#and thereby

[nenoname]

Stan and Soos' sorta-Dad and Sonployee relationship

We of course have Soos assigning Stan as his father figure the moment he got hired

But Stan holds that moment dear too, with Soos becoming his main source of company after the Mystery Shack, his first big success, was starting to hit rock bottom. And he made sure to keep the screwdriver that led Soos to him for a decade which unfortunately gets stolen by a certain time traveler...

(Their meeting being a paradox of Soos' family leading him to them is super sweet too!)

Playing one game of catch with their dads still was a dream for both of them, even when it was clear that it'll never happen, even when Soos knows that the Pines are his family and he shouldn't care about that biological deadbeat, even when Filbrick threw Stan away like trash.

But both of them end up finding closure with each other anyway.

Along with Stan likely teaching him how to fix golf carts (to the point that Soos is pretty skilled at it now), he also taught him boxing and tried to do something about his birthday, which is another sore spot for the both of them.

In the Sooscast, we have Stan continuing with the podcast despite learning this horrifying truth/not understanding what the hell is going on.

Noticeably, we see that Stan is a lot more lenient on Soos in comparison to Dipper, mostly because Stan doesn't project most of his issues onto him. (Not that he's immune from chores or shitty tasks but that's the burden of being a sonployee...)

And in NWHS, Stan trusts him to guard the lab with no questions asked (even if that ended up being foiled by Soos loving Mabel and Dipper too)

The comic story is Soos helping Stan regain and continue one of his childhood dreams, with the website having Stan continuing to draw on the Stan o' War.

And while unfortunately most of their father-son relationship content is at the end or after the series, Alex still said a lot about them in the commentary and interviews!

Before they met, Soos was someone who appeared to only really have his Abuelita and cousin, while Stan had.... a baby goat. And a disappearing frilly lizard.

We have Stan claiming that the reason why he never had children was because of his own dad and that money is basically his child (which just loops around back to his money obsession being his desire to get back his family)

But even still, he passes down the Shack and fez to Soos with barely any pause, the fez in particular being tied up with a lot of complex emotions. But Soos getting his own suit fitted just for him and not being pressured to wear a girdle to hide his weight kinda symbolizes to me that the role of Mr Mystery is now free from that baggage.

And whenever we'd end up getting Stan o' War stories, I'm sure the two of them are gonna get way more father-son moments

(Filbrick's impact on Stan post, Stan projecting on Dipper post)

[goyardgoyangi]

‧₊˚✧ agora hills ✧˚₊‧

You’ve been best friends with Geto Suguru’s younger sister for years, practically growing up around him. Back in high school, he was the cool, untouchable older brother, always just out of reach while you were the quiet, awkward friend who never felt seen by him. But college changes everything—now, guys can’t seem to keep their eyes off you, and Suguru’s protective instincts kick in. When he sees one too many guys getting too close at a house party, he steps in, claiming you in a way that leaves you breathless and questioning everything you thought you knew about him.

suguru geto x reader

wc: 2.8k

mdni (18+), read with discretion

The loud bass from the speakers thud against the floor, and the air is thick with the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat. You wouldn’t have come to a party like this if it weren’t for your best friend dragging you along—something about getting out more and embracing college life.

You’re not exactly opposed to the idea. After all, college has been a reset button, a fresh start to your new life as a real adult. And judging by the way guys are looking at you tonight, they’ve noticed. The stares, the attention—it’s all so different from high school.

You tug down the hem of your black dress, one that clings to your curves just right, the kind you wouldn’t have dared to wear before. You’re finally comfortable in your skin, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of being wanted.

But the one person whose attention you weren’t expecting to have?

Suguru Geto.

You spot him near the couch, lounging with one arm draped over the backrest, a shot of soju dangling loosely from his fingers. He’s always been effortlessly cool, exuding that calm, self-assured energy that makes people gravitate toward him. He’s laughing at something his white-haired friend says, but the moment his eyes flicker toward you, his expression shifts.

It’s subtle. A small pause. A quick scan from head to toe.

And then, the sharp clench of his jaw.

You look away before he can catch you staring, but something about his gaze lingers. Suguru has always been around—your best friend’s older brother, who never really seemed to pay attention to you beyond mandatory casual small talk whenever you came to the family house.

So why does it feel like he’s watching you now?

"Come on," your best friend nudges you playfully. "Let’s get drinks."

You follow her toward the kitchen, weaving through the bodies packed into the house. A few guys shoot you interested glances, one even stepping forward to introduce himself. You entertain the conversation for a moment, but there’s a prickling sensation at the back of your neck—like you’re being observed.

