#jenga makes junk

[innuendostudios]

New video essay! On the Reverse Gish Gallop - how conservatives can ignore 90% of your argument and still appear to be winning.

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Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, you’re watching a political debate on TV. The conservative candidate has used their opening arguments to dump a truckload of dubious claims on their opponent. You recognize this maneuver: that’s the Gish Gallop! The debater makes point after dubious point, and, if the other debater doesn’t rebut every single one, they will appear to have lost the argument. These points don’t have to be good or hard to disprove, there just has to be a lot of them.

Oh, but what’s this? The liberal candidate seems to have come prepared! That’s new! They succinctly and efficiently dismantle each of their opponent’s arguments, offering a clear rebuttal to every single one. It’s obviously not the first time they’ve heard this particular gallop. So, the conservative’s petard has just fully hoisted them. [“What a hoisting!”] They’ve just lost their own game and have to go on the defensive… right?

Turns out, no! The conservative points to a minor error - maybe the liberal said their program would cost $40 million but is actually estimated to cost 43 - and treats them as an ignorant sap who can’t even count correctly. That is now the subject, everything else has been forgotten, and the liberal is backpedaling.

Wait, you exclaim, how does that work?! The liberal has to rebut each and every point but the conservative takes issue with one and stays in the driver’s seat? Are audiences fooled by this? Are liberals that easily snookered? The answer may shock you!

You’ve just borne witness to The Reverse Gish Gallop, where an entire argument falls apart if any of it can be disputed. These disputes, again, don’t have to be good, they just have to call the airtightness of the argument into question.

A good example is how conservatives obsess over gaffes. (Which, fuckin’... really guys?? [W, Trump]) Some Democrat will be all “conservatives want to shut down post offices as a form of vote suppression; they’re pushing voter ID laws and the post office is where many people get IDs; also we are relying more and more heavily on mail-in voting; they overwhelmingly try to shut down offices in Black and Latine neighborhoods; a lot of services like healthcare and courts still use physical mail by default and there can be serious consequences to getting it late; many elderly people still don’t use email, and, hey, maybe some of them like getting junk mail” “AH BA BA BA THAT’S IT THAT’S YOUR WHOLE LIFE NOW FOR THE REST OF YOUR CAREER YOU’RE THE ASSHOLE WHO SAID OLD PEOPLE LIKE JUNK MAIL.”

Your mistake was assuming that dishonest people abide by the same rules they impose on everyone else. When I was a teenager, some friends of the family would invite me along when they asked my parents to dinner, because I would play with their five-year-old and let the grown-ups chat in peace. And he’d make up games where we’d bat a balloon back and forth or whatever, and change the rules on the fly when it suited him. Because the rule wasn’t actually “you can only touch the balloon once per turn;” the rule was “Andrew wins.”

The purpose of a Gish Gallop is to establish a narrative not through argument or logic but force and volume. Once established, it takes a lot less effort for them to maintain than for you to establish a new one. If they shake confidence in your argument, the audience will often revert to the previous argument, whether or not that one was ever proven. It’s a not about which story is true, it’s about who sets the parameters for all stories going forward; who got there first. This is not a debate; this is a Zerg Rush. Understand: a dishonest argument is Lego - you haven’t dismantled it until every brick is separated. But an honest rebuttal? An honest rebuttal is Jenga.

#video essay #alt-right playbook #Youtube

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I mentioned Chica having a 'true' personality before and didn't elaborate on that did I? Well...

The true personality is formed as the animatronic in question (the animal ones at least) find a balance between their two programmed personalities that works for them. From there, it develops and grows as they do, and over time, it usually contradicts both sides of that programming more and more.

For example, Roxy is programmed to be a feminine hair stylist, but over time, she tries as much as she can to present more masculinely while gradually losing interest in fancy hair techniques. She wants to give little kids cool hairstyles, yeah, but often times neither she nor the child have the patience to sit through the process that long. The hairdressing thing has just gotten a bit boring to her after a year or two of running the salon and she wants to try new things, which she's not programmed to do. The hairdressing has been put on the backburner of her mind for her while Fazbear Ent still sell it as one of her biggest interests

Monty is programmed to love golf but after doing the same golf course for ten plus years, he's bored man. Instead, he likes stacking the golf clubs like a giant jenga tower and building his own little golf courses with playing cards, a cup and whatever random junk he can find. He's only supposed to like the official golf course, but its more fun to make his own little card castles and to glue cardboard into hazards and what not to play around.

Like, their true personality is who they really are after all the programming contradictions and faults, and it's something they grow into over time. When they're introduced to the public, they usually have a small part of that already that's been created from the result of all the contradictions and what they've learned so far.

So when Freddy and Monty made their debuts, Freddy had learned to stay in his lane and a balance between his extroverted character and his introverted bear side that worked for him, while Monty had learned to avoid what will break him and a partial balance of being a loud character and a chill alligator. These things aren't programmed into them, they're what's come about simply be existing and learning by themselves and that's what their true personality is.

#fnaf security breach #at least this is how I'm framing it in my AUs and shit #there's a moment for all of them where they start to act outside of their programming but I haven't decided what it is for everyone yet #I'd call it an 'awakening' of sorts but its more like how a bunch of people I know have this one moment in the childhood #where their memory just seems to begin for some reason #like yeah you know things from before then but that's just like #when the switch is flipped and you're suddenly a person #does that make sense? #I hope so #but its definitely a thing #anyway that's my thoughts on this enjoy

[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S06E01 The old soft curved padlock.

Series Six! It takes a lot of criticism and I will confess, it's not my favorite. That said, I do like all the individual members of the cast even if they don't coalesce in the best way.

Predictions? I kind of think I'm going to have Liza winning it. There were many times I thought "that was the only inspired attempt" with her. Russell seemed competetive, so I think he'll probably be the runner up and I'd put Asim last . . . because I'm legitimately shocked Alice came in last originally.

Welp, enough exposition. Let's crack on.

Prize Task: Best Liquid

Start at the beginning, everyone loves cough mixture.

I'll admit, I'm struggling with this one. Part of me thinks Liza just brought in a water bottle. The story was good enough that I think she can land in third. Asim's peanut vape juice is a joke, but it's also a terrible liquid so he's getting last. I think Brut for Men is underrated but I also cannot justify it doing better than Liza's water. Tim probably put more thought into Fizzy Benylin than Alice did into blood. So this is a long-winded way of saying that Greg got it mostly right.

Alice: 4 (0) Asim: 1 (0) Liza: 3 (0) Russell: 2 (+1) Tim: 5 (0)

VT 01: Perform the best stunt using this wheelbarrow.

I just wanted to stick things on a wheelbarrow.

Alice is the clear winner here. Greg also has the right two in last, though I think he ultimately got the order wrong. Asim, at least, did something. Honestly, kind of the same thing as Russell even if Russell looked a lot cooler doing it. Tim let Alex pelt him and I think two points was very generous. I actually constantly forget what Liza did here and she's lucky to get three because Asim's and Tim's are so bad.

I feel like I don't need to explain why Russell's was good? You just watch it and think "that's cool."

Alice: 5 (0) Asim: 2 (+1) Liza: 3 (0) Russell: 4 (0) Tim: 1 (-1)

VT 02: Make the highest tower using only what's in the bowl. You may wield the knife a maximum of 5 times.

It's like vegan Jenga. Isn't all Jenga vegan?

Alice found the toothpicks. The two questions are what constitutes wielding a knife and what was going on with Russell's tower. As for the former, I'm of the opinion that wielding describes a session of use. That would mean that no one can be disqualified in this task on that condition.

The exception is Alice, who runs out of the room and grabs a different knife in an attempt at a workaround. The task states that you're only allowed to use what is in the bowl. It provides an exception for the knife on the table. The second knife Alice uses was neither in the bowl nor had an exception provided for it, so she's disqualified.

I don't think it's the right move to measure Russell's tower diagonally, but it still looked taller than Liza's, so it doesn't change the scores.

Alice: DQ (-4) Asim: 2 (+1) Liza: 4 (+1) Russell: 5 (0) Tim: 3 (+1)

VT 03: Wearing a hat, kiss the portrait of the Taskmaster in the Taskmaster's House. The hat must not come from the grounds of the Taskmaster's house. Closest to 30 minutes wins.

It's not Narnia is it?

There's only one subjective element to this task and that's whether what everyone was wearing constituted "a hat." Liza wears a turban and most definitions that I find of it describe it as "headwear," not a hat. I'm still willing to give it to her because it does look like something she may have purchased.

Asim puts a hat together from a ball and a cone. I think he has to take a disqualification here since he literally has to hold it together on his head so it doesn't fall apart. That's just random junk in my book.

Tim, Alice, and Russell all borrowed actual hats from strangers.

Alice: 5 (0) Asim: DQ (-1) Liza: 3 (0) Russell: 4 (0) Tim: 2 (0)

Live Task: Sort the objects under the table in order of size. You must keep your elbows on the table top and your head in your hands at all times. The smallest object should be on your right, the largest on your left, and they must all be in a line under your table. Also, there must be no fruit in your line-up. If there is any fruit left under your table, you will be disqualified.

Ring your agent.

Assuming the yogurt is plain vanilla, the disqualification fruits are the banana, satsuma, and pineapple. Russell's head briefly comes out of his hands, but Alex is quick to correct it so I don't think disqualification is merited.

