#freeloading jerks

[senipsenipsenip]

Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.

"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"

He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"

Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.

"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"

"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.

"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."

Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."

"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.

"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"

Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.

"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.

"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.

Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"

Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.

"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."

"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.

"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"

Stan froze. "What?"

"My first kiss, do you remember it?"

"I was there?"

"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."

Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"

"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."

Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"

Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"

"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."

"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"

"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."

Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"

Ford turned redder. "You do."

"I do? Geez, I was a perv."

"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."

Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."

Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"

Dipper balked. "What? No I - "

"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"

"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."

"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"

"What? No!"

"Some girls like nerds."

"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."

"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"

"MABEL -"

The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Holy - " he choked out softly.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"

Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.

"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.

Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"

"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"

"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"

"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"

"You brought it up!"

"And now I'm putting a stop to it."

Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"

"Stanley, please don't joke about that."

"I'm fading away - "

"Stanley."

Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."

"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"

"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."

Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.

"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."

After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.

"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."

"I regret this already."

"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."

Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"

Dipper shrugged.

"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Cain (p3)

Tw: Violence, Cain is a mean asshole, he is also mentally unstable, lost his shit in this chapter; smashing furniture and shit. This is just abusive relationships man, yandere themes. Reader is gender neutral. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is part 3

Click here for part 4

Click here for part 1

Days turned into weeks, into months. You've let this stranger live in your apartment rent-free. But you don't think he's a freeloader, because you noticed that whenever something runs out at home, be it eggs, toothpaste, or your favourite snack, it magically replenishes itself. But you knew Cain was behind this; you barely go to the grocery store anymore because it just keeps getting replaced with new versions of it.

You know that he's not paying any of it. The first time you went grocery shopping with him and saw him with the duffle bag, it had a purpose. His stopping by your shopping cart every so often had a purpose; his being a jerk about people looking at him also had a purpose.

You deduced all that when you came back that day and found that there were duplicates of every item you bought in your pantry and fridge. You weren't hallucinating, you weren't going crazy, you didn't pay extra. Cain stole a copy of what you lawfully bought that day.

Asking him about it (no matter how gently) will make him yell at you for being "ungrateful", "picky" and a "Stuck-up asshole", and make him storm off to "cool down" somewhere else on earth. He would come back either injured or with a whole bunch of random valuables, which would disappear the next day. Being the kindhearted person you are, you wanted to think that Cain returned the items to their rightful owners.

Regardless, Cain still replaces your favourite cereal whenever it's running low.

He still maintains his quirk until now: refusing to eat anything unless you take a bite or sip out of it first. You don't have to worry about cooking too much and wasting the leftovers, or eventually finding out that you don't like the dish. Because Cain is like your compost bin, he would just eat it for you.

He doesn't cook. You found that if you left nothing behind, he didn't get to eat that day... or so you assumed. But either way, you made it a habit to cook a larger portion so he could be fed too.

Conversations are few and far between. You know virtually nothing about the man aside from a few fun facts: he likes keeping his hair red because you caught him one day dyeing his hair with a box dye in your bathroom. You thought that you're going to get kicked out or yelled at because it might be an embarrassing situation to be seen in, but instead, upon noticing that you're there, he said:

"Go piss or shit. I don't care." while applying dollops of dye to his hair in front of the sink mirror.

You said that you do mind it very much, you want your privacy.

"Then hold it in. I'll get out when I'm done." He said so nonchalantly.

Other than that, he's surprisingly respectful in his own way. You thought you would need to do everything yourself on top of taking care of a grown man. But Cain learns. He observes you and, most importantly, does what you do to keep this household afloat.

He noticed that you would clean the dishes a few hours after the meal. Cain would do the same thing, just an hour before you're expected to get up and do it.

He noticed you would take out the trash whenever it filled up, which used to be weekly before he came along. Cain would take care of that before you do.

He noticed that you would stress over the bills and how much it has risen since he came into the picture. And there was the question of your mortgage, too. You're too scared to start charging him rent, fearing that he might not take it well, as he seems to be the type who does not like explicit directives.

However, it seems like he would pick up on it. You would find extra cash that is sometimes speckled with some red liquid. And these aren't chump change either; they can go up to hundreds of dollars, usually enough to cover all your bills and give you a bit of fun money.

He would put them in places where you would absolutely find them, but it's an objectively strange choice. You found a rolled-up stack of hundred-dollar bills in your shoes once, five dollars in the shower caddy, twenty dollars taped to the inside of your uniform (scratching you as you put it on), eighty dollars under your pillow... Asking him about his choice to do this leads to the same angry rant about how you're looking down at him and not appreciating his efforts.

Out of all the places, you don't think that he has ever put cash in your wallet. But with the help of Cain, you managed to get yourself a brand new phone and made the mistake of getting him one too. To which, he took great offence until you framed it as your thankfulness for his efforts around the house. And it was a token of his appreciation. Only then did he accept it without speaking any further.

He's unfortunately not too much of a tech wizard, often leaving them at home when going out for long periods. The way he acts made you wonder if he's someone from the 90s being brought forward into the present.

Cain also had an effect on your work life.

You don't think you have missed a bus anymore, as Cain had the balls to block the doors and force the bus driver to wait for you.

Whenever you're doing the closing shift, he would be there to escort you home. And it was the safest you've ever felt, despite feeling embarrassed when you think Cain is being unnecessarily hostile to innocent people who just "appear" unnerving.

You had an idea to try and get Cain to work alongside you. In hindsight, that was a terrible idea. Surprisingly, Cain agreed to it. Since this is a small town, your boss favours you; he had no problem getting in without an interview or even a background check.

He got fired and banned from the establishment on his first day.

A woman in her mid-ages complained to Cain that her coffee wasn't done well when he had followed all the instructions to a T. She has complained that it wasn't hot enough for her, despite it being at a temperature that can burn. You don't know what set him off that day; maybe it was the ridiculous nature of her complaint, or maybe she reminded him of his many foster mothers who neglected him.

To your horror, Cain decided to splash the cup of coffee against her face. She screamed in pain and fell to the ground. Raising his voice, "Fucking hot enough now, isn't it?"

Cain walked out of the cafe with eyes all on him; it was a miracle that no one was recording. And it was an even bigger miracle that you kept your job, the woman didn't press charges, and neither did your boss. You, of course, apologized profusely to them.

The woman screamed about suing them all, putting Cain behind bars, and closing the cafe down. But you never heard from her again, not even a subpoena. You thought she had a change of heart, and such a nice woman for forgiving everyone.

You expressed your thoughts about it, and Cain kept his lips sealed. He also didn't want to look you in the eye. Perhaps he's feeling remorseful?

You had no idea what happened to your bicycle; it disappeared the day you got your new phone. Asking Cain about it will just earn you a huff and silence. Pressing him about it will get you yelled at for being a dumbass and potentially being part of the statistics of idiotic bicycle deaths.

You think he sold your bicycle.

But it's alright, because he made it up to you by getting a Roomba. You don't know how that is the equivalent of your bicycle, but in his mind, he thinks it is. It was one of the things he's actually proud to present to you, and you didn't have the heart to express anything less than gratitude.

You have to admit that it's quite interesting and fun to watch the small robot just scutter around the room. You would catch him doing that, too, and he doesn't seem to care that you're there, unless you stare at him for too long and not at the Roomba.

Laundry is a strange ordeal with him. There is a Laundromat nearby, and he would always be the one to do it. Whenever you tried doing your own, he would hiss and snarl like a wild animal before snatching it away from you.

As it turns out, he just likes watching the clothes spin and spin through the windows of the front-loading washing machines and dryers. You deduced that it's almost meditative to him, because he would be at his calmest in the laundromat... as long as no one keeps his eyes on him too long.

You even joined him one day, sitting next to him and watching the hypnotizing spin. He paid you no mind, but you knew that he was aware of your presence, as there was one time someone tried striking up a conversation with you. Only for the stranger to be met with Cain's snappy attitude, no one dared to approach you after that.

All seems well. Even though it felt like you were walking on eggshells around him at first, you quickly learned his unspoken, sacred rules and easily maneuvered this strange friendship you have with him. You think Cain is perfectly integrated into your life, and he seems content either sleeping on the couch or on the floor.

He never asked for more, but you're sure that his back is probably killing him from sleeping like a shrimp. So you made the change from a regular couch to a sofa bed, and you made sure to clarify that you're doing this for yourself. Cain didn't object to it, which you can safely interpret as approval.

