He sees a host of terrible and violent things (bloody feuds and murder in the streets) and shapes his decision about Jim partly in the shadow of these events. Also it is in this section that Huck describes with wonder and beauty the world of the river and the nature which surrounds it.

To have Huck then retreat into the world of Tom’s dream play at the novel’s end—until Tom is shot and Jim has to sacrifice himself to make sure the boy is cared for—is difficult for me to accept. (It’s notable that the beautiful descriptions end at this point as well.) I felt the same way about Mary Tyler Moore stepping into the spin off show Rhoda after she had been through so much. I found Mary annoying, and so do I find Tom.  But perhaps I underestimate the appeal which Twain portrays for a traumatized boy of returning to a safe place emotionally and physical after such a perilous journey.  Howsoever, the book is a masterpiece and I am glad to have read it again.

#Mark Twain #huckleberry finn #racism #n-word #verisimilitude

[thereyvan]

ight so you may not know this but i fuckign love roblox. now here’s some shit that’s happened while playing 

warning: this is Long As Hell 

this first one was taken in 2021 and the game is Robloxian High School 

i’m hilarious. now these next were taken in 2022 in Adopt Me 

these next were taken in Gacha Online and Survive The Killer 

alright. and here’s some stuff from Zombie’s Roleplay Universe (note: the first one has a slur) 

very fun. these are from Natural Disaster Survival. i remember that the first two were on the gas station map 

more Natural Disaster Survival 

these next ones are from Rate My Avatar, Da Hood, and Misfits High 

ight, that was my 2022 shit. for obvious reasons, i’m splitting this into 2 parts. the second part will have this year’s screenshots 

EDIT: i forgot about this 2021 screenshot from Livetopia. i love the trans curtains 

#op reyvan #roblox #robloxian high school #adopt me #gacha online #survive the killer #zombie's roleplay universe #natural disaster survival #rate my avatar #da hood #misfits high #slurs #n-word #spanish word for black #cursed #rey stop being cursed #edit #livetopia #trans rights

[lizardbytheriver]

"Why can a Black Person say the N-Word but a White Person cannot?" Cause there are different historic reasons why. White Folks enslaved, raped, disenfranchised, and lynched Black Folks. White Folks created countries where Black People were systemically unequal. Cause there are different power dynamics. A White Man can choke a Homeless Black Person on a train, that White Man is called a hero. A White Woman can give some tears and call the cops on a Black Person, that White Woman just sentenced that Black Person to death. There are power dynamics and power structures in play. White Folks still have the KKK in operation! The N-Word has racist connotations when coming from White People. But the connotations when it comes from Black People is one of solidarity and shared experience.

#N-Word #N-Word Discourse

[pillowspace]

Uhhhhhh. Would someone who's extremely self-indulgent over Puppet Charlie make THI

#pillowspace art #five nights at freddy's #the puppet #fnaf puppet #fnaf marionette #the marionette #fnaf #charlie emily #charlotte emily #y/n insert #fnaf y/n #y/n #fanart #btw the last image is vaguely worded so that you can interpret it however youd like #but my intentions were about him being erm Gone. because this is set after Ruin #ruin puppet au