And when you turn slightly, you see him.

Suguru, still on the couch, his drink untouched now, his eyes fixed on you.

Something dark flickers in his expression when the guy leans in a little closer, his hand brushing against your arm.

Interesting.

You test the waters, laughing at something the guy says, letting your fingers ghost along his wrist as you take the drink he offers. It’s harmless. Flirting, just for fun. But the second you glance back at Suguru—

He’s already moving.

And when he stops right beside you, his presence so overwhelming that the guy next to you instinctively takes a step back, your stomach flips.

Suguru doesn’t look at him. He only looks at you.

"Didn’t expect to see you here." His voice is low, edged with something you can’t quite place. His voice sends a shiver down your spine before you fully turn to face him.

Suguru Geto leans against the kitchen counter, veiny arms crossed, dark eyes tracing over you in a way that makes your breath hitch. He looks effortless, as always—black jeans, black tee, his long hair pulled into a loose bun. You’ve known him for years, ever since you became friends with his sister, but lately, something about the way he watches you feels... different.

You force a smile, trying to push away the unknown feeling. "Figured I’d have a little fun. It’s the college experience, right?"

His jaw ticks. "Yeah. Fun." His gaze flickers to the drink in your hand, then to the guy beside you. He’s assessing, calculating. Then, as if coming to some unspoken decision, he turns his full attention back to you.

"You’re here with someone?" Suguru asks, voice low.

"Not really," you answer quickly. "Just your sister."

The guy who was chatting you up looks between the two of you, clearly debating whether or not to intervene. But one glance at Suguru—the intensity in his dark eyes, the silent back off that radiates from him—and he makes the smart choice.

You barely have time to process before Suguru’s large hand wraps around your wrist. "Come on," he says, guiding you through the crowded house before you can protest. You let him. Maybe it’s the curiosity, maybe it’s the heat that still lingers where his skin touched yours.

Or maybe it’s the way his grip tightens just the slightest bit—like he’s afraid to let go.

He leads you upstairs to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. The noise of the party muffles slightly, leaving you alone with him in the dim light. Your eyes dart around, still unsure why he brought you here—the bathroom of all places—but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re lost in thought.

"What's your problem?" you murmur, glancing at him through the mirror.

His jaw tightens again, the muscle working as he steps closer. "You shouldn’t be in a place like this," he mutters, his voice unusually tight. "Go back home. I want you to be safe."

You turn to face him fully, the words spilling out before you can stop them. "Why? Because I’m like a little sister to you?" The bitterness in your voice surprises you.

Suguru’s posture stiffens, something sharp flickering across his face, and for a moment, his gaze seems to darken with something you can’t quite identify. "Is that what you think?" His voice is low, colder now.

You let out a dry laugh. "It’s how you act. You’re always hovering, chasing guys off. I get it—you’ve known me forever. I’m just—"

He moves before you can finish, stepping forward and caging you between his body and the sink. His hands plant firmly on the counter, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

"You really think I see you as a sister?" His voice is calm, but the tension in it is palpable, as if he's trying to keep control.

Your breath catches. "Suguru—"

His fingers trace up your arm, slow and deliberate. "I’ve liked you for a long time," he admits, voice thick with intensity. "I’m just not hiding it anymore."

Your heart pounds in your chest as he tilts your chin up, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. The tension is suffocating, your body betraying you as you lean in slightly.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmurs, his lips brushing above yours just before they crash onto yours with a fervor that pricks your skin with fire.

The kiss is hot and desperate— years of unspoken desire finally breaking free. His hands roam down to the curves of your waist, gripping you tightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You melt into him, your fingers tangling in his long hair, pulling him closer, your pulse racing as he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter.

The party rages on downstairs, but up here, it’s just the two of you. And as he deepens the kiss, hands gripping your thighs possessively, you realize—he was never just watching over you like a brother.

He was watching over what was his.

Suguru’s hands burn against your skin, fingers pressing into your thighs like he’s memorizing every inch of you. His kiss is demanding, rough—like he’s making up for all the times he held back. And maybe he is.

Your head spins as you clutch onto him, lips parting under the dominance of his tongue. The bathroom counter is cold beneath you, a stark contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," Suguru murmurs against your lips, his breath heavy. His fingers trail beneath the hem of your dress, barely grazing your skin, and it’s enough to make you tremble. Your mind is a mess—Suguru, your best friend’s brother, the guy who’s always been just out of reach. He’s always been protective, but you thought it was because he saw you as family. Now, with the way he’s looking at you, touching you, it’s clear you were wrong.

