#but then turns out they don't have enough money on them

[wifeyoozi]

Svt with a high maintenance girlfriend, thank you <3

Ot13 seventeen : high maintenance girlfriend

Ceecee note - I literally don't know a lot about high maintenance girlies because I literally am too lazy to get stuff done even though I love doing it all and being a girlie lol so forgive me.

seungcheol : literally doesn't expect you to be any other way. if you weren't high maintenance before, he'll spoil you enough to be so eventually we all know it

jeonghan : he's equally high maintenance so the both of you better be rich or he be stealing cheol's money for you both

joshua : he is a man from LA with a J name I think he can really afford a high maintenance girlfriend. Secretly actually prefers that. Just because mindful that he's still The Bitch in the relationship you cannot take his spot.

Junhui : lowkey finds you tiring but simultaneously loves spoiling you. "Oh you want to get your nails done? AGAIN?? you just got them done! No problem tho I wired you $300 enjoy babe 😘😘"

Soonyoung : loves spoiling you in a way where he comes to all of your expensive appointments and shopping and likes yo personally pick your nail and hair and dresses

Wonwoo : I think he doesn't even notice you are high maintenance until his friends point that out. He's like "oh don't all girls like to get their things done like that?"

Woozi : on the outside he shows that he doesnt care as much about spending money on your maintenance but it secretly turns him on. To flex his money on your beauty. His black card has its first home in your wallet not his.

Minghao : this man is dressed up in Gucci and Versace all day long so I think he'd be really proud of a girlfriend who's the same. An equally high maintained couple going to get their nails and hair done together all the time that's you.

Mingyu : highkey intrigued by everything you do. He's that typa man. Would randomly show up at your saloon one day just to see how you get your manicures and pedicure and body spas done. Loves how you always get so happy after you've got it all done.

Seokmin : what's the use of him earning as much as he does if he can't spend it on you? Feels so entitled when you are by his side because of how strong your aura is with your luxurious looks.

Seungkwan : complains and pouts about you spending more time in the saloon than you do in his arms. Starts insisting you book home appointments just so he could cuddle by your side as you get all of your shit done and successfully make the aesthetician uncomfortable with the strong couple energy.

Vernon : I think he secretly knows a lot about manicures and pedicures and nails and hair and spas because of how close he seems with his sister so he just loves spoiling you like that and see you be all fresh and happy afterwards.

Dino : I feel you're gonna have to explain him why you need to get so many things done and why you gotta buy so many skincare and then he has that invisible question mark on his head everytime you go on and on talking about why you need it and all the other beauty details and why you love it ykwim

[ghouljams]

The only foil Gaz has in his little scheme of fucking his pretty clients? Rich business man Price and his pretty wife. Prices’ wife? The most oblivious bimbo he’d ever met. He wants to nail her *so* bad but, she doesn’t pick up on his ‘double meanings’ or anything! She just paid his estimate outright, (full price! The jacked up price!!! wtf?)

“I’m sorry, I’m not good at manual labor!!! I’d probably knock down the building, lol!” And prances off. She dresses like a tease, tiny skirts, tight shirts, heels, nice hair, pretty makeup.

She’s got daddy Price paying for her and Price finds deep, endless amusement in Gaz going crazy trying to get her to understand what type of ‘manual labor’ he’s talking about. Every time Gaz tries to flat out tell her he wants to f- Price walks by, blue balling Gaz because he can’t proposition his clients wife right in front of him!!! Gaz gets blue balled *again.*

And Price keeps hiring him too! He has the money, so why not? Gaz really amuses him, it turns him on to have someone chasing after his pretty wife *so* bad, and imagine how great it will be when Price finally lets Gaz have her?

Maybe they can have Gaz over for just sex without the fake excuse of ‘building’ or ‘remodeling’

(Bonus: if Price overhears Gaz’s double entendres, he comes in bends over the marble counter like ‘oooooh, this is how I get the discount, I can do that’ because he thinks Blue collar Gaz is hot too, why does his wife get to be the only one nailed over their new counter? And his wife is like ‘oh- oooooh! OOOOOOH!’ Sparkles in her eyes ‘now’ she get’s it!!! Well why didn’t he just *say* so!!! And drops to her knees. Yeah, They all take the new marble counter for a spin.)

The problem... the problem...

The problem is I want Gaz to fuck that old man over the marble counter now. Gaz plays for both teams, if he can't get the bimbo wife, he'll take the hot older husband. Price wants to bend over the counter, Gaz'll press his hand firm between Price's shoulders and his hips firm against his ass. A little surprising for Price, he was joking(sort of) because that's the fun of it. His wife isn't getting it but he is, and it should be a good haha laugh it off moment of "I know what you've been doing." But Gaz presses his weight down against Price and tells him he'll do just as well.

"Can probably take it better than the bird, isn't that right sir?" He murmurs, his cock already starting to stiffen against Price.

The ideal end to this scenario is Gaz fucking Price over that shiny new counter, Price's eyes rolling back as he grunts out moans and Gaz bites his shoulder, pretty wife sat on her knees behind Gaz licking his balls and occasionally dipping back to eat his ass. Both of them really should be thanking him for doing so much work on their house, and for teasing him so long. He wants Price white knuckling the counter, shooting his load all over his wife's tits as she tongues Gaz's ass. He'll fill Price and then move on to the bird.

"When's the last time someone took care of you properly," Gaz asks Price, leaning back to spread Price's cheeks apart, watching his cock getting swallowed greedily with each thrust. Price mumbles out some answer, well before he was married, and sorely missed. Gaz hums with a smile, "Might have to start staying late then, make sure you're satisfied with my services."

Don't think Gaz isn't eager to get the wife over the counter too. Stripping the condom off his thick cock when he's done with Price and lifting the giggly wife off her knees to fuck her raw. Normally he's safer about this sort of thing, never know where a housewife has been, but he doubts she's smart enough to be sleeping around. So he bounces her on his cock until she's shaking and clinging to him, stifling moans by biting his shoulder. He'll leave her dripping come so Price can eat it out of her.

