#and they aren't mysterious enough for mysteries! ;)

[mintmatcha]

Hi...Can we ask a bit about the Christmas party 👀

Was this reader's first holiday season at the company ? Was there chatter about what does reader's long time bf look like and then they're met with ...... this person thats so different from reader? I'm here at work and the thoughts aren't leaving

tw: drug mention

--

Nemuri looks just as ethereal as she always does, in some red slinky number that is questionable for a holiday party.

"Have you seen him?"

The room is filled with more people than Aizawa thinks safe, the holiday jazz somehow carrying over the noise. He hasn't had a single drop of alcohol yet, but the room is already swirling with movement.

"Hizashi's over with the rest of sales-" he says.

"No," Nemuri's lips twitch up stiffly. "Your crush's //boyfriend//."

"I do not have a crush." He says it too quickly. The correct answer would have been 'who?' - but it's too late to act coy. Besides, no one would believe him if he acted coy anyway. Your mysterious boyfriend had been the conversation of many-- including the interns. (Mirio had practically begged you for pictures and seemed disappointed with the results. Aizawa, of course, couldn't ask an intern for gossip, so he was still in the dark.)

Clearing his throat, he peers over the crowd. "Where is he?"

"The guy with the face tattoos."

He snorts. You, timid, caring you, with a man with facial tattoos? As if.

"You're fucking with me." He finally takes a sip of that eggnog and grimaces at taste.

"I wish." Nemuri points across the crowd towards you.

Jet black hair and a schlubby suit, the //boy// is draped around your shoulder for balance with a drink in hand. Sure enough, there's a spider web of ink across his cheek and a piercing through each side. The tattoos seem to stretch across his whole body, down to the knuckles of his hands.

By the looks of it, the guy's already had too much of something; he's drooping as he talks, swaying you along with him. High. He's high, Aizawa realizes. He can see it in the prick's blown out pupils.

And you are laughing, but it doesn't reach your eyes, doesn't touch your lips or the tone of your voice-

A guilt drowns Aizawa's lungs and it takes him a long moment to speak again.

"I see him."

[gunaerystargarygun]

The brain worms continue to infest my brain.

Posted on Ao3, but posting here as well: Here's my contribution to the Stan x Reader genre.

Tags: Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, porn with mild plot, c'mon you guys know me at this point.

Know When to Fold 'Em

"Thanks for all your help, you're doin great, dood!" Soos's voice is full of pride, contentment as you hand over small zipped bag, the profits of the day. You smile, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Soos, you've told me that every day for the past two years."

"And I mean it every time! Can't imagine runnin' this place without ya," he beams at you, his crooked smile making your own smile grow a little larger. Despite him being a few years younger than you, he makes a fantastic boss. "Can't believe Mr. Pines thought you was gonna be useless when I hired ya."

Well, that makes the smile drop.

You met Mr. Pines, well, both Mr. Pines when you got a job here at the shack, cashier and handyperson. A little odd, yes, but you needed the job and for a tourist trap? The place paid well enough, you could afford a small house and just about everything else you needed. You tap your foot, pressing your lips together. "Soos, not that I don't appreciate the words of encouragement, but you don't have to be up here." You throw a thumb over your shoulder and gesture to the shack. "I'm sure Melody could use your help with the baby."

"You sure? I feel kinda bad leavin' you here with all the clean up and restocking." Just as you're about to assure him that you're more than capable of restocking bobble heads and putting out minimally designed bumper stickers, the doorbell chimes and another voice breaks in. "Don't worry about it, Soos. I'll make sure everything gets put back in its place." The old Mr. Mystery poses in front of you. He stands tall, a rather tacky Hawaiian shirt with luau girls and surfboards plastered on it, a pair of khakis completing the look. He stretches his arms out in a flourish, making his entrance more grand.

You roll your eyes slightly, it's the same every time he comes into the shack, which...has been quite a lot, recently. "I haven't had a complaint once," you remark as Stanley begins to look around the place.

"That's cause Soos is too nice of a boss," he says, running his finger along the underside of the checkout counter. "See all this dust? Unbelievable!" He sticks out a finger towards your face, which you squint at.

"There's nothing there."

"To the untrained eye, maybe! This place may as well be covered in mud." You grumble an unhappy sound before Soos speaks up again. "Ah c'mon, Mr. Pines, they're a great worker!" Soos' arm comes around you in a one sided hug, squeezing you tight against his side. "Say, you been around a lot." Soos relaxes his grip on you, which lets you take in a deep breath. "You miss runnin' the shack?"

"What? No, no." He waves a hand dismissively. "Just makin' sure my life's work is still up and runnin', you know. Plus, the kids loved this place."

That was true. You had the pleasure of meeting the twins at the start of this summer. The girl, Mabel, was charming as all get out - she even made you a sweater, which you promised to wear in the colder months. The young boy, Dipper? A little surly. You swore he was running tests on when you weren't looking, or was trying to, anyway. At least by the end of the summer, whatever anxiety he had about you seemed to wash away.

"Okay! I'm gonna trust this place to yous guys. Lock up!" Soos waves his goodbyes, disappearing from the gift shop and somewhere into the house.

"I can handle this, you know?" You make your way to the small storage closet, taking out a box and ripping it open.

"I'm sure you can," he shrugs his shoulders. "Just makin' sure you do it right." Stanley then makes his way behind the register and takes a seat. You stand, blinking.

"What?" He asks.

"Aren't you going to help?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm not helpin' like that. I'm supervisin' ya," he laughs, slapping his own knee before propping them up on the counter.

You don't know why you expected anything different. You've known Stanley for the better part of two years and while he certainly has his redeeming qualities, being extra helpful isn't one of them. You sigh, and begin unpacking the restocks.

To your surprise, Stan is the one who strikes up the conversation. It's simple questions at first, how the shack has been, the types of tourists that've been coming around, and how Soos has been running the place. Whenever you think you finish with an answer, he probes for me, and you notice, his eyes stay on you a large majority of the time.

