#my name is Leroy

[iiseult]

Jerry Pascal x reader: My Name is Leroy (pt. 1)

Note: Truly nobody asked for this but there was zero Jerry x reader content on the internet (prob bc everyone else is NORMAL) so I thought I might contribute. Crossposted on my ao3.

CWs -> AFAB reader, female pronouns, use of Y/N (I know this triggers some of you), smoking, alcohol, cigarettes, descriptions violence (not super graphic but maybe later lol who knows), eventual smut

You knocked on the front door, tapping your foot anxiously against the creaky wooden planks. You had half a mind to double check that you’d gotten the address right– this house seemed awfully big for just two people, especially when their only form of income was working at the shitty gas station at the edge of town. The front porch was long and guarded by a low wooden railing, which was covered in a layer of peeling white paint. There was a bay window with dirty, clouded glass, dainty wooden trim that conjured up images of a gingerbread house, and even a third floor. You couldn’t help but gawk at the facade, your head tilted all the way back in order to see the widow’s watch at the top of the house. You wondered what the place might have looked like in its prime, before it became waterlogged and infested with termites. You were just about to pull out your phone and check the address Jack had sent when the door suddenly swung open, and the man on the other side of it sure wasn’t Jack.

“Well, hello there.”

Tall, but not that tall. Blonde, but not super blonde– maybe closer to brown with blonde highlights. Messy, but not dirty. A friendly smile on his scruffy face. Wearing a shirt that said, “Hello, my name is Leroy, fight me.” Must have been Jack’s roommate, but you were surprised. Jack never mentioned how…kind of hot his roommate was. You tried not to let it show on your face just how caught off-guard you were.

“Hi, I’m here to meet Jack?” you said tentatively, still kinda worried you’d gotten the wrong address, but your doubts were soon put to rest. The man’s smile widened as he looked down at you; he was a good few inches taller. He made a show of checking you out, scanning his eyes down your body and then back up again.

“Well, you’re in the right place! Jack’s inside. Come on in,” he said, moving to the side and gesturing with an open palm for you to step inside. You did, thanking him in the process, taking in your surroundings.

The living room, as big as it was, was kind of barren. There was a big rug in the middle with trippy patterns on it and a futon positioned to face the TV. On the opposite wall was a fireplace, a little wooden side table that looked old enough to crumble into dust, and a lamp casting yellow light around the room. Above the TV, a giant sword was mounted, half-sheathed and glistening coldly. From where you were standing you could just make out the letters “Property Of Jerry” scrawled in messy sharpie on the hilt. The man, who you concluded had to have been Jerry, shut the front door and followed you into the living room.

“Jack’s in the shower right now. He might be a minute,” Jerry explained. You nodded and wandered over to the fireplace, a smile spreading across your face when you noticed what was on the mantle.

“Nice empties collection,” you said, turning back around to face Jerry, who puffed out his chest proudly and ran a hand through his effortlessly-messy-but-still-sexy hair.

“Thanks. Made those puppies all by myself,” he explained. Then he leaned in a bit closer to get a better look at your face. “Wow, you’re, like, a really attractive girl, you know?”

You laughed and couldn’t help but blush, shaking your head a little, holding in the urge to say something stupid, like ‘you, too.’ Instead, you decided on keeping it simple.

“Thanks, you’re sweet.”

Jerry perked up a little more at your laugh, his eyes brightening. He was enjoying the way you reacted; definitely affected by him, but also definitely not shy. He took a step closer, holding out his bigger hand for you to shake.

“You’re very welcome,” he said, his voice dropping slightly lower as he gave you his best supermodel-smolder face, which you had to actively try not to laugh at. “My name is Jerry. Not sure if Jack mentioned me.”

You took his hand and shook it firmly, noticing how nicely it enveloped yours, and grinned.

“Oh yeah, he’s told me plenty. All good things, of course. Mostly,” you said, and he raised an eyebrow, still shaking your hand.

“He did…lowkey, accidentally…tell me the entire story of your involvement in that cult, though,” you added sheepishly. Jerry just laughed loudly and reluctantly let go of your hand.

“Wanna go sit on the couch?”

***

Jerry was about halfway through a story about that time a raccoon gave birth in the storage room of the gas station when Jack finally came rushing down the stairs, the thunder of his footsteps and his loud cry of, “sorry, sorry! I lost track of time,” altering you of his presence. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower and his T-shirt was wrinkled, but his face broke out into a genuine smile as soon as he saw you.