"You know," Gaz tells them, gathering his things, "You really could do with a couple French doors out to the garden."

"When can you start?" Price asks.

"How's tomorrow work?" Gaz grins.

[oddmawd]

IMO: people's willingness to endanger the entire fanfiction ecosystem for their own personal gain is a direct result of capitalism being a dick

first it makes us think of EVERYTHING in terms of economics, "productivity" and money, money, money

then it makes us desperate to make ends meet (#eattherich)

and then side-hustle culture convinces us that our hobbies are worthless unless they're monetized

so the math adds up and desperate people look at their empty pantries and then at their time-consuming hobbies that pay them nothing, and it's no fucking wonder they start asking "hey, can i perhaps make a buck off of that hobby to soothe the misery of this financial hellscape somewhat?"

and i get the impulse, truly i do, but the problem with fanfic is that YOU CAN'T DO THAT

fic is a labor of love and i'm sorry but it's not the answer to our monetary problems, because those problems will get a lot worse for you if you wind up fined into oblivion over copyright infringement

enough people start turning fanfic into a black market instead of a grey one and we'll get chased back underground and then your nice little side-hustle goes up in smoke along with the entire fanfiction community as a whole

allow me to remind us that capitalism is a goddamn liar, side-hustle culture is a trap, and:

you are allowed to have a hobby that isn't profitable

hobbies are not worthless if they don't generate cash flow

turning your hobby into a side hustle often saps the joy out of it

try finding joy through the act of creating, not through the money you might make doing it

good luck out there

[shayyprasad]

cool | peter parker

a/n: this concept was so sweet to me, and i had to write something for it. okay, so yeah, this is technically irondad + spiderson... but i wanted to add to it.

repost because this fic flopped with, like, 10 notes. if you look at the og, it says 700ish because of the prev notes of what i reblogged. interact with this fic, it's what keeps me going!

summary: you find that a brown haired boy is always at the restraunt you work at, covered with cuts and bruises. you're curious, so what do you do?

warnings: cursing, minor angst (not really tho, mostly fluff)

pairing: fem!reader x post-nwh!peter parker

word count: 1.5k+ words

you're working late, you don't normally. it doesn't hurt though, having a side hustle outside of college. with shit parents, community college is really all you have as an option, so extra money is welcomed.

it's 20 minutes until closing time, and you're the only one left. you've read enough articles and watched enough true crime to be at least a little paranoid. not expecting anyone else, you spray a table, wiping it down with a rag. might as well get started with cleaning, right?

so when you hear the familiar chime of the door, you've got the right to be suprised. looking up, you're greeted by the sight of a boy. he's got soft brown curls, and (you find, once you meet his gaze) matching dark, hazel eyes.

you wave at him and move behind the register. he looks harmless, but don't most men that have bad intentions? not that you think he's going to do anything.

you're just a woman. it's the way of life, this thought spiral.

"hi, what can i get you?" when he's closer, you can see the cut he's got on his cheek. it's dried blood, but still enough to make your eyebrows shoot up. in fact, he's got a bruise too.

under his left eye, and by the yellow-green, you can tell it's fresh. it's not your business to ask, well, it is... but you're only asking about his order. he runs a hand through his hair, obviously trying to tame it.

there's a leaf at the top, tangled in there. you want to take it out.

he sniffs, eying the menu. you've never seen him here before, and you've been working here for a while. now that you're looking at him, his eye looks swollen - like someone socked him. "a- a cheese-"

you're not sure where the sudden courage comes from, but you cut him off; "do you want an ice pack? or, uh, maybe frozen peas?"

he looks startled for a second, as if he were just now knocked out og this long train of thought. he pauses to touch his eye, "um," you can tell he doesn't want to trouble you, but you're intrigued now.

"seriously, it's no problem." (on the account you have frozen peas, then it would be no problem. if you didn't... a pack of cold, raw meat-?)

"sure, yeah."

"cool. er- stay right there." you go to the freezer room, rummaging around for frozen peas. it takes you a minute, and you're afraid there are none for a moment, but there are. triumphantly, you bring them back out.

he's standing in the same place, although you're not sure why he would've left. "peas!" you sing-song. handing them to him, you smile.

he throws one back, though it's forced and kind of hollow. you're afraid you've made him uncomfortable, or that you're too much. are you too much?

he squints at your nametag, "thanks, uh, gertrude?"

you're confused for a second, "oh, she's dead."

"i- sorry?" he tilts his head, now he's confused too.

"no, i mean, this isn't my nametag. it's old. like, super old. manager's dead wife. this place is too cheap to get new ones, so we, like, basically catfish people."

he nods, "okay. what's is it then?"

"huh?"

"your name."

you mentally smack your forehead, of course that's what he was asking. "y/n."

"cool. i'm peter. peter parker."

"nice to meet you peter peter parker," it's your attempt at a joke, paired with a lopsided grin. it makes peter smile though, so you consider it a win.

peter presses the pack to his eye, a wince turning into a sigh. oddly enough, it sounds sexual to you, and your face is heating up. what's wrong with you? seriously?

"okay, well, um, i assume you still wanna order something?"

"yeah. maybe just a cheeseburger and fries?"

"you got it," it's closing time, but you don't mind. peter is cute, and he seems nice as well. you're more than happy to stay around longer. "on the house," you say when he tries to offer you money, "seems like you had a rough night."

"no, i-"

"no sweat, parker."

you ring up his order, get it ready, and by the time you're done, he's settled at a table. "here you go. enjoy!"

you go back to sweeping, but you want to talk to him more. "you live around here? i haven't seen you here before."

"uh... not exactly. i don't come here often. i, um," he presses his lips together, "had a friend that brought me here. once or twice."

you frown, "oh, i'm sorry."

"what?" peter looks up from his meal.

