#ol tennis ball head

[cementforourteeth]

[szasfuckingwife]

CHALLENGER

GOJO SATORU X FEM!READER X GETO SUGURU

SYNOPSIS: YOU ARE KNOWN FOR YOUR BIGGEST TALENT. AND WHEN SAID TALENT IS HITTING A BALL WITH A RACKET, HOW CAN YOU STOP THE EYES OF TOKYO’S STRONGEST COMPETITORS?

WARNINGS: Nothing but some good ol’ smut

A/N: Nothing, jus go watch challengers that shit was amazing

Gojo Satoru who can’t stop gushing to his best friend Suguru about the girl he saw at the Shibuya Open. It was evident that you hitting that tennis ball with such vigour replayed in his head over and over again.

Except, his friend didn’t get the hype. I mean, he saw your sponsorships and saw that you were good. But never understood the hype. Until, he saw you play in person.

Both of the boys were starstruck on how much stamina you had, how passionate you were, and how short your shorts were. Geto and Gojo had the pleasure of fixating their gaze on you whilst everyone craned their neck to watch each opponent. And even though they missed how the other challenger played, they didn’t care.

They were looking at you.

Whilst you’re more focused on your ability to play, you notice that Gojo is a decent player. It’s clear he loves tennis. He’s fit, strong, good looking and knows how to make you smile, which is not a must but a plus for you. If it’s opening doors or getting you chocolates, Satoru is the man.

However, Geto is much more deeper than that. There’s something missing, something that you seem yo be missing too, that is inside him. When he loses a set, it’s explosive and dramatic. Like you.

From a wide perspective, Satoru would be the obvious match. After feeling insecure in how you played, not only did Satoru take you out for dinner, but his lips pressed against yours so softly.

He guided you to his bedroom and stripped you down slowly whilst not looking away from your eyes. Knuckles turn white as you grip the headboard, realising Satoru’s tongue may have more things to offer than just sweet words.

That night was passionate and, just as if you were on the court, you both took your time and concentrated on the pleasure that came with such an activity. Satoru’s veiny hands explored your body with such precision, you felt like prey under his touch. But you wouldn’t physically allow Gojo to overpower you, you were the better player by no doubt.

His cerulean eyes widened as you made your way on top of him and began to ride him. The whimpers of your friend only motivated you to continue, milking every last drop.

The days after you and Satoru’s intimate night was awkward. Geto knew you fucked, it was clear as day. The lingering stares, the less frequent hang outs, Satoru’s cheeks blushing whenever you walked in the room.

It was obvious Satoru had some feelings towards you, and Suguru wanted that too.

Never-mind being friends since they were in diapers, Gojo was taking the one thing Geto had— or did he?

One night, the pair had an argument. Sure it was about ‘Satoru stealing Suguru’s lucky socks and not giving it back. But you knew better. Outside their hotel room, you heard everything.

“Face it, Suguru, this is more than just a silly sock. It’s because you’re jealous~!” Suguru’s eye tweaked as he heard Satoru’s tease him. “You’re mad that she picked me and not you! Admit it.”

The dark haired man stayed silent for a while before speaking, “Whatever she did with you, she was thinking of me. She wants me.”

A smirk adorned your face as you heard your two boys talk about you in such a passionate way. They were both pining for you. And maybe Suguru was right when he said you were thinking about him when you were fucking Gojo, could you not have your cake and eat it too?

You decide it’s time to knock on the door and end this, stupid but weirdly flattering, argument.

Both of the boys stop in their track as they hear three knocks come from the door, instantly racing to clean the room. When they deemed the room clean, it was now a matter of who’d open the door for you. Face value, it was a simple task but q task that both of them took with great seriousness.

Just as quick as they cleaned the room, they both raced to the door, Geto being a smidge faster.

“Hey..!” They both said in unison as you stood, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“Hi.” You responded. You walked in without getting invited, something the boys were accustomed to the more they knew you.

They watched as you sat on a seat, “You want a drink?”, Gojo spoke up, “Beer?”

You shrug and almost instantaneously, Geto was in front of you with a can of beer in hand.

“Why are you guys acting so weird…?” A chuckle leaves your mouth as you open the can. They both look at each other before Satoru responds.

“So, Suguru is mad because I may have, accidentally, used his lucky socks for my set last night-”

“Lucky socks my ass! You’re just mad because you know that Y/N is into me.” Suguru smirks earning another chuckle from you. Satoru’s eyes flick between you and Suguru with a slight frown.

He shakes his head, “It’s not even like that!”

You turn your head to him and raise a brow, “What’s it like then, Satoru?”

He remains silent for a while. Probably weighing his choices, does he leave the situation alone and appear weak in front of the girl he likes or does he fight back against Suguru? “He’s jealous we fucked.”

Suguru booming laugh echoes throughout the room. He was taking it seriously, however the pathetic way in which Satoru spoke humoured him. “Listen to this guy, Y/N…I mean seriously. I wouldn’t be jealous of another man for sleeping with a woman. A woman isn’t just her body.”

Ironically, you were just your body. For tennis, that was all you relied on. Your agile glides against your half of the tennis court, your mobility, your cadence. Without your amazing body, you wouldn’t be able to do what you love.

“Suguru.” You interrupted the bickering.

He looked at you.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

The question caused both of them to choke on their own breaths. You’ve always been known for having no filter, but the natural way you spoke of having sex was a shock for the two boys.

“Y/N, stop messing aro-” “I’ll let you.” You expose your magazine front cover smile, playfully giggling at their reaction.

“You’d let me?” Suguru began to grin before he was struck on the back of his head by Satoru’s hand.

You giggle again, “I’d let both of you. C’mon…pleasure me…”

Both boys watch as your hand travels up Suguru’s thigh, achingly close to his crotch. His breath hitches as he takes in the feeling of you kissing his neck.