Tim and Alice have fruit, so they're disqualified. Ultimately this one was correctly graded in studio.

Alice: DQ Asim: 4 Liza: 5 Russell: 5 Tim: DQ

F I N A L

Alice: 14 (-4) Asim: 9 (+1) Liza: 18 (+1) Russell: 20 (+2) Tim: 11 (0)

Wins are going to be tough to come by for Alice especially since I'm removing one here for my harsh interpretation of the lemon task. Russell picks up the extra win.

#taskmaster #tm regrade #alice levine #asim chaudhry #liza tarbuck #russell howard #tim vine

[arizonaconservativegal]

It's almost as if no political movement has goals anymore, rendering them completely pointless. The left and the right are closer than you think. In fact, they are deliberately working together to create a culture war to keep us distracted. That is why neither of them will ever be successful and why it's best if people stop playing this pointless game.

I hear this a lot from people who mostly just want to justify their own apathy. I gotta push back.

Have both parties failed to do anything meaningful while one or the other of them have full control of a state or federal government? You betcha. Have they also completely failed to work across the aisle when control is divided? Damn straight. But the reason isn't that they're colluding to make things worse or keep us distracted, as you say. The reason is real simple: they just don't want to do the work.

Not because then they'd lose a critical campaign talking point and not because they have lobbyists/donors in their ear telling them not to and not because they actually think it's cool that we have all these problems. They don't want to do it because it's a lot harder to actually fix shit than you think it is.

It's a little bit like cleaning out a hoarder's house. The mess is so overwhelming that you don't even know where to start with it. Yeah, the answer is to get rid of the junk but everything looks like junk when you have a mess this big and some of it is probably not stuff you want to throw away, like the resident's family photo albums or their favorite winter coat. You have to go through it all and figure out what's worth keeping and what's not but there's so. much. stuff.

So you decide that you are going to start by just throwing away all the newspapers that have accumulated over the last 60 years because how could anyone possibly need these? But then you realize that there are newspapers in every room of the house. There are newspapers under the bed. There are newspapers in the attic. There's a fucking newspaper in the refrigerator. Every time you think you've gotten them all, you turn around and see another. You could do this for a month and never finish clearing out just the newspapers, let alone anything else.

So you say forget the newspapers. Let's just work on one room at a time. The living room seems like a good place to start. There are stacks and stacks of junk in there that you can just go through one by one. Except that when you start doing that, you realize that half the house is a fucking jenga tower and if you touch anything this stack, it's going to topple three other 10 foot stacks of stuff and quite possibly crush you underneath it.

Eventually you just get frustrated because you've been working for a week and made no discernible progress. You've thrown out a metric fuckton of junk but there was so much of it to begin with that no one can tell anything is different at all. Meanwhile, the resident of the house has been screaming and crying the entire time because they don't want you to throw away that and no, no please don't get rid of this. You're exhausted and stressed out and then on day 8 the resident gleefully announces they bought more stuff!

At a certain point, you decide it's easier to just live with the mess and one day maybe someone will burn the house down for you and you can just collect the insurance money and start over.

So yeah, sure we can look at an issue from the outside - say deficit spending - and know that the answer is to spend less money. Duh. But when you start to actually look at the federal budget, it's massive and complicated and it's all patchwork and cobbled together haphazardly so every piece of it is interconnected and you can't do anything about this program until you get rid of that program and these programs should probably just be combined but they're in two different branches of government so where are you going to put the new one? And no one really wants to be the guy who tells an entire office full of decent people that they're getting laid off because their program is a waste of time and even if you did want to do that, they're going to pitch a fit and slam you in the press who will obviously take their side and then their union is going to campaign against you and maybe cutting that program just isn't worth the effort. And this all assumes too that the people we're electing even know how to read the budget, which they do not.

Is anyone ever going to fix this whole mess? Probably not. But the people we elect are the ones who decide if we keep making the problem worse or if we put the brakes on. And once in a while you even get a candidate who's willing to knock over the jenga tower in the living room so they can at least get one part of the house back to a functional state.

#in case it wasn't obvious - cleaning out my grandmother's house was great fun #0/10 do not recommend

[jengajives]

I never thought I’d see the day I wrote a modern silm au but here we are

“Mags, if you don’t want me to meet your parents, you can just say that.”

Immediately Maglor tore his eyes from the road to gawk at Daeron. There was a panic in his mannerisms that was mildly disturbing, for someone so normally collected.

“I didn’t say that! Did I say that?”

“No, babe. You didn’t say that.” Daeron sat back to signal he was at ease, and Maglor at the road again, which was good because Daeron didn’t feel like dying because his stupid boyfriend had stopped paying attention to where he was driving. Once he was certain Maglor had settled in again, he went on in a calm, approachable voice. “It’s just that you’ve been acting... nervous, and if dinner is freaking you out, then I don’t want to make you do it.”

“Dinner is not freaking me out!” Maglor said insistently. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the road for a second time, thankfully, but his grip on the wheel had grown just a bit tighter. Daeron could see the knuckles flushing.

“Mags. Have you told them I’m-“

“They won’t care that you’re Sindar!” Maglor rushed out loudly. Daeron sat in silence for a moment before finishing his sentence.

“- a man?”

A long pause. The car window rattled slightly in its frame. Sugary, meaningless pop mumbled from the radio, barely even audible over the rush of the air conditioning. Neither of them said a word.

Finally Maglor managed a weak splutter.

“A man, right, yeah. Yeah, they’ll know. They know I’m not interested in ladies, so I’m pretty sure they won’t be surprised to see you.”

“Maglor...”

“Of course they wouldn’t be. Most of the family is gay, and they can’t be surprised anymore after whatever the fuck was going on with Celegorm and Oromë.”

“Maglor.”

“They’ll probably be relieved, actually. You’re one of the more normal guys to come to dinner. Probably the most normal guy.”

“Maglor,” Daeron said, the gentleness removed forcefully from his voice. “Are your parents going to care that I’m Sindar?”

“No!” Maglor rapidly shook his head. “Of course not! I mean, my mom definitely won’t, and Dad might ask you some awkward questions, but he means well, and it’s not like he’s-“

“Are we going to be speaking Quenya at dinner?” Daeron went on. Somehow he managed to sound even more flat. “Because I haven’t brushed up on Quenya in a while.”

“Come on, Dae, they aren’t assholes. They’ll use Sindarin. It’s only polite and they can all handle it just fine.”

“So you don’t want me to meet your parents because I’m Sindar.”

“No!” Again, Maglor looked away from the road, and this time Daeron was annoyed enough to snap at him for it. There was a silence for a few moments as Maglor stared wide-eyed through the windshield and tried not to look like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“Daeron, I want you to meet my parents.”

“Do you actually?”

“I’m taking you, aren’t I?”

Defensive. Maglor always got touchy around the subject of family; Daeron didn’t get it. Benefit of never having one, he guessed.

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to get snappy.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m ashamed of you or something!” Maglor cried. He got all stiff and twitchy when he was upset. Normally, Daeron would find it cute, but at the moment he couldn’t muster the willpower to do anything but look straight ahead with a humorless scowl.

“I am not ashamed of you!” Maglor insisted. “My family is just weird! My dad is bonkers, and my brothers are out of control, and every single dinner we have is such a complete disaster, I feel bad leading you into it! That’s why I’ve been weird about it, okay? It’s not you, it’s them.“

Daeron rubbed his temples, reminding himself to try and understand before he got angry again. He took a moment to breathe before he picked his words. “Babe, I know your family is weird. I’ve met Maedhros.”

“No, Daeron, you don’t get it.” Maglor looked into his eyes with something disturbingly akin to terror. “Mae is the normal one.”

And for some reason that filled Daeron with such a deep dread he almost buckled and asked Maglor to turn the car around.

But there was a part of him that was so morbidly curious, he knew he couldn’t just stop here. It was like the compulsion to watch some horrible car accident; he simply had to see the Fëanorians in action.

If he had to break up with his boyfriend at the end of the night, so be it.

#jenga makes junk #fic #maglor #daeron #maglor x daeron #daemags #modern au #haunted by the thought of bringing my partner to family dinners #they put the fun in dysfunctional

[phoenix-manga]

How would are the first years with Posie? I assume Jack gets along with her great since he has a little sister too 💖💖

Ace

He gets told off by a kid for teasing Grimm in the first meeting. But she grew on him, he'd throw hands with anyone who makes her cry.... the first one happened to be Pre-overblot Riddle... Posie is easy to impress with card tricks

Deuce

He is the mother hen, he's never had siblings or looked after kids before but he was debating whether he wanted to be a cop or a father. Mama bear Deuce!

Jack

Is a kid expert due to him having siblings. He'd let Posie pet his tail and He'd carry her around if she seems tired from walking. Best big brother 👌

Epel

They seem like complete opposites, Epel only knows how to play energetic games like tag and tree climbing. Posie is more indoor games kind of kid. He'd probably settle with Jenga or even snakes and ladders. It gives him an excuse to munch on junk food without Vil knowing.

Sebek

Imagine the first years had to shut him up like the dwarves did with sneezy. He's loudness can scare Posie! It'd probably take a while for him to get along since Mr. Sweets already deems him a threat due to his volume. But maybe with a little assistance from Lilia or Malleus. He'll see that Posie is rather timid but pleasant and behaved.