“Jack!”

“Hey, man, join us,” Jerry said, his voice cheerful, “We were just chatting.”

You and Jack hadn’t seen each other in almost a full year, since last summer break when you were on at the gas station as a full-time employee for a few months before you had to go back to school. That had been your gig every summer since your family moved to this town in freshman year of college. Now, you were finishing your fifth– and hopefully final– year of undergrad, back home for a nice, two-week-long spring break. The first thing you did when you got back was shoot Jack a text, asking if he wanted to catch up, and he, just thrilled to even have any form of a social life, of course said yes, inviting you over for dinner.

Dinner meant ordering Chinese takeout, but you weren't complaining, since Jack had already offered to cover the cost. As the two of you ate, Jerry decided to make himself scarce to give you a little privacy, retreating to the backyard to “play with his pile of tin cans.” Jack didn’t ask any questions, so you followed his lead.

After regaling Jack with tales of your busy senior year of college and listening to a few of his wild stories from another year working at the gas station, there was a lull in the conversation. Jack took a sip of his ginger ale. You cleared your throat. Now that your mind wasn’t distracted by other things, it apparently couldn’t help but drift off to thinking about Jerry, and, already being a few beers deep, you couldn’t stop yourself from blurting,

“Your friend Jerry’s kinda hot, man.”

Jack looked up from his soda, his eyebrows raising in surprise. Then he grinned, a hint of mischief in his expression.

“Jerry? You think he’s hot, huh?” he said, his voice laced with amusement. You blushed a little and furrowed your brows.

“Well, what’s the matter with that?”

He held up his hands in a defensive gesture, still grinning.

“Hey, nothing’s the matter, with it. He’s a good-looking guy, I can see why you’d think so.”

You mumbled something about how if Jack knew Jerry was hot, why didn’t he tell you before? But you decided to drop that fruitless line of questioning, instead pushing some noodles around your plate idly, looking down at them as if they had suddenly become interesting. Jack narrowed his eyes at you, his smile fading a little. He could tell that you were more than a little interested in his roommate; maybe even a little flustered, judging by the faint pink color dusting your cheeks.

Finally, You broke the silence.

“So, you think I should say something to him?”

Jack just shrugged, a slightly pained expression taking over his face. Jerry was a great guy and he knew the two of you would probably hit it off, but for some reason the idea didn’t sit well with him. He knew it wasn’t because he didn’t like imagining you with Jerry; it was because he didn’t like imagining you with anyone. He felt strangely protective over you for some odd reason. You were one of his only friends, and definitely the only person that had ever reached out and made an effort to see him. You were fun to spend time with and you never judged him– not too harshly, anyways. And all of those things made him feel kinda good inside, and if you started dating someone, wouldn’t it just be too weird for you to keep hanging out with the creepy, single guy who worked at the gas station?

“I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea. Jerry is, like, a certified disaster,” he said, trying to ignore the spike of guilt that shot through his chest when he saw the way your face fell.

“I get it, I really do. He’s attractive, charming, a goofball,” he continued, waving his can of ginger ale in the air as he talked, “but trust me, he’s a lot more trouble than he’s worth.”

“And how do you know what is and isn’t worth it?” you said back, your expression unreadable now. A flicker of regret flashed across Jack's face. Maybe his words were a little too harsh; Jerry was worth the trouble for some people. He certainly was for Jack. He sighed and vigorously ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m just trying to warn you. He’s really impulsive and…carefree, in a word,” he said, a bit disdainfully, “And between you and me, I think he actually likes getting into trouble.”

You pursed your lips and looked across the room to the back window, through which you could see Jerry hunched over something, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on whatever it was he was doing– presumably playing with his pile of cans. You didn’t say anything else about it to Jack for the rest of the night, and by the time Jerry came back into the house to show off the giant model assault rifle he had constructed out of beer cans and gorilla glue, you had already made up your mind; that man was a disaster whose pants you absolutely needed to get into at least once in your life.