But suddenly, like a lost puppy, Satoru kisses your neck in hopes you wouldn’t forget him. And you don’t. You turn your head with a smile and a gasp, letting him continue to kiss your neck.

And then, another pair of lips are on your neck. You hold their heads as both of them now hungrily kiss your neck.

“Can we…touch you..?” Satoru says in between kisses. You eagerly nod before you feel hands on your thigh. Geto’s hand cupped your breast whilst his friend’s fingers rubbed against the outside of your panties.

You tried to his your smile with a bite of your lip but you can’t help it. Your boys were being so good to you, and treating you so well. To reward them, your hands were back on both of their, now hard, crotches. They gasped and moaned as you rubbed the outline of their cocks so nicely.

“Take off your shorts…” You whisper and they immediately did what you said. As they sat with their cocks out, they watched you kneel before them, smiling so innocently at them. You were a tease.

Slowly, you began to stroke both of their cocks simultaneously. Seeing as he never felt your touch before, Suguru threw his head back in ecstasy. The white haired boy, however, spat down at his cock, encouraging you to go faster.

“You like that, Satoru? Hm?” You smirk up at him. He nods absentmindedly, too caught up in the feeling to properly communicate. Another giggle leaves your lips as you turn to face Suguru, “How about you, pretty boy?”

Suguru hums in response, “Mmhmm…Yeah…it’s good…”

The boys moans rose in frequency and pitch, the pleasure of feeling their friend’s hand wrapped around them felt too good. But you knew better than to let them cum this early, you removed your hands. Both of them responded in a sour face, a whine even left Satoru’s mouth.

“Satoru, you stand there, Suguru, you can get on the bed…” You say whilst stripping yourself down. “After this, you better win that fucking challenger..”

[lesservillain]

an on the outside story.

summary: a new edition to the family

“Too nice?” 

You raise a confused brow as you read the little info card on the outside of the kennel. The name “Killer” had caught your attention as you approached the barred door. When you saw the dog itself a chill ran down your spine.

This dog looked big. Like it could rip the head off of anyone for looking at it wrong. It sat quietly, the only dog not barking amongst those at the shelter. His eyes were on what you thought was you at first. But when you shuffled over slightly, you realize he’s looking right at Eddie, who stands behind you with a grin.

“Oh, yeah,” the kennel girl chimes in, “Killer’s owner wanted him to be their guard dog, did all the training and whatnot. But they said that he didn’t listen to them and was too nice, not the right fit for a guard dog. So they dumped him here with us.”

“Can we see him?” Eddie asks, a glint in his eyes as he approaches the kennel.

You whip your head around, looking at him incredulously. “What?”

“Yeah of course!” The girl seems excited that Eddie was interested in the dog. “He’s really such a sweetheart. And a huuuuge cuddle bug.”

“It’s name is Killer,” you whisper anxiously to Eddie, but he ignores you. You grab his hand, squeezing it nervously.

The girl goes to open the door, and you start to tense up. The dog watches quietly, eyes still set on Eddie. You feel nervous, afraid of what this dog might do to your fiancé if he gets the chance to. 

But, once the door to the kennel finally opens, its whole personality flips. Suddenly he’s tapping his feet and jumping around playfully as the kennel girl greets him. When she waves for you to come in, Eddie’s hand slips from yours and he takes a step in. 

“Hey there, buddy,” he says in that chipper tone people talk to animals with, “Aren’t you just a handsome man.” Killer gets excited, turning in a circle and giving a deep bark. Eddie kneels down to his level, giving him head scritches and ear rubs. “All big and scary on the outside, but you’re just a big ol’ softie, aren’t cha.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” you say sarcastically, taking a cautious step into the kennel. You crouch down next to Eddie and Killer just about loses his mind when he starts getting attention from two people at once. He flops over on his belly, letting you scratch while Eddie pats him on the chest, playing him like a drum.

The three of you play for a while in his kennel. The way Killer carries his toys so very softly in his mouth makes you giggle. You also learn quickly that tennis balls make him lose his shit after taking him out to his run.

When the kennel assistant comes to check on you, you and Eddie look at each other. “Can we get some adoption papers?”

On the way home, Eddie wants to stop at the pet store. Killer came with a spiked collar and chain leash but you decided to leave them behind, opting to use one of the leads given by the shelter. Killer didn’t pull at all, but Eddie wanted to start running with him the next morning, so a proper collar and leash were needed.

“He’d been cooped up in that kennel for how long? Yeah, trust me babe, I know that feeling. He’s gonna love running, aren’t cha, Bud?” Eddie reaches into the back seat where Killer pants happily, patting him on the head. You’re glad you put a blanket down with how much he’s drooling back there. 

Once inside, you pick out a nice leather lounging collar for the house, and Eddie picks out a good harness for him when you’re out and about. The both of you take Killer down the toy isle and let him pick out some toys, and he goes absolutely bananas as he tries to fit as many toys in his mouth as he can. 

When you get to the checkout area, you stop when you see the tag machine. “We should probably get him one of those in case he gets out. Like put his name and our address on it.” Eddie agrees, the three of you standing in front of the machine. Looking through the options, you decide the classic bone shape is the best, and all that's left is to input the name. 

Neither of you moves, looking at the little keyboard as it waits for your input. You look over at Killer, then to Eddie, who seems to have the same thought as you. 

“Okay so what are we going to call him then?” You laugh. 

“Uh, what about…Rex?” 

“Rex,” you scrunch up your nose, “he’s not a Rex. Right buddy?” 

Killer’s ears perk up as you talk to him, almost dropping the duck toy from his mouth. 

“Fine, you got any ideas?” He crossed his arms. 

“Hmmmmmm,” you place a hand on either side of Killer’s big head and peer into his eyes. You rub his ears as you think, feeling the density of his noggin in your palms as you look him over. A smile makes it way on your lips, and you look at Eddie matter- of-factly. 

“His name is Bear,” you say, standing up straight, facing Eddie. 