#ask #preschool trainer AU #pokemon x twisted wonderland #twst x pokemon

[baka-monarch]

Little Bitch Gremlin

Wilbur sighed as he cut off the last block of a tree. He had about a stack of wood now after hours of chopping, and was ready to start collecting what the leaves drop. He raised his axe when he was interrupted by a ping on his communicator.

Technoblade: Where are you

Technoblade: Phil's been trying to message you about dinner

Wilbur chuckled at the message from the man he considered a brother. He knew Techno felt the same familial bond with all of them even if he'd never call Phil Dad or Wil his twin, Wilbur knew the piglin felt the same.

WilburSoot: I have him muted

Technoblade: Why

WilburSoot: It gets annoying to get worried messages every second

Technoblade: Well you better hurry back because I think he's preparing to kill you

The human smiled at the messages before pocketing his communicator. He put his axe away in his inventory and let out a little stretch, laughing to himself at the face his Dad must've had when they saw his messages on Techno's communicator. Oh he was definitely dead when he got home, that was for sure.

With one final look around the forest, Wilbur was off on the short journey home. As he walked he took his time, deciding on a leisurely stroll back so he could enjoy the scenery, see the sunset, look at some animals- and most importantly, be as slow as possible to annoy his dad even more. Most would say that it was a fool's folly to purposely anger The Angle of Death, but this was Wilbur Fish Fucking Soot, he chose making the gods angry as a past time like how one would purposely push over a game of jenga- he did not fear the consiquinses of being annoying…. Plus Phil was his dad anyways, so he probably still wouldn't be killed…

Probably.

Wilbur was about halfway home when he heard a weird noise. It was like some kind of garbling- like if a person tried to giggle and talk nonsense at the same time? Okay, he didn't know how to describe it. Either way, the human walked over to where the noise was coming from, curious as to what in the world could make such a sound. As he got closer to a rather large puddle of mud, he could hear his father's voice in his mind scolding him for following strange noises when they could be a mob, or worse, a person wanting to kill him for items. He ignored this voice however as his eyes lit up at the sight of what was in the mud.

Wilbur gasped and awed as he saw a little puppy splashing around and making those little adorable garbled noises. It was completely covered in mud so he could only really see it's bright blue eyes that were the cutest things he'd ever seen in his life.

"Aw, aren't you just the cutest thing" Wilbur scooped the puppy up out of the mud as he cooed at it.

"Aba?" The puppy made the little noise as it tilted it's head, confused as to what was happening, but the action only made Wilbur awe more.

"I'm taking you home, I'm sure the others would love you-" Wil cut himself off as he hesitated to hug the dog close to his chest. The human cringed as he remembered that the puppy was completely covered in mud. "And to give you a bath, blegh, fucking gross…" he mumbled as he hesitantly hugged the dog to his chest, he obviously wanted to have a good hold on the dog so he wouldn't drop it, but it was at the cost of his favorite yellow sweater.

"Buba" Was the dog's only response to what Wilbur was doing as it wiggled in the human's grip. Wilbur cringed more as the dog's movements got more mud on him.

"No- shit- FUCK!" Wilbur changed his grip to be hugging the dog tightly against his chest, which stopped the wiggling, but now his arms had mud on them… "you're a fucking bitch, y'know that?" The puppy only giggled making Wilbur sigh.

With one last shift of his grip to make sure his puppy was secure, Wilbur was begrudgingly off again on his walk home- but much faster this time, wanting to get there before the mud could stain his sweater.

•••

"Dad!! I'm home!!" Wilbur yelled as he pushed through the door using his hip, as his hands were still occupied keeping this chaotic bumbling puppy from jumping away.

"It's about time-" Philza walked out from a side room with a stern look on his face "what took you so long, Wilbur I swear…." The dad trailed off as his eyes landed on the squirming thing in his son's arms.

"I found a puppy!!" The boy exclaimed happily while trying to stop the dog from putting a mud covered paw in it's mouth to eat the goop.

"Well, uhm-" Phil was at a loss for words at first. Of all the things for Wil to bring home he hadn't expected a mud covered puppy. Maybe Techno, but he never thought Wilbur would want a dog. "We'll go clean it up and give me your sweater before it gets stained…" The son was quick to nod happily before rushing off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving his dad standing there completely dumbfounded.

Wilbur was glad that the bathroom door was already open so he could run straight in. He set down his puppy in the bath tub before throwing off his sweater and setting it down outside the restroom where he knew his dad would take it to wash. The human turned to the puppy who was currently rolling around in the tub and getting mud everywhere.

"Hold on hold on-" He sat down and picked the puppy back up and sat it in the middle of the tub. "Stay." He commanded before finally turning on the water.

"Eep!" The puppy squeaked as it flinched back from the cold water.

"Just give it a second to warm up…" Wilbur put the stopper in and watched as the puppy squirmed and tried to climb over the side. "Nope." Wil grabbed the puppy and pushed them back into the water where it whined, but the sound didn't last long as the water was finally beginning to get warm making the puppy visibly relax. Wilbur chuckled, "ya like that?" Obviously the puppy didn't respond, but the way their eyes began to droop and the way it began to relax in the warm water was answer enough. Wilbur chuckled, "There we go, now you're a calm little gremlin" he made his hand wet before petting the puppy's hair and smiled at the way they leaned into the touch.

Wilbur grabbed a cup and while the puppy was distracted, he filled it with water before pooring it right onto their head. He laughed as they sputtered and squirmed, trying to escape the water only for Wilbur to poor another cupfull onto them. The puppy made threatened noises as it tried to escape but Wilbur was just too fast as he poofed more and more water onto them before grabbing a sponge. "Now sit still little pup"

"BA!!" The pup made a noise before trying to climb out of the tub in retaliation, but Wilbur was quick to grab them and force them back into the water where he began to scrub their wiggling form. "Mmmmmmmm" The pup whined as they kept their mouth closed and Wilbur took the opertunity to scrub their face, laughing as he saw it's features scrunch up in discomfort.

"Just a bit more…." Wilbur hummed as he wiped the mud off to finally be able to see his puppy's pale face. "There we go!" He said happily and finally pulled the sponge away. The puppy blew a raspberry at Wilbur in annoyance as soon as their face was free. "Oh yeah? Fuck you two bitch" he poored another another cup of water onto them and smiled in victory as they yelped in surprise and fear. That victory soon left Wil as the puppy shook their head and got him completely wet. "FUCK!!" The puppy laughed at Wilbur causing the older to glare.

"Baba!" The pup said in victory.

"So you wanna be like that eh?" Wilbur smiled and grabbed the soap. He was supposed to be cleaning it after all. "Well how about I do…. This!!" He held the down and got into the tub with it and began to vigorously scrub at them with the soap, laughing at their noises of protest as they fruitlessly tried to squirm away. "You gotta get clean gremlin!!!" He yelled before scrubbing the puppy's face, and once done he looked into their eyes with a smile. "Like that" in response all the puppy did was sneeze in Wilbur's face. "Ah fuck!!" The human scrambled back and fell out of the tub, groaning as he heard the puppy's victorious giggles. "You little bitch gremlin…"

"You doing okay?" Wilbur looked up to see Techno peeking into the bathroom and staring at him laying on the floor.

"Yeah, great, fantastic-" Wilbur sat up and looked at Techno. "I didn't know cleaning a dog would be this hard…" he mumbled.

"Uuuhhh…" Techno looked into the tub and very clearly saw a naked human baby and not a dog. "I don't think that's a dog"

"What do you mean?" Wilbur looked at his brother confused.

"Well firstly- don't let them eat soap"

"Huh?"

Sure enough as Wilbur turned around the puppy had the bar of soap held in their hands and was slowly bringing it to their open mouth while making a small "aaaaahhhh" noise.

"Give me that!" Wilbur snatched the soap away from the pup and didn't miss the sad look they gained from it being taken.

Tecno huffed. "And secondly, they look nothing like a dog. Wilbur, you brought home a baby human." At Techno's words Wilbur looked at the child in the tub and finally noticed that yes, they didn't have fur, yes they only had hair on their head, that yes they had hands, and most importantly, yes they were naked and that was baby junk-

"Oh fuck!!" Wilbur scooted back, making the baby laugh. "You tricked me you little gremlin" he glared, and once again only got a laugh in return.

"Baba!" Was all the baby said.

"I'll go get Philza-" Techno turned and started walking away, not wanting to deal with this.

"Wait you can't leave me alone with it!!" Wilbur begged after his brother.

"He!! Not it!!" Was all Techno called back.

#rambles #roman fic #mcyt #sbi #sleepy boys inc #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #philza minecraft #technoblade #sleepy boys incorporated

[milaswriting]

if mc were to make a care package for the ros, what would be in there? and how would the ros react? 👀

{deep into the relationship}

Athalia/Asher: Coffee, a new mug. a fountain pen, a new journal, a good book, a punnet of fruit, a hair tie (for Asher), a chess board, a bandage, a pack of plasters, a tag necklace, something from the MC that annoys them but A secretly loves.