[jalo-parker]

This is actually a cropped version of the drawing but uh more sad and tired hels cause like.. me too

I referenced someone else's drawing for the pose and it ended up looking too similar so I didn't want to post the whole thing :') I (mostly) just cropped my sona out though so dw you aren't missing any helsknight content

[loki-ioki]

i made an edit of Turo for what he looks like after he comes back to life in my verse/AU. Mister Leroy take me awayyy

[roe-and-memory]

if adding facts about the real racer that a character in cars 3 is inspired by was a job i would be absolutely rolling in the dough

[bugwolfsstuff]

I can't wait to do all the silly plots i have for the Demigods get social media fic

Like I still have to do:

Harley doxxes Clarisse's mom and gets: demigod famous, his account banned, Leo fired from the Demitok team and accidentally starts a demigod riot against Nyssa

the Drew, Lacy and Connor sims 4 saga (this one is based off my own greek myth save)

the Grover and Percy ≠ Dionysus x Ampelos post

Percy x Hermes (the Hercules movie version, look at the design and guess why)

The great school escape and Camp Badboys (and girls and theys), coined by Leo

Litterally when the gods show up

When Chiron and the Romans finally get clued in and get an account

and user Concerned citizen as a whole

litterally the Hamilton incident is barely scratching the surface here

[noonmutter]

Best Boy

DWC Feb 2024 Day 4: Vengeance/Satisfaction

Pandaria was already meeting spring with wide open arms, and the cheerful, bright sunlight was almost offensive to Shedwyn's eyes. That wasn't really new, though; everything was almost offensive to Shedwyn's eyes right now. Her fucking husband had gone and got himself fucking titled--legitimately titled, through no effort of his own, the fuckhead--and he had no idea how it'd happened. She had even less idea, and his babbling explanation hadn't made it a whole lot clearer.

The fact that they were shouting at each other about it the whole time probably hadn't helped.

But still.

Fucker.

After they'd gone in circles for about half an hour, and she'd slugged him in the chest a little bit harder than she'd actually meant to, she'd decided it was time for a breather.

"I'm going to Leon's. I need sex in my mouth right now and I don't mean you."

"First of all, fuckin' ew--"

"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT, ASSBAG OF KEEL."

She hadn't realized she'd been growling obscenities, mostly about her husband, out loud until the younger Ambroce whistled at her from his front door.

"Y'gonna keep me in suspense or kin we take this inside?"

"I want to be petulant and snarl some more and maybe blow something up, but I also want pizza, and I know if I do the first thing I won't get the second."

Leon nodded and stepped aside to let her into the house. "Yer becomin' downright self-policin' these days. I'm pretty sure tha's a good thin', but..."

"Shut up and feed me."

"Fine, but this better be good, y' grumpy li'l shit." He adored his sister-in-law, but that also meant he was a lot more willing to be crass with her than most. She was family, ergo she was tough enough to take a little bit of honest ribbing.

"Food then snark. Please. I want to not be the adult right now."

"Fair enough. Does tha' mean I don't get an explanation? Only if tha's th' case, I'm not gonna make yer fav'rite."

"But--"

"Them's th' rules."

Shedwyn sighed. She would kill a man for anchovies, and the man who did the absolute best thing with them was standing right in front of her, and she was a Lady, god dammit, and... She sighed again. She could be polite for a little while.

"All right."

"Attagirl."

"Don't push it, Ambroce."

Laughing, Leon closed the door behind them and fled to the kitchen to get to work. It was a good thing everyone else had left for their own chores for the day, or the complaints would've started within five minutes of the fishy dish going into the oven. For the most part, the house smelled of salt, generic "fish" smell, shrimp, ham, cheese, and tomatoes, but those first two really overpowered the rest. Anchovies were not popular at the restaurant in Stormwind, but the ones who liked them really liked them, as he'd found out, so he kept a small supply at home for emergencies. Emergencies like his little mana-bomb of a sister having a bad day, for example.

They didn't talk about much of anything while he was cooking. Leon was too focused to offer up much of anything without being prompted, and Shedwyn was in no mood to talk like an adult yet. She was in the mood to pout, and scream, and maybe punch Terry again. She'd had to go through so frickin' much to get her own title set down on paper and into the records that mattered; she'd memorized every stupid word of the stupid Doppelganger Decree of 28 and would probably not be able to forget about it for years. And Terry'd gone and fuckin' farted out a dynasty.

Shedwyn Lias-Ambroce was not strictly speaking a jealous woman, but she had limits. It just wasn't fair!

Somewhere amid the interminable brooding, a steaming pizza appeared on the table in front of her, and the clouds parted. Angels didn't sing, because angels sucked and didn't like anchovies, but that was fine. More for her. The first bite was always the best, but the second through sixth bites were pretty damned amazing, too.