“Bear?” 

“Yep, he told me.” 

Eddie looks down to now Bear, stares at him for a moment, and then nods his head. “Yeah, his name is Bear.”

And Bear has no issues when you bring him home. He really was well behaved, knowing a lot of tricks and commands, including bumping his nose on the back door to tell you to let him out. Eddie even played fetch with him while you cooked dinner.

When Wayne stopped by to drop something off, Bear was instantly on him, begging for attention. Wayne was pulling his old grumpy man act, but you saw him give bear some ear scritches when he thought no one was looking.

 As soon as its time for bed, Bear gets comfy at the end of your bed on his new dog bed. You’re under the covers as you watch Eddie bend down and talk to Bear. 

“Goodnight, Bear. I’m sorry you had to be locked up for so long. Your new mommy knows how to make a guy feel at home, though, so I think you’ll be just fine.”

[greghatecrimes]

Visual: Kutner bringing a cuddly toy to work (a Pikachu, other Pokemon, just a good ol' animal plush, whatev) and when House has his epiphany in the office with everyone around this time, the camera cuts to Kutner in his chair making his plushie's paws clap in celebration

THIS IS SO CUTE. I'm imagining a whole scenario for it now. Kutner brings it in because their patient of the week is a kid who loves pokemon, and they bond over it and it gets the kid to trust Kutner. Thus they can do what they need to do to figure out what's wrong and diagnose him. Then it starts living on one of the bookshelves in the outer office for "moral support" during cases.

Kutner fidgets with it during ddxes. Sometimes Thirteen will take it off the shelf and have it on the table in front of her or in her lap during a ddx so she can stim by petting the soft fabric. Sometimes it sits in Foreman's lap because Kutner thought it would look hilarious, and Foreman just lets it sit there every time, absolutely nonplussed. Sometimes he strokes it like you'd pet a cat sitting in your lap. Taub just goes along with all of it. And most hilariously of all, when House's giant tennis ball is in his office with the door shut, he reaches out and plucks the pokemon away from whoever's holding it and starts tossing it back and forth between his hands, and then throws it back when it's helped enough to give him at least one new idea/theory.

Also, House probably tosses it back and forth between himself and the ducklings like a "you can only talk if you're holding the pokemon, no stupid ideas allowed" at least once during a ddx. And if he's holding the pokemon when someone comes into the office (Wilson, Chase, Cuddy, Cameron) it 100% gets chucked at their head with a sheepish little "oops"

[shelandsorcery]

some left-handed gouache studies from the past week, after taking a couple months off thanks to the arm surgery and a deep fear that being bad at it would take all the fun out of it for me. painted on 12x16 paper, so I can get less mad about my wobbly left hand and focus more on larger marks and color and composition. good news! I'm not quite as bad at it as I had worried I would be, and it is mostly still very fun. bad news: not being able to draw a straight line continues to be a legit problem.

I don't know if this arm recovery stuff is interesting to anybody besides myself, but not talking about it would make me crazy, so allow me to update you on all of the weird side effects of being able to partially but largely mostly not use my dominant hand:

- as expected, I continue to attempt to use my dominant hand for things despite the fact that it: cannot hold any weight, it cannot get my fingers out of the way when I go to grab something, portions of the back of my hand and fingers are completely numb and don't notice when they bump against things, and despite the fact that I get weird nerve pain if I attempt to manipulate anything smaller than a tennis ball for any length of time

- I am most likely to thoughtlessly switch to my dominant hand in the middle of drawing or painting, in the middle of brushing my teeth, and while eating. apparently these are the three things I do where I get into a flow state.

- I am starting to confuse right and left, not so much as absolute directions, but as used to determine which way to tighten or loosen the lid on a jar or similar rotational acts that it turns out I absolutely do not have a logical structure for solving for anymore.

- I am starting to think of using my dominant hand for any purpose as "cheating", which is definitely counterproductive, but that's the ol' internalized ableism for you.

- I am more convinced than ever that our entire society has been designed to be subtly infuriating to deal with using your left hand, and there is no way anyone who is left hand dominant needs to hear my opinions on the matter, but wow. gosh. geeze.

- I oscillate wildly between being deeply deeply grateful for adaptive tools and being deeply deeply angry about their limits. again, there is nobody out there who has been using any of these adaptive tools for more than 2 months who needs to hear my thoughts on the matter, so this message is just for able-bodied people: you cannot call a tool a successful replacement for abled usage methods if it does not allow self-determination in how you use it. Microsoft, I'm looking at you and the many useful swearwords you censor when i try using your speech to text tools.

I do still really love painting, and drawing, and writing, even though they are all now very much new challenges all over again. I suspect mostly I'm just speed running the same experience many people will go through as they age of having to modify and realign their approach to their usual modes of expression and interaction and creation, which is something people have been doing for as long as society has existed, which just means I'm going to be better at it, obviously, thanks to getting this Head start

and maybe a year from now I will have the ability to hold things in my dominant right hand for more than 30 seconds, and definitely a year from now I will have a lot more precise control over my left hand, so I guess there's lots to look forward to 👍

in the meantime I will continue to paint my favorite things!