And approved he did, he was the first one to try out and explore the new piece of furniture. Cain hogged it entirely, using it as a bed and also a shelf, having items randomly placed as if they're soft plushies- you noticed that he's a bit of a hoarder with the random jewelry and items he brings home. He wouldn't encroach on your cabinets and drawers, save for that one portable closet you bought online for him. It was empty for a few weeks until he got the hint that it was for him to put his own stuff. And boy, did he really utilize it.

He doesn't verbally express his gratitude, but you know that he's not taking whatever you gave him for granted. You can see it in his actions, you can feel it.

You don't really have a lot of contacts in this town. But sometimes you do have friends and family flying in and asking if they could spend the night at your place. And you're always put in an extremely difficult position, because what the hell should you tell them? You tried asking Cain if they could stay over, and he flew into a fit of rage. Now, you only saw him cry once, and that was when he first asked you if he could stay at your place. But there were hot, angry tears whenever you mentioned friends and family.

And you could tell that he felt really hurt for some reason. You couldn't tell what the hell he was ranting about, but he goes ballistic over the thought of you having a life outside of him.

Unfortunately, you end up turning them away, because at one point, his outburst got so bad that he took your phone and smashed it against the ground while screaming about how life is unfair to him, about how he wishes death upon your friends and family that he hasn't even met, about how it was only supposed to be you and him. And no one else.

You told him that you didn't understand why he was so upset over your friends and family. You said that you wouldn't have them over if he doesn't want them encroaching on his space. Though you felt bitter when you realized you didn't have full control over your own home.

"Of course you don't! You don't- Don't know what it's like to be me! I fucking hate it, I fucking hate myself! I-I-" He was pacing around, tugging on his hair and grinding his teeth. His teary face scrunched up, as if he were in unbearable pain.

He curled up into a ball on your living room floor and just sobbed. He was expressing a lot of pain, the type that would kill any normal person. But not him, because he's strong and fueled with determination to live in spite of it. But there is only so much stress a man like him can handle.

You looked around. And saw the broken furniture, electronics, and decor that Cain destroyed during his massive meltdown. Most importantly, the phone that's in pieces on the floor. You should have left, you should have called the police, and changed your locks.

Yet, you made the conscious decision to stay and hold a respectful silence for him. You didn't touch him, you didn't give him words of comfort, you just stayed.

And to Cain, that was his first taste of warmth that didn't scorch him. The type of warmth that soothes him, the warmth that he was supposed to receive from the one who loves him.

He mumbled something. You let out a "huh?" as you didn't catch what he said.

"I'm sorry..." He muttered in between sniffles.

That shook you to the core; it was the first time you had heard him apologize. It must have taken tremendous strength for him to have said that. And so, you verbally and clearly forgave him.

He broke down further, crying harder and coughing more.

You didn't know why or what you were doing, but you scooted over and coaxed him to place his head on your lap. You then started to play with his hair. And this seemed to lull him into a deep sense of safety, as you saw him struggling to keep his eyelids open.

He felt warm.

Over the following days, Cain tried his best to clean everything up and to replace whatever he broke. Which is nice of him, but you knew he shoplifted a lot just to do that, and you wished he didn't.

Neither of you spoke about the incident. You end up using his phone as your own now. Cain offered that as a solution. He didn't mention getting another phone for you or himself, though.

Disappointed, but accepting, your friends and family ended up deciding to get a hotel instead. But the visitation date would be pushed back further. You don't think it was a good time to talk to Cain about them visiting, regardless.

Life went on as usual. Except Cain would be at home a lot more, seemingly wanting to get close to you. His temper became much milder, and he became a lot less snappy, instead opting to stay silent when he gets irritated.

You didn't think much of it, until one day he dropped this bomb on you:

"I'm in love with you."

He said this with such conviction, no room for doubt, all certainty. It wasn't phrased as a question, but a solid statement.

You were sitting on opposite sides of the dining table, doing the crossword puzzle book Cain got you as a silent apology for destroying your phone. You looked up and examined his face.

His eyes were soft. Weary, even. There was no hint of wrath, trickery, or shame. There was an air of desperation and even... vulnerability around him. It's a new look on him, and it felt uncanny to you.

You have no idea how to respond. So you opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, but said nothing.

Eventually, you expressed that you're speechless and you don't know what to do with his confession.

He looked crestfallen. Cain then averted his eyes to somewhere else. You saw that he's blinking a lot more and taking deeper breaths.

You thought that was the end of that conversation because he didn't continue it for a while.

But you were wrong.

"...What would it fucking take to make you love me, huh?"

You felt the chills down your spine once you heard the harshness return to his once tender tone. He's back, and he's pissed.

His expression became mean. He became the Cain that you always knew. You sighed inwardly, realizing that you had made him put his walls back up.

"Was everything not enough?! Am I not enough for you, huh?! You think you're better than me?!" He shot up from his seat and slammed his hands onto the table. You winced at the sheer volume of his voice. But you could feel the excruciating torment of being rejected once again, and he felt cold. He felt unwanted once more.

You made yourself much smaller in your chair, putting your hands up as a shield.

"You're a fucking asshole, a fucking piece of shit, I hate-" He choked on his own tears, knuckles turning white over how tight he balled his fists. "I..." He gulped and then coughed, then gasped for air. Then sobbed.

It was a pitiful cycle, and it was scary to watch. But you do so anyway, because you believe that everyone deserves to be heard, no matter how insane.

Cain collapsed back into his chair and sobbed into his hands. He kept wiping his eyes and nose harshly, until they turned red.

"I-I can never hate you, I can't. I..."

Cain sounded so broken. But there isn't anything you could do aside from waiting it out.

"I don't know..." He rasped. "I'm in love with you, and it hurts. It really fucking hurts."

You gave him a minute to calm down before speaking up.

You asked him how you could help. To that, you were met with a long pause from the distressed man in front of you.

He reluctantly put his hands down, not before giving himself one last wipe.

Cain then brought his gaze to yours, and you never realized how beautiful his deep brown eyes were. Tortured, but they held an almost ethereal quality to them.

"Will you... Love me back?" He asked, with caution and hope.

You hesitantly replied that you could... try.

Save for the birds outside and the humming of the refrigerator, it was a pin-drop silence. It seems like Cain was processing all of this on his own.

You don't know if you should have said that. Immediately, you started wondering what you had gotten yourself into. But before your thoughts could get too deep,

"Thank you."

It was said in earnest, filled with gratitude and reverence.

Both of you spent the rest of the afternoon in each other's quiet and comforting company.

[scream4toji]

Deserving and Serving

Toji x female reader x Shiu

Prologue

Warning: nsfw, dirty talking, Shiu watching

Shiu just caught his wife cheating. And take a wild guess whose couch he’s freeloading on?

“Come on doll. He gone for a while. Let’s get a quickie in”, Toji begged, once you settled down for the evening. It had been a week since you opened your home for the heartbroken man. You felt weird and uncomfortable having sex knowing another man was sleeping on the other side of the walls. Not to mention you and Toji damn loud during sex.

But Toji gets what Toji begs.

Unlike Toji, Shiu is light on his feet. And he barges right into your bedroom while you were spread open in a very compromised and unconventional position, perfect for the intruders viewing.

“Hey hey! Guess ya never heard of knockin’.” Toji grinned at Shiu, who just stood there with his eyes glued on you. Toji continued to drill his cock into your nervous cunt as he held your legs open so you won’t shut them on him. He had you spread open like a book, sitting on his lap with your back against his chest. And you can just imagine what direction the rest of you were facing.

Shiu swallowed a dry lump. He hadn’t been sexually active for months, he had already had suspicions about his ex by then.

“Ya like what ya see? Bet ya’r cheatin’ ass wife wasn’t so good ‘n bed. Look how good my gal takes the dick.”, he quickens his pace to make a point. Your body jolting from impact, Toji’s hand reaching for your clit. He spreads open your folds to show the spectator how he had stretched you out with his thick ass cock. “She takin’ it all. Ya know how I ain’t small. She a good gal. Right doll? You ain’t cheatin’ on Toji?” He purrs in your ears.

You can hear the unzipping of pants, Shiu unbuckles his belt. Through your half-lidded eyes you notice his hard erection come to life. “Toji…”, you whimper between your moans.

“Don’t ya worry doll. He ain’t gonna touch ya. Probably just release some stress with his hands. Ya ok with that?” Toji asks, slowing down his thrusts to give you a chance to think straight and make a call.