You feel your face flush a little with that.

Finally, the restocking is done, and you get the broom. Minimal housekeeping; the weather has been dry, so no mud. "You got any plans tonight?" The question catches you off guard, making you turn completely around to face Stan.

"Uh, other than eating a frozen pizza? No. Why?"

"Wanna play a couple round of cards?" He stuffs his hands in his khaki pockets, shrugging, as if he doesn't care how you answer the question. The way he shifts his attention to the floor, however, makes you think otherwise. "Ford's out on a nature hike, or whatever it is that nerds do in the woods, so I got no plans myself."

"Sure." You answer. "Sounds like fun, and beats eating the pizza alone."

By the look of quick surprise, he clearly wasn't expecting you to say yes. He shrugs it off fast enough, shooting a finger gun at you. "Perfect! What's the address? I'll be over at seven." You grab a pen and paper, scribbling it down and passing it over.

Huh, this'll be the first time he sees your house. You think that you better clean up a little bit, not that you think he'd particularly care, but still.

It takes very little to actually clean up your house. A few stray pieces of clothing that make it to the hamper (you missed each time you threw it in, but who's here to see?) and washing a few of the dishes. Just as you finish putting the pizza in, there's a knock at your door.

You hurry up, stopping at the mirror in the hallway just before the door, and look at yourself. You smooth out your shirt, nodding and opening the door.

Stanley stands on your porch with a twelve pack in one hand and two bottles of liquor, held precariously by the neck, in the other. He's still in the same outfit from earlier, but the top few buttons are undone. Were they like that earlier? "Figured it'd be impolite if I only brought it for myself," he shrugs the pack in his arm a little, the bottles clinking together. He glances around. "Nice place."

"Thanks," you say, stepping to the side and letting him in. "Just set it on the table." You watch as he strides through your house, the pack of alcohol landing with a thump while the bottles settle down nicely. He pulls out a chair, easing into it as he props up a foot on one of his knees. The way he leans against the table...

"Where's the cards?" You clear your throat, sliding out a chair across from him and taking a seat. You need something else to distract you.

"Right here," he sticks a hand in his pocket and pulls out a rather beat-up-looking deck of cards and slaps them on the table. "You shuffle, or me?" You eye the cards for a moment, reaching out and grabbing the deck.

"I will." The cards are pleasantly worn, and you can't help but wonder how much use these things have gotten. "Go easy on me? Been a while since I played."

"First rounds are on me," he nods. "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes." He playfully points an accusatory finger at you.

"I know, I know." You cut the deck, shuffling them thoroughly before dealing them out.

It's...pleasant. You didn't expect it to be unpleasant, to be fair, but aside from the one off times of drinking, there's a handful of times when the two of you have been alone together. Stan takes the time to tell you a wild tale of when he was a "much younger buck,"  when he managed to steal a shipment of some undisclosed items from a smuggler. It's amusing, even if it isn't real. You can never tell with him.

Eventually, the oven dings and the pizza is ready. It's served, and you bring two glasses out as well. Before the beer, Stan reaches for the liquor and twists off the cap. "Want one?" You press your lips together, thinking for a moment.

"Hit me." It's a guesstimate on how much a shot would be. Or maybe two.

Either way, you wait until Stan pours his before clinking your glasses together and downing it. Whiskey may not be your go-to, especially when it's warm, but the burn in your throat has a familiar comfort. You cough a little, shaking your head and nodding. "Strong." You comment.

"That's the point." He says. Stan sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers as a sign to hand the cards over. You do, still reeling from the shot as you fish out a bottle of beer. It goes down much easier than the whiskey.

You try very hard to not stare at his hands, but it's difficult. It wasn't something you noticed immediately, but Stan's hands are.... big. Large. Pretty much every synonym for big is how you would describe them, and you vaguely recall the one time you touched them as you passed him something in the shop. They were rough, calloused, but also incredibly warm.

You're not drunk enough to blame that thought on the alcohol right now, so you just push it from your mind as he deals the cards.

Once again, things go back to being pleasant. You nurse your beer as the cards continue to get played, one bottle quickly multiplying between the two of you, along with the cash piling in the center of the table. The conversation steers to him telling you about the adventures he had with the Twins, an endearing tone in his voice that you can't help but smile at. The pizza gets devoured, and when you glance up to the clock, you realize that it's almost eleven o'clock. Have you really been here this long?

That's when it clicks in your alcohol muddled brain.

Stan is lonely. He's been in the shop almost every day for the past week, since the twins left, and even before then, he and the twins were around quite a bit. It would make sense, he went from being around them, his brother, Soos's family, and you for almost three months straight. You look down at the cards, your focus fading for a moment before he speaks.

"Think I mighta run you outta money," he gestures to the table. Your attention turns to it and yeah, there's a decent pile of cash on it. You're pretty sure there's also monopoly money in there, but you're a little too drunk to really notice. "Got anything else to bet?" You think for a moment, tapping the table.

"M'clothes." You answer, plainly. He stares at you.

"Uh, didn't quite catch that?"

"M'CLOTHES." You say it in a louder tone, making sure he can hear it this time. "S'all I got, I'm not up for bettin' my appliances." You point at the blender that sits atop the counter.

"C'mon," he rubs at the back of his neck. "That'd involve me takin' my clothes off too, you don't wanna see that."

"What if I told you that's why I suggested it?" holy shit, why are you saying this? Why are you suddenly so bold, what the hell is in this drink?

"I'd tell ya, you should stop teasin' an old man." You grab the deck of cards, shuffling them in the absolutely worst way ever before slamming them back on the table and pushing them over to him. "Deal 'em."

"You're too drunk for this." The rather sincere reply catches you off guard.

"No, I'm not." You say, stern in your rebuttal. "Look." You jump to your feet, a little wobbly, and begin putting one foot in front of the other, walking a line in the linoleum of your kitchen. While you're not walking perfectly straight, you're doing better than expected. You think so, anyway. "See? I'm f-" just as you're about to finish your sentence, you perform the miraculous feat of tripping over air. You fall a freshly logged tree.