[l1ghtbulb]

me me!! im interested in bday hcs!!!

alrighty! let's start off with the good ol beefy die s1 cast:

blocky: march 16th

bubble: april 8th

coiny: november 29th?

eraser: february 3rd

firey: september 13th

flower: august 24th

golf ball: october 27th

ice cube: january 2nd

leafy: july 26th (canon)

match: june 9th

needle: december 17th

pen + pencil: may 15th (haha twin hc)

pin: february 22nd

rocky: march 7th

snowball: december 30th

spongey: august 4th

teardrop: april 18th

tennis ball: september 6th

woody: november 14th

some of these feel ooc to me and were made at the top of my head sorry 😞

[fandomregression]

perhaps some petre Gunpowder Tim headcanons? Maybe? I’m so insane about him he’s such a little guy

take my hand. we shall be insane together

Pet Regressor Gunpowder Tim Headcanons!

okay, step one. puppy. hims just a silly puppy with a lot of energy

of course tim has basically acquired any and all gear that he could possibly want considering he's in space and has been for who knows how long. he has his favorite ears (the ones i posted before bc those adorable) and a tail to match. he's got a dark blue collar with stars all over it and a lil bone-shaped tag that just says "gunner" on it

tim also loves collecting puppy toys, so he has so many rope toys, so many tennis balls, stuffies, squeaker toys, whatever he can get his hands on. jonny hates this

jonny has threatened many times to disembowel tim's squeaker toys and steal the squeakers, but tim knows he's full of shit. he squeaks his toys even louder just to annoy jonny

i know it can be a little ehhhh in some circles, but i think he'd have a crate. a big crate that he stuffs with a heating mat, a bunch of blankets, those old padded crib guards, etc. he puts string lights along the top, and then he covers the crate with another blanket. sometimes if everything is just too overwhelming and terrible, tim will just crawl into his puppy crate and shut the door as a sign to not bother him

puppy time is one if the few times that they can get fruit or veggies in him. it's easy to say things like "well puppies LOVE blueberries!! it's a treat!!!" and trick him a lil bit into eating healthy stuff

marius even hides meds for him in peanut butter. this amuses him to no end that it WORKS

tim has gotten hold of his guns approx. 3 times while he's been a puppy, and all 3 times resulted in him getting chased around the ship by his crewmates with them fussing for him to drop them. the chaos just makes him wanna do it again but his efforts are always thwarted

jonny is still his main cg i cannot let that go its too cute to me. he cannot fight it when he just has a big ol puppy boy plop down on him and demand cuddles

they don't use a leash on him that would feel weird, and tim has just flat-out said no, but they do have a harness! like a kid harness, it even has a plush puppy on the back of it. they put it on him when they leave the ship just because if he sees a bird or bug he WILL run after it

he still uses a paci sometimes when he's a pup, and he has a clip for it that attaches to his collar so he never loses it (he still loses it sometimes)

world class champion barker right there he can bark. he can yap. he can howl if he so desires. the possibilities are endless and jonny is endlessly holding his head in his hands

do NOT give him a bath he will lose his mind (this is a lie. please give him a bath he's rolled around in mud. no one knows where the mud came from)

[alteregozowie]

“You’re not… a project.” He’s offended and annoyed. But mostly he’s worried about Alastor believing the yellow tennis ball sore loser. He shifts awkwardly in front of Alastor and shakes his head. “I was trying to be your friend?” That shouldn’t come out as a question. He WAS trying to be Alastor’s friend. “And you seemed sad. I liked your smile when it was real, so I thought telling you would cheer you up.”

"Don't you worry about a thing, dear," he said with a huff. "He's just jealous of my unwavering charisma- that big ole loud homing pigeon!"

Alastor laughed at his own joke, giving Michael a sly grin, and a wink.

"Besides, I wouldn't have let you get so close if I didn't find you quite charming yourself!"

Not only does Alastor love the attention, he appreciated the perceptiveness. Not many people can read the Radio Demon like that, and he finds that intriguing.

[tdciago]

Fargo: Drums and (T)Ennis?

There is a piece of music on the season 5 soundtrack called "Drums and Tennis" that plays during the scene when "Mama Munch" gets home from her beer run and discovers Ole Munch in an upstairs bedroom, where he declares that he lives HERE...NOW.

She watches tennis on TV, which seems like an odd choice, but then you begin to notice the echoes of the scenes surrounding Ennis Stussy's murder in season 3. Ennis was mistaken for Emmit, and now we have another character playing out a similar scenario, as though a substitute for Ennis.

Ennis and Mama Munch are both elderly alcoholics watching TV in their living rooms, with beer at hand.

Gloria Burgle and Mama Munch both hear a sound from above.

They both head upstairs to investigate the noise.

Both women walk down a dark hallway.

In each case, a man is discovered sitting in a chair, his arms resting on the arms of the chair. Though this discovery happens at a different point for each woman, the creepiness is a common element.

It's interesting that Emmit Stussy, the intended victim in season 3, talks about his dad and tennis in his confession to Gloria.

EMMIT: He played tennis...Our dad. At his club, rain or shine, every Saturday...I was on the drive, you know, throwing a ball against the house, a tennis ball.

[josouhenshin]

Day 4

Last post Index Next post

Welcome back, aspiring nee-sans and baa-sans. Last time, Shina went out in girl mode for the first time, and she and Mizuho got a lead on a part time job that was only kind of sketchy. This time, they head off to the local tennis courts to investigate whether it’s possible for the girlies to be tomboys too.

By the way, did you know that the japanese word for ‘tuesday,’ kayoubi, is spelled with the character for fire? This is of course representative of the burning passion of tomboys across the globe. 

This time we’re starting off with good ol BGM 02

“I’ve never come here, even as a boy,” Shina thinks to herself. She’s been dragged here by Mizuho, the perpetual sporty one.

It’s not just about the tennis itself, of course. Mizuho brought along some tenniswear to play with. Shina says she would have thought it impossible, but Mizuho assures her:

“What’s impossible? You’re a girl right now!” She continues, “you gotta wear a skort!”

They get changed. 

“This is really short... is it okay to move?” Shina wonders.

“It’s cute, Shinobu, I might end up seeing your panties,” Mizuho remarks. 

Shina tells her to cut it out, and Mizuho assures her it’ll be fine since she’s wearing a skort and not a regular skirt. If you think about it, the skort is the substrate modern tomboyism is built upon. Well, that and bike shorts. Shina complains that it’s embarrassing. But Mizuho is a girl of action and wants to get started doing tennis already.