You look up at the man you felt sorry for. You knew his wife. She was a bitch and he deserved better than that. If anything, why not let him jerk off to you from spite.

And so Shiu already had his hard dick twitching in his hands. Your eyes couldn’t avoid it. He was standing directly in front of you. You could practically smell his arousal.

“Sorry doll. You can say no”, Shiu gave you one last chance.

You didn’t reply. Instead you slide your hand down towards your clit and began riding Toji with a grin, giving the poor man a show he deserved.

“Atta gal. Ride Toji’s dick like a slut. Don’t worry Shiu. She likin’ that dirty talk. She really a Toji cum slut but today she be ya’r slut to?”

You give Shiu a nod of approval. And just like that, filth started flying, degrading you, words alone making you cum.

“Damn. I knew ya had a heart of gold. But ya a real slut for Toji’s cum? Tch… look how ya ride him while gawkin’ at another man’s dick.”

“Fuck, she tightenin’ up. What I tell you. She lovin’ the dirty talk. Gonna fill ya up good doll. Got a week’s worth of cum gotta dump in ya’r cunt. Gonna make ya a walkin’ cum drippin’ slut”.

“Shit…gonna stain ya’r face with my cum, doll. Ya ok with that?”, Shiu asked, his wrist working overtime, Carpel Tunnel waiting to be triggered.

“Ya ya. Cover her in ya’r seed. You clean yeah? I’m sure ya clean. Havnt fucked a hooker?” Toji asked mid-fuck.

“Nah. Been a few months since I fucked my ex.”

That was permission enough. You rode your man while Shiu jerked off just inches away from your face. All three came in unison, your vision going white but not from your orgasm.

“Ha. Doll sorry got some in ya’r eyes?” Shiu takes out a handkerchief from his pant pocket and cleans off your face while Toji filled you up with his seed.

“Fuck! Milkin’ my cock so good. Your pussy an angel, babe.”

Shiu tucked his cock back in his pants and stood there admiring your beautiful body. “Ya damn lucky Toji. Come on. Got us some dinner”.

As he walked away, you look up at Toji, your brain still processing what transpired.

“How long he staying?”

Toji noticed the excitement in your eyes and kissed you on the cheeks. “Dunno. Don’t get too attached doll. He already has feelin’s for ya. Let’s go eat. Need stamina for round 2”.

[octuscle]

The ghost of Beta Rho Omega

Jeff and Scott were standing in front of a hovel. It must have been an impressive house once. But the broken porch, the half-collapsed roof, the broken windows, it was all pitiful. And all in such an excellent location. The university campus was around the corner, with a few remaining fraternity houses in the neighborhood, but the majority of them were investment properties such as student residences, boarding houses and office buildings, with coffee shops and co-working spaces on the first floors. Not exactly their world. Jeff and Scott were the children of laborers, their children were laborers. In their minds, students were freeloaders and ne'er-do-wells. And in many cases, even voters for the Democrats. As I said: Not their world!

Their job today was to clear out the wreckage, tear down the porch and prepare the construction site for the excavators that would arrive tomorrow to clear the way for a new Starbucks or something. They didn't need to unlock the door, and they didn't have a key anyway. A powerful kick was enough. And the rotten wood gave way with a crash. A cat fled screaming from the dark room, which smelled musty. The young colleagues would have put on face masks by now. Wimps, Jeff thought to himself. They shone flashlights around the room. It looked as if a farewell party had been held many years ago and then the building had been abandoned. Beer bottles and weathered pizza boxes could still be seen in the thick dust. The furniture was covered in droppings from pigeons, cats and other animals. Scott went to a window and forcefully pushed it and the shutters off their rusty hinges. Fresh air! Thank God! And light that offered an even better view of the chaos. Part of the ceiling had come down. Water damage. The wallpaper was hanging in shreds from the walls. The only thing that looked surprisingly clean and intact was a large banner above the fireplace “verum homines olet, verum homines amant odor verus hominum”. Scott asked what that meant. Jeff replied if he looked like that, would he speak Spanish.

The two of them searched the first floor. The stairs leading upstairs didn't look like they could withstand two massive workmen. They would need a ladder. The kitchen smelled like rotten food and animal droppings. There were pictures hanging in a hallway. Some of them were a little yellowed. But surprisingly, the frames of the pictures were dust-free. On the frames were brass plates with names on them. And in front of each one was always the same: “Bro of the Month” and a date. Some of the plates were from the 50s, some from the 70s, some from the 90s. There must have been many more pictures in the past.

The shadows of the missing pictures could be seen on the wall. The last two Bros of the Month whose pictures were still hanging were called Jeff and Scott. And the Bros, who, like the other shirts, had BPO printed on them, clearly looked like what Jeff and Scott would have looked like if they had spent their high school days in the gym and on the football field. Jeff and Scott turned pale. Pale like the freshly painted wall behind them. Shit, Jeff had to throw up, was there a bathroom around here? He opened the nearest door.

White tiles, urinals, toilet boxes. Jackpot! He opened a box and broke into the toilet bowl. Shit, shit, something was wrong! Yes, there were puddles of piss and obviously more than one guy had jerked off here. But everything was in good condition. “Bro, everything okay in there?” Was that Scott? His voice sounded different. Younger. Deeper. ”Dude, are you jerking off? Or why is it taking so long?”

Jeff went back to the hallway. The guy standing there was probably Scott. With longer hair. And somehow… younger! Had he changed his clothes? Or had he been wearing the overalls all along? And damn it, why wasn't he wearing a helmet or a T-shirt. And Scott stank! Of sweat and musk. Shit, shit, shit! Scott raised an arm and scratched the back of his head. Like the Scott in the picture “Bro of the Month.” He inhaled the stench from his hairy armpit. A deep cave between large pectoral muscles and impressive biceps and triceps. Was Jeff seriously getting a boner? Scott began to knead the bulge in his crotch with the hand that wasn't scratching his head. “You like what you see, bro?” Why did Scott talk like that? “Bro,” that's what young, stupid college students called each other. Not workers. Like Jeff and… Were they workers? Scott had been his buddy since high school. Most successful quarterback in ten years. And he himself… Wasn't he… Right, the linebacker. Shit, maybe he'd just had too much to drink yesterday. Jeff flexed his pecs. He knew that made Scott hot. ”Of course I like it, bro! How about you? Do you like it?” On Jeff's naked chest, beads of sweat glistened in the chest hair. Scott lowered his dungarees and freed his cock from the yellowed and encrusted jockstrap. With one hand he jerked his cock, with the other he worked Jeff's right nipple. Jeff moaned, unbuttoned the waistband of his trousers Scott pushed Jeff back to the toilets and pushed him against a wall. He spat on his dick and began to insert it into Jeff's ass. Shit, why couldn't the two of them be together for half an hour without having sex?

Last night's party had gotten out of hand again. Like almost every party at Beta Rho Omega. Jeff and Scott were on garbage duty this time. Damn, a few of the chairs in the dining hall had been broken. That happened quite often, too; the BPO members were the biggest guys on campus. The alumni were used to writing regular checks for new furniture. The guys from Rho Epsilon Epsilon Kappa across the street had really overdone it again two years ago; their house had to be completely renovated. But hey, that was the neighborhood: a bunch of frat houses where big, dumb guys competed to see who could throw the best parties. A few went to college. But they were just a few nerds.

Pics by @ki-kink, inspiration by @rowdy317

[captain-hawks]

aki hayakawa x f!reader

18+ only, semi-public sexual activities, brat!reader, brat tamer!aki, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering, squirting -> requested

“i hate having sex in the back of your car,” you grouse, fingers almost spiteful in their endeavor to make quick work of the remaining buttons on aki’s shirt. 

aki pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, his free hand splayed across the width of your thigh as you straddle his lap. a fond feeling curls in your gut at his expression—but you’re not going to tell him that. 

“well, princess, i can’t exactly roll out the red carpet for you at my apartment when denji and power are freeloading like their lives depend on it.”

he leans forward and lifts his arms to help as you tug off his white button down, tossing it over your shoulder and onto the driver’s seat. 

“have you ever considered the concept of, perhaps, locking your bedroom door?”

aki pointedly sighs, swiftly tugging your own shirt over your head in one fluid movement—he’s too goddamn good at that. your bra follows suit, his nimble fingers almost faster than your own with the hooks. 