"i just- well, you used past tense so i assumed you don't... aren't in touch anymore?" maybe small talk was a bad idea.

"oh. yeah. i guess. he's not really... around. he passed a little while back."

it's like your heart physically aches. "that's sad to hear."

"yeah. 's okay though, getting by fine. or- or better."

"mhm. it gets better. lost my sister a few a years back."

"really? i'm sorry." they're empty words, you've probably heard them a lot, he knows that. you know he knows that.

"thanks."

"yeah," it's quiet for a little while longer.

"so, uh," he pauses, taking a sip of his water, "are you still in school?"

"college," you pause, slightly embarrassed, "community, i mean."

"oh. cool. i'm at midtown. it's not, like, super fancy or whatever..."

you cut him off, shrugging, "better than community. and isn't it like so stupid, how they basically tell you that college is a must, and then have you pay all this money? 'oh, you need it for a good future!'" you mock, "aw, really? then make it free!"

you freeze, realizing you've gone on a tangent. "sorry," you say, flushing.

"no, it's okay," he laughs. "it's cool you're... passionate."

"thanks," you put the broom away. "um, i have to go take out the trash. would you mind... not stealing anything?"

"i'll try," he jokes.

"cool. i believe in your ability of self-restraint."

"cool," he says, matching your tone.

"cool."

"cool."

"okay, that got weird after the, like, second time," you make a face.

"no, yeah, i agree."

"cool," you say, staring at each other in dead silence, before bursting into laughter. you hold up the trashbag, "yeah, so, one sec."

you push open the back door, tossing the bag in the dumpster.

he's so nice, you think. look at you, falling for a basically stranger. you walk back in, closing the door behind you. you notice he's done, so you throw out his things, cleaning down the table.

"hey, uh, when do you close?" peter asks.

you check the clock, "mm... 15 minutes ago."

"holy shit, really?"

"yeah. it's cool though. i was closing anyway, and the company didn't hurt. also... it looked like you needed this."

he looks down at his shoes, smiling, "yeah, no, i did. thanks. and sorry."

"like i said, it's cool."

"cool," you stop, "are you in a cult?" you blurt.

"um, sorry?"

"sorry, like, i just, you look... beat up. and i was wondering if you were in a gang... or something." you squint at the dried blood on his knuckles.

"uh... i am not."

"then how'd you get those?"

he looks conflicted, and you've probably crossed a line. "oh my god, i'm so sorry. obviously, it's not my business. i was just... curious."

you wipe down your last table, cursing yourself internally.

"no, it's cool. i'm..."

"seriously, it's not my business. don't tell me, actually. plausible deniability," you joke.

he says something, and it's so quiet, you don't hear it. "what?" you ask.

"i'm spider-man!"

"uh. what?"

"you don't know spider-man?"

"no, of course i know spider-man!"

"well, yeah. that's me. suprise." he says, doing a small show of jazz-hands.

"there's legit no way. i know i catfished you earlier, but that was on accident!"

he tilts his head, as if he's weighing his options. in reponse, you narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out if it's one big joke. after that, it's so quick, you barely notice. something hits your hip, not harshly, and then you're spinning towards peter.

"holy-!" you look down at your side, trying to figure out what it is. you're tucked into peter, and you realize it's... a web. "no. way."

"yes way."

"why'd you tell me? now i can't plausibly deny anything! also, isn't this supposed to be a secret? isn't that the point of the mask? how do you know i won't sell you out?"

"that was a lot."

"i know. but it was very valid."

"i don't know. i just wanted to. you're nice and sweet and pretty-"

"oh, so pretty privilege?"

"no! no, of course not!"

"well, um," you wrap your arms around his neck, "thank you for trusting me. i won't tell anyone."

"cool."

"cool."

his hands are on your hips, and he's leaning in, but you pull away, smirking.

"no kissing until the second date, i'm afraid."

"we're going on dates?"

"if you don't want me to broadcast to the world, yes."

"well, i would've asked to take you anyways."

you smile at him, enjoying the moment.

"wait, are those cameras?" there's absolute panic in his voice, and you giggle.

"those are fake. it's cardboard to scare people off."

"oh. cool."

"cool."

you end up kissing him anyways.

@whatsupstark@ell0ra-br3kk3r@idli-dosa@susvale@kdbsr-h@littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod @one-piece-frvr7

[nothing-tolose]

Wood Stairs on The Coast.

warning: age gap (4 years). please lmk if there's anything i missed!

a/n: i wrote some words repeatedly im sorry, imsorry imsorry

daily click

You really hate yourself for sitting in the same spot again and again. Resting your butt on the wooden surface of the stairs, your eyes gazing at the ocean merely 270 meters from your house. You letting out a sigh as you bury your face in your arms, cursing yourself because you're still waiting for Abby to return, even though there's almost no chance and reason for her to come back to the little town where you live. It has been five years two months and two weeks since she left you with her promise to wait for her come back in 4 years, well, it was too far late. Now that you're a grown up, no longer the girl who once struggled with her homework, you work at a little bakery shop in your small town instead of pursuing university like most of your friends did. Being 21 years old, you feel old enough to date Abby that you've been waiting for almost half a decade since too young to have her back then. But does it truly matter when the promise remains unfulfilled? All hopes, birthday wishes, and prays you always mean it for Abby, hoping she'd be here soon with her feet touching the ground. You knew where her hometown was at, only if you get enough money, you swear you could go there and meet her. You don't even know if her promise is still worth for believing in or it's just a bunch of lies that you still hold tightly. You rejected the girls who confessed their feelings to you because you were waiting for Abby. Now they got their own girlfriends, you still here, sitting on your house's stairs, alone, not with Abigail Anderson, not with her being your girlfriend. You leaned on the railing, thinking about how much easier life was when she was with you, even if it was only for four months. The past five years hadn't been as amazing as the year before. You've heard great things here, but not as great as they'd be if she came back. Your house remained the same as it was a year ago; there was no chance of her getting lost. Night had fallen, and you sat by the window, facing the coast you've been staring while sit on the porch stairs this morning. The dim light in your room from a white bedside lamp—the gift from Abby for your 16th birthday—that you never turned off, day or night. The lamp served as a symbol of how long you'd been waiting; once it went off, it would be over. Your head leaned against the wall, sighing, "Should I stop, Abby?"