They do so. Mizuho asks how Shina is doing, since she’s barely moving her legs. Shina reiterates that it’s embarrassing to wear a super short skirt. “And anyway,” she thinks, “what am I supposed to do against a well rounded athlete like Mizuki??”

“Come on Shinobu!” Mizuho shouts, “if you’re gonna squirm around that much, the spectators are gonna leer at you~! If you act too embarrassed it’ll end up being a turn-on!”

Shina protests, but Mizuho just reiterates that she’s a girl right?

Mizuho: “If you’re too focused on onlookers and something gets going down there or whatever... we can’t have that, right?”

Shina: “But you’re the one making me think about them!”

Mizuho: heheh, I ended up teasing you.”

Mizuho continues, “you’re just too cute not to. Okay! Here comes the next ball!”

Shina groans.

Those two. The scene fades out and they’re on to the next day. 

There’s quite a few options we have open from here- the amusement park and the french restaurant are still open, and we opened up the cafe subplot, another town event, and the at home marker too... the world is so much busier when you’re a girl huh? I’m not sure where we’re going next, but idk if I want to leave it up to a poll this time... I’ll probably mess around with some different combinations of things and see what looks like good routing. 

Until next time, star athletes <3

Last post Index Next post

[musekicker]

It's not much really, but a fun little Ella and @whack-patty oc, Sneep Snorp interaction.

Another day at the New Moon theater. Sneep Snorp had arrived early enough that not everyone was here yet. He knew someone was here though as the front door was unlocked. Granted, someone could had always broken in and left the door unlocked after-

Oh, that would be a interesting detail he could put in a future book. For now, he was fairly certain there was no break in and murder going on. He was heading towards Buster's office when a sudden movement dropped inches in front of him, nearly even hitting his beak.

He was not proud of the squawk he let out at the movement. Thankfully he stopped in time to avoid walking right into the object, dropping his notebook and pen from the sudden stop. Now that the bird was still as well as the object, he could focus on what he was looking at.

It was a puppet of himself in front of him. The coloring of the puppet felt was uncannily close to his own feather coloring. The clothes looked very close to something he had worn in the past in the theater, though not quite exact. One could tell the clothes were handmade puppet clothes. 

The beak was long, maybe a bit too long Sneep Snorp thought to himself. And the eyes were big. He was pretty sure the eyes were made of halves of table tennis balls.

Now looking up he saw the puppeteer behind the puppet.

"Hello there, Ella. When did you make this?" Sneep Snorp asked Ella.

Sneep Snorp even now wasn't quite sure what to make of Ella. She was nice enough, though clearly came with her own brand of mischief. Very talented in her art of puppetry and making the puppets.

There were however also the warnings the crew gave him about her time to time. Mainly in the vein of don't try to start a fight with Ella, ever. And often the words "I'm glad she's on our side" had been uttered when talking about Ella.

And he wasn't sure where he stood with the female koala. She hadn't ignored him and was nice to him. But since their meeting it seemed like she was in her own little world. Sneep Snorp did know a creative haze when he saw it. So he had though that the explanation. Now seeing the puppet of himself, it was clear that was the case.

"I've been working on it on and off since you showed up." Ella said. "Obviously the actual show puppets came first. But yeah, finished this last night. What do you think?"

Sneep Snorp looked at the puppet again.

"It's looks pretty much on the mark." Sneep Snorp said. "But...my eyes aren't that big are they?" 

Before Ella could answer, Buster arrived from his office.

"I heard yelling, what- oh Sneep Snorp you're here! And I see you met Ella's newest puppet." Buster said.

"You knew about this?" Sneep Snorp asked.

"Only since this morning when Ella showed me." Buster said.

Ella was copying Sneep Snorp's current standing stance with the puppet. Buster tried not to make his smile too easy to spot but it was hard. And when Sneep Snorp turned to face the puppet again the puppet seemed inert, hanging from it's strings

"Can you tell me something, my eyes aren't that big right?" Sneep Snorp asked.

"Well, had to bring out the big ol eyes." Ella said.

Sneep Snorp wasn't sure he liked that. And he was about to let Ella know that when the puppet's head jerked up and was just about right in Sneep Snorp's face. The Sneep Snorp puppet was leaning in a bit too close for Sneep Snorp's liking. And with how the head of he puppet tilted just in just the right way Sneep Snorp would do himself when really looking at something, he was more then a little creeped out.

"I think I've seen enough." Sneep Snorp said in a small voice.

"Okay, okay, backing off." Ella said, pulling the puppet back.

She glanced down to the puppet.

"Don't worry Sneep Snorp the second, I still care about you." she told the puppet.

"I think she has far too much power." Sneep Snorp said to Buster.

"That's our Ella. A force of nature." Buster said.

Ella grinned at that, making the Sneep Snorp puppet nod in agreement.

[unhingedselfships]

5, 10, 13 :)

This got stupidly long. Sorry?

5. Does their existence make any major changes to the 'canon' story? Minor ones?

She inherently causes small tweaks simply by existing. You're throwing a whole new character, how ever minor, into the story.

With Daigo, its pretty consistent she keeps Mine alive.

Majima, I tend to default to the Y0 version, and she makes some changes here and there, not really altering things in a significant way, but making the road just a little smoother.

With Akiyama, honestly we probably see the fewest changes, but thats subject to change.

Kiryu, she honestly doesn't do much for him specifically, but she provides a much stronger support to the kids and Haruka, and absolutely goes over Kiryu's head when it comes to the orphanage.

When she flies solo, the options are nigh endless, from doing nothing but adding fun substory hijinks, to completely rewriting storylines in ways that make exactly no sense. (so yanno, perf for RGG lmlfao)

10. Who do they get along with? How close are they?

Her most notable non-romantic connections off the top of my head :

Nishikiyama : Makes the least sense from a narrative stand point, so I just ignore that part. She does the "talk-no-jutsu" in her own clunky way, and its basically just a big ol' rant about how he's been treated and it turns out basic respect and decency go a long way with him. She has no fear, she can get catty and snippy with him. And it works. She treats him like a person, an equal. They're "bitchy besties".