“that means absolutely nothing to either of them.”

leaning in, you drag your lips along his neck and murmur in a teasing tone. “oh, did another lucky girl get to experience that?”

not that you should care—

“no,” he groans, head falling against the back of the seat, two fingers sliding past the waistband of your skirt as he grips your hip. “of course not.”

you raise a brow. “so they tried to barge in while you were jerking—”

the rest of your words die on your lips, replaced by a moan that trembles across your tongue as aki slips his hand into your panties without warning. a slick bolt of pleasure trembles in your abdomen, nerves thrumming with anticipation as the heel of his palm drags across your swollen clit. he curls his fingers, letting the pads swipe through your wet folds to collect from the pool of arousal that’s been leaking out of you since he pinned you up against the car door. 

he stares at you pointedly, head tilted slightly to the side, a challenge dancing in his eyes while he waits for you to carry on. a single digit traces your tight entrance, your cunt quivering at the teasing sensation. you spread your thighs wider, trying to rock yourself deeper into the cradle of his hips, and he shifts his hand back just far enough to deny you of what you’re asking for.

“any more comments, complaints, or concerns?” he asks, his breath hot against your lips while it hovers in the scant space between your mouths.

you wonder if the public safety commission is aware that they’re paying you to drive aki hayakawa up a fucking wall full-time.

offering him a small smile, you shake your head.

aki smiles back, almost patronizingly, and plunges two fingers into your wet cunt. his mouth slots with yours as your chest heaves with a desperate moan. the seat belt buckle digs into your kneecap as you writhe, the metal cool against your overheated skin. you can almost feel his amusement, but you can’t bring yourself to care once he drags his thumb across your throbbing clit and does a twisting thrust with the digits currently stuffed inside of you that has you seeing stars.

“good girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, dragging his tongue across your bottom lip as you keen. 

it’s a cheap shot to really drive the nail in; aki knows exactly how to handle you (how to shut you up). 

—but it has your pussy clenching around his fingers all the same, your back arching as you rock your hips and whine.

(he knows you do it on purpose.)

“why would i want to fuck anyone else,” he rasps against the shell of your ear, “after knowing what it feels like to have you come all over my cock?”

your entire body spasms with the surge pleasure that drowns out the rest of your senses at his words, and you can feel the thin sheen of sweat that coats your neck as your muscles go taut. 

“i know you think you’re a brat,” he murmurs, pausing to take your bottom lip between his teeth, and you manage to capture his mouth in a messy kiss that has him distracted for a moment.

“aki,” you whine, feeling needier than you’d like to admit at the feeling of his erection lying stiff between your bodies as you press closer to him.

he increases the speed of his thrusts, your pussy squelching wetly when he adds a third finger. and just like that, your orgasm catches you entirely off guard, leaving behind a wet, soaking mess all over aki and the back seat as you squirt in his lap, whimpering and shaking while the pleasure surges white-hot through your system.

he mouths at the corner of your jaw as you come down from it, fingers gently feathering over your oversensitive cunt. “but the thing is, i like it.”

[redvexillum]

Alastor: My dear, a little advice for you!

Y/N: I didn't ask for any. Plus I thought you don't do advice.

Alastor: Yes, well, last time I wasn't particularly interested in your little affairs.

Y/N: Jerk.

Alastor: Anyways, I've got a delightful assortment of "advice" just for you! It's only fitting for someone as charming as me to impart some wisdom with those who might need a little guidance.

Y/N: [You read between the lines and note how he was struggling to keep his ears from completely flattening. His grin seems to be more forced than usual] Alastor, if you want someone to talk to, you can just say so-

Alastor: My first piece of advice: there's something terribly wrong and unruly with the most recent interlopers that's been wandering past these doors! I almost forgot how lowly these sinners...

Alastor doesn't mean to go off on a rant, but once he starts, the words spill out like an avalanche of irritation. He vehemently snarls from the flood of new hotel guests pretending to seek redemption while clearly freeloading off of the princess' hospitality. Though, he will never admit that he was slightly..."peeved" to say the least when you have been "too busy" to entertain him as you were helping the princess with the influx of guests.

There isn't a trace of judgment in your eyes, not a flicker of annoyance at his tirade. You just listen, really listen, and that alone makes something in him feel a tad lighter.

Alastor will never admit that you bring comfort to him. He will never admit that maybe, just maybe, you're more than just an audience to his whims and theatrics. Perhaps, in his own twisted way, you're something closer to a friend...?

But, that is something he cannot entertain at this moment.

It is something he cannot admit to himself at this time.

Alastor: ...and don't get me started on that insufferable little girl spouting gibberish at me every time I'm in her line of sight! Eugh.

Y/N: Alastor! Maybe this is the perfect time to put our lessons into practice!

Alastor: ...

Y/N: Communi-

Alastor: MURDER.

Y/N: Alastor, NO-! [Alastor melts into the shadows and in less than five seconds you hear screams and walls being destroyed]

Follow Vexi's Alastor Being a Lil Shit for all the latest updates!

[flower-boi16]

the "both sides have made mistakes" thing is actively funny to me because as usual it ignores that the real issue is in the framing

the worst ways the narrative twists itself to make Blitzo look better is by making what happened to Fizz just a freak accident (fr the guy carrying the candles if the circus was that flammable is just as responsible for that one) and by not really having M&M chew him out for the stalking. but the show never denies he has issues and causes problems by pushing people away before they can leave. and some places where the narrative suggested ambiguity in season 1 are actively removed to make Blitzo look worse in season 2 - he has a problem with Verosika's alcoholism in s1 but in s2 he's made unambiguously the only bad guy in their breakup

the worst ways the narrative twists itself to make Stolas look better is by: having Stolas and Blitzo both say cheating isn't bad/Stolas' cheating doesn't count as cheating because Stella is mean (basically) on multiple occasions, rewriting Stella from a classist jerk to an abusive monster, having an entire flashback episode devoted to making the viewer feel sorry for Stolas in the most on the nose way possible, retconning in Stolas treating Blitzo like a human being over the phone that happens entirely offscreen, comparing Stolas to all Blitzo's exes even though they weren't dating, massively inflating the number of people who hate Blitzo to make Stolas look better and the most telling thing of all: the entire awful argument in Apology Tour where the writers made Stolas look like a hypocritical gaslighter by ignoring all the ways he treated Blitzo in season 1 and never allowed Blitzo to mention any of them when it would have made perfect sense

Blitzo got a season that built up to the climatic point of having everyone he's ever wronged read him for filth in a mushroom samba sequence.

Stolas got a season where every episode that mentioned or featured him either retconned something to make him look better, inserted something that happened offscreen to make him look better or refused to allow other characters to bring up season 1 events to make him look better. S2 built up to the climatic scene of a trial sequence where no one gets to call out Stolas for making the deal to get sex, he gets to look like a hero for "sacrificing" himself (instead of it being framed like the book fiasco is equally his responsibility, which it is) and he ends the season having lost his daughter (but only because she somehow doesn't know how totally evil Stella is and how totally not responsible Stolas is because she's only allowed to be mad at him for the trial thing) but gets handed the consolation prize of Blitzo's unconditional love which he's done nothing outside of a single grand gesture to earn. Oh, and then he follows that up by freeloading off of Blitzo, trying to wreck his office during a temper tantrum and being a passive aggressive ass, none of which the show frames like something anyone should have a problem with

so, yeah. when it comes to the way the writers don't want to challenge the characters Stolas and Blitzo aren't even in the same postcode, never mind playing the same game. they're just not remotely comparable

^^^^^^^ THIS.

The entire argument that "they both made mistakes/their both in the wrong" falls flat on it's face when the narrative doesn't treat their mistakes as bad as they actually are. Blitzo gets dragged for filth for his mistakes and called about by both the narrative and everyone around him, and his truama and whatever baggage he may have is never used as an excuse by the narrative, which, is good writting, I'll give it that, the problem is that the narrative is holding him accountable using the wrong character.

Stolas' mistakes, however, are either ignored, downplayed, or justified by the narrative so to make it look like they weren't actually mistakes. Him cheating on Stella? Well, Stella was abusive, so Stolas was actually in the right to do that. Stolas repeatedly belittles and dehumaizes Blitz, making him uncomfortable around Stolas all the time and giving the impression that he views Blitz as nothing but a sex toy, continueing to make sexual advances to Blitz even when he can see it's uncomfortable? Actually, Stolas loves Blitz and thinks very highly of him, those sexual comments were actually Stolas thinking that Blitz enjoyed being treated that way, it's just Blitz's fault for not seeing that.