You expect to crash to the floor in the most painful crash since the last time you went to the roller rink, but you never meet the ground. Slowly, you open your eyes, staring up at him. You must have spun in your fall, his hands tucked under your armpits. "What were you sayin' about bein sober enough?" Oh, he's so fucking smug about this.

"I trip on nothin' all the time, drinkin' doesn't have anything to do with this." you weakly shrug your hands, but this close, you catch the smell on him. Mixed with the alcohol, you can catch the scent of cigar smoke, but something faintly woodsy and earthy. It takes everything in you to not sniff at the air. "Uh-huh." he chuckles.

There's a brief moment of silence that passes over the two of you. He doesn't make a move to pull you up, but you're not making a move to get up, either. Instead, you raise a hand and gently press it against his cheek. "You're handsome." You mumble.

"Oh, you're fuckin' wasted."

That makes you twist in his grip. You manage to push yourself to your knees, putting your face just a few inches away from his. "Stop talkin' like I don't mean it."

"You don't mean it."

"I mean this." You grab the sides of his tacky Hawaiian shirt and pull him forward. Your lips crash against his, not realizing how hard you pulled him into you. The scrape of his stubble burns against your chin, a slight shiver running through you. There's the faint taste of tobacco that lingers on him, the chapped skin of his lips. It isn't how you expected this to happen, but to be quite frank, you didn't think this was ever going to happen.

It's only a moment later that you realize he hasn't made a move to kiss you back. He hasn't done anything. You quickly pull back, embarrassed. Why did you do that? God, you're never drinking again. You're not even an alcoholic, and you're planning to go to a 12 step program the second you get sober enough to drive. Your mind races - where else could you move? Maybe the Arctic, right? That's far enough way, that way you c-

You're actually not even far away from him before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his broad chest. You squeak in surprise, hands resting on his thick thighs as he deepens the kiss.

Even through the clothes, he's hot, almost like a furnace. He's burning against you, and this kiss. It makes you dizzy, head spinning. There's a hunger in the kiss, a desperation that you don't think you've ever felt when you kissed other people. His hand holds a tight grip on you, squeezing your side, and you practically melt right into him.

It's a little awkward at first before you two manage to change your positions; neither one of you is keen on breaking the kiss. Eventually, you end up sitting on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, he sits on the kitchen floor. Shifting, you can feel the hardness of his cock beneath the fabric of the khakis.

Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt. They don't make it far, Stan's hands gripping your wrist. He's somehow even stronger than you expected, your stomach flipping at the pressure. He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, panting. You're expecting him to say something filthy, something that's going to make you squirm in his lap.

"Say your alphabet," is what he says instead.

What.

"What?" You ask.

"Say your alphabet," he repeats. "Not sleepin' with ya if you're not in the right state of mind."

"I walked, didn't I?"

"You fell."

Okay, fair enough.

So, you recite your alphabet. It's deliberate, and it's not too slow to cause any concern. As soon as you finish, he releases your wrists and grabs your shirt. It's the fastest your shirt has ever been removed, Stan's face immediately between your tits as soon as he's able. The stubble scratches as your skin, laughing slightly as he plants kisses against your chest. His hands reach around to your back, and you expect him to have trouble with it.

It's off before you can even blink.

"You're suspiciously good at that," you say.

"Aww, you jealous?" He laughs, sliding the bra off and tossing it somewhere behind him. "Don't worry, ain't nobody else gettin' the treatment you are."

"That's what you tell m-" you're cut off, Stan's tongue flicking against your nipple.

"Sayin' somethin', sweetheart?" He glances up, not giving you a chance to speak before he presses his mouth against your left nipple. You grab his shoulders, squirming against him as his tongue swirls around the hardened flesh. One arm wraps around your waist, grinding you against him while his free hand finds your other breast, kneading the flesh in his hand.

Your body feels like it's on fire under his touch. He plays with how much pressure he can put on you, rolling a nipple between his fingers while he sucks mercilessly on your other. Sweat beads on your brow, bucking against him while whimpering sounds escape you. "C'mon, sweetheart." He takes his mouth away from you, the cold air assaulting wet flesh. He playfully bucks his hips up, his cock grinding against you for just a moment. "Wanna hear what a good job I'm doin," he changes the arm that holds you against him, his other hand rising and brushing against the spit slickened skin.

Between the cold and his rough, calloused hand, you feel like you're already on the edge. "You aren't done already, are ya?"

"N-no," you mumble, tilting your head back and moaning as his mouth closes around the other nipple. Judging from the way his tongue flicks against your skin, he certainly appreciates the reaction. The way he sucks against your skin is greedy, teeth nipping at the skin. You're going to have bruises, you've accepted that. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair, running through the gray, surprisingly soft, hair.

Using everything you can muster, you grind yourself against him. He groans against your skin, the grip on your skin tightening. He pulls away from you with an obscene sound, the words practically a growl in his throat. "Where's the bed?"

"Down the hall, last door on the right."

He gives pause for a moment, thinking. "Too far." He decides, aloud. Before you can process what he says, you're suddenly scooped up. You wrap your arms around him, tits bouncing as he hoists you around him. You leave the kitchen, and in a few feet, you're tossed unceremoniously on the couch. Your hands find the button of your jeans, getting them half way down your thighs before Stan takes over. They're off before you can even blink, Stan settling between your thighs. He picks one up, hooking your leg over his shoulder while he presses a thumb against your soaked panties.

You're already trembling, and your entire body jumps as he presses his thumb against your clit, rotating it in small painfully slow circles. He leans over you, grinning. "You want somethin'?"

"You know what I want," you breathe, fingers gripping the couch cushion.

"'Fraid I don't, sweetheart. You're gonna have to tell me." He lets up on the pressure, eliciting a whine from you. "I want your fingers," you reach out, gently touching his arm.