A would let out a soft chuckle, take a grape from the punnet, (Asher would slip the hair tie on his wrist), flicks through the pages of the new book because A loves the smell of new books - then leans over and places a kiss on the MC’s forehead as a thanks.

Blaire/Blaze: Gold jewellery (soo surprising), rings especially, hot chocolate, designer clothes, headphones, lots of snacks and junk food, sunglasses, nail polish, hair products, two plane tickets for them and the MC.

Is definitely the one to say “you didn’t have to get me all of this”, but gets excited looking through everything with the MC. They’d slip on a ring or two, eat some of the snacks, and then plan to make the MC their own care package.

Kiana/Kaidan: A new denim jacket, diamond earrings, a personalised playlist of some sort, a swear jar (just to see if they could actually handle not filling it for a day :D), a blood bag, a basketball, a lighter, a picture of the MC (yup, K’s gonna get soft like that), a game of Jenga :D

Kisses the MC as a thank you, it’s probably one of the nicest things anyone has done for them. Utters a curse word when they see the swear jar, then drops a few coins in it :D . Slips on the jacket and admires the picture of the MC.

Phoebe/Phoenix: Blond(e) hair dye, a sweet smelling candle, a new book, a Polaroid camera, tea, perfume, sharpened pencils, a hair tie (for Phoebe, seriously, she’s always losing them), a laptop, a typewriter, a piano, a few handwritten letters.

They’d probably go out, take lots of pictures of the city and the MC. When it gets to night, they’d light the candle, read over the handwritten letter the MC gave them, fall in love more and the next day they’d plan to do all of the MC’s favourite things as a thank you.

~

Thank you for your ask! 💛

~ xXx

#anon #ask #interactive fiction #golden #golden if #the golden series #scenario asks #mila answers

[dcforts]

[week 4: selfie together]

1.7k, post-canon, non canon compliant.

Three days to impact (moving out with Cas and a bunch of hunter nerds settling into the bunker to set up the Network), and Dean was still elbow deep in messy drawers, sorting through his stuff in one of the research rooms. He couldn’t believe he had managed to hoard that much crap when he spent there not more than six months every year.

Sam had already taken care of most of it and thrown away a lot of junk when he had moved away with Eileen a year or so ago, so Dean had thought that he would be packed in less than a day with what was left. He was wrong.

He was tackling a bunch of phones and chargers all tangled up together, trying to figure out which ones were still working. Between him and Sam they had probably gone through a hundred or so phones, without counting the burners, their dad’s and those of other hunters, passed on after their deaths.

You had to keep them on, check the messages, write down the contacts – for a long time it was the only way to keep the network going and to make sure that no call for help would ever go unanswered.

Hopefully the Network, with Charlie fancy digital system and stolen tech from the Brits, would make things a lot easier. The bunker would become the hunter HQ that it was always meant to be. And Sam and Dean would still go there from time to time, but it would become more like a workplace than an actual home.

Magazines apparently said you had to keep them separated and all that. So, they were trying.

He wasn’t even halfway done when he found his old phone. It was not too ancient or anything and he used to like it just fine, but for Christmas Claire and the girls had gotten him a new one (��not for work!!” said the note attached to it) so he had just dumped it in here.

It had no SIM card, but there were some police contacts (useful) and the Candy Crush app (not useful). He went on to check the gallery and was surprised to find still some pictures in it.

He snorted, seeing one of the last taken – Sam, drunk on Christmas Day, a paper crown askew on his head, trying to focus enough to play Jenga with someone who was out of the shot. Dean didn’t remember who it was anymore. Sam had the most incredible face on.

Oh, there were pictures from when they went to visit Garth! He had taken them at Frontier Stables in Frederic and Dean and Gertie had possibly been equally excited about riding a horse. There were a bunch of pictures of that day, including one Garth had taken of him where he looked like an absolute dork.

Wow, they must have been at least a year or so older, he had totally forgotten about them. Now, he couldn’t just put the phone down and resume his work. He debated with himself (very briefly) if he could afford a break or not and then flopped down on the floor covered in cardboard boxes to look through the rest of the gallery.

Most of the pictures were cases related, articles and crime scenes, then a bunch of landscapes, an amazing looking burger from that joint in Texas.

There was one with Cas that he had taken one night. Dean’s face was on the foreground, on the left, and he was making a funny face, his index finger to his lips. The red couch was visible behind his shoulders and Cas was by his side, his face turned towards the television screen and lighted by it.

They had been cooped up in Dean’s cave for nearly four hours and all that time Sam was freaking out because he didn’t know where they were and he couldn’t find them. When Dean had checked his phone, he had found fourteen missed calls and a bunch of texts. He had sent him that picture back and written shh it's movie night.

Sam had come bursting through the door two seconds later and bitched at him for fifteen minutes for having his phone on silent and then stayed and watched Back to the Future III with them.

This was before he and Cas even got together – well, officially at least.

It felt like so long ago, back when they were all: fingers brushing, intense gazing, losing track of time when alone together. They were so clueless.

It had sorted itself out though. A couple of weeks after that, Dean had fallen asleep on Cas’ shoulder and Cas had spent the rest of the night holding him and he had done that every night since.

Dean smiled and scrolled down, back in time.

More photos on the road, book pages, his car against a pretty sunset. Then a group selfie that they sent to Jody for her birthday. Sam and Eileen were still living at the bunker then and Sam was holding the phone, on account of having three feet long arms. They were standing in the kitchen, Eileen right next to him, under his other arm and Dean next to Eileen.

Cas had appeared on the door as they were getting in position so Sam he had told him to hurry up, get in the frame and he had come to stand next to Dean, stiff like a statue. Sam had said, a little closer, so Dean had slung an arm around his neck and pulled him towards him.

Right when Sam had been about to snap it, Cas had grabbed Dean’s hand, that was dangling over his shoulder. So of course, in the picture Dean looked like a total idiot, with his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted in surprise. He had even stopped breathing a little and Cas next to him had the audacity to look totally oblivious. Dean zoomed in on his face and cackled at himself. God, and what was up with that haircut he had, did he even look at himself in the mirror.

He went on.

A few rows below there was another selfie. It was just him this time and it was terrible, the sunlight making the picture look all wrong, like there was a filter on it. It was a vertical shot that showed just about his face and shoulders.

It had been early in the morning, he was bleary-eyed and there was a little wrinkle in between his eyebrows because he had been in the car waiting for Sam to come back with their coffee for twenty minutes.

Cas had texted him out of the blue, Can you send me a picture of you? and Dean had snapped it and sent it without thinking and then he had written, what do you need it for and Cas had written back, I just miss you. Dean had almost dropped his phone, then put it away and not looked at it until late that night. Yeah, it hadn’t been one of his best moments.

Finally he had managed to pull out the conversation again. He had typed and deleted miss you too and same and same, man about a thousand times and then ended up writing your turn now.

He remembered that Cas had been quick to reply with an even worse shot than the one he had sent. Some blurry picture he had taken under a streetlight, his face wearing an intense expression, as if he needed to focus to tap once on a screen. Still, Dean had looked at it for an hour before he had gone to sleep. What a sap.

Thinking of that photo reminded him of another one. He wondered if? It took a while to find it, but it was there, almost at the end of the gallery, right after a picture of Jody in a ridiculous sun hat from when they all went to the beach for the weekend.

It was there. Their first selfie together. He snorted out loud.

He had been pacing in the map room, cursing at his phone that was stuck with the camera open. He was trying everything and it just wouldn’t close.

Cas had come look over his shoulder while Dean had been furiously tapping, and that was when the screen had frozen and flashed and the result of that was a picture of the two of them from the most unflattering angle, frowning down at the phone. Two half faces, Dean on the right, Cas on the left. Dean thought it was hilarious.

Cas had said, “I think you took a picture,” because he was a great help as usual and Dean had said, “Yeah, no shit Cas,” and eventually had to restart the phone to make it work again.

He couldn’t believe that had happened more than two years ago.

“I’m done with the inventory of the herbs. Are you done in here?” said Cas, poking his head in from the hallway. Dean very obviously wasn’t done, but he was still smiling, so Cas said, “What is it?” and came to crouch beside him to peer at his phone and the infamous selfie, “Why did we take this?”

Dean laughed, “We didn’t. My phone was acting up.”

"And you kept it?"

"Yeah, of course I kept it," Dean said, tilting his phone away, as if Cas would jump him to delete it.

Cas had other priorities. He kissed his temple.

"Okay," he said amused, then, "Do you need help? Charlie is coming over in an hour to set up the - cables."

There were no cables. Cas clearly didn’t know what he was talking about, but Dean had no idea of what Charlie was supposed to do either, so.

"No, just - wait, let's take a picture," he said, grabbing his sleeve before he could get up. Cas settled once again next to him and Dean opened the camera and held his phone up, then got his other arm around Cas’ shoulders.

The light was not great, like anywhere else in the bunker and they looked exhausted after a day's work but still, not a bad sight, if Dean could say so himself.

He focused on Cas on the screen, the little smile on his lips.

He grinned. He was gonna spend the rest of his life with that face, he thought. Jesus.

"Dean?" Cas called, after another moment of nothing.

"Alright, alright," he said and snapped the picture.