Leon was kind enough to wait until she'd torn through two slices before he cleared his throat. When Shedwyn was not immediately forthcoming, he made his point by taking a slice of his own and sitting down. She growled to herself, then picked up a napkin and dabbed at her mouth.

"Your brother got lucky again."

"...Like yer 'avin' another kid, or...?"

This time, the sigh was loud, extremely melodramatic, and seemed almost to propel her backwards to drape over the back of her chair. "Like he didn't end up dead or promoted at the end of the Gilneas campaign, so he fell ass-backwards into a viscountcy instead!"

Leon blinked, then took a bite of his slice. Nope. Still don't like anchovies. "Alright..?"

"All right? Really? That's the first thing you say? Your brother's a goddamn titled, landed Gilnean nobleman out of nowhere! After all the shit I went through to get my shitty little Barony carved out of Duskwood! Not only does he just walk into some office in Stromgarde and walk out with a title, he walks out outranking me! Which I didn't know I would care about until it happened!"

Leon said nothing, simply letting her unload, as was his wont. His neverending patience pissed her off even more, as was her wont.

"I had, and still have, to work my absolute ass off for every single scrap I've ever gotten or ever will get, and then I have to work even more to keep it, and your bullfuckin' Ambroce luck has Terry just survive long enough! What the fuck, Leon?!"

When she stopped to ask him a question, even if it was a rhetorical one, Leon looked up from finishing off his slice. He calmly licked his fingers, then set his elbows on the table. Then, he set his chin on his hands. "Would it 'elp any if I said it wasn't all luck this time?"

"Well of course it wasn't all luck, it takes a shitload of skill to survive the absolute fuckalanche of shit he's been through, but--"

"No, I mean it was me."

That stopped the little mage mid-rant. "What was you?"

"Th' Gilnean Repatriation Initiative sent out letters somethin' like a month ago. I got one, you prolly got one tha' got tossed out, knowin' 'ow you an' Terry feel about anythin' bearin' th' royal seal of anywhere."

Shedwyn gaped.

Leon continued, "I'm just as much a Gilnean as 'e is, but I've my life 'ere, an' I very much like it. An' really, goin' 'ome does not bring 'appy mem'ries t' th' fore. Maybe I coulda got th' ranch back, but... gods, I don't want it. But I know Terry does. An' anybody 'o'd met th' man fer five minutes knew 'e'd go back t' Gilneas th' instant th' call went out. So I sent a reply with a couple suggestions."

Shedwyn's hair was starting to crackle like one of those globe toys that made lightning strike where your fingertips touched them.

Leon, undeterred, picked up the pizza plate and walked it back into the kitchen.

"My brother is a turd, a recoverin' racist, an' more than a bit of a jackass. But 'e's also an extremely patriotic, loyal man when 'e wants t' be. Tha's admirable as 'ell! Downright noble, even. Apparently they agreed, eh?"

The chair clattered to the floor as Shedwyn stood up, both hands up in front of her, grasping at the air in a strangling motions.

"You- you-"

"Feel free t' tell 'im Leroy says congratulations." He turned and stared her straight in the eye, even as they crackled with arcane lightning. "Elroy does, too."

Later on, Shedwyn would say the only reason Leon survived that meeting was because she didn't want to destroy the house, his spouses didn't deserve that.

Mostly it was because everytime she'd try to gather up the energy to cast something, he'd headbutt her, and she was too stubborn to dodge.

( @daily-writing-challenge @shedwyn )

[robbiefischer]

My neighbor decorated their giant skeleton for Christmas and I'm utterly delighted.

[satanstruemistress]

[seedlessmuffins]

im sorry, griezmann is the same age as neymar? that is fake! griezmann is 26 actually!!

[plantswithhands]

Spring is Sproinging!

[oblivioustoast]

work dog!!!!!

[jalo-parker]

I love making self indulgent art..

I am going to draw them together more it is inevitable

[shaniacsboogara]

little lizard man oc from two years ago coming back to haunt me was NOT what i expected to happen tonight

[aaamike]

THE MOTHERFUCKING GRANDMASTER OF DRIP

[spyral-out-keep-going]

They showed up this morning, no mama around. We fed them and gave them water and they’ve hung out all day. Even sticking around when our dog came out to sniff them (& tried to play). I think these 2 stray kittens adopted us.

[depressedstressedlemonzest]

Ouch.