Stolas coercing Blitz? I mean, ya, the deal wasn't right, but let's just pretend it wasn't totally coercian guys!/s

You get the picture. Stolas' mistakes and actions are so frequently recontextualized and excused by the narrative multiple times, and, aside from maybe his mistakes as a father, the series has not called out the full extent of his behavior and I don't think it will.

Many fans like to counter this with "oh, the show will call him out later!", but, the thing is, it should have called him out now. Because the narrative's refusal of calling Stolas out actively harms the writting of not just Stolas, but Blitz as well.

Blitz's character arc of growing to become a better person was kickstarted by having him get gaslit and guilt-tripped into apologizing to his abuser. Even if the show calls Stolas out later, it wont change that unless it directly calls this out and recontextualized.

Series held Blitz accountable for something that he wasn't even in the wrong for. That's the issue, I don't care if Apology Tour was dedicated to calling out Blitz, it did a shit tier job of that because it didn't call out STOLAS. The series needs to start holding Stolas accountable and actually call out the full extent of his actions, not downplaying them, not justifying them, no excuses.

With Octavia their taking a step in the right direction but, we'll have to wait and see if they'll commit to it.

[just-pot-over-here]

THIS IS INSPIRED BY THIS POST, WHICH @pigeonwit REPOSTED WITH THE CRUTCHTRACK TAG LAST YEAR. THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR AT LEAST 9 MONTHS. AUGH.

———

“‘Ey, freeloader, git up.”

Crutchie groans and turns his head away from the fingers digging into his temple, mumbling out some vague curse words as he squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

“C’mon, Crutch, wakey wakey. I’m starvin’ an yer’ payin’ fer breakfast.” The offending fingers move down to prod into his side, and Crutchie jerks and throws out an arm when they catch him in the soft spot beneath his ribs. Judging by the impact against the back of his hand and the yelp to his left, he’s hit his mark.

He slowly blinks his eyes open, squinting out the windshield. The glass is fogged up and flecked with snow, thanks to Race’s busted defroster, but Crutchie can make out the lurid yellow of the Denny’s sign, bright against the starry sky. Now that he thinks about it, the moon should not be out during breakfast.

“Wh’t time s’it?” He interrupts Race’s sputtering, turning to level him with a stare that makes his mouth shut with an audible click. The sheepish look on his face speaks volumes, and Crutchie barely controls the urge to throttle the asshole to his left as his eyes slide over to glare at the neon green 3:42 blinking up at him from the dashboard clock.

“S’never too early fer breakfast.” Race pipes up from the driver’s seat. Crutchie turns to scowl at him, fully contemplating the drawbacks of beating Race over the head with his crutch. He knows assault is generally frowned upon, but he thinks maybe the police would give him a pass for this one.

Except, Race’s hair is falling in a mussed up flop over his forehead, his eyes are wide, and his bottom lip is stuck out ever so slightly. He is performing a truly masterful puppy-eyed frown. Crutchie feels the threatening spark of rage in his stomach wink out, replaced by that familiar, fluttery Race feeling.

Goddamnit.

—

The old door hinges screech as they push their way through into the lobby, and Crutchie stomps snow off of his trainers while Race asks for a “table fer’ two” like they’re at a five star restaurant. He grins at Crutchie brightly as he flops into the booth across from him, hands splayed across the grimy table like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever touched. The fluttering in his chest makes itself known once again.

Crutchie never said he was a strong man.

Race asks the waitress for waters as she passes their table. Crutchie’s pretty sure she either didn’t hear or didn’t care, because she barely glances at them as she pushes through the swinging door into the kitchen. He snorts.

“Pretty sure she was havin’ a nice nap before we came in.”

“Yeah, well, we aint gonna keep her long.”

“We better not. I was havin’ a nice nap before we came in.”

“Aww, cheer up, ya grump. They have pancakes.”

That quiets Crutchie, and he only offers a few more token grumbles as he watches the waitress come back with two waters. She carries an aura of cigarette smoke and flowery perfume with her, and it seems to perk Race up like smelling salts. She sets the waters down on the table in front of them and takes out her notepad, clicking her pen expectantly without saying a word. Race isn’t deterred in the slightest.

“Hey ma’am, g’mornin to ya! S’nice ta’ see a friendly face all th’ way out here.” He smiles charmingly. The waitress is unimpressed, and she seems to get more and more exasperated as Race rattles off their orders. Her masterful deflection of Race’s energy vindicates him a little. The smile Race blasts him with as she leaves is blinding, and it scrubs away any remaining annoyance Crutchie feels. God forbid he stop complaining, though. It’s one of his great joys in life.

“Y’didn’t let me order for m’self. How’d ya know what I want?” He takes a long sip of his water, crinkling his nose at the faint metallic taste that lingers in his mouth afterwards. Race, on the other hand, swirls his around in the chipped plastic cup like it’s a fine wine. He scoffs at Crutchie from across the table, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at him.

“C’mon, Crutch. I know you, stop pretendin’ like I don’t.” He‘s struck dumb by the smile Race sends him over the rim of the cup, warm and familiar. The fluttering comes back, butterfly wings beating against the inside of his ribs and making him nauseous at the way Race’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Jesus.

He ducks his head as his face heats, grunting noncommittally and taking a few more gulps of water. The waitress comes back and leaves them two coffees as he’s collecting himself, and by the time he looks up Race is holding his cup about an inch away from his face, basking in the steam.

God, Crutchie just can’t stop himself from staring.

He can’t help it. Race is practically glowing. His hair shines in the fluorescent light of the cheap ceiling fixtures, unbrushed and wild after a night of driving. His jaw is lined with three days’ worth of rough stubble, and there are the beginnings of some serious bags beneath his eyes. He’s wearing a gray Jets sweater that definitely belonged to Albert at one point. It’s faded and stretched to all hell, the decal cracked, the string long gone, the hood half ripped off the collar. In short, he’s absolutely unkempt.

Crutchie loves him.

It hits him suddenly, and if he were standing it would’ve brought him to the ground. He loves Race. Loves him so much it makes his hands tremble and his chest ache. Loves him so much it lives like a physical thing behind his ribs, clawing and beating its way up his throat as he watches Race pour milk in his coffee. He can’t control it, can’t tame it, he can only open his mouth as it nestles itself behind his tongue, ready to jump out and-

Race opens his eyes and meets his gaze, and his momentary rush of confidence is washed away in an instant. Crutchie closes his jaw with an audible click and swallows thickly, fumbling for something, anything to say.

“You’ve got somethin’ on yer’ face.”

Race’s brow furrows, and he rubs a hand over his cheek. “What? Where?”

Crutchie reaches out one hand towards Race’s face, oh so slowly, fingertips outstretched. He takes a deep breath and…

“Ow, dammit, Crutch!”

Race recoils, rubbing his forehead where Crutchie had flicked it. “Now what the hell was that for?” He glares as Crutchie leans back in his seat, pressing his shaky hand flat to the table and shrugging.

“Damn, guess it was just yer’ face. My bad.” Something in him is soothed as Race laughs at him incredulously. He watches him start tearing his napkin into pieces to make spitballs, and the thing in his abdomen quietly curls into a purring ball behind his sternum.

It’s okay, he thinks as Race lines up his ammunition on the edge of the table, running his mouth about how Crutchie’s started “a war he won’t win”. It’s okay to not say it now. It’s okay. We have time.

As Race starts a spitball war with him at 4:30AM in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, Crutchie knows one thing better than he knows anything.

There’s no place in the world he’d rather be.

[physics-of-one-piece]

Part 5 of Punk Hazard Dub Watch Party

592

Law looks so handsome in Punk Hazard, wow.

“Not even Joker.” Oho, I forgot cus I was thinking Doflamingo knew Law was there, since Monet is there? But also, it seems Monet never knew Law used to be with the Family so…

Law finding out Caesar has been drugging the kids…

“You’re one sick puppy, aren’t cha? Reminds me of someone.” Dub Law is talking about Doflamingo. Definitely Doflamingo.

Man, Luffy’s Observation Haki has great range that he can sense the Yetis

Once more Law even when shown to be helping them with the legs looks so handsome 🤧

I feel so sad for Brownbeard 😭

“I’m warning you jerks, you better not have hurt any of my crew!” Yeaah, go Dub Luffy!

I Love. Dub Luffy’s. Shouts. Growls. Etc. When. He. Fights. So. Badass.