@bend-me-shape-me said #deancassummerprompts21 and I said YES

#deancassummerprompts21 #deancas #deancas ficlet #fwf #as in finale? what finale? #i couldnt decide on what idea to focus on so i kept them all #incredibly on time for once #i just didn't want to edit it too much cause i like it???? #yeah i know weird #it was fun #my writing

[willow-balcoin]

THE JUNKYARD.

tagging → @brodiebalcoin @perriecruz @cohenjames @birdiestratford

location → the south side junkyard, new year’s eve.

notes → today’s para brought to u by the letter covid!! i’m foggy as fuck but i think it makes sense lmao. mentions of guns / gunshots.

Putting herself in danger had never been Willow’s style. Acting out, recklessness, embracing chaos-- everyone knew that had been Brodie’s thing when he was younger. She’d never been jealous of that, never wanted the kind of attention her brother’s antics used to earn. Yet there she was, a camera strapped to her chest, covered in blood that wasn’t even entirely her own, having just scaled a jenga tower of wrecked cars and almost dying doing it. Quietly, because she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to, she’d never felt so alive.

When she’d started her metamorphosis into a newer, less apologetic version of herself during the summer her end goal certainly hadn’t looked anything like the scene laid out before her. Not a single scenario she could have cooked up in her overactive imagination would have involved so much blood. She’d done everything she had expected though, if she thought about it: she’d tried new clothes, dyed her hair, made new friends, been to a handful of parties, taken a chance and opened her heart to a new relationship. So, really, what else was there to do if not throw herself head first into a crazy death game as a cherry on top? Nothing in Rosewood was done by halves, after all. Not even by someone like herself who had never rushed to follow a trend.

Perrie of all people understood her motivations in the game, even if they’d never talked about it outright. It seemed like no one did, that while it was generally obvious who had entered for the money, the glory, or the simple challenge of it all, there was something so intensely personal buried in the decision to jump. She’d seen it in his eyes when he’d left her to finish the challenge, like the game owed him for what it had done to them and he was coming to collect. It was exactly how she felt about her entire life, how she was done being a pushover, seen as someone to be picked on, stepped on, cheated on. Which was why, the moment Perrie was out of sight she turned the opposite way from where she’d told him she was going to meet Birdie and Cohen. She wasn’t going to be a burden on them, or let them lay any blame upon her if they didn’t finish the challenge in time. They were her best friends, she couldn’t afford to lose them over a game that had ruined lives for less.

Besides, the rules they’d been given in the van on the way over stated that once they had a medallion they had to escape the junkyard and send a selfie of themselves with it, right? And there, clenched in the hand she was cradling to her chest, worried it was broken, a glimmer of bloodied gold in the winter moonlight. All she had to do was get out without being seen and pray Perrie wasn’t far behind. A task easier said than done though, considering the towering fence had been enough of a challenge when she’d had all of her limbs fully functioning.

A gunshot shattered her concentration like a sledgehammer through glass, forcing her to pick up her pace with little regard for where she was going except away-- much like a lab rat in a maze. At least, she thought she was moving away from it. She couldn’t tell, her head was pounding and the sound felt like it had come from everywhere at once. A few hushed expletives would make her fear and frustration known to anyone watching through her camera, confused and so very lost amongst the stacks of junk that only seemed to be closing in on her. Climbing precarious mountains of steel was one thing, but facing a gun was so far beyond what she was willing to do for the game. Unless said gun was aimed at Perrie. God, what if it was--

No, she kept herself moving, unable to afford to think like that. Even if she had half a clue about where Perrie might have ended up she still only had one functioning arm, no shoes, and an already tiny dress torn to shreds in the middle of winter. The guy with the gun was the least of her worries, it was the cold she was battling now.

#chwpanic

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

What would quarantine be like with Erik?????

I’m assuming Erik didn’t take shit seriously until NBA season was suspended.

He freaked out for a second but then brushed that shit off because with the vibranium in his blood he can fight that Rona. Also, Shuri is probably making a cure in her lab anyway.

Erik is thankful that he had gym equipment at his place because with his private gym being closed he wouldn’t have been able to get his gains.

Erik can finally focus on a hobby (whatever that may be) since he spends most of his days at the Out Reach.

He can also spend more time with you

You come over to his place to be with him through this quarantine, playing board games, drinking games, Jenga, sex dice. He’s a beast at Phase 10 and he wins every time.

You both watch movies together, and Erik doesn’t fall asleep this time around he’s actually attentive. He prefers horror so he can cuss out the white people for doing dumb shit. He especially loved Saw and Candyman.

Y’all have a cook off. Erik shows you what he can cook and you do the same. Afterwards, both of you sample each other’s food.

Tik Tok used to piss Erik off but now he’s doing challenges and making random videos. He gets a lot of views, his last video racking up 20K.

Erik hates clothes so he’s but ass naked all the time. You find him late at night in the living room playing COD with his head set on and naked in just his socks. He’s even cooking naked.

The sex is tiring even though it’s fucking amazing. This man is fucking you 6 times a day almost or wanting his dick sucked every two hours. You’ve been in every position possible, lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had, and now your jaw muscles are weak from sucking him.

He looked at you like you were crazy when you told him what your favorite color is. He thought it was purple when it’s actually blue. He learned more about you and he couldn’t stay away from you. He wanted to cuddle more, he wanted to kiss you every five seconds, y’all talked about anything under the sun.

More fun happens, pillow fights, water gun fights, play fighting that ends with his dick in you, taking selfies and mirror pics together.

Ain’t nobody else allowed at the crib. Erik’s friends wanna come over with drinks and food but he don’t trust nobody since “washing your hands” is a trend all of a sudden.

If he catches you sneezing or rubbing your face he gets up to grab a bottle of Lysol to ward you off. He knows it annoys you THATS why he does it.

This man is playing “this little piggy” with your toes while you’re sleeping. You are EXTRA TICKLISH on your feet.

Both of y’all are dancing to Cardi B Corona Virus mix like a bunch of goofballs.

You want to make a market run for some junk food and Erik is down for it as long as y’all wear some respirator masks and gloves. Erik has a few stylish respirators from when he visited Asia a few times a while back. Y’all hit up BJ’s wholesale for all the sweet cereal and junk.

Sometimes during the night, Erik would read to you, or tell you old Wakandan tales about Bast that his father told him to put you asleep.

Do y’all watch porn? Yessss. Surprisingly you hadn’t before together which is strange with how much of a sex drive Erik has. This even gave you both the opportunity to make your own movies. Erik would film every sexual encounter. Giving him head in the middle of a game, eating your pussy from the back in the morning, blowing your back out on the balcony at night, even while your cooking at the stove.

You count his scars to pass the time.

Even though the world is going to shit on the outside, you and Erik are having the best time of y’all lives.

#killmonger imagine #killmonger x reader #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

[eerythingisshaka]

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Jason Momoa x Reader

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Bad attitudes/smut

Vroom vrooooom!!

Your eyes squeezed tightly in annoyance before you started to buck your blankets off of your body, punching your bed in aggravation.  Every weekend it’s the same thing: at 7 am your sleep is disrupted by the violent roar of a motorcycle engine.  You just moved in to your new place a month ago and at first you assumed that the disturbance would be temporary.  People work on their vehicles on the weekend, and testing things may require a few loud repetitious sounds. But EVERY weekend?  The two days out of the week you get to be able to sleep without an alarm blaring and you still have to wake like its a work day.

Today was even worse because it sounded like it was right outside your window.  The funk of fumes made you cough while you got up to look out your window.  No one was outside but you put your shoes on anyway.  No way were you taking this lying down.

No shame in your bonnet game, you walked out in your pajama shorts, tank and slippers to survey your surroundings in the parking lot.  You see some guy hunched over a big old looking bike, his back turned to you.

You marched over to him without abandon, building up your month's worth of frustration to fire off at him.

"Hey man!"

The putter of the engine must've drowned out your words so you shouted again.

"Hey! You know what the hell time it is? Some people are tryna sleep!" you said to the back of his messy man bun.

He turned his face to you slowly with a raised eyebrow, looking amused as his eyes settled on your slippers.

You felt self-conscious, taking a step backward and crossing your arms.  "I had to hear you tinkering at this garbage at ungodly hours for a month!"

He reached for the ignition and turns the motorcycle off.  

"It’s not garbage.  It’s vintage."

His voice boomed in the newfound silence, throwing you off your anger rhythm.  He wipes his dirty hands against his well worn jeans as he comes to a standing, towering over you like a giant.  

You felt a wave of vertigo just looking at him but remained on subject.   "Looks old, like it should be thrown away."

He crossed his arms bouncing momentarily on his toes just making him grander.  "Perhaps you have heard of a concept called recycling, refurbishing, or reusing.  Just because something has lost its luster doesnt mean its a pile of junk."

“Well excuse me for liking the finer things in life.  Couldn’t kill you to trade this in for something better and less noisy!  So keep it down in the meantime.”  You walked off in a huff, scraping the soft soles of your slippers across the pavement.

“Nice to meet you too neighbor, the name is Jason!  I could show you how to sew that hole in your shorts too since you like the finer things!”

You stopped suddenly, sticking your butt out to look at the supposed hole.

“Don’t worry.  Looks good.”  His voice dipped into a tone that sounded predatory.  You walked backwards glaring at him  as you made your way back around the corner out of his line of sight.  