You promised yourself you wouldn't sit again on the wooden stair corner again, yet there you are, hand cupping your cheeks, the gentle breeze playing with your hair, forcing you to tuck hair strands behind your ear every single seconds. You have some rocks on the ground from the beach you visited earlier this morning. You've sorted them by size and now you're playing with them randomly, just to stave off your boredom, as if you were know that Abby won't come back, leaving you feeling hopeless now. You huffed, again. You tried not to care anymore about the promise. But no, you knew yourself better than anyone; deep down in your heart, you still cared enough for her. You were too focused on your mind, hands still playing with the rocks and sand, not hearing the footsteps approaching you. The footsteps stopped a few meters away from you. You raised your head, immediately stood up after you saw the owner of the footsteps. You couldn't say anything as if words had become trapped in your throat.

"You've grown up a lot,"

Without a second thought, you ran to her and hugged her tightly. Even though the promise was fulfilled much later than expected, it didn't matter anymore. She's here, Abby is here, Abigail Anderson is here. No words comes from your mouth, all that mattered was the hug, and she returned it just as fiercely. Her hands rubbing your head while saying "I'm sorry, you've waited me for too long." She was saying sorry to you, for countless times. You shakes your head, crying in between the hug. Abby cupped your cheeks, smiling, her gaze locked on your lips, "Can.. can I?" You didn't wait for her to finish speaking as you simply nodded, you want her to kiss you, you really want it. Your lips met hers, ending five years of loneliness without her. At last, she could kiss you without concern for age differences, and at last, you could having her being your girlfriend. "God, where was the girl who always asks me to help her homework?" You chuckled, along with her wiped your tears away on your cheeks after the kisses, "She's a grown up now, Abby."

"Please, please don't leave me again,"

"I won't, baby. I won't,"

Once again big thanks to Taylor Swift for giving me the idea.

[gabessquishytum]

The first time Hob Gadling smells Morpheus Endless, he (Hob) had just shot someone in the face.

Hob tries very hard to be invisible. His job is to do various "tasks" for the Endless Organization. He is to be discreet and effective. And under no circumstances are his activities to point back to the Endless family and their (legitimate) dealings.

This is easy enough as an omega -- even in this current age, people still don't think omegas are "violent" or engage in acts that aren't fluffy and sweet. It's almost insultingly easy to be on the "wrong" side of trouble as an omega.

Hob is not the demure sort of omega. He'd just as soon punch an alpha in the face as purr for one. (When he must interact with alphas "like that," heats and such, Hob is fond of tying them down and riding them to his satisfaction.)

Morpheus Endless doesn't smell forgettable, like the rest of his family. He smells like Hob's favorite things, like home. Hob is going to make Morpheus his, and no one (even Morpheus himself) better get in his way.

Oh god, I LOVE a dominant omega.

Morpheus doesn't have much to do with his family's criminal enterprise - in the dynamic of the family, its his job to appear to the public as a perfectly legitimate philanthropist with an interest in art. But that doesn't mean he's not aware of how the money is really made. And it doesn't mean that he's not a target for rival organisations.

He'd found himself damn close to being kidnapped by some of Burgess's goons when Hob seemed to melt out of nowhere and silently, quickly and expertly shot the kidnappers dead. Then he quickly cut the zip-ties from Morpheus’s wrists and grinned. Morpheus - who would never usually even bother to speak to one of his family's "employees" - nearly melts into the floor with overwhelming lust for this dangerous, smiling omega.

Hob takes Morpheus to the nearest building owned by the Endless organisation and insists on checking him over for injuries. He practically straddles Morpheus while feeling his wrists for any damage, checking him for concussion, even scenting him to make sure that he's "calm enough". Morpheus is far from calm, actually. When he puts his hands on Hob’s waist his feels the holster that's strapped under his clothes and very much bulging with various firearms. Hob smells so dangerous and so good and all Morpheus can think about is fucking him...

But Hob makes it quite clear that he's not interested in a one night stand. Nor is he interested in parting as friends. He fully intends to make Morpheus his mate, whatever the consequences may be. Hob is very much used to getting what he wants, and he doesn't intend to give up. If he has to he'll tie Morpheus up and really kidnap him, take him away from his family and give him a mating bite so it's too late for anyone to object. He'll make sure that Morpheus puts a baby in him, if that's what it takes.

And Morpheus really doesn't need this kind of persuasion, but fuck if it doesn't turn him on. The idea of being taken by his omega is so arousing, he nearly cums right there with Hob just sitting in his lap.

Hob won't be purring any time soon, but he will certainly manage a contented hum a few months down the line when he's introduced to the rest of the Endless family as Morpheus’s mate. It's far too late for them to get rid of him, when he's already carrying a little Endless heir inside him. But he packed his favourite firearms, just in case. It does make Morpheus so horny when he sees his precious little omega holding a gun to somebody's head...

[jqnehr]

❝ 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧'. ❞ | boothill.

boothill x fem!reader.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and boothill meet in a bar, and have a very nice chat (aka, you flirt like mad).

𝐜𝐰: SFW!! no use of y/n, alcohol consumption (it's a bar come on now), bar banter/flirting. (pathetic attempts at) funny haha humour, and ermm well inspired by old 1950s western films (my dad adores john wayne i cannot escape them HELP), but like in the hsr universe yk. this one was meant to be funny because i had a BALL playing around with boothill's CANONICAL censor oh my god i love him. imagine calling him a fucktard and the only thing he can clap back w is "you son of a biscuit-eating bulldog" (what the french toast?) or something idk. can he say that? or can he only say nice things—anyways enough rambling 😔

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: (continuation from above basically) this man i tell you. i can't sleep. can't eat. he plagues me. day in and day out. i do not have the funds to pull for him. how dare he look at me with that sexy smirk? ain't got no money pal sorry. anyways here's a lil thing i wrote in honour of this man making my chronic fatigue worse <3 NOT PROOF READ. it is currently 12:44am as im posting this so there will be MANY typos haha im going to sleep now.