Saejima : She just kinda dubs him "bro" and refuses to let go. He accepts it. Ends up fairly protective of her. There might be some "lost a sibling" trauma bonding happening here.

Hana : It starts with Kimi just being generally helpful in ways Aki slacks on. Despite being just as lazy (read ; depressed) she feels bad about Hana's work load, so picks up where she can. Particularly in sorting and organization. The build a bond over time and "girls days out" become routine. (on Aki's dime ofc)

Mine : I love how complicated these two are. Calling them frenemies usually works. He loves and hates her in equal measure for her connection to Daigo. Hates that its her and not him, but Daigo is happy, and he can't hate that. When she isn't with Daigo romantically, they estabilish a friendship relatively similar to the one she has with Nishiki.

Nishida : Kimi just low key adores this dude. He's so reliable and he ends up something of a 'neutral party confidant' for her. She tries to make his life dealing with Maji easier where she can. Usually by distracting the man in question.

13. Do they have a fave 'mini game' activity?

There are so many mini games in this franchise. Lets get into a few more.

Poker/Black Jack/Roulette/Etc She doesn't hate card games, but they bore her fairly quickly and she's not very good at them.

Batting Cages She gets hit with the ball more often than she hits it. She tries but after a few bruises whoever she's with hauls her out.

Mahjong and Shogi Will try, and then get completely lost when people try to explain either one. "I'm too dumb for this, sorry"

Bowling, Pool/Billiards, and Table Tennis She is absolutely atrocious at both of these, however unlike the other games she's bad at, she has a ton of fun with them.

Pocket Circut She likes it, and she likes the tinkering, but she doesn't get super into it. She prefers to support someone else doing it, rather than participate herself.

Dancing/Disco Kimi can keep a beat pretty well, she has rhythm, but she's uncordinated as hell. She sticks to swaying happily off to the side. (she gets wigglier the drunker she is)

Darts She has piss poor hand-eye coordination, which makes her being pretty good at darts a surprise. She enjoys it, and gets smug when she does well.

Fishing Is the most tedious boring thing, and she hates it. (loves fishing mini games in video games though!)

MesuKing She finds it silly, and doesn't really play, but enjoys collecting things so she has a huge collection of cards just sitting around.

Karaoke She can actually sing pretty well. If she could stop crying. She has crippling stage fright and performance anxiety so its a no-go. She does enjoy tagging along to cheer people on though.

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[wornoutmouse]

May I request Ogun with a Black shy female reader doing a training session that leads to a little bit more 🙈

Anon please

You’re a second-generation pyrokinetic (Like Joker and Maki). Idk why but I made up in my head that you have flint-bottomed tap-dancing shoes that briefly light when you scrape your feet against the floor…..so that’s where you get your fire from 🤣🤣🤣

This one is a bit longer than normal cause i gotta build the tension

I am terrible at action scenes bruh

Chug- lift heels, slide forward, and then drop the heels at the end of the slide forwards

“Hey, Y/n!” You look up from the bland mashed potatoes and corn Company 5 had prepared. It was a hot Sunday morning and your partner in crime was as excited as ever. He stood a few feet away at the back entrance in the cafeteria. Cocking a thumb behind him, he dawns a toothy grin. “Want to play a quick game?” The game Ogun hinted at was one you were quite familiar with and one you should have known he would ask you to participate in today. “Fine, but don’t cry when I win.” You scoop another spoonful of corn before tossing your tray away for recycling. You’d need all your strength cause Ogun never lost without asking for back-to-back redos.

.You didn’t quite understand the need to be sweaty all the time, but always gave in to his whims

Ogun preferred to train in the field where the sun shined the most throughout the day at the far left of the Company. Often as you went on throughout your day-to-day training, you’d spot Ogun doing laps and practicing his attacks throughout the day.

“I’m feeling fired up today Y/n, you might want to be worried.” You close your eyes as you stretched an arm over your chest. You had yet to lose but you knew Ogun only saw that as a personal goal to get past. “Let’s get this over with, I’m tired.” The smell of smoke enters your nostrils giving you enough time to dodge Oguns boosted attack. “I told you about letting yourself known Mr. Montgomery.” You open your eyes, Oguns skin was lit ablaze with his pyrokinetic abilities.

From afar you’ve always admired the swirls that decorated his skin whenever you got amped up, and this time was no different. “I see you’re already using “Flaming Ink” what, you already scared?” Ogun widened his stance, glowing white eyes watching you shift your feet. “I’ve been working on a new move that I want to show you so why don’t you try your little fire trick.”

Curious, you scuff your shoe on the floor and draw your fire...only the fire doesn’t come. You do it again and the light goes out just as quick as it came. “What did you do?” You narrowed your eyes at Ogun. “Oh nothing, I’m just faster than you now.” You take a few steps back, “Oh that’s how you want to play it? Okay!” You take off running at the very edge of the field and Ogun is fast behind you. Internally you admit that he had gotten much faster, but a simple fact as that wasn’t going to make you lose.

Doing your best to maintain speed, you chug and draw the flames close to your chest out of Montgomery’s line of sight. It was small, mostly snuffed by the kick of your legs as you ran but it was big enough to get the job done. Similar to Ogun in his natural state, you too could throw projectiles just not as damage-inducing.

Turning around as you run, your eyes widen when Ogun appears just inches in front of you, “Surprise!” Your flame is snuffed and you tumble bringing Montgomery down with you. You prepare to feel your body be crushed by his muscled one but at the last minute your shoulders are grabbed and you flip again. The change in elevation causes you to lose a bit of focus, but you can still clearly feel Ogun cushion your fall.

“Oh wow, this looks like something out of an anime.” Ogun laughs when he finds himself lying flat on his back, you positioned comfortably on top of him. The position was completely ridiculous with your thighs straddling his stomach but you were thankful that you wouldn’t be in any sort of pain later.