The only thing I have a problem with rn (which wasn’t there before) that they stopped putting subtitles for the location cards. Those are pretty important, especially when for example for characters or new islands, they always have title cards.

The guards telling Law he can’t leave. YES HE CAN, LAW IS FREE!

“I don’t give a damn. You guys may not know this, but… I go where I want.” Yes you do, Law 🥹🫶🏻🤧 Dub Law is my fav of the dubs for now, if you can’t tell.

593

“Woah, stop it! Why’re you trying to squish me?!” Dub Luffy is so cute

“Armament: Hardening! Gum-Gum Gattliiiing!” Perfectly delivered, well done Dub Luffy

Did this Yeti just call Law a freeloader? HOW DARE YOU?! 😡😡🤬🤬

“All right. Countershock.” Dub Law just sounds great.

Dub Law & Dub Luffy, omg I love them.

“Thanks, buddy!” Dub Luffy is already treating Law as a friend, bless his sweet heart.

“And you don’t strike me as a guy who works under someone.”

“Yup. I’m captain.”

“I see. Then, you can work with me.”

“Like how?”

“Us two, we’ll take down one of the Four Emperors.”

“I’ve got a good plan. So tell me. Are you in?”

When you’ve got a smooth voice like that, I am ride or die, Dub Law! Wohoo!

It’s embarrassing how both Dub Law & Dub Doffy would get me, like goddamn, smooth talkers, I love them, I’d join them in a heartbeat.

594

“But I don’t trust him.” (Pans to a camera view of Law looking absolutely wonderful) Yeah, well sorry, Nami, I trust this handsome man with my life. I trust him 100%, especially Dub Law. He sounds very trustworthy! I TRUST HIM!

How can Nami call Law a sleazeball when Law looks like this?

Am I missing something?! Look at him! He’s a cutie patootie and a handsome cutie patootie at that! With his white spotted hat and coat 🥺🥺

Only thing suspicious about him is his eyebags but he’s a doctor, that just comes with the profession.

“Sure. We’re in.”

Luffy: Hey, are you gonna betray me?

Law: No.

Luffy: Heh! (gives a look like he won the alliance lottery) 🤩🤩🤩

I love them.

“My gut says Traffy’s an okay guy.” Traffy… so… cute. Gah. ❤️❤️

Law’s face and reaction to Straw Hats never gets old. 🤣🤣

“Look, if you’re gonna work with us then get used to helping people.” Law’s face at that he’s so out of his depth, bless him.

“This means I’m friends with you.” I love Luffy so much.

THEY LOOK SO CUTE.

Cora would be all over Law saying how cute he and Chopper are.

Doflamingo would be laughing his ass off while saying “You look like idiots, fufufu!”

“Super cute!” I agree with Franky

Law is having an entire existential crisis questioning his life choices.

Chopper hanging like a keychain off of Law’s sword 🤣🤣

Gosh, I love Dub Law’s voice, I can listen to him tell me his strategies all day.

Not even Doflamingo can make Law sweat like this. Law just realised he allied himself with weirdos. Godspeed, Law. Godspeed.

[kawaii-queen-kaiju]

Young and... great, the Newbie

Part Four!

“You want us to what?” Riley asked, her fork hanging halfway to her mouth.

Dick had come for a visit to Gotham, a rare occurrence with him busy in Bludhaven being his own hero. In the year she’d been part of the aptly dubbed ‘Batfamily’, he’d only been over two other times.

He ran a hand through his hair, vaguely irritating her. If she tried to do that, her fingers would get stuck in her curls and muss them. “I think it’d be good for you two to join the Team.”

She knew about the Team of course. Jason had come back from ‘school trips’, raving about how cool his ‘classmates’ were, and some of the funny things they did, no doubt watered down from whatever the original most likely superpowered incident was. Then, she’d heard about them in passing from Batman, though only in the context of missions. She’d never considered that she might receive an invite to join once she joined Batman’s team officially (she’d made her grand debut a month ago after Mr. Freeze had broken out again, her powers getting the job done easily and unfortunately landing Phoenix in the news).

“If she doesn’t wanna, I will!” Tim piped up, flashing her a mischievous smirk. She had two younger brothers at home, and Tim was the third she never asked for, but got anyway. With the way he acted, you’d never guess he was nearly fifteen and a certifiable genius.

She rolled her eyes. “They weren’t talking to you, dipshit. You ain’t even done with your trainin’ yet.”

“No saying ‘shit’. And neither were you when you started doing actual vigilante work.”

“Shit, shit, shit. And I’m not a skinny little rich boy who’s never lifted anything heavier than a camera-”

“Children.” Bruce gave them both a look. She could hear Babs and Dick snickering with each other, the traitors.

“I’d be happy to, Dick.” The older girl answered, leaving all eyes on Riley.

She sighed, taking a sip of her water to avoid talking long enough to mull it over. There wasn’t anything glaringly obvious that would turn her off it. If anything, there were a few very compelling reasons for why she should. A.) other teens with powers and similar experiences to her, B.) other teens who knew Jason… who were friends with him. She could probably get the unedited version of those stories she’d heard...

“... okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, are you deaf, Dickhead?”

“Children.”

-

She was nervous. She always was around people she wasn’t already familiar with or planning on knocking out. Unfortunately, the process of getting familiar with someone was painstaking and awkward unless you just clicked, like she and Jason had…

She shook her head, banishing the old memories. Now’s not the time.

The unusual sensation of being zapped through the zeta tube left her with a tingly feeling in her extremities. Weird.

The zeta pads were in a large cavern, an arena of sorts in the middle with large screens around it. Large stalactites hung from the ceiling reminding Riley that they were under several hundred tons of rock.

Nightwing walked up to one of the screens and typed something out, turning back to her and jerking his head. “C’mere.”

She stepped onto the lit up platform, anxiety swirling in her gut. “Ugh, I wish Ba- tgirl was here too. Then it wouldn’t be all me. And she’s great with people.”

“Well, she’s not a freeloader,” The bastard chuckled, ignoring her offended squawk. “She had to work.”

She punched him in the arm, relishing the way he rubbed it as it actually stung. “I know that, I’m not stupid. And I am not a freeloader, I have a job. The money just goes to my mom, not the literal billionaires, asshat.”

He laughed, reaching out to ruffle her hair, currently up in twin buns. She intercepted his hand, twisting it. “Don’t you fucking dare, these took forever to get right.”

He yelped a little, not prepared. “I’m sorry! Uncle! Uncle!”

He was playing it up, but she still crossed her arms, smirking up at him and huffing. “That’s what you get, bitch.”

“Did you seriously find a replacement? Already? Damn, I’d be rolling in my grave.”

Riley stiffened, the voice coming from one of the tunnels leading into the cavern. She recognized the boy walking in.

“His name is Aspen, though everyone calls him Feaster.” Jason said, finishing off his popsicle. “He’s pretty cool, I like him. His c- lothes are sick.”

“Oh, so everyone has weird nicknames at illustrious Gotham Academy. What’s yours?” Riley asked, still only halfway through her own frozen sweet. It was melting on her hand in the brutal New England summer heat, but she didn’t really care. Her feet were dangling off the roof they were sitting on and she kicked them idly, listening to Jason enthusiastically describe his ‘field trip’.

“Uh, hah, like I’d tell you!” He jeered, waving his hand with his popsicle stick stuck up between his index and middle fingers.

“Coward!” She shot back, flipping him off with her actual finger and jumping up from where she was sitting with a shriek. He chased after her, their laughter echoing off the rooftops and through the alleys.

“Her? Really? Not to be rude, but come on, Dick. We just lost Jason. This doesn’t seem wrong to you?”

Riley clenched her fist, fighting the rude words bubbling in her throat. They’re grieving, all of them. It’s soon, I know that but…

“I’m here because we lost Robin.” She grit out, measuring her words. “It’s of my own volition. I am no one’s replacement, I wouldn’t even be here if Batman had left me alone. I’m my own hero, he just helped me get the skills I needed to not die.”

Aspen reached down and pressed a button on his watch, his vigilante suit retracting inside. “You’re just like he described. I’m Aspen, but that’s all you get for now.”

Riley froze, her mounting anger freezing too. “Like he… what… ?”

Was he talking about… Jason? Jason… talked about her to the team?

She could feel her cheeks flush a little at the thought. Narrowing her eyes she glanced over at Dick, who seemed confused. Did… he not realize what Aspen was talking about? No way. Dick had been working with Bruce since he was nine, no way would he not connect the dots. Most likely, Jason just didn’t talk to Dick about her, specifically. She knew they hardly talked, but still.