You stopped for a second to feel your behind and come across the hole you got roasted on.  You kiss your teeth, feeling yourself get warm with embarrassment.  It didn’t matter to you because sleep clothes aren’t supposed to always be fancy schmancy.  You peeked around the corner and spied on him as he worked.  He had the nerve to talk about anyone with his dusty olive green Henley on with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his large forearms and that geometric tattoo.  You couldn’t care less about his opinion, long as his motor keeps quiet.   The next weekend, you stayed out hella late catching up with friends after work.  Happy hour was popping and you are a sucker for discounted drinks, especially when they are as good as the ones at your favorite bar.  Your Lyft dropped you off in front of your place at 3 AM and you trudged to your front door and catch a glimpse of something in your peripheral as you dug out your keys.  On top of the trash bag there was a note scrawled on a piece of paper that says RECYCLE.

“What the fuck?”  you say out loud and picked up the note, turning it over you see the signature -Neighbor J.   

You balled up the paper.  “Oh you think you run my life now?  Where the hell he get the nerve even coming up to my front door.  He don’t know me, but he will!”  You cursed out the air, practicing what you plan to say to him next time you see him and plotting your next moves.

A few hours later, morning broke and so did your peace.  A loud banging at your door makes your heart race from surprise.  You prayed silently that it’s no police as you bounded toward your door and look through the peephole.  

You jumped back just as fast when you recognize the face, snatching your bonnet off and fingering your curls loose to be more presentable.  You scuttled over to a nearby mirror to check that your shirt had no stains, and shorts no holes.  All looked clear but you didn’t want to open the door in loosely fitted mickey mouse pajama bottoms, changing fast into some boy shorts.

After a quick change, you finally answered the door, to be greeted by his broad back.  He wore a tank top today, mauve pink of all colors, giving a full show to the power he packed in his arms.  Plus his hair was out of its man bun, showing off its waves, looking so touchable.  His jeans and boots looked like the same ones from the last time you saw him.  You chuckle to yourself over his laziness.

He turned to you like a shampoo commercial with his hands on his hips.  “You put your crap on my bike?”

You crossed your arms and leaned on your frame, shrugging.  “No idea what you’re talking about.

He pulls a cardboard box from beside him with empty water bottles and old cereal boxes.  

“You think it’s funny, playing crap Jenga on my property?”

You rolled your eyes.  “It’s not crap, it’s reusable, remember?  Look, I got your note about recycling.  I just wanted to let you know I am way ahead of you.  My contributions are better than that gas you spew in the air from your bike.”

“Single use plastics are one of the biggest contributors to the destruction of earth’s ecosystems.  Why the hell would you waste money on them anyway?  Get a filter and a steel bottle-”

“Please!  Can you stop telling me what to do like I ain’t grown!  I know how sustainability works, that’s why I’m re-cy-cling!  Now if that’s suddenly a bad to do, I’ll Google that, but you ain’t God here.”

His stare read threatening to you, but you weren’t afraid of him trying you.  He seemed to be the type to not be challenged often and you yourself loved a challenge.  Multitasking the stare down, you memorize his facial features from his shaggy facial hair to the break in his eyebrow from an old scar.  

You work your neck for emphasis.  “Are we done here?”

He scoffs, kicking the box toward you before strolling off.  “Stop using single use plastics.”

“Ok, George of the Jungle!”  You taunt, sending him off with a wave.  Closing your door, you laugh out loud, giving a fist pump to the air.  You won this round whether he acknowledges it or not.  Plus you never heard that engine all day afterwards, catching up on your rest.

--

A couple weekends passed and one hungry morning you realize you’re low on food to eat.  You can’t chill on an empty stomach so you get your stuff to head out to your car.  

The sky was cloudy that day, making you yawn involuntarily as you start your engine.  It sputters, trying to turn over, but won’t kick off.  You tried this four or five more times before you sit back, punching your steering wheel.  Of all days for this to happen, today ain’t it.  

Suddenly the roar of a motorbike distracted you in the distance and a horrible thought passes your brain.  Jason knew his way around a motorbike, so a car shouldn’t be too different, right?

You get out the car and stomp towards the other end of the parking lot where you see you neighbor mounting his motorbike.

“Hey!  Hey!”  You yelled out, waving him down.  He saw and you notice his shoulders jump a little as a smile crawls across his face. You weren’t expecting that reaction.

“I’m gonna be outta your hair, I got my girl fixed up and I’m taking her for a spin.  Continue to catch your beauty sleep, doll,” he says sarcastically.

You look at his bike and gave the tire a kick.  "I'm not worried about that.  Glad you got it up and running."

Jason turned off the engine and scratched his beard, coming to a standing.  "What’s going on?"

You shrug, making Jason laugh hard.

"Now I really know something is up.  This is the first time you are speechless AND the last thing you said was nice? What did you do?"

You tried to fight your attitude because you still needed to ask if he could help you.

"I mean, I still think the bike looks rusty and dusty. Can’t tell it from some junkyard scrap but hey, there’s a pulse!"

Jason pointed at you, clicking his tongue. "And a good morning to you as well."  He kicks on his motor again and begins to move.

"Wait wait!" You shouted.

He turns the bike off again. "Sweetheart, I got little patience."

You groan.  "My car won't start.  I was hoping you could give it a look."

“DO I look like a mechanic?”  he asks, leaning forward on his bike.

You stared at him dumbfounded.  “You literally work on this bike all the time!  No one is doing that shit without some experience!”

“A motorcycle is not a car, ma’am,”  he said.  “Apples and oranges.  Hell, their practically fishes and trees!”

“Do you really wanna insult my intelligence?”

Jason held his hands up in the air.  “I don’t have to do anything when it comes to you.  You come with drama and mess in tow, and I’m tired of hearing it, if we’re being honest.”  He got up from his bike, heading in the opposite direction on you.

A raindrop on your face snapped you back to reality and by the time you looked up the clouds opened up their floodgates.

You covered your head.  “Dammit!  Jason!”   

You ran after him as he continued to stomp on to his place.  “There’s a thing called humility and being a good neighbor and something tells me you haven’t learned that before.”  He stops in the middle of his yard whipping around to face you.  His hair soaked in rain yet maintaining its wave intrigued you.  Most people look like a sad dog in the rain, but the wetness amplified his stoic appeal.

“You’re spoiled,” he says, rain falling off his lips as he enunciated.

“I need help!  That’s all I’m asking!”  

“You don’t ask!  You demand!  You demand I be quiet and play childish games when people call you out.”  His voice became more aggressive with demonstrative movement to emphasize his words.

You clasped your hands together.  “Oh!  Well it looks like you’re just used to doing shit YOUR way, and no one had the BALLS to step to you.  Well I am, so what?”  

You step right under his nose, rain from his body drops in your face.  He looked down at you amused.

“You better run along before you do something you can’t take back,” he warns.

“I don’t have regrets, just learned lessons.  So what you got?”

“What I got?”

“Yeah, what-”

His lips crashed into yours with momentum and strength.  His hands gripped your arms a little too tightly, making your hands splay in a shocked manner, unable to move.  His force mixed with the weather conditions made it hard to breathe and your will to do so causes you to push him back with as much strength as you can.

“What the FUCK WAS THAT?!”  You scream, wiping your mouth to no avail.

He stands there frozen, breathing hard.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Like hell you don’t!  This the shit I’m saying!”  You gawk at him, seeing his shirt cling to his body as the rain weighs down the fabric.  Jason whipped his hair back unapologetically.  

“I told you.  You’re spoiled.  I don’t kiss your ass, so you’re mad.”

“I don’t remember asking you to kiss me at all, did I?”

He shrugs.  “I didn’t ask you to get in my face and threaten me, yet here we are.  Go dry off,” he says, taking himself back to his place and leaving you in the rain.

--

Later that night, you’re in the midst of finishing up twisting your hair  for the night when you hear the familiar sound of an engine blaring.

You check the time, 12:35 AM.  You’re instantly fuming, twirling a mad finger around your last twist end and putting on your robe.  

Stomping outside, you see him clear as day, outlined by the parking lot lights.  Jason sits on his bike revving it over and over as you walked closer and closer.  You get about 30 feet away from him when he turns the bike off.

“You fucking get on my damn nerves.  I’m sick of this!”  You shout at him.  

He got off his bike, standing with his hands in his pockets.  Soon as you were within arms length, you raise your hand and bring it to the back of his neck, pulling him into you.  You were ready this time, opening up to take hi essence in with your own.  Your fingers clutch the roots of his hair, pulling yourself up to him as much as possible until he helped you.  Wrapping his arms around your waist, he doesn’t miss a beat in your mouth as he lifts you to his level and you wrap your arms around his neck.  You bit his lips, groaning into his mouth excitedly.  

“I told you, I step up if you try me.”  you say.

He licks his wounded lips, eyes heavy with anguish.  “And I can take a hit, if necessary.”

You both stumble back to your place, fighting to feel each other’s skin quicker than you could get undressed.  You let your robe fall off at the door.

Your scratch at the bottom of Jason’s shirt, pulling it up as he surrenders his arms to your tugs, shaking his hair loose once you’ve freed him.

He pulled your hair back roughly, exposing your neck to his tongue grazing the pulse point of your neck.  Your nails dig into his hips as you fight the ticklish sensation, making him groan.