“Looks like I’ll need to train harder huh?” You playfully punch Ogun’s shoulder. Even though the whole ordeal only lasted 6 minutes, you could feel your back drenched with sweat. While you couldn’t wait to get in the shower, Ogun seemed content with being in a salty state. “You’re dripping all over me you know?” Your head immediately snapped down to look at Ogun with wide eyes, “Excuse me?”

Ogun had a neutral look on his face not hinting at any humor behind his words. “You’re sweating really bad. Did little ole me get you all worked up?” He had to be teasing you at this point, but you couldn’t find a single crack in his facade. “Yeah well, maybe if you didn’t choose this big ass field with no trees I wouldn’t be 2 seconds from passing out.” You stand up, a bit wobbly, and help him up. “I’m going to go shower, you can stay out here if you want to.”

Ogun happily joins you on the way to the showers. You could hear his excitement from finally beating you. “Don’t get cocky, it was a one-time occurrence Ogun.” An arm is slung over your shoulder. In a smug tone, Ogun mocks you, “Don’t be mad cause you lost. You’ve had enough time to be cocky on your own terms.” You gasp mockingly before turning your head to spit back a remark but lose your breath from how close his face is to yours. At such close proximity, you become aware of small details. How his skin shinned in the sunlight, how Oguns eyes contained such a very specific hue of orange that they mimicked the fire of Sol almost precisely. You even wouldn’t be surprised if they would burn to the touch.

“What’s the matter, got nothing to say?” Out of instinct, you shove his head away with so much force he goes flying before landing on his ass. Before any questions are asked you deflect, “Gross I got your B.O all on my shoulders.” From behind Ogun scoffs, “How dare you, any other fine lady would be blessed to be near my manly musk.” Stifling a laugh you utter one final tease before slipping into the girl’s shower, “Yeah, manly must.”

It was endless labor as your captain followed you around, blowing that damn whistle. Given laundry duty, you had to take multiple shifts back and forth throughout each level of the building to collect everyone’s clothing. When you came across Ogun’s level your job was hindered as you were forced to wait as he sifts through his piles of dirty laundry, “Trush me Y/n, there’s a shirt that I accidentally put in here but it’s actually clean.” “Ogun if it’s in the dirty clothes then it’s dirty.” You try to haul his stuff out but he stops you. “I swear if you don’t move I’ll burn your stuff.”

Ogun chuckles, “You burn my clothes and it’ll catch your clothing as well.” Ogun reaches inside the pile you held pulling out a blank white T-shirt that looked annoyingly similar to the 12 other T-shirts you had watched him toss to the side. “Unless of course, you’re trying to go streaking which by all means I encourage you to.” You ignore his joke and pretend it doesn’t strike a certain feeling in your gut.

For your next task, you had to prepare different levels of activities for a group of 5th graders coming to the company the next day. Of course, Ogun would be assigned to the same task as well so while you worked diligently to bring equipment from the storage room, Ogun spent his time using each of the items incorrectly. “Please stop bouncing the footballs with the tennis racket before you get hurt.” Ogun ignored you as he dribbled with the racket. “Don’t be mad cause you’re not as creative as me.”

Well, as you predicted Ogun ends up getting punted in the face when he tries to toss the football in the hoop. Even though the sound it made on impact was loud and hollow, Ogun barely flinches when it ricochets. “Wow you seem pretty experienced with getting hit in the face with balls, you barely moved.” Ogun glared as he watched you pick up the football. Absentmindedly you spin the football as you speak, “You know if I didn’t know any bet-” Your speech is gargled when your mouth becomes stuffed.

While you weren’t watching Ogun through a basketball at your hand making you push the end of the football in your mouth. “Wow you seem pretty experienced with balls in your mouth, you gotta show me some time.” You cradle your mouth, it throbbed with dull pain and resentment filled your mind. “I’m sure it’ll be easy, there aren’t going to be too many inches stopping me.”

At this point, both your nerves are on high alert, and the energy in the air shifts from playful to angry. “Oh yeah?” Ogun walks slowly and calmly towards you, raising a brow when you stumble back yet still maintain your glare. The hand cradling your jaw is held tightly in his grasp, “Would you like to try?” The dare only eggs you on, “You won’t last a second.” The faint twitch of his temple lets you know you hit a nerve.

*Wheeeeze*

Both you and Ogun’s heads snap to the left. Pan stood at the gym doorway arms waving and whistle blowing, a clear attempt at reprimanding your laziness. The playful aura comes back and you and Ogun are subjected to extra work for your negligence. “This is your fault you know.” he shoots back, “I don’t want to hear it Montgomery.”

Ogun walked down the hallway in search of a new victim to torture, so it was only pure convenience when he stumbled near your living quarters and caught you just before you walked inside. “Y/n! You were absent for dinner.” You take one look at him before dashing into your room. All you wanted was to sleep, training with Ogun, and then having to complete your own set of chores plus extra was tiering. So seeing Ogun wandering out and about during the late hours only met trouble.

You jolt from your train of thought as your door is banged on. “Go away Montgomery, I’m trying to sleep.” Ogun whined, “Well you weren’t trying too hard cause you weren’t in your room yet, now let me in.” You kicked the door back, “No, now go away!”

No sound is heard, not even a shuffle. Sighing you walk towards your bed with a content smile, you’d apologize to him later but now it was your time for rest. Heavy wind billowed through your opened window making you shiver as the curtains tickle your skin. The sharp coolness made your teeth rattle but it was just the right amount of cool you needed in order to head off quickly to dream land. Turning the dial of your lamp, your room is shrouded in darkness and you climb underneath the covers. Nothing could stop the relaxation you were about to receive…….nothing but the feeling of “something ain’t right.”