He's happy to comply. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" There's that smug fuckin' tone in his voice again. You expect him to pull off your underwear, but it doesn't seem like he's patient enough for that. Instead, he pulls them to the side, his middle and ring fingers sliding up and down against your wet cunt.

"W-wait!" You sit up some as he presses against you. "It's, uh..." you clear your throat. "It's been a while." You feel almost embarrassed to admit it, but with how thick his fingers are, and two of them? You don't wanna run the risk of getting hurt. He pauses, offering just the middle one to you in compromise. You make a face, and he laughs before he raises the finger to his mouth. He presses it against his tongue before dipping it back between your thighs. "Don't think that would've been an issue," you murmur as you feel him begin to slide into you.

You tilt your face against the couch arm, moaning as he buries the finger inside of you. "Bein' careful doesn't hurt," that's true, and you do honestly appreciate the sentiment. He moves his hand in a steady rhythm, the other hand keeping your legs spread apart. You bite your lip, and after a few minutes, he judges that you're ready for another and adds the ringer finger inside of you.

It's thick, and stretches you in the best possible way. "Feels good, don't it?" He leans over you, his face just a few inches away from yours. You don't know why it slips out - maybe you lapse back into what you were taught when you were younger. "Y-yes, sir." You pant the words out.

Stan's fingers stutter for just a moment before he thrusts them back into you, a moan immediately muffled by his lips against yours. He curls his fingers in the same way as before, the way that made your body shake like a leaf in his hand. "Like the way that sounds comin' outta you," he says the words against your neck, pressing kisses against your rapid pulse.

You can't handle it anymore. "Stanley," your voice teeters on the edge of breaking, fingers twisting in the Hawaiian shirt fabric. "F-fuck, Stanley, I-I.." the words die in your throat as he suddenly removes his fingers from your cunt. "W-what?" The words come out a whine, grabbing the shirt tighter and moving your hips to try and find his hand. "Stan," you groan.

"I can't have you all tired out before we get to the good stuff," he tells you. His hands move to the belt, making quick work of it. He slips off the khakis, positioning himself between your legs again before pressing the shaft of his cock against you, sliding against the slickness. You look between your legs, the head of his cock dipping in against your cunt before his hand tilts it up, bumping against your overly sensitive clit.

You're dizzy, just like before. Your head swims, biting your lip as he teases you constantly, angling himself and barely pushing himself in before pulling out. "You're lookin' desperate, sweetheart." He does a poor job of concealing his own desire, unable to take his eyes off your body. "Fuck, you're drippin'." He grins at you. "Still got it, huh?"

You suddenly brace your arms against his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch and straddling his lap. "You talk too much," the words come out in one rushed breath as you reach between your legs and grab the base of his cock, holding him steady as you bury him inside of you. A stifled moan escapes you as your body adjusts to his size. One hand grabs your waist, stilling any movement you might make, while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "You alright?" You nod your head, your lips slightly pursed from how he squeezes your face.

"Good," he breathes, releasing your face. His hand drops to your chest, holding your breast. As soon as you roll your hips forward, Stan can't keep his mouth shut. "Shit, fuck," his eyes are half-lidded, head resting against the back of the couch as you ride him. "You're tight as a fuckin drum, and hotter than hell." You smile, bracing your hands against the couch as you snap your hips forward, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Both of his hands are on your tits, thumb brushing over the nipples. "Perfect," he mumbles out. Sweat beads across your body, Stan's hand eventually traveling downwards and finding your clit again. The moan rips from your throat as the calloused finger pads press against you, an almost aggressive rub against you - but it's exactly what your body wants. "There ya are," he practically purrs the words out as you lean down.

Your lips catch his, sloppy kisses without much care, as long as you can kiss him. Your burning in every sense of the word, body and nerves as Stan grabs your ass, timing your movements with his own thrusts. He somehow manages to go even deeper inside of you, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Stanley!" His name is barely above a whisper as he suddenly pushes you back against the cushions, back on top of you.

He takes a leg, hiking it over his shoulder and leaning over you, your body curling slightly. His pace is merciless, whatever words you had before devolving into incoherent moans of pleasure as they spill from your lips. It's when the orgasm wrecks your body that you swear to God, you see literal stars in your vision as you cum. Your body tenses, nails digging into his forearms so hard that you're a little worried you may draw blood. Stanley, somehow, has enough sense to pull himself from you, his cock sliding against you before he cums.

Thick, milky ropes land on your stomach and tits as he slows his thrusts, breathing heavily before slumping down over you. You're catching your own breath, a hand raising to his back and gently running up and down the now sweat soaked shirt.

"You good?" He asks, his voice somehow hoarser than before.

You can't really respond, offering a thumbs up in response.

"Huh, fucked you so good you lost the ability to talk huh?" Weakly, and playfully, you slap him.

"Asshole." He snorts, removing himself from you and sitting back against the couch. He looks at you. Then the mess on you. "Where's your shower?"

"Bathroom, which is in the bedroom." You yawn. Stan picks the boxes out of his khakis, sliding them on before bending beside you. "Put yer arms around me," you stare at him a moment. "C'mon, before I change my mind." You do as he says, looping your arms around his neck as his hands slide under your sweaty body, hoisting you up.

"Not too much for you, is it, old man?" You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I can still drop you, ya know?"

"Mhmm." You mumblr. He feigns the drop, your grip tightening on him.

"Gotcha." He winks at you, but at this point, you're too tired to really fight back. Stan manages to open the door to your room and find the bathroom, setting you on the closed toilet. He reaches into the shower, turning the knobs and keeping his hand in for a moment. "You want it on the hotter or colder side?"

"Uh, hotter." The question catches you off guard.

"Figures, every woman wants it hot as hell." He adjusts the knob behind the curtain, taking it back and shaking off the water. "What?" He asks, raising a brow as you make a face at him.

"Just, uh..." again, you're trying to avoid sounding like an asshole. "Didn't expect aftercare?