"You never said anything," you whisper, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"I couldn’t," he admits, his voice low and strained, like the words are harder to say than they should be. "You were off-limits.”

You shiver at the weight of his words, the truth they hold. "And now?"

His grip tightens. "Now, I’m taking what’s mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends a thrill racing down your spine. His lips find the curve of your neck, tracing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse. You gasp when he nips at your skin, sucking just enough to mark you—enough to make sure you’ll see evidence of him tomorrow.

"The way guys look at you now—it drives me insane."

Your breath hitches. "Sugu—"

"Seeing you tonight, letting those guys get too close, watching them try to touch what isn’t theirs..." His hands tighten on your hips, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter until your legs instinctively wrap around him. His voice is thick with frustration, with something darker. "It’s been killing me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Something shifts in his expression—hunger, control, a raw, undeniable intensity. He lifts you off the counter effortlessly, pressing you against the bathroom door, his body flush against yours. His lips are on yours again before you can take another breath—this time slower, deeper—like he’s savoring the taste of you. One hand clamps over your mouth, stifling the desperate whine crawling up your throat as he grinds his cock against your soaked panties. The scent of sweat and cheap alcohol clings to the air, but all you can smell is him—dark, musky, intoxicating—as you hear him groan against your ear.

“Been waiting to feel you like this,” he murmurs, teeth scraping your neck. His hand slides from your mouth, trailing down to wrench your dress up your thighs. You gasp, arching as his thumb finds your clit through the damp fabric, rubbing slow, sadistic circles.

“Sugu—ah!—someone could—”

“Let them hear,” he murmurs, sinking to his knees. His tongue replaces his thumb, diligently lapping at you through the lace until you shudder, thighs trembling around his shoulders as you cum for the first time. When he rips your panties aside, his laugh is low, wicked.

“Look at this… cumming for me already.”

He lifts himself back up, two fingers plunge into you without warning, curling hard as his mouth closes over your nipple, sucking greedily through the thin fabric of your dress. Your back arches off the door, a broken moan escaping before his palm slaps over your lips again.

“Quiet,” he orders, fingers pumping faster, deeper, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit with every thrust. “You gonna cum twice before I even fuck you? Pathetic.”

You nod frantically, hips jerking against his hand, but he withdraws abruptly, leaving you empty and shaking. Before you can protest, he spins you around, bending you over the bathroom sink. The mirror rattles as he yanks your hips back, his cock—thick, veins pulsing—slapping against your ass.

“Beg,” he demands, dragging his swollen mushroom head through your slick folds. “Beg me to wreck this tight little cunt.”

“Please—!”

He sheaths himself in one brutal stroke. The stretch burns, and your scream melts into a choked sob against his palm. His hips snap forward, each thrust forcing a wet, filthy squelch from where your bodies join.

“Fuck, fuck—clenching like you wanna milk me dry,” he snarls, fingers bruising your hips as he fucks you harder, faster, the counter creaking beneath you.

When he flips you onto your back on the floor, hiking your legs over his shoulders, you barely recognize your own voice—high, reedy whimpers muffled by his thumb pressing your tongue down. He looms above you, sweat dripping from his bangs as he reenters you with a groan, this angle forcing him deeper, wider.

“Gonna feel me for days,” he promises, one hand squeezing your breast roughly, pinching your nipple until you thrash. “Every time you see my sister… you’ll remember her brother’s cock splitting you open.”

The slap of skin grows obscenely loud, his heavy balls hitting your ass as his pace turns erratic. You feel him swell impossibly thicker, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Take it—take all of it—”

But just as you start to spiral into orgasm, there’s a loud knock at the door.

The handle jiggles.

Both of you freeze.

"Yo, who’s in there?" A voice from the other side slurs drunkenly.

Suguru curses under his breath before pressing his forehead against yours. His grip on you stays firm, unwilling to let go. “Occupied!” he barks, refusing to stop his thrusts, his hand clamping tighter over your mouth as you clench around him, hurtling toward release. The footsteps retreat, and he smirks down at you, eyes even darker with hunger.

“Cum,” he orders. “Now.”

You shatter silently, back bowing into a slutty arch as he spills into you with a sexy, guttural moan, his cum hot and relentless, painting your walls in thick pulses. He keeps moving, milking himself through it until you’re both trembling, a mess of sweat and sticky thighs. The humid air clings to Geto’s long black hair as he looms behind you, strands slipping like silk across your collarbone when he leans down to bite the back of your neck, claiming you.