“Aspen, dude, what are you talking about?” Dick asked. He didn’t seem surprised that he had no idea what was going on. Did Aspen stump the world’s second greatest detective often? … That tracked with what she’d heard.

“The Bat, obviously. Him and my dad talked about a newbie but I didn’t know it would be her.”

“Oh. You just seemed kinda surprised.” Dick raised an eyebrow. He knew the other boy wasn’t telling the truth, but he didn’t look concerned about it. More like brotherly annoyance. Nothing like holding the other’s life in your hand for years to build up an unbreakable sense of trust.

“I’ve been gone all night, I’m tired. Jumpy.” 

“Right. If you see anyone else, tell them to come down here.”

“Any more requests, your majesty?” Without waiting for a reply, Aspen turned around. “No? Good.”

“Bye, then.” Dick said, a little butthurt, but clearly not super bothered.

Riley snorted. “I like him. Why aren’t you that cool?”

The man gaped at her dramatically. “Excuse you?! I am plenty cool!”

“Eh, debatable.”

“Hey!”

~

ASPEN BELONGS TO @screamintoad

[eldritch-spouse]

Ik you like Dedan, but would you be willing to walk him on a leash before he inevitably beats your ass? I just wanna top him, pleaaase tell me I'm not alone....I'll die but like damn it'll be glorious!!

[Inevitably beats my ass? No no, as master of my own fiction I condemn this man to being a pathetic pervert loser who can be topped the same way he tops you.]

Dedan should be made to wait for it. So he can truly appreciate you, you know?

Think about it, he's repulsed by the elsen around him, seems to hate the way the other zone guardians are doing their job, and the only other woman around is the Queen, who he's not about to disrespect. So that leaves little old you as a candidate for his sexual frustrations, doesn't it? You're not royalty, you're not in charge of any zones (though given how weird you look, no one would blame him for assuming), and you're not one of those wimps sweating themselves into an anxiety attack at every second. You're even kind of easy on the eyes, on second thought. Dedan's laughing just thinking about how unlucky you are to have fallen into his zone.

His plan of action is to have you work for him, because you're not just going to freeload your way across his zone, and from then on he bets he can easily have you in the palm of his hand.

While you probably have no choice but to accept the job offer, you can passively resist his advances for a while. Shooting him down when he wants to talk to you outside of work hours, rejecting gifts and keeping your professional face on at all times.

He can't intimidate you, and he doesn't want to beat the only person he kind of respects to a bloody pulp to get this way, so Dedan just seethes. At the same time that he's upset you won't bend to his will he's also incredibly thrilled- It makes you more attractive to him.

He knows it's going to get ugly when Dedan gets boners after arguing with you. The bloodflow rushing to his cock won't let him think and he has to take care of it.

Jerking off to the thought of you becomes vividly stalking after you (harassing you) during work hours just so he can get a daily dose of excitement, a daily dose of his new fixation.

Blatant showing off doesn't work. Intimidation doesn't work. Making decisions for you doesn't work. Dedan grits his gruesome teeth as he ponders sweetening you up, bending over to get your favor...

It would take weeks, months maybe. A year even! He's a stubborn motherfucker and he'll fight the inevitable just because he can.

But one day he'll crack.

And he'll beg for it. Perhaps not a literal "please fuck me", but you can read between the lines.

And the first time you tell him that it'll only happen if he lets you walk him around on a leash, Dedan explodes. Calling you all manner of heinous names, and telling you to go fuck yourself in about thirty different ways.

Oh, but the thought lingers in his mind.

For way too long.

Are you even capable of such? The balls you must have to say this to him to begin with...

And then, one day-

Dedan shows up with his own leash.

He doesn't say a word, doesn't need to, he might as well be on his hands and knees waving his ass at you.

[gravedigest]

More DS drabble.

“No offense, Vic, but why are you putting up with it?”

His coworker has a hip leaning against the counter, the lull after lunch rush giving them all a moment to breathe. Victor logs himself out of the register, digging his phone from his back pocket as he slips to the back of the kitchen.

His coworker follows.

“He helps with the chores.”

“He’s not helping with the chores now,” they quirk their head towards the dining room, where Deimos is curled up in a booth. The way he’s zoned out suggests he’s probably working on something, the bored tilt of his head says it’s probably actual work. “Isn’t he freeloading?”

“No. No, he helps.”

“Helps what?”

“Is that actually any of your business?”

“Oh. Ooooh, I see.” That singsong tone of voice.

“No.”

“Still, he’s kind of a wreck, Vic. You could do better.”

“Can you not?”

He’s not in the mood for this.

Everyone trying to pry, dig in at his life. He’s not going to talk about it.

“I’m taking my lunch.”

“Gonna bring food to your boyfr-“

“We’re just roommates. Go fill a bag of ice for me.”

Even with all the heckling, they still do that, at least. Deimos might not be particularly popular as a restaurant appliance, but there’s a general understanding amongst the workers.

They won’t just let him overheat.

So Victor collects his lunch from the back, orders up something for Deimos, and gets the bag of ice.

He’s still blanked out in his booth when Victor gets there, resting on the table, head pillowed in his crossed arms. It makes it easy to get the ice spread over the back of his neck, stirring him just enough that he starts blinking and backing out of his rig.

“Got busy in here for a minute,” Deimos notes, stretching his arms over the table, then grinning up at him. “Lagged out the wifi.”

“Did it mess up whatever you’re doing?”

“Nah, music kept buffering, though. What’d ya get me?”

“Nuggets.”

“You are too sweet to me.”

He can see how hard it is for Deimos to get himself sat up, keeping the weight of his arms on the table, careful not to drop the ice by staying hunched over. Victor pops the box open for him, gets the top ripped off the sauce, the little fine motor things that can be a struggle when he’s lagging out.

And he is lagging out, there’s a slowness to how his eyes are tracking things, a sheen of sweat in his hairline. Little things Victor’s gotten good at noticing.

“Job’s gonna pay okay,” Deimos says it with his teeth halfway through a nugget, only realizing it was too hot halfway through the bite. “‘Lectricity should be good for the month. Or could go for the water, iunno. Your choice.”

“You get the electric, I’ll get water,” He doesn’t know how Deimos can eat the same things for weeks solid like he does, but it simplifies a lot of things.

He’s easy to please.

And he helps.

It’s not that complicated. He’s the easiest job Victor’s ever had.

Except for the parts that are hard.

When Victor checks on him again, nearing the end of his shift, Deimos hasn’t moved.

From across the restaurant, it looked like he was just back to work, face tucked into his arms and his hand around a soda cup.

He should’ve known better, made him take a break from his rig or moved him to the office when the boss had left for the day. Moved him to the walk-in. Had him walk around the dining room for a minute.

He’s crashing.

It takes two more people to help drag Deimos to the walk in, Deimos’ eyes stuck open wide, his limbs locked up in their curled positions, Victor’s shivering in the freezer with him as someone is cussing out corporate for the fact that no one can find a goddamn pen.

Sunglasses.

His sunglasses.

It takes a minute to pull the rubber off of the arm, to expose the narrow metal, but yeah- Yeah. That’s thin enough.

He tilts Deimos’ head down, finding that little pinhole from the diagrams he’d memorized, feeding the tip of the arm into the hole until he can feel the click-

Deimos jerks, immediately slamming his palms into his own eyes and coiling up. “Fuck, ow, shit, fuck- ow-“

“Hey- You’re gonna pop your eyeball-“

His hands drag up his face and into his hair, pressing hard at his skull as he collects himself from the hard cancellation of whatever process he was stuck in. “Shit, shit. What- Where?”

“Freezer?”

“… Overheated?”

… Sometimes, he wishes he could explain some things to Deimos.

He’s a little too deep for that, though.

It’s nicer to him if he just doesn’t know, anyway.

“… Yeah. Shift’s over. Wanna call Sanford?”

“… Yeah.”

[renny-lithium]

I’ve seen other players posting pictures or videos of their TotK houses, so I figured I’d do the same. Enjoy!

First of all, an overhead view. Taken at night because I spent two real-time hours working on the layout and various combinations and rooms and ended at night in-game. Or early morning, take your pick.

Couple of pictures of the ground-level exterior. The horse in the paddock is Akarui, she’s beautiful. The sanke carp just kinda freeloads in the pond. Jerk.