"I may be a lot of things, and one of those things may be an asshole, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He sets his hands on his hips and you can't help but snort a giggle. "Up." he tells you, offering an arm. You stand on wobbly legs, leaning against him.

"Not sure how this is gonna work." You admit. "Kinda feel like a newborn deer."

"I'm gonna help you," he says. "Also, get a new metaphor."

"That's a simile."

"Oh, look at me, I paid attention in English." He mocks in a joking tone. "Just.. stand here." You do as your told, watching as he unbuttons his top and shakes it off, revealing the sweat covered girdle that's still wrapped around his waist. "You kept that on the whole time?" That's...kind of impressive.

"Done a lot more uncomfortable things, sweetheart." He says. He drops the girdle on your bathroom floor, gesturing for you to get in the shower. You do, Stan offering his arm for support as he follows you in shortly after. He keeps an arm around you, just below your breasts, in case you slip.

It does make you feel safe. You take the washcloth, soaping it up and slowly begin to scrub your body. The hot water feels amazing on your tired body, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo. When you're happily scrubbed, you turn in Stan's arms. "Your turn." You say.

"What?"

"You need to get clean too," you tell him. You don't let him protest, reaching over to your shampoo and squirting a pump into your palm and scrubbing it onto his scalp. There may have been a moment of protest, but it falls off quickly. His eyes shut, letting you work as you comb through his thinning hair. You take a few steps back, turning as carefully as you can so that he's under the stream of water. You work diligently, ensuring all the soap is off before you apply the conditioner and repeat it. He's strangely quiet the entire time, and yet you notice, he's relaxed. It's the first time you think you've ever seen his body this loose.

You grab the washcloth again, soaping it up again before pressing it against his chest. Now that there's no risk of soap in his eyes, Stan cracks one of his eyes open and looks down at you. "You're sweet, y'know?"

"Mhm." You hum in response.

"Seriously," he says. His thumb and forefinger catch your chin, tilting you up to meet his gaze. He leans down, the kiss tender, soft.

There's no intent behind it than affection. Somehow, it makes you feel hotter than what happened in the kitchen. You know you have the dopiest smile on your face, but at the moment, you don't care. You drag the rag over his body, his stomach, everywhere you can as he holds you close to him. When he's finally rinsed, he turns off the shower and carefully helps you step out. A few towels later, you're dry, warm, and exhausted.

You have a few oversized t-shirts that you used to clean the house in, and you manage to find one that fits Stan. There's no way he's making it home tonight. In your own pajamas, you climb into bed as Stan sits on the side of it. "Oh this thing is way comfier than your couch, no offense." He tests the springs, looking at you. "Maybe next time we'll make it to the bed."

"I'll hold you to that," you laugh. "Not tonight, though."

"What a shame," he winks. "You, uh, actually fine with me sleeping in here?" You're getting comfortable beneath the sheets, resting your head on the pillow.

"Stan," you start. "You were literally inside me. You can sleep next to me."

"You'd be surprised how often those two things don't go hand in hand," he remarks off-handedly. Your face creases in worry, about to sit up before he reaches out and pushes you back down. "Story for another day." He pulls the sheets back, sliding in beside you and staring up at the ceiling. A shiver runs through you, scooting closer to him and hooking a leg over his. He raises an arm, putting it behind you so that you're able to rest your head against his chest. "Don't get used to this," you know he doesn't mean a word of that.

"Goodnight, Stan." You stretch, placing a kiss on his cheek. You settle back down, shutting your eyes.

Gently, you feel the ghost of a kiss on the top of your head. "Goodnight."

You fall asleep to his heartbeat, something you think you'd enjoy getting used to

[tblsomedoodles]

Dragon Deku maybe?

been rereading mha (i didn't get past the school festival thing after eri the first time (that might have been all that was out at the time? Idk) so yeah) So i started playing with the concept of if Izuku's dad's fire breathing quirk was a result of a dragon mutation type quirk and not just breathing fire (which, of course, leads to dragon deku)

it's just something i'm playing with to kinda stretch my creative muscles as i come back from burn out. (mostly stemmed out of the fact that i went through pretty much all the winged izuku fics on ao3 and none of them were quite to my tastes. (plus a lot of them were with inko being abusive for some reason and i just can't get behind that.) )

Im not entirely sure where i'm going with this. (if i'm going anywhere.) rn my idea is that he still grows up thinking he's quirkless b/c his doctor decided his mutations were deformities and 'fixed' them shortly after he was born.

he still has some dragon-like mannerisms like having a hoard (hero merch) and both lizard and bird like vocalizations. (they aren't quite either but both are close enough that someone with a lizard or bird mutation would recognize what they meant. mostly b/c i want Hawks and Tokoyami to be like "what the f? why is this not-birb birbing?" and then try to figure out the mystery that is izuku. (maybe draging consperacy theorist Todoroki in on it b/c that would be fun lol.))

Honestly i just wanted to draw what this boy would have looked like without meddling. (and maybe what he might look like again eventually? again IDK.)

[isa-ghost]

*breaks down ur door* ramon n phil hcs perhaps?

YYYYEEEEAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Phil headcanons masterlist

If Ramon knew where Phil was from, he'd desperately want to see the Hardcore World builds (not that Phil canonically built them), and all of Phil's farms (now those he DID build).

If Phil knew Create it'd be fucking OVER for the Federation, with his and Ramon's powers combined and the additional insanity that Tubbo and Pierre can bring? SHEESH.

Of the OG eggs that aren't his own, Ramon is Phil's favorite, but he'll never say that.

Hot take but (before Fitpac was anywhere near close to being a thing), Phil was the one standing in Spreen's place. At least early on, with how often he & Chayanne would join Ramon & Fit on adventures.

Ramon's death on that airship was the first moment it REALLY struck Phil that the eggs can die. Like that's a reality, not just a scary unlikelihood or something. It can and will happen in the blink of an eye.

Phil absolutely adores the way Ramon became such a fierce protector of the other eggs, especially his sisters. It's always touched him how adamantly Ramon fights to give his siblings the most normal childhood they can. He just wishes the lil guy would acknowledge he deserves that too.