"You look like you should be in a saloon."

The gun-slinging Galaxy Ranger glanced up at the woman who just took a seat beside him from beneath the brim of his hat, drawn from his thoughts. She had taken a seat that was a respectable distance from him, two bar stools down, the message clear that she wasn't here to chat him up and lead him off to somewhere secluded and have some 'fun', but was only here for small talk and a drink. Good thing she wasn't coming onto him, too. Saved him having to turn down yet another woman looking for a fleeting one night stand.

He went back to absentmindedly swirling the malt juice around in his glass. Car oil, basically. He let out a small chuckle. "Ain't the first time I heard that one."

"Yeah? Makes sense. Fit's cool, though." She nodded to his cropped jacket, his spurred boots, his pants with their sides unzipped. She didn't seem to be bothered by the sight of his belt lined with ammo and a holstered gun. "What's that your drinking? Looks like engine oil."

"Malt juice," Boothill humoured her. "Can't drink nothin' else. Perks o' bein' a machine."

"Machine?" The woman lifted a brow, taking a sip of her beer. "Ah, gotcha. You're a robot?"

"Cyborg, yeah." It didn't matter if he divulged in her what he usually wouldn't. It was just tedious small talk, a nice weight off his mind, and he wouldn't ever see her again, anyway. "Got its pros and cons."

"I see." He was starting to become rather surprised at how...nonchalant she was about this. She lifted her beer jug to her lips once more. "So, what do you do for a living? Go around cosplaying as a cowboy?"

"Heh. If ya like, sure." Boothill was getting curious. It was once in a blue moon he came across someone as relaxed as this woman. "Let's say, it's my...signature look. Across the galaxies. Helps people remember me."

"You're starting to sound like a criminal on the run," she laughed lightly, only out of politeness, really. "Considering the people I've come across around here, I wouldn't mind getting you've got a bounty on that pretty head of yours."

"Uh-huh." He swigged the last of his malt juice. "Perceptive of you, sweets. You a local? Frequent?"

"Pretty much." She shot him a glance. "And it seems I was right. Eh, don't worry. I don't care enough about ya to turn you in. How much you wanted for, anyway?"

"A lot." Boothill grinned impishly. "Those IPC cuties keep bumpin' the ‘prize money’ up, if ya like." He made air quotation marks. "Yer'd be set fo' life if ya got yer hands on that money."

"I'm sure I would be." She really didn't seem to care. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"

"Boothill," he answered, inclining his head towards you. "What about you, darlin'?"

You gave him your name, downing the last of your beer, before hailing the bartender over for a refill. "Nice to meet you, Mr Boothill."

"D'aw, shucks, haven't been called 'mister' in a long time!" Boothill flashed a toothy grin, showing off his shark-like teeth. He noticed how you didn't recoil, barely even blinked, at the sight of them. "Makes me wanna buy you a drink, sugar."

"By all means." You're never one to pass such a offer up. "And you like to flirt, too, huh?"

He watched you rummage around in your purse for something. You finally pulled out a compact mirror and checked your appearance in its tiny mirror. He leaned forward, took your free hand, and placed a kiss to the top of it, winking at you from under his cowboy hat's brim. "With such a lovely lady as yourself? How could I not?"

You laughed in a rather unladylike way—you, more or less, gaffawed—before retracting your hand and tipping his hat right down over his eyes, disorienting him. Your cheeks burned. "You're a funny one, Mr Boothill. You sure know how to woo a lady."

He adjusted his hat, huffing, leaning back in his seat. "I wasn't bein' funny. I like ya. I don't just kiss any old woman's hand."

"Got a little crush now, have you?" You raised your beer jug up in his direction as a friendly salute of sorts, grinning. "Cute of you. I like you, too, but I'm not letting you take me home."

"Ain't got one to take ya to." Boothill shrugged, not noticing how your smile suddenly vanished and you were looking at him. "Sons of biscuits made sure I couldn't have one no more, 'cause I wasn't about to let 'em get away with shady things they keep nicely under wraps."

"'Sons of biscuits'...?" You echoed, puzzled. You were also suddenly feeling quite sorry for the man. He was a roamer—a nomad of sorts, never stuck in one place for very long. That, you were instantly able to tell once you first laid eyes on his broad back.

"Someone had a little play around with my Synesthesia Beacon, so now I can't say nothin' mean—I'll try to say honey, honey, ugh. I'm tryna say honey." He tsked in frustration. "See? Can't say it."

"You can't swear?"

"Yep. Very aggravatin' at times. Whenever I wanna yell the s-word in combat, I just say somethin' ridiculous like 'terrific!' or 'groovy!' I sound like a right looney tune."

You chuckled. "I can tell that if you didn't have that censor on, you'd have the mouth of a sewer."

"Heck yeah. I'm goin' to town with all 'em bad words right now in my head," Boothill scoffed. "Love 'em, love 'em, love 'em—see what I mean? Hopeless. Wanna drop the f-bomb real bad."

"Perks of being a cyborg, indeed," you laughed, patting his shoulder. "It's rather funny to see such a tough-looking guy like you run around without anything else to yell but 'unicorns! Cotton candy!' when someone jumps you."

He snorted. "That's about right. Had one cutie pie try to mug me once and I was gonna swear his ear off, but all that came out was "look at this angel!" instead of 'punk', but it's a way more colourful word than that."

"Gotcha." You leaned your elbows against the wooden top of the bar. You opened your mouth to continued, but a sudden commotion at the other side of the bar cut you off. Glancing over also, you and Boothill watched as one drunk mountainous guy versus a scrawny little weasel of a man went tooth and nail at each other.