Interior ground-level pictures! Yes, that is indeed a picture of a crystal cave with mushrooms in it. I thought it was pretty and it still is. Actually, I used to have a picture of Sidon on that wall, and before that it was a crucified Korok.

(Here’s a better look at the mushroom cave picture.)

And next up . . .

The second floor exterior, which I call the patio. Three flower gardens to make it pretty, a decorated square room to make it fancy, and a study because I love its design.

Seriously, just look at that! So many books, I want a room like this in real life.

Bonus crucified Korok and fish husband.

[softagenda]

on tap (leander)

leander x reader(f)

au - reader/mc is a bartender in the wet wick

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

You’ve just finished wiping down the bar when Leander hoists himself up onto the counter and looms over you, winsome white grin in place. “What’s on tap, gorgeous?”

Your hand twitches toward the counter cupboard where, tucked away like a secret, they’d planted a lever to expel irritants from the bar in a gust of wind. In your mind’s eye, you watch as he’s thrown out into the crowd with a yelp, that infamous ego taken down a peg.

Knowing Leander, he’d probably throw out his hand, summon a whirl of luminous magic to form steps under his feet, and turn it all into a show. That, or he’d enjoy the humiliation. Though you took all gossip with a grain of salt, most lies held a glimmer of truth. 

With a titanic force of will, you grab a fresh glass instead. “Same watered-down swill as the day before.”

At his perch a few seats away, Ais smirks. “Should you say that? Seems bad for business.”

You shrug. “I just serve it. You’re the regular - you tell me.”

“Seems the service is of the same quality as the drink,” sighs Vere from his position draped over Ais’s broad shoulder. “You get what you pay for.”

“And you get whatever Leander pays for,” you say, sliding a pint of amber beer across the counter, the glass only just stopping beside a thick, leather-coated thigh. “Paying customers can talk shit, freeloaders can eat it.” 

A massive, furry tail curls over the counter in a river of fire. “As if I’d pay to drink what amounts to gutter piss.”

Without looking, you jerk a thumb over your shoulder. “Door’s that way. We’ve got a suitable gutter out back, just for patrons like you.”

Out of the corner of your sight, bright pink eyes flash around slit pupils.

“Easy, sparrow,” Ais murmurs, his hand lazily stroking along Vere’s neck. “You know what they say about the cat and the canary.”

You looked up and met his stare. “What? I’m curious .”

“Now, now, let’s not fight,” Leander intervenes as usual, propping his boot on his knee and taking a long drink. He licks the froth from his lips and grins. “It’s been ages since we last met here.” 

“Three days,” you say under your breath. 

“A single moment away from your side is an eternity,” Leander replies without an ounce of shame, ignoring the sounds of aborted vomiting at his back with the ease of a man used to frequent mockery.

“If only.” You snap the rag in your hand at his back. The clap draws several gazes. “Now get off the counter, heathen.”

A dusting of pink blooms on his cheeks. Green eyes dance with laughter as he slides from the counter and drops onto a barstool instead. “Yes ma’am.”

You look at him for a long moment before pouring yourself a shot and downing it. Whiskey slides smooth and sweet down your throat and pools with tingling warmth in your stomach. 

Ais taps the counter. “Pour me some of that.”

Blinking slowly under the heady rush, you roll your head to meet his gaze. “On your tab.”

“On his tab,” he said with a jerk of his chin to Leander.

“Hey, now - “ Leander starts before dropping his head when you slide the shot without a word across the counter to that expectant hand, the glass clinking against his silver rings. “Maybe I need to get back there, handle the rest of the night’s drinks,” he suggests, a sheepish look dogging his smile.

“That one’s on the house.”

Leander’s jaw drops. 

Vere’s eyes narrow. “And why’s that?”

“Owner’s orders.” You glance at Ais before shrugging. “Don’t have the details. You’ll have to ask them."

They turn toward him, one incredulous, the other suspicious. Ais releases a long, slow sigh before tipping the glass back. He seems unlikely to dive into the story of how the Wet Wick’s owner has been prompted to this generosity.

“Seriously? Yanoka hasn’t given me a single glass of water on the house for years,” Leander bemoans before lifting a brow, “and you immediately threw that on my tab?”

A wicked laugh hides within Ais’s red eyes. “I’d hate to impose on her too much.”

Vere snickers and steals a few sips of his whiskey.

With a put-upon look, Leander turns back to you. “With friends like these….”

“You’ve got your pick of fawning friends,” you droll back, after refilling another woman’s glass. You’d be willing to bet any patron in the packed bar at that moment would happily simper at his side, laugh at his terrible jokes, and swoon for every shallow compliment. “That you keep coming back to these assholes says more about you than them.” Still, you top off his glass with a quick splash of the good whiskey.

“Right back at ya, sparrow.”

“I’m paid to be here.” 

Leander gives you a grateful smile before drinking deep. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his neck. He runs a hand through his hair and drops his chin in the palm of his hand. “As happy as I am to see you out here, I wish I could order a serving of your roast.”

“Seems like you’ve had a good serving already,” Vere quips with a smile. He uncurls himself and stretches his neck with a soft creak of leather. 

“I wouldn’t mind some either.” Ais adds, his face deadpan. The last time you’d been the night’s cook, he’d ordered three times his body weight in roasted chicken, vegetables, and pudding. It’d been on the frightening side of impressive, as most things were with Ais.

You cut to the quick. “No can do. We’re short-staffed tonight.” 

“I can bartend for a while,” Leander offers, as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. As if you hadn’t watched him buy the entire tavern a round of drinks just to distract from Ais getting into a brawl with a drunkard.

You grimace. “Hell no. We’re trying to make profits here.” 

Vere’s perusing the top shelf with greedy eyes. “Oh? Fooled me.”

“I promise to be good.” At your dubious look, Leander turns up the charm and says, “ very good.”

“No.”

“What can I say to convince you?” He says, leaning forward, his muscles bulging from beneath his skin-tight shirt. A slow, seductive smile curves across his lips, his eyes growing half-lidded. “Come on, gorgeous. I’m so… hungry ,” he adds, his voice lowering to a rumble. It should have been impossible to hear amidst the roaring din of the tavern - he must have infused the words with magic, carried them right to your ear.

A shiver ghosts along your spine. 

You turn away to hide the flush that rises in your shirt and face, settling a patron’s tab in the meantime. Once you’ve had a moment to force down the feeling, you shoot him a look over your shoulder. If he wanted to play, he’d find you weren’t an easy mark.

“I’ll do it. If,” you say, cutting into the smug delight on his face, “you agree to settle Vere’s tab for the night.” Your gaze flickers over to the monster in question.

At some point during the negotiation, a bottle of wine had found its way into the fox’s hands: the glass dark green and old, its label lined in gold filigree and elegant script. His claws tapped a sweet tune down the neck as he tossed his hair over his shoulder and stared into Leander’s eyes, daring him to refuse.

The mage blushes, blanches, and then sighs. “... you drive a hard bargain.”

You cock your hip. “You can always say no.”

“Can I?” he asks softly.

Before you have a chance to write the question off as glib, you catch the look in his eyes. Flat. Empty. Resigned. 

A chill slips down your back, despite the sweltering heat. You pause by the bar, taking in the strange stillness of his handsome face. All the laughter seems to have vanished from his expression. “Leander?”

After a second, he blinks, as though surfacing from a deep sleep. “...hmm?” Something in your face must startle him, because in the next breath Leander’s straightened up to his full height, chest pushed forward, charismatic smile fixed firmly in place. The picture of a heroic mage. “Throw in a slice of that honey roll, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You hesitate, trying to decide if you’d imagined it - that brief moment of despair on his face - before tucking it away in the back of your mind, to mull over in the safe, dark void of your room. A quick, shared look with Ais tells you that you weren’t the only one to notice.

“Fine,” you sigh, grabbing a plain, black apron from under the counter and tying it around your waist.  

Leander whoops before vaulting over the counter and nearly crowding you against the cabinet. “A barkeep after my own heart,” he croons, close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

“Yeah, yeah, just - try to keep us from going in the red while I’m gone.” Hiding the flush on your cheeks, you stride toward the kitchen. On the way you shoot a warning look at Vere, who holds your gaze and pops open the bottle with a flick of his thumb. “Try not to destroy the building.”

“No promises~”

If you tuck an extra flank of roast under the heaping mountain of steaming, saucy vegetables on Leander’s plate an hour later, no one seems any the wiser. 

________________________

a/n: thank you for reading!