“You love this, don’t you? I know you love me, you love my dick” he rasps, his voice rough as his hips snap forward, driving his cock deep into you again. The sweat-dampened ends of his hair drag over your nipples with every thrust, the faint swish of strands brushing skin mixing with the wet slap of his balls against your ass. You arch, gasping, but his palm smothers your moan. You retaliate—fisting his hair and yanking his head back, exposing the sharp lines of his throat as he groans, the sound low and feral.

His grip on your mouth loosens, damp hair cascading over your chest as he drops his mouth to your breast, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—a bruise claiming you as his. The sensation of his lips and teeth working your nipple while his hair tickles your sternum pulls a broken whimper from your throat.

“Shhh,” he mocks, blowing cool air over the wet mark he’s left. His hips never slow, each brutal drive of his cock punctuated by the slick squelch of your arousal and the muffled creak of the bathroom sink beneath you. “You’re so fucking loud. Think your friends wanna hear how desperate you are?”

You shake your head frantically, but he only chuckles, the vibration of his laugh humming deliciously against your skin as he adjusts his grip, dragging you into his lap. His length throbs inside you, veins catching on your walls as he changes the angle. His hair falls forward like a curtain around your faces, muffling the world outside as he grips your hips.

“Ride me,” he orders, voice gravelly with desire. “And keep. It. Quiet.”

You roll your hips experimentally, the stretch burning deliciously, and his head tips back with a hissed, “Fuck—” as his hair sweeps over your thighs. The strands cling to your damp skin, dragging wet trails as you rise and fall, the bulbous tip of his cock grinding against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl. One of his hands finds your breasts, kneading roughly, while the other stimulates your clit with every bounce. The dual sensation of his thickness splitting you open and those long, veiny fingers teasing your most sensitive nerves have you clenching around him, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips as your cum leaks past his fingers.

“Greedy little thing,” he growls, suddenly flipping you over the bathroom counter. His hair sweeps over your back as he mounts you from behind, the cool contrast of it against your feverish skin making you shudder. He slams into you with a grunt, his pace erratic now, the wet smack of his pelvis against your ass echoing in time with the bassline shaking the walls outside. His hair falls around you both as he pants filthy praise into your ear:

“Take it—take every inch—shit, your cunt’s sucking me in—”

When he comes, his groan is guttural, primal, his hair sticking to the sweat on your spine as he empties himself inside you, hips stuttering. You feel him pulse inside you as he cums in thick spurts, relentlessly gushing inside your walls until it’s nestled in your cervix, milking himself dry.

As he pulls out, his cum slowly drips onto the bathroom floor in wet plap plap plaps, and the excess remnants of his release make a mess glistening from your cunt to your thighs. “Look at you,” he hums, admiring your shaking body as his finger brushes over your swollen clit. “Your cunt’s already crying for round two.”

[demigods-posts]

headcanon that maybe rachel. a frizzy-haired redhead. never needed a blue plastic hairbrush. maybe she's been eyewitness to so many monsters. that she's just carries it and reassures herself that throwing it will at least confuse a monster long enough for her to run away. maybe she just had a huge collection of blue plastic hair brushes because rich people do weird shit. and she hadn't anticipated actually needing it on the quest through the labyrinth but brought it anyway. and then she encountered an evil titan time lord trapped in the body of guy in his early twenties who was eyeing her friend like a tremebling puppy in a cage and just decided she could afford to buy another one. maybe she's just that girl.

[trauma-bot]

sin eater

[ronnierosest]

HC: the twins notice e/o’s emotions and are less guarded with e/o. A brief moment of unconditional acceptance.

(If blurry click on pic)

[glorf1ndel]

Merry and Pippin may love food, but I firmly believe that it’s Gimli and Gandalf who would go OFF on that vending machine

[revvethasmythh]

"The last thing I want to say: on our journey you kept saying how you and the Mighty Nein were assholes, or not good people. I don't know much, Mr. Caleb, but I know that is not true at all. My blood, the way I look, makes people hate me. They fear me, tried to kill me, call me a monster, a freak. Even the people I try to help sometimes turn on me when they see me for what I am. But when I met you and Jester and the Nein, you didn't do that. You helped me. You made me laugh. You apologized and assured me. You were kind to me. You are not assholes, Mr. Caleb. You're strange and a bit weird. You protect the people you care about. I'd give 1,000 treasures to have people like that in my life. My friend, Magda, tells me that every time I say something bad about myself, I am putting iron weights in my pockets. Sooner or later, you'll drag yourself down and not be able to get up. Be kind to yourself, Mr. Caleb. I don't want your pockets to get too heavy.