"How's the skinny one still alive?" Boothill amusedly remarked, leaning his cheek on his fist. "Looks like a cartoon."

"Happens all the time." You watched on rather boredly, almost wincing when the small guy very narrowly missed getting his face flattened by his opponent's massive fist. "Those two baffoons are too drunk to think of anything other than settle this scrap with punches. Makes for a good show, though."

Boothill hummed, before turning back to face you. "Can you fight?"

"Me? Well, I know basic self defence, and when to tell someone's spiked my drink." You pushed the beer jug around on the bar top absentmindedly. "This environment's dangerous for a woman. Gotta look out for myself around here. I should stay away, but I like my alcohol."

He chuckled, gazing at you. "Glad to hear that. You ain't some damsel in distress. You're really somethin', you know that, sugar?"

You blushed at his stare and words. "Oh, get off it. It's something every woman's got to know in life. We shouldn't have to, but we do. It's sad."

"Sure is." He pursed his lips, suddenly grave. He may have been a vagabond in a way, but that didn't mean he didn’t have morals. And then he playfully nudged you. "Ya know, seeing an independent, badass lady like you is real attractive."

You grinned. "Boy, if you were anyone else, I would've slapped you for that. That is an instant red flag for any woman in a bar."

"Well, I'll tell ya right now, I'd never harm a woman unless I had no other choice." Boothill stared at you. "Especially not for my own gain. Hurtin' people ain't fun, even though it's my lifestyle."

You shrugged, trying to ignore his intense gaze and the way your heart rate picked up. "A sad reality, but it's nice to come across a man with manners." You finished off your beer and stood, slinging your handbag strap over your shoulder, giving him a kind smile. "Well, thanks for the talk, Mr Boothill. You're a gem."

He stood after you, the spurs on his boots jingling with the movement, before he took your hand and pressed another smooth kiss to the top of it. Then he winked once more, just as a finishing touch, and your cheeks flared. "Any day, darlin'. Say, how about I give ya my phone number? Have another drink sometime."

"You sure? Your vigilante habits wouldn't get in the way of it?"

He laughed goodnaturedly. "Oho, that's funny, sugar. Nah, I'd always make time for you. Here, hand me ya phone."

So you did, and he swiftly typed in his number, before returning your phone to you. "There ya go. Send me a message so I'll know yours." Then Boothill stooped down to eye level with you, staring at you from beneath his lashes and hat, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair affectionately. "Till we meet again, sweetheart."

With that, and a lingering stare as he strode by, the cyborg cowboy left you stunned, heart pumping, phone limp in your hold. He was gone in a blink, giving you no room to wish him farewell also, so you did it by text.

you forgot to pay the bill for your drink

so I covered it for you.

you owe me one, cowboy

His reply didn't take long, and it made your face burn hotter.

Oopsies 🤭

How about I pay you back by taking you to dinner huh?

His emoji usage made you laugh. And so you accepted his offer.

Alright then

I want steak

Can you even eat?

You liked how he always replied fast.

Nah

But that's fine

Your company's better

Suffice to say, you liked the man's suave manner and flirty compliments. It made you feel exhilarated.

Maybe it was because of his classic cowboy moves. Tipping his hat to you in respectful greeting or goodbye, a gaze much too human for a cyborg, and his smooth gestures that made you hot all over.

Yeah. Maybe it was. But, either way, you couldn't wait to see him again.

© jqnehr 2024. all rights reserved. do not translate, repost/redistribute and plagarise any of my works.

[queenofthequillandink]

Controversial opinion about the Watcher streaming service, apparently: This was a really exciting announcement that everyone was so excited to shit on that y'all may end up killing Watcher altogether.

I'm going to try to be really clear about this, because I don't want to dismiss valid concerns, so here we go.

Watcher came to us and they said, "We want to make our best content for you. We don't want you to be the product we have to sell to advertisers, we want you to be an audience that we can take on the coolest journey we can make. But that takes money that we can't get from YouTube revenue." And I honestly thought this was a perfectly logical and reasonable direction to take the company so Watcher could continue to exist in its best possible form.

Are there things they could have stated more clearly? Yeah, especially that their YouTube library would still be available and what would happen to people who were already patrons of the channel.

Do I understand why people would be upset about potentially losing access to Watcher? Of course. It's an amazing company making amazing content, and not everyone can afford a streaming service. They did openly encourage password sharing, which I happen to think is very cool of them, but some people would still lose access and that sucks.

But I truly don't understand how "We want to make amazing content and keep our amazing team, and that needs a budget that YouTube just can't give us" turned into "Wahhhh give us your money, we want it all" to some people. I think it's worth remembering that Watcher is a small company with a small team, not a streaming giant looking for one more way to milk an extra cashflow opportunity.

I truly hope that Watcher making everything free on YouTube on a delay because people yelled loud enough doesn't shoot them in the foot. Because I think they make great content and I think they deserve to be paid fairly for it and pay their staff fairly for it. Content creators aren't factories; they don't have to churn free content out for you forever. If Watcher becomes untenable because Ryan, Shane, and Steven can't make good content and make enough money to live off of at the same time, it will simply vanish. And I'm sure some of the same people yelling about the streaming service will yell about that too, if it ever happens.

I don't know, I just didn't think, "We're trying to make the best possible content for you," deserved this much of an outcry.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Typical Day for a Mall Cop

My name's Bill, and I've been a guard at the mall for almost a decade now. It wasn't my dream job, but life has a way of creeping up on you with kids and a mortgage. I needed something to pay the bills, and I've always had a knack for watching over people.

Like any other weekend, the mall is fairly busy, so I stay on my feet and patrol the halls for most of the day. Occasionally, I'll check in with the other mall cop, but my time is mostly filled with watching shoppers come and go. If anybody gets too rowdy, a stern look is enough to keep them in line.