Actually on that note I could write a whole ass analysis of how Phil and Ramon can sometimes think/operate similarly, but I'd have to binge a bunch of Ramon moments to get enough material. But like. Do you see my vision? With the way they're both self-sacrificial to sometimes detrimental degrees?

Present day, one of the memories that gives Phil the most bittersweet nostalgia for the "good days" on the Island are the ones where he & Chayanne and Fit & Ramon would be wandering the savannas just exploring and looting random shit. It was nerve-wracking, yeah. Every adventure with the eggs was, this is Mr. Hardcore we're talking about here. But there's something so special about the banter with Fit while they watched Chayanne & Ramon demolish whatever mobs they encountered.

Speaking of demolishing mobs, there is something so inexplicably and unreasonably funny to Phil about watching Ramon (or Dapper or Pomme for that matter) absolutely STACKED in a suit of armor or carrying some massive fuckoff weapon when he is just the littlest guy 🤏🏻🤏🏻 Like the absurdity of this funky lil orb creature with obnoxiously chunky armor and the world's bulkiest weapon is just Comedy Gold to Phil.

Although Phil only ever knew surface level stuff (if that), if he ever heard the extent of how ride or die Ramon was with Fit & his secrets about Whatever (data collection, Madagio, etc), it'd give Phil a whole new level of admiration for him.

Bird brain mimicry sometimes made Phil say "Ramon" with a (badly, Britishly) rolled R the way Fit always would.

He wishes the eggs were around for the whole Maze thing because he guarantees Ramon would've found some kinda way to either Create his way to a solution or brute forced it. That kid would've 100% cracked the code to that stupid fucking Maze.

Phil always loved the way Ramon was so observant. That kid would notice details of things or traits of certain people that nobody else would. Not only did it give him a special layer of thoughtfulness to put into the things he did for & gave to other people, but it's a valuable skill to have as a survivalist.

I can't believe I only just now thought if this one but Phil absolutely fucking TREASURES the way Ramon softened Fit up. He's always known Fit as this rugged, mysterious wild card with a dangerous streak, which– Don't get Phil wrong, he was & is down bad for it. But to see something finally put some long-term genuine warmth in those eyes and a smile lacking malice on that face? And for that something to be a brilliant, silly little kid that radiates the same kind of energy as Fit himself? Priceless.

If there was any egg Phil would consider capable of fending for themselves, it'd be Ramon. Ideally, no egg would ever have to. At least not forever. But if he had to name one he thinks could survive alone? Yeah, Ramon. And not just because he's the son of a 2B2T veteran.

[skyahri]

Sakura just found out that Naruto and Sasuke have never watched Disney movies before. She puts on Tarzan, then immediately realizes her mistake when his parents are murdered right off the bat. Naruto is crying because his parents are dead. Sasuke is uncomfortable because his parents are dead. Sakura is freaking out because she can't think of any movies with two alive parents.

Sakura is road rage lol. "Are you fucking kidding me? There were FOUR signs saying that lane was going to end, asshole!" The rest of team seven is hanging on for dear life as she slams the gas and flips off the other driver when she passes.

After being forced into therapy as part of his plea deal, Sasuke was encouraged to keep a feelings journal. Yeah, yeah, okay, whatever. Every night, he plops down at his desk, takes out his black notebook, picks up the frilly pink pen Sakura left at his house a few months ago, and scribbles down different aspects of his day. The ink is pink and glittery, a sharp contrast to his dark and brooding personality, but he can't find it in himself to use any other writing utensil.

Kakashi is a simple man. When technology started to boom, he was with it for all of ten seconds before he was overwhelmed. He has a computer in front of him and three nerds around him trying to coax him through email, but all he's thinking about is the good ol' days of paper and ink.

Shikamaru is the hidden leaf village's secret weapon. He's proved time and time again that no one even comes close to his mental prowess... but that doesn't mean he isn't human. On more than a few occasions, he's spent an embarrassing amount of time using the wrong key to unlock doors. He misspells and forgets words often. He generally lacks common sense because he overthinks things so hard. A side effect of your brain always being at 100, is that it struggles with 1-99.

Hashirama dared Madara to eat a weed once and Tobirama took that as a challenge. Mysterious plants, strange animals, random shit he finds in the woods or at the market- you name it and Tobirama is daring Madara to eat it. "Guess you aren't brave enough-" doesn't even finish his sentence before the Uchiha has completely consumed it and licked his fingers clean.

[inseasofgreen]

OK color me intrigued; what is this with dragon bonding and what are other dragon related rituals we may know regarding Zemorri and Indiss?

So first I'm going to explain who the Zrato are. I've name dropped them a lot but I don't think I've ever gone into too much detail. Actually I might do another lore drop today about them and their counterpart The Irayo. But I digress-

The Zrato is a race that actually has dragon blood in them, sometimes there are even draconic feature's that manifest from it. They aren't born with them, but many Zrato will develop them around puberty. One of them being scales appearing on the skin, which is something Zemorri actually has. Or horns, though that once can quickly lead to health issues once they start to appear and most times are shaved off if the person survives them growing in.

The Zrato where created by blood magic, but I'll go more in detail with that in said lore dump as the main focus here is dragon bonds.

Dragon bonding isn't something all Zrato do. It's typically done by the crown's dragon riders so they can commune with their dragons. Once the bond is in place, it can't be broken unless the dragon breaks it.

Zrato can form the dragon bond by blood magic, which takes someone who knows the ritual and can help preform it. The first step, find a dragon that will let said Zrato bond to it. Second step, blood meat, or bread if your Zemorri. Which basically is the Zrato mixing their own blood with that of a sacrificial lamb. The lamb, or really any enticing animal for the dragon, is killed before the Dragon. Then the Zrato then slices their hand and let's the bloods mix. Third Step, say a fancy prayer over the now said lamb and let the dragon eat it. Nine times out of ten a bond is formed.