Opening your eyes and expecting the worse, you are then greeted with the worst as the same fiery eyes you admired hours before, hovered above your face. “You should really close your window.” You scream and throw a punch in Oguns direction but it is in vain as he catches it and pins it down. “I should really get you back for doing that earlier.” Ogun doesn’t make any move to let you go or even speak again. “How the hell did you get there so fast?” You are unable to look away from his eyes, nothing else would have mattered anyway.

More wind blows through your curtains. “I told you I’ve gotten faster.” You can feel his breath caressing your cheek the closer he gets to your face. The hand wrapped around your wrist tightens despite your body being slackened. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah”

No one knows who moved first. All you know is that your pajamas were being ripped off of your body as Ogun aggressively devoured your lips. Tossing everything to the ground, Ogun sits above you, with his shirt was off, you are given the liberty to admire his chiseled body. Ogun makes quick work with fingering you open, watching with a toothy grin as your chest shakes and your breath stutters. “Not talking much now are you?” He doesn’t care if you respond, all he cares about is wearing you down. You pull him closer, nails dragging down his back, as your orgasm overwhelms you. “Ogun!” Your legs are hiked up and over his shoulders as he positions below you.

“Good job, I don’t want to hear anything else but my name.” The stretch was burning and filled you tightly. “How many inches you think that is?” You weakly slap Ogun’s arm as he weakly ruts into you before pulling out completely, “S-Stop making fun of me.” “ Aww, but it’s fun!” Ogun is slow and precise as he mashes his hips forward. There is no hesitation and the pace stays at a fluid toe-curling pressure. “You’re so silent now Y/n. Tell me, how does it feel, huh?” Your back raises from off the bed, “It...good-I oh god!”

The simple fact that you couldn’t speak sent tremors to Oguns cock. He wanted to tease you more, make you break. Your pussy was wet and sopping for him and not even Sol could make him stop fucking you, not when you looked so beautiful underneath him. But a mischievous streak doesn’t go away that easy.

Leaning back on his haunches, you are put back on top of Ogun, the same position you were in when on the feild. He doesn’t move and just looks at you, “What are, what are you doing?” You try to bounce but he holds you down making you pulse around him. “Please let me move.” But he doesn’t, the only movement you get is when you’re held down harder on his cock. “How many inches Y/n?” You shrug, “I don’t freaking know like 5 or something!?” You just wanted to cum not answer a random questionnaire.

Ogun uses his strength to lift you up and slam you back down. “Wrong, try again.” It takes a moment for you to catch the breath that got knocked out at the second stroke. “Do you really want me to stroke your stupid ego, fine 8inches!” You are slammed down again and this time it hits a special spot just short of your G. “Wrong again, don’t be a smart ass Y/n” He rubbed your side. “Come on, play my game for a little bit, don’t you want to cum on my dick?” Oguns hands squeeze your breasts, thumbs rotating the dark circles of your areolas leaving your nipples to tingle in need.

“Si-Six damn it! It has to be like 6.” your answer is mumbled but is loud enough to satisfy Ogun. As if you weighed nothing less than a piece of paper, Ogun uses his thighs to bounce you on his cock. Your chest bounces in his face taking his immature mind to cloud nine. He could feel the tell tell sign of his own orgasms cumming, as your ass slammed down on his shaft. “Stop squeezing down so damn hard!”

Being the person you are, you don’t listen even after you feel Ogun spill inside of you. “Oh fuck!” You rearrange your own legs and start bouncing at your own pace. The tight grip on your waist means nothing as you chase your second cumming. “Hurry up you little shit my balls are burning!” Ogun tossed his head back as his mouth releases cracked moans. His cock continued to twitch as it became softer but still stimulated. Soon, Ogun couldn’t take the stimuli anymore and pushes you down on the bed. The feeling of his fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy was a little less satisfying than his cock but you cream around it just as easily.

You lay down giggling while Ogun goes in and out of sleep. “I was right, you didn’t last a second.” “Shut the hell up, you’re like a vice.” Your sweaty state somehow doesn’t bother you as you rest in the afterglow. Your blinds continue to shimmer as the wind continues to blow. “Five and a half.” The numbers mean nothing to your muddled brain, “What?” Ogun looks at you, “5 and a half inches is the correct answer but I appreciate the 6.”

Suddenly the glow was no longer worth it.

[kdinjenzen]

so we know you're very into robin hood lore, are you into arthurian legend at all?

Shocking absolutely no one, yes I absolutely am.

However my dedication to *clears throat* “Good Ol Arthur” is drastically less so than my adoration of the sassy weirdo who lives in the woods with a bunch of other, absolutely queer in various ways, folks.

Like, yeah, the Arthurian legends are FUN, and the characters are well documented which is WONDERFUL, and there’s a lot of influence that the legends have put into other fantasy series which is a testament to its staying power but...

*tosses tennis balls at Arthur’s head* I just cannot get that deeply attached to the romanticization and glorification of royalty... can’t imagine why.

I mean unless in said stories the royalty use their power to actually dismantle the whole concept of a “royal family” and the monarchy as a whole... and NO we will not be putting capitalism in its place thankyouverymuch.

Still, if you ask me if I actually ENJOY Arthurian legend, I will 100% say yes and then begin to wax poetic about how Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot were TOTALLY a thing.

Lancelot was his FAVORITE KNIGHT and Guinevere fancied the hell out of him too... and well... they were the KING AND QUEEN, if they said “Do Not Ask Questions As To Why Lancelot Was Naked With Us In Our Bed Chambers” no one would even think to mention it again lest they forget who they were addressing when bringing up these events.

I just thing Guinevere deserves two very loving and caring himbos doting on her, is that really a crime?

[silky-moon]

This road trip a mess- my dad drives like as if he a Mario kart character

Also tf @fvcking-l0rd kaisaki?? Rlly 😒 I radiate that tennis ball head energy?? Tf

Mad fuckinf offended- then audacity of this child

@sscarchiyo @p-ol