A lot of the time, teenagers will loiter in stores. Some of them even try and bring their skateboards in, but it isn't too hard to make them adhere to the mall's strict policies. They might be young and clueless, but that doesn't mean I'll cut them any breaks.

Over by the fountain, I see one of the boys I admonished a week ago. I think I caught him shoplifting or something. Thieves normally get banned from the mall, but I didn't do that with this one. He said something that completely caught me off guard; he said he could hypnotize me.

I laughed in his face.

Amused inwardly by the boy's foolish claim, I walk over to check in with him. I'm sure he'll remember the security guard that almost kicked him out of the mall last weekend.

The kid is chatting with his friends, but they fall quiet when they notice me looming behind them. Like we'd discussed last week, I drop to my knees and kneel in front of the troublemaker. He explained that this is the best thing for me to do when I see him around, and I can't help but agree. I know the boy deserves my respect.

I plant a kiss on both of his sneakers, and then wait for him to speak first. It takes a minute because he and his friends are busy cracking up over some unspoken joke. Whatever it is, clearly went right over my head.

"How you doin', mall pig?" the boy laughs.

I smirk at the nickname he's given me. We've gotten in the habit of calling each other by these pseudonyms, and I don't mind it.

"Very good, sir," I answer, using the name I've come to associate him with, "How are you?"

"Fine, I guess," he shrugs, "I spent your cash on kicks for my crew."

That reminds me of last week again. The boy had made it seem like a good idea to give him all the money I had, which included the paycheck I'd earned for last pay period. On the ground, I had a close view of all the vibrant sneakers the teenagers were wearing. It was nice to know he'd put my gift to good use, even if my wife had been pissed that I'd come home without my month's salary.

"You have another check for me, fat ass?"

His friends laugh at his new nickname for me, but I shake my head and answer a solemn, "No, sir."

The teenager groans and carries leads his gang of friends away, already bored with me. It seems like he's just going to leave me there, kneeling in the middle of the mall, until he turns and beckons me to follow. Inwardly, I'm glad that he's not done with me yet. I've come to enjoy our interactions a lot.

I follow the boys, crawling behind them all the way into a bathroom.

"If you ain't got any cash to keep me and my crew entertained, then you're gonna have to do something to make us laugh," he explains.

"Of course, sir!" I smile, trying to express how willing I am to impress him and his friends.

"We'd find it hilarious if you dunked your head in each toilet," he adds blandly.

I light up. He's just explained how I can be of service and now all I have to do is follow through. I'm sure it'd be hilarious for them to watch a fully grown security guard giving himself a few swirlies. That's peak comedy!

"Watch this, sir!" I laugh, crawling over to the first toilet and shoving my face into the water without any hesitation.

I know the guy that's supposed to clean these bathrooms, and it's obvious he slacks off because there are skid marks all over. I try not to think about it as my cheeks and forehead brush against the bottom of the bowl. When I pull my face out of the flushing toilet, my ears pop and hear a roar of laughter behind me. The kids find it hilarious, which only fuels my desire to keep going.

With a gaping grin, I shuffle over to the next stall and repeat. There are six toilets in the men's restroom. Some are cleaner than others. The last one is a clogged mess, and the boys find it hilarious when I come up with toilet paper plastered to my face. I laugh through it all, even if the urge to puke is growing.

By the time I'm done, I'm soaked in toilet water, and the teenagers are in tears.

"Alright, toilet guy. That was disgusting," the leader of the pack chuckles, grimacing in my direction, "You have a car or something?"

"Yes, sir. I've got a minivan in the parking lot."

"A minivan?" he seems disappointed, "Hand over the keys anyway. We wanna drive around."

"You got it, sir," I say, fishing the fob out of my damp pockets.

He swipes the keys out of my hand eagerly and turns to leave the bathroom. I start to follow the boys out, but he stops me.

"Why don't you stay in here 'till you dry off," he snorts, "You can spend that time in the corner, thinking about what you can do for me next time I'm at the mall."

"Yes, sir," answer, and the boys leave.

Briefly, the thought of getting back to work crosses my mind. I really should be out there keeping an eye on the vendors and their merchandise, but that goes away. Like suggested, I stare at the dirty tile wall and begin to brainstorm what I can do for the boy the next time I see him.

My walkie goes off now and then with the voice of my coworker wondering where I am, but I ignore it.

After an hour or so, I've dripped mostly dry, but a strong stink still lingers around my head. Still, I've come up with a few different things I could have ready next week. It'll take some overtime to make extra cash for the boy. My wife won't be happy about that, but it'll give me a chance to actually have cash ready for him when he asks for it.

The only other thing I have to offer is the perks of my job. Maybe his friends and him would like a tour of the security office? I'd give them free reign of everything in the confiscated bin.

Speaking of my job, I should probably get back. My partner is probably angry at me for not answering the radio. He'll be happy when I tell him I'll take the late shift for the next few days. Hopefully he won't say anything about the smell. God, it's awful!

Just another day working as a mall cop!

[donutdrawsthings]

I think Bee, Puppycat and Crispin should visit a flea market

[twilight-deviant]

Telling content creators it's wrong to explore artistic freedom and be independently funded by fans, and they should instead continue taking advertisement revenue from google* is

NOT

the anti-capitalism stance actually.

*(Yes, google owns youtube.)

[ante--meridiem]

I kind of expect some people to get mad at me for this but I do find it deeply ironic how I've recently seen fanfic writers of all people turn into staunch supporters of intellectual property.