“Watch those claws, kitty,”  he warns, taking liberties with your body. The palms of his hands feel rough against your stomach when he traces your curves up to your breasts.  You breathe erratically, feeling the warm arousal build as your nipples greet his fingertips, but you pushed him back roughly.  As he stumbles, he looks at you defensively.

“Am I moving too fast?”  He asks as his chest rises and falls heavily.  You take your shirt off, standing in just your underwear.  He starts to unbutton his pants…

“Stop!  Don’t.”  You command.

He freezes in mid zipper pull, looking frustrated.  “Look if this ain’t happening, just-”

“Did I say nothing is happening?  I told you to stop.  And it would be good if you just listened, for once,”  you say, dropping your voice lower and quieter.  You walked up to him, moving his hand aside, pushing him against the wall.

“You find me attractive, right?”  You ask as your fingers find his zipper and pull it the rest of the way down.

He keeps his poker face as you stare him down.  “I do.  You’re very sexy.”

As he admits this, your palm slides down his stomach and under his waistband.  Under your touch you feel him grow, making your heart skip.

“Not sexy enough.  You still got some growing up to do I see,”  you reply as you pull his bottoms down, letting his dick recoil from its boundaries.  

Jason exhales sharply, bracing his back against the wall.  “You don’t have to.”

You settle down to your knees, observing the specimen before you, gripping his shaft as you look up at him.  “You don’t want me to?”

His hair framing his face, he pulls it back taking a deep breath.  “You got my dick in your hands, and you think I’m backing down now?”

“Then tell me what you want me to do…”  You say quietly, biting your lip as you watch him while stroking him, blowing slowly along his length, lips puckered and tempting.

He reached for the top of your head gently massaging your scalp.  “I want that big mouth to show me what it can do.”

You smirk, letting your tongue flutter around his tip, warming him up.  You feel his scalp massage slow as your lips softly kiss his member.  His head falls backward as you open your mouth wider, swallowing his girth deeper.  You look up at him, massaging his balls. 

“Oh God, you’re amazing.  Your mouth so soft,”  he moans, looking down at you, jutting his hips towards your face minutely.  

You allow your throat to open a bit more, taking hold of his thighs as he pushes himself into your mouth deeper. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.  Just look at you.”  He pulls out of you, bending down to take you in for a kiss.  He tastes himself within your mouth, fully devouring your mouth in a kiss.  You hold his hands against your face as he embraces you, feeling overwhelmed with passion.

“Fuck me, now.”  You growl into his face, getting up.  He pushes you against the wall he once stood, pulling your underwear down to your ankles, you steady your hands on his wide shoulders.  

He stands up looking you deep into your eyes as you reach for his dick, coaxing him to move on, but he grabs your wrists, setting them on his shoulders.  

“You’re too impatient,”  He says, running his finger across your cheek, nuzzling his nose against yours.  

You exhale.  “Damn right I am.  The one thing we can get along about, you’re trying to postpone.”

He chuckles, feeling between your thighs.  “You’re this wet for me?  You like me more than I thought.”

You roll your eyes, closing them when his fingers fit so easily inside of you, digging your nails into his shoulders.  “Maybe I just like the sex.  Thought of that?”

He shrugs.  “Let’s see what fits and talk later.  Your pink looks real good.”  

He grips his hands under you, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist in one movement.

As he holds you, you feel for his dick, helping to guide his tip to your entrance.

“Teamwork, right?”  You gasp as he spreads you wider, pushing himself inside of you.  You exclaim, gripping the back of his neck for dear life.

“Did I hurt you?”  He asks.

You shake your head.  “No, keep going.  I want more.”

He obeys, pushing further inside your walls.  

“That’s it baby, deeper.”  You encourage him, you tighten up around him as your body relaxes to the new sensation.

Jason’s hands travel around your back, holding you close as works his length into you, working his hips like it’s his job.

“Ah, your pussy is so good baby.”  Jason moans in your ears.

“This pussy is good to you cuz that dick.  Give it to me, harder.”

Jason rams his length inside you, holding still as you writhe, repeating the action over and over.

“Yes, oh yes,”  you cry out, feeling tears reach the corners of your eyes, feeling a wave of pleasure creep and spread throughout your body.

Jason pounds your deeper, harder as you cry out, digging into his back, he pulls your mouth to his, kissing you passionately.  

“You take me so well.  I knew you were tough.  Keep cumming, I want all of you on me,”  he says.  You cover his mouth.

“Shut up, or I won’t stop,” you feel your body buckle under the pressure.  It became too much.

Jason opens his mouth, sucking two of your fingers as his pace quickens.

“I’m close baby, hang on.”  Jason cautions, gripping your breasts and he rests into the crook of your neck, giving all of himself into you.

His hand moves between your breasts, tracing your sweat with his lips.  He grunts with a guttural tone, “Looks good.”

“Pull…”  you say weakly between breaths, barely able to think straight.  Your body feels like it’s floating away from you as you hit another orgasm before you feel yourself go empty.  You look down to see Jason jacking against your stomach, strips of white paint your belly as he howls in euphoria.

You notice your heartbeat for the first time, pounding in your chest but you felt no stress.  Your mind is hazy as Jason talks but you can’t fully register what he’s saying.  He holds your face, looking concerned as he picks you up to take you to his bedroom lying you down.

You feel a towel on your stomach as you lay on your back, completely checked out of your surroundings.

“Sure, you can spend the night, no problem.”  Jason says half-jokingly as he crawls to the other side of the bed, pulling a blanket over the both of you.  You feel his hands in your hair, gentle massaging your curls as your eyes close.

The next morning, you wake with a fright, feeling this arm laid across your waist like a boa constrictor.  A snore behind your head makes you nearly jump out of bed.

“Good morning, beautiful,” a gruff sounding Jason stretches, kissing your shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa.  Don’t do that,” you say, sitting up and covering yourself in your section of the blanket.

Jason tousles his hair, moving closer to you.  “Oh no?  I can’t initiate this time?”

You push his face back.  “You can’t initiate ever!  This isn’t a back to back thing, so don’t think you got rights to me.  Where are my clothes?”

You see your drawers, robe and shirt by the front door.  “Can you close your eyes as I get my stuff?”

Jason lays back with his hands behind his head.  “Take the blanket.  I don’t mind my body being out.”

You make a face.  “Ew, just close your eyes and turn your head.”  Jason covers his face like he’s getting ready to play Tag.

You gather your panties, slipping them on.

“You don’t have to run off so fast, we were just getting to know each other better.”  JAson says behind his hands.

You talk through your shirt.  “Bullshit.  Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

Jason drops his hands.  “So there’s nothing to discuss?” 

You shrug your robe on, running your fingers over your twists that are now sexed over and slept on as best you could.  “I’ve already forgotten what we are talking about.”

He nods.  “Well I am glad you got function back to your legs.”  He smiles widely.

You groan.  “Happens all the time, you aren’t special.  And take your trash out, smells like shit in here.”

“That’s just sex in the air, sweetheart.”  Jason waves you goodbye as you flip him off, walking out the door.  When you reach your place, you take a deep breath, feeling the aftermath of last night coursing through your body still.  You felt positively sore, like after a good workout.  It replays in your head over and over; his hands on your body, his deep kisses,  his taste.  You shake your head, trying to free your mind.  No way is he taking up any space in your memory.  It’s over and done.  You take the morning to shower off, somewhat thoughtfully.

The next day you got ready for work, feeling better than you had in a while.  Dick was not the reason, so you thought.  You felt all around more positive until your peace became disturbed.

“No, no, no, NO!”  You yell out.  “It’s not even the fucking weekend!”

You pick up your purse, looking for your keys.  You curse yourself for keeping car keys and house keys separate until you remember you are without a working vehicle.

“FUCK!”  You didn’t want to see, you wouldn’t.  You’ll text your job and tell them what’s up and call a car.  Problem solved.  

You get out of your place, locking the door and notice the hood of your car up and Jason sitting in the front seat.

He turns off the engine, closing the hood, leaning on the car as he looked at you.  “Turns out I know cars after all.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?  For stealing my keys?”  you say with a sour disposition.

He tosses the keys in the air, catching them.  “You left them at my place.  I thought it was an invitation.”

“None of it was an invitation.  Give them to me.”  You walk up to him with your hand out like a three year old.  When he drops them in your hand, he doesn’t let go.

“Say….”

You tighten your lips for what felt like an eternity until you say, “Thanks!”

He lets go with a smile and walks away.  “I swear I was gonna do it regardless, but you had to initiate so…”

“You kissed me first!”  you shout a little too loudly for a neighborhood.

He looks back winking at you.  “And don’t throw something away that’s reusable.”

Masterlist

#shakafic #jason momoa fic #jason momoa x reader

[cosmicclownboy]

"Not that I don't mind our little bonding one to ones but may I ask why we are doing this again?" "So you know that my toxic masculinity bro days are over. Me and Rosa did a quiz today and turns out blue is my spirit colour so let's get to it, Manes". 