All that being said, Zemorri actually never did that with Indiss. Nine year old Zemorri knew the basics of the ritual, food for the dragon, blood magic, the dragon is yours. Which he actually the blood part right, or close enough as he could. Zemorri sliced his hand and soaked a loaf of bread he stole from the kitchen's while visiting his mother's family home. He then marched up to Indiss, who himself was quite young at the time and offered the bread. Indiss didn't eat the bread, rude, but Indiss himself formed the bond between him and Zemorri.

Yes, you read that right. Dragon's can break and form bonds at whim. Dragons are a mysterious creatures, they possess magic of their own. Though that magic remains a mystery that the Zrato have yet to really figure out.

As mentioned before, most Zrato don't go that far. Not only does it make it nearly impossible for other's to ride the dragon, many might not be able to afford to pay someone to perform the ritual. Dragon's are often shared by whole families, and passed down like family heirlooms until the dragon passes away, or is stolen.

The only other big ritual I could share is the birth of the Zrato, but I'll do that in a separate lore dump.

Thank you for the ask!! I'm always looking for reasons to give all the dragon lore lol

Going to tag the POTO tag list as well.

@lord-fallen @inkingfireplace @rhikasa @leahnardo-da-veggie @satohqbanana

@real-fragments @the-inkwell-variable @tildeathiwillwrite @fromthenortheast @heycerulean

@sonnetery @wyked-ao3

[thesilversun]

A few thoughts on what Li Lianhua is wearing on the beach.

Mainly because it’s different (apart from the cloak) to what we’ve seen him wearing before.

They aren’t the clothes we see him wear as Qi Mushan’s disciple, or as the leader of the Sigu sect. They aren’t the clothes of Li Lianhua either.

The two inner layers of his clothes are patterned, designs woven into the fabric with thread that catches the light. The red cloth belt feels like a call back to the sword with ribbon dance on the roof top.

The hair style is a little different to, he didn’t wear it with long strands framing his face. The pin in his hair is different too. Not the ribbon and pony tail of his youth. Not the metal ones worn as sect leader, not the wooden and lotus themed ones of Li Lianhua.

It’s simple, undecorated, but looks to be white jade. Expensive and elegant.

So who is this version of him that walks onto the beach?

Is it Li Xiangyi or Li Lianhua? Is now a third person?

The red ribbon calls back to Li Xiangyi, the fur cloak to Li Lianhua. He is both and neither at the same time.

Is he gone? Is he ready to live again in a new life of his choosing? Who knows. It allows the viewer to decide on whatever they want it to be

[sirensea14]

Attempted realism💀 but its only the IM girls

Ava wasnt planned to be there, so she's the least "realistic" one. On the other hand, these human ladies right here, i did them because i wanted to experiment on some noses (notably the vicerion sisters and cala) So yea you got another trash from me💀👍

(tbh this started off from Holly, and then escalated to this💀)

I also did some redesign on lukahd's head and made her look more of an ancient, if u dont mind lol (this is my design/way to draw her ofc)

[flagellant]

perhaps this is in bad faith, but don't you think it's plausible that ms appleton was just a government food scientist who was sent to japan as sort of U.S. ambassador and given a generic, americanized name? we know that resources were scarce during the war and that many changes had to be made, or simply were made to cut costs, in the production of lots of things at the time. it just makes sense when you break it down that traditional shoyu is time and labour intensive to make but improves the taste of even outright bad dishes. at a time when people were forced to eat whatever food was available to them demand was likely very high to the point of unreasonably outweighing supply. either officials at kikkoman reached out to american food scientists for a solution or they offered one up themselves, given the fact that food science was undergoing a huge international renaissance led by the americans during the 30s, 40s and 50s. americans have a tendency to synthesize food. they also tend to feel strongly about imposing their culture on other countries. it seems more to me like this is a story about the american government taking extra steps to obfuscate the story of how they semi-successfully tried to be the final nail in the coffin of widespread, traditional shoyu production. less like some kind of yakuza conspiracy somehow centred on one woman. just the perspective of someone who's felt compelled to do their own research. it's my opinion that the way you're presenting your findings leaves massive gaps as well as leaps to get over them. i can't speak for the things you haven't shared publicly, obviously, but it feels a lot like you're dancing around the point. good luck to you in your research, regardless of my own feelings.

I think I agree that you're either arguing in bad faith or simply aren't really paying attention to a wider picture here. It's common knowledge that postwar economics in Japan were heavily influenced and remain to this day connected to organized crime and the Yakuza as an old tool of the imperial/noble order. We also know for a fact that the CIA worked with the yakuza during American occupation in order to manipulate political culture and economic structures.

It's also a common conspiracy in Japanese circles (or at least so it appears, and I want to be clear I am not voicing this as more than preexisting theory/belief, so I will not directly source to give complete credibility; consider this as context for why I might be interested in investigating further, just in case) that Empress Michiko and the Seifun Milling Company had close under-the-table connections with America, which would further influence the traditional shoyu brewing culture.

Like, I feel as though if you seem to be aware enough that America's treatment of Japan was one of extreme hostility and cruelty with little-to-no care about the nation or its people, solely using it as a means to enforce American/Western ideals and principles onto an unwilling populace and using violence and illegal organized crime syndicates to fulfill those goals...then why are you acting as though it's sus of me to look at a single woman in 1947 having this much power/control over Japanese-American relations when you have said yourself that shoyu is the single most important ingredient for Japanese food of all time, and only moreso during war rations/scarcity times?

[personinthepalace]

If I had a nickel for every time a major streaming service cancelled a beloved book-to-tv show adaptation (of my favorite books!) after adapting just the first two books then I would have two nickels

I'm just really tired of this happening guys. I would like the less well-known books to win for once

[you-must-choose]

Ritchie and Laura

So I vaguely implied it in the very first post, but I'm heavily leaning into the whole "Ritchie is a Discount Ash" Thing in the Papa Meowth AU by making him a Zorua whose parents are a Zoroark and Sandslash from the future, as a parallel to Ash and Delia's whole Mystery Dungeon thing. Why they time traveled is spoilers for Sinnoh. He also has a human sister named Laura who has a mysterious connection to Celebi (mysterious because I haven't figured out what it is or what it means and this buys me some time), as Maria's counterpart.