[front-facing-pokemon]

Now i know this blog is obviously for.. well. Front facing pokemon, but your tags are always super interesting. I think your opinions on pokemon are pretty neat

i've gotten a few asks like this so far, and it's always nice to see that folks aren't annoyed about how much i talk in the tags. i have lots of opinions on lots of things! and i like to talk a lot. the reason i started talking more in the tags is actually because of asks like this—folks saying they liked seeing what i had to say on particular pokémon has encouraged me to actually talk about my thoughts more (although if you regularly read my tags, i tend to get off-topic pretty quickly. i queue these up very early in the morning, as soon as i get up, and i'm usually a little delirious), especially compared to my first early posts on this blog which didn't even have any tags at all, beyond the names of the pokémon. you're one of the like 4 ffp-mod likers how's it feel

[katyspersonal]

Cool.. Our rent price got raised. :') I did not know it was even possible to get even MORE poor than me and mom already were, but here we are. Guess I'll start surviving on literal bread and water at this rate.

[fitzfunnymoments]

Some Japanese Little Robots merch I have found over past few months :] (I recently discovered Little Robots was seemingly really popular in Japan and I'm so jealous they got so much cool stuff over there lol)

[gabessquishytum]

tw stepfamily fantasy, age difference. Human AU.

I promise this is Dreamling, stay with me lol

When Time dies, Night is eager to find herself a strapping young husband. Enter Hob, who has heard that the widow Endless is filthy rich. Don't get him wrong, Night IS a beautiful woman, but it's the money he's after. He charms her easily enough, and in less than 6 months they're married and living together in her huge mansion... it's only then that Hob gets to know her kids.

He knew she had 7 of them, of course, but, well, this is a lot. The eldest two seem well-adjusted enough, sort of, but they're early 20's and out of the house already? The youngest boy ran away from home and no one bothered to look for him. Del and Despair aren't getting any mental health care they seem to badly need. And then there's Desire and Dream.

Desire is beautiful and charming and smart as a whip, but they change sexual partners more often than most people do underwear and they're only 16. They love their twin but are awful to their other siblings and downright cruel to Dream.

And Dream... he's a piece of work, yes. But he's pretty. Just as pretty as his sibling, if not more. He's got a bratty cruelty that echoes Desire's but could still be corrected by a firm hand... He mocks Hob mercilessly for his humble origins and because Hob married for money, and to Dream's heartless mother of all people! He's so closed off to affection, shouts at Hob even while bursting into tears when Hob tells him Hob could at least be a friend to him, since 34 is a bit young to be a father figure to a teen. But oh, Hob can tell: this boy is so, so lonely. Dream wishes someone would take him, even if only for money...

Desire, of course, immediately figures out that Hob isn't actually in love with Night and promply tries to seduce him. Hob gently rejects them, of course, but they try again. And again. And again. And... well. And it's hard. It's really hard to resist them. They're really really beautiful, of course, and they're so good at this... but Hob's one braincell that's still getting blood knows better than to fuck a 16-year-old with that huge a cruel streak. That's just asking for trouble. And besides, Hob likes a challenge. Desire is just... too easy.

Dream, however... what a little temptation he is. He's so reserved. He tries to focus on his art. He tries to pay Hob little mind, but can't help to listen and smile at Hob's tales. He's gotten his heart broken more times than anyone should have any right to at his age, and is just as depressed as Despair and only marginally better at hiding it... Now, that's a challenge. And such an easy target at the same time. Seducing him would be so fun! Hob can just imagine how outraged Dream would be at first... but Hob can be convincing, and Dream so badly needs someone to want him. And Hob is so horny, with Desire touching him all day, whispering filth in his ear, trying to sext him and send him nudes. You see, Night has a pretty low libido, too low if you ask Hob, and Hob's hand is a poor substitute for sex with another person.

Hob doesn't want Night to divorce him, of course, so he's wary of looking for sex outside the house, afraid to get caught if he's out too long with no explanation (he doesn't need to work now after all) and he wouldn't stoop so low as to take advantage of the house staff...

Isn't it so convenient that Dream just turned 18?

-PA

(reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated)

Oh fuck oh FUCK this is hot. AND HEY PA ANON I MISSED YOU <333

Hob feels like he's living inside a powder keg, honestly. He thought that marrying for money and living a life of luxury would be wonderful, but now he even longs for a job that would just get him out of the house. He's trapped in horny hell and he's sure that he's going to do something terrible and/or stupid. As a last ditch attempt, he sweetly suggests to Night that the two of them could take a little vacation - just the two of them, to the gorgeous little tropical vacation spot that the family owns. Death and Destiny can watch over the kids, and Night can have a well deserved break!

Alas, she just smiles and kisses Hob’s cheek. Unfortunately she's far too busy for a holiday right now. But she encourages Hob to go and soak up the sun - he's starting to look pale and stressed, and she can't have her toyboy husband looking under the weather. Her one request is that Hob should take Dream with him. She's noticed that Dream and Desire's fights have been getting more and more serious recently, and she's tired of the screaming matches. Some time apart will be beneficial for the siblings. And it will make Night's life a lot quieter.

Hob can't backtrack now, so he agrees. And he's even more glad to get away, because when Desire finds out that Dream has been sent off on holiday with Hob, they throw an absolute fit. Naked. In Hob’s bedroom. Hob’s single braincell really needs to get out of there.

It's not like Dream is even pleased to be forcibly packed off on holiday with his "step-father". He spends the whole journey in snide silence, occasionally muttering under his breath about Hob being a total creep. (And he's right, because Hob is still shamefully horny about the beautiful 18 year old. He nearly embarrasses himself completely when Dream grabs his hand because they hit turbulence.)

But it's funny how you can hate someone and still want to fuck them. Older men were always Desire's territory, but Dream is starting to see the appeal. He's starting to think that his mother is a fool for letting Hob out of her sight. When he catches his first glimpse of Hob on the beach in his swimwear, Dream makes up his mind: he's going to be a bad person.

Hob fucks him for the first time on the beach-house balcony. There are stars above them, possibly - Dream doesn't really recall. He's sure that Hob recalls even less. He's desperate, primal, unhinged. He cums, and just keeps going until both of them are exhausted. Obviously somebody needs to take care of him properly, if this is how wound up he gets.

Well. The Endless family have always been fucked up. This is just another chapter in the story. Maybe Night will even be grateful to her son, for keeping her husband happy...