Thank you, Calianna"

[bucksboobs]

I need white people in this fandom to understand that stealing Black people’s words and using them wrong is only going to make you sound stupid and not racially enlightened. Eddie becoming more comfortable with cooking and caretaking (as he should as a single dad) is not codeswitching. Code switching is about dialect and manners of speaking. It’s about socialization and how we signal linguistically that we are part of a community. Most importantly though, it’s about race and not gendered behavior or sexuality and if you can’t grasp that ground level concept, you have no business writing meta about how Linda (a Black woman) teaching Eddie (a Latino man) how to cook better is an example of codeswitching.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Killua voice: “Assassin’s my old job. I quit that business.”

Increasingly nervous random person: “O-oh, okay, so what’s your uh… new job?”

Killua: “Gon’s best friend.”

Random person: “…huh?”

Gon: :D

Random person: “I don’t think that really… counts as a job…?”

Killua: “Yeah it does. I work full-time to keep this idiot out of too much trouble.”

Gon: >:(

[nellasbookplanet]

While I think the execution could at times have been better I really enjoyed the imodna arc which, to me, was both verbalized and problematized with the 'maybe it’s our destiny to harness it'/'maybe it’s our destiny to fight it'/'together either way' exchange back during their first kiss. No moment better crystallized their likenesses, but also their differences. They were both lonely figures tempted by dark powers who found a kindred soul in the other but, crucially, their responses were polar opposites. Laudna, with her lack of self-worth and seeing herself as a dead end, was seeking comfort that Imogen wouldn’t judge or hate her when she inevitably gave in. Imogen, meanwhile, was seeking comfort that Laudna understood the temptation and likewise wouldn’t judge, but ultimately had no plans to give in to predathos. She saw the temptation for the self destruction that it was, and as she came to love Laudna she wanted to live. Laudna saw her own survival and happiness as an impossibility, and her love for Imogen became an excuse to embrace self destruction in the name of self sacrifice, not understanding that this harmed not only her but Imogen as well.

This dichotomy became more pronounced throughout, and was in the end something they had to face and grow out of. When it became clear Laudna was barely fighting back against Delilah anymore, endangering both herself and the party, Imogen all but broke up with her. She could not make Laudna see sense, but she could stop enabling her. She could show that, were Laudna to continue in this direction, Imogen would no longer follow. Still love, and never hate or judge, but not follow. Through this, Laudna was forced to see Imogen didn't want her self-sacrifice, but rather for her to allow herself to be a burden, to accept help to deal with Delilah. In the end, she chose not to die for Imogen, but to live for her, allowing herself the vulnerability of seeking happiness and self worth.

Later, Imogen asked if Laudna would be prepared to fight her if she was corrupted, showing she wouldn’t want Laudna to follow her if she ultimately gave in to temptation either. And Laudna does help fight her in the predathos fight, just like Imogen helped fight when Laudna was overtaken by Delilah in Aeor. But that fighting was also what helped them pull the other back out. If they had simply accepted that their loved one gave in to evil temptation for power, they truly would have lost each other. Only by challenging and demanding growth (admittedly mostly from Imogen towards Laudna) could they actually hold true to their promise to be together either way.

[agnesandhilda]

very much a gen z moment on my part but finding out that screensavers were originally meant to prevent still images from being burnt onto idle crt monitors was a lightbulb moment for how I read 3d workers island

[ronanlynchbf]

[elucubrare]

ohhhhh i'm so sorry we're just being mean today but

"man this is the religion where the god of strategy was born by being cut out of zeus's forehead with an axe because he had a headache and they couldn't figure out any other way to fix it i think we're beyond logical explanations"

the goddess of war and craftmanship emerged fully formed from the mind of the god of rulership and wise counsel, freed by the hand of the god of the forge and invention. his head hurt because he is giving birth. this is a "the curtains are blue" level read.

[voidwelt]

within 60 hours of properly getting to know him, welt yang introduced siegfried kaslana to a brand new form of guilt and grief as yet unstudied. which i think is impressive work. i wish i could put this expression on a man's face within 3 days of befriending them

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

this is truly herstory

[etirabys]

I like some colors (the popular ones.) in paintings better than others but it's often tempting to go with a weird palette because if I pull it off, I get the satisfaction of going "wow, I made this weird thing work!" – but then my spouse, validly, will not feel enthusiastic about hanging it up in the house. and it won't sell