They've got their own, mostly off-screen journey that strongly parallels Ash and Maria's, including stumbling into their own World Saving Adventures at roughly the same time, though the two journeys overlap occasionally, usually at either the few Canon times Ash and Ritchie have run into each other or during Adventures that are too big to have a reasonable counterpart. This means the two of them and their problems are going to end up plot relevant, especially in Sinnoh.

Anyway, here's their teams up through Orange Islands (they don't show up in the Orange Islands for the record, that's just where Ash and Maria's team list stopped so far). And yes, they both nickname their Pokemon.

Ritchie

Sparky (Pikachu)

Happy (Butterfree) (he probably caught it as a Caterpie but I'm basing the initial stage shown in the list on whatever they first get introduced as)

Naginata (Spearow)

Rooter (Venusaur)

Zippo (Charmander>Charmeleon) (evolves during his battle with Ash's Charizard, which is an actual battle this time)

Torpedo (Tentacool>Tentacruel) (evolves off-screen, not sure when that'll be revealed)

Alec (Morgrem>Grimmsnarl) (A perfect gentleman, in contrast to most of his species. Makes liberal use of Charm and Flatter.)

Sir Daniel (Cubone>Marowak) (the one I mentioned as evolving in the same match as Ash's Cubone. When he's a Cubone his skull helmet is a bit oversized and misshapen for some reason, so it covers one of his eyes and muffles his voice to the point he's almost completely unintelligible, though it doesn't seem to hinder his battling too much and it's fixed when he evolves. based on Sir Daniel Fortesque from Medievil, Because I Can)

Cowl (Arbok)

Grit, Gravel, Grunt, Grace, and Gray (five Dugtrio who Ritchie stumbled into catching in Digglet cave as Digglets. Counterparts to the Tauros Herd)

Quackers (Farfetch'd)

Flare (Beedrill)

Yogi (Ursaring) (Yes, he lives up to the name. How else would he be able to be Sorlax's counterpart?)

Laura

Cadmus (Meowth) (No, he can't talk)

Odie (Growlithe>Arcanine) (Actually evolves in the same scene he's introduced, since Laura bought a Fire Stone from the same vendor as Maria for the same reason that Maria bought Clefable's Moon Stone, at roughly the same time, and that's how they end up meeting each other.)

Rock (Squirtle) (basically Mega Man as a turtle since I made the Squirtle Squad Leader basically Sonic. Has Mega Launcher, Protean and Trace, and somehow knows Sketch, Mimic and Copycat) (yes I rotated which starter ends on what stage. because why not)

Zingo (Electrode)

Hobbs (Hitmonchan)

Grill, Grape, Grand, Gravy and Gru (The other five Dugtrio)

Mochi (Dratini)

Majesty (Nodorina>Nidoqueen) (also evolved at the Stone Vendor at the Indigo Conference because Counterparts)

Arc (Electabuzz)

Lilac (Alolan Vulpix with cybernetic augmentations. I'll explain when I'm done with the lists)

Whirl (Lapras)

...alright, so what's going on with Lilac?

Well, I needed to give them an equivalent to Mewtwo Strikes Back since Maria got a Pokemon out of it, but by that point in the timeline there's only one Mewtwo, and something Celebi-related made the most sense since Laura's connected to it somehow and Ritchie has his whole "my parents are from the future and my egg was laid there" thing, but there's no Pokemon that has a similar relationship to Celebi as the one Mewtwo has to Mew...

...so I made one up.

Celeborg is what happens when you try to take shortcuts when making a Time Machine. Some idiot Mad Scientist in the distant future decided that instead of actually working out how to travel through time, or bothering to program a proper AI, they'd instead install a Celebi DNA sample into a robot and call it a day. The resulting Reverse Cyborg went through a massive existential meltdown blowing up the lab and stumbling backwards in time in the process, and in its unstable mindset decided to make more cyborgs so it wouldn't be alone as the only Thing like itself (and also the scientist may have been working for an Evil Team so the programming that the Celebi DNA wasn't able to sub in for possibly included world domination-type stuff). Somehow Ritchie and Laura got involved and managed to calm it down and it decided to find a place in the present to live peacefully with any of the Cyborg Pokemon who were interested in staying with it.

Celeborg is Grass/Steel Type (because I continue to insist that Celebi's time powers come from its Grass typing and not its Psychic typing. though Celeborg does still learn plenty of Psychic moves) with Levitate as its usual ability and Download as a Hidden Ability. The version in the AU has both thanks to how Abilities work there. Might draw it at some point.

[solenstelluna]

I feel like I've forgotten the last time I've drawn anything and posted it here. And to be truthfully honest, this isn't even recent for the most part. It's an old piece of linework I did months ago I only colored recently to get out of an artblock. I didn't know what to do with the background either, so I barely did anything. I hope that it's cool, nonetheless.

[lurking-latinist]

🐈

[marc--chilton]

i wont lie being an adult online is so scary. i dont want the internet to be come advertiser friendly but i also would really fucking love if i could actually remain unseen by minors when i want to talk about adult stuff in my own adult space.

[slumbering-shadows]

I don't know who needs to hear this but you shouldn't be taking ibuprofen or any other NSAIDs on an empty stomach. You will eventually end up with ulcers or perforated intestines and will never be able to safely take those medications again. please god just eat some fucking apple sauce. or even a piece of bread. it doesn't have to be a lot but it has to be something

[poet-tree-lines]

40 minutes into this 7 hour audiobook, and I think I have the motive, means, and opportunity for a murder that hasn't happened yet. which... is either really sad because i'm never right about this stuff and like to guess, or really great because there's a plot twist coming and that'll be fun

unfortunately, i think the twist is the answer i have