Excitedly clapping and inspecting the bottle with his fingers Kyle looks at peace so who is Alex to object to it. He can't say teen Alex expected this friendship to flourish again let alone be sitting in Kyle's apartment with a bottle of red painting Kyle's nails with a shade called Sultry Sapphire. But Alex knows more than anyone that adaptability is a huge part of life. Change is inevitable. And this is a change that he's glad for. It doesn't feel weird or out of place. It feels almost like he's slowly refinding everything he once lost. Jenga tournaments as kids turned into drinking games and poker and fishing turned into going to the same gym. Eventually, Isobel fishes out which gym and excitedly exclaims gym buddies. It's actually really fun even if he has to witness his training on her Instagram feed. Being in an alien exist clubhouse is difficult him and Kyle have pretty heavy-duty careers and having the most practical sense vs the people in said group who would prod a bear simply to see how it would react well their friendship blossomed. Finishing the last touches he goes for the wine in a latte mug.

"Right this will dry in a couple of minutes. Then it's my turn, Manes. I hope you're ready for iridescent fantasy 69". He almost groans at the choice in colour with swirls of blues, pinks and purples Alex is immediately taken to the pieces in Michael's bunker all shiny and beautiful. Judging by the smirk he gets the Ortecho Valenti sibling team-up happened behind the scenes. "Seriously where did Rosa get these from? there are two women on the front having sex" "Someone she met in rehab - don't ask"

"So....hows things in the dating universe?" "Forest and Liz signed me to Grindr without my permission.....and there's only so many times I can open up a message to see literal junk mail. I also went out on a date with a man who's fetish was sucking toes he seemed unnaturally interested in the prospect of banging a man with only the one foot. Four times. Four times I've been set up with someone with the oddest fetish". This seems to gage a reaction out of Kyle who rolls a little around the floor with a chuckle holding the brush from the nail polish close to his chest trying his best not to sour the rug. "Alex you've spent the last ten years fucking an alien. You have a rain fetish dude and don't even try it Liz told me about your rain scented angst candle sessions" Oh, he is going to have words with Liz. "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I got pegged behind a target" Alex groans heavily.

Liz feigns ignorance when Alex corners her in the Crashdown and she, of course, tries to bat her eyelashes at him thinking it'd affect him. He's a man of stone. He will not be immediately forgiving by a kind smile.Nope.Not happening. It at least has to include a free hug and the first round of drinks which occurs a week later dressed in his tightest jeans and Kyle moping because Steph left had him. Liz and Kyle made it to Planet 7 a place Kyle thrives in. "Look it's glitter night Kyle you love glitter night the shots are half off".Liz is doing her best to brighten the mood despite her own romantic failings anytime the name Max is spoken she looks haunted. And hey who is he gonna judge he knows how easy it is to get an alien under your skin he's hitting 12 years in a month and he's wondering what it would be in anniversary terms. Google tells him it's silk he almost laughs at the idea of giving Michael any clothing in that fabric the man was rugged jeans and t-shirts. When his phone is stolen by Liz who pushes a shot in his direction he remembers why he's here. Have fun with his friends. Solidarity in suffering. The drinks flow easily to the booth he's had a pina colada some other fruity drinks and a bunch of shots. At first, he didn't feel anything, not even a buzz but after twenty minutes he feels sluggish and slow. Everything moving at a different rate then it did before. You should call Michael" Liz is shouting it off from the dancefloor of which she's tripped twice on and yet somehow she's beaming. Everything just kind of blurs together after that doesn't even realise he's on his bed until his hands are grasping the pillow. And faintly he feels a kiss on his head.

Drinking is a fun idea until the Hangover hits. He's starting to remember why he doesn't usually drink. His head is just throbbing he's trying his best to turn on soldier mode darting his eyes around trying to survey the room. Okay, the only clothes by the bed are his that's good. That's great one thing he doesn't have to worry about. There are a couple of pills on a plate by a glass of water with the box to show him what it is. And he's pretty sure there's a bin by the bed and end table... Someone took care of him. Who? He takes a very long shower water hits his skin until he feels anew or at least a little more bearable. It's only when he's drying off and hearing a faint hum of music that he remembers. Oh god.

"Guerin, it's me, Alex ... shoul-should of probably said Alex first how can you know it's me it's unspecific. Can you come home now my beds all big and fluffy and I want your fluffy hair in it.I miss your hair it's soft. Can you come save me Kyle keeps waving me over to dance with a drag queen and a stripper and I don't want to- "MIKEY WE'RE AT PLANET 7 COME DANCE WITH US" He really can't catch a break. "You know every minute you stay in there is a minute longer the pancakes get cold. And you should know I make a mean stack of chocolate chip pancakes"

He doesn't know what he's expecting when he first leaves his bedroom. He's nervous. After the song, he promised himself he would not make the first move. If Michael wants him he's going to have to say it in words to his face and communicate it to him. He's tired of metaphors and unspoken words. Trust drunk Alex to immediately ignore what he wants and skip right to the stroking Michael's hair part. Which yes he wants to do all the time. He finds Michael in the kitchen using a metal utensil as a mirror checking his teeth, his hair before straightening his shirt and patting his jeans down. He's nervous too. His heart stutters a little at the thought. Michael places the table settings and looks up with a small smile. "Hi" "Hi" He gestures to the table. "It's not much I had to run to the store you have the cupboard of an 18-year-old student" Even hungover and tired he can't fight the smile on his face. "Between my work hours and alien scooby sleuthing don't always have the time or energy" "I'm sor "If you apologise I will steal all your pancakes, Guerin" Despite his head throbbing and his leg killing him it's probably the best morning he'd had in a long time. A bird is flying past the window. His dog is sleeping soundly in his bed. The smell of flowers from the vase in the middle of the table is melding with the smell of warm chocolate. And if he dares a glance from his plate he sees the man he loves chewing on pancakes slowly with a small smile on his face. It's peaceful like something out of a movie.

"I don't know if you remember the voicemail you gave me you were pretty wasted. I gave all of you guys a ride home. Valenti threw up on my sneakers I uh was glad I wasn't wearing my good boots" Michael looks the most vulnerable he's seen him in years moving his fork around the pancake in front of him. He drops his fork and squeakily moves his chair closer and reaches for both his hands. "I'm so sorry for everything. This past year especially" Michael is trying his best to hold back his tears sniffing trying to get whatever words he wants to get out - out. "You know I've uh been seeing a therapist the last couple of months and she's great you know she calls me out on my victim complex crap and gives me all kinds of homework that sometimes bugs me but it's been helping. She asked me to write a list of things I wanted and at first, I couldn't do it for weeks I just stared at the page and couldn't I didn't think I deserved to write one. Eventually, I did. Can I read it to you?"

He squeezes his hands briefly before bringing his hands to his cheeks softly stroking in encouragement.

"Number 1, Don't be angry anymore it doesn't make you happy it hurts you and it's hurt the people that you love. Number 2, Spend more time with Max and Isobel as a family. Number 3, Remember you are loved and wanted by Isobel, Max, Sanders and Alex make sure to let them know that they are your family. Number 4, tell Alex that you stole his guitar on purpose that day you heard him play at work once and you just wanted to know him. Number 5, tell Alex that stealing his guitar and falling in love with him was the best thing that ever happened to me. You can read the rest if you want" The list is the closest thing to a love letter he's ever gotten off of Michael and everything he reads is everything he wants for Michael. He wants Michael to be happy to love himself to know he's wanted and love. Even seeing minor things like I want to hold Alex's hand makes him emotional. He wants all those things too. He wants a life with Michael. He wants Michael. And everything he reads and hears as Michael reads out the lines without the paper has his heart racing.

There no longer are metaphors in the air it's words pure and simple.

He supposes he should kiss Michael but he chooses a different kind of embrace one he wanted to do for a while he wraps Michael in a hug it's warm and tight he hopes he knows in this hug how much he loves him. And if he doesn't know he can say he'll say it every day until Michael understands it. "Want to watch a bad movie on the couch and cuddle?" Michael's grip on his shirt lessons and a muffled chuckle and a nod is conveyed against his chest. Armed with coffee and a bag of chips they make their way on the sofa. The question of big spoon is gone straight away when Michael makes grabby motions with his hands. His head is pressed into his chest and Alex feels at home and at peace. They flick through the channels. "Have you seen this one?" "Have I seen a film about a flesh-eating octopus fighting a giant shark? no, can't say I have". The movie is terrible as expected laughably so but the thing that makes it one of his favourites is Michael's anger towards the films plot. "So the giant shark was actually a robot designed by a bored rich kid who wanted to prod fish which caused the flesh-eating octopus to become feral and murder a bunch of people? They didn't explain anything about the flesh-eating octopus the whole plot doesn't make any sense" Rubbing his stomach in low circles and dotting a kiss to his collarbone he smirks at Michael's investment. "And another thing -mmph" He leans back. Michael's eyes are closed his lips are puckered he pouts when he realises he hasn't come back up to kiss him "You were saying?" "I'm shutting up now....hey come back up here and kiss me"

#malex #listen its kylizex friendship hours #malexfic

[notbang]

R/N - #11

halloween prompt meme | read on ao3

It takes him a second to recognise her beneath the wig, but he should have guessed, really. Who else would rent a costume that takes up approximately one third of the office space with its multiple layers of petticoats?

He waits until Paula peels away from her side in the direction of the bathroom, his nostrils flaring at the probably health-code-violating screen of dry ice he has to push through in order to reach where she’s leaning against a column, eyes glued to her period-anachronous phone.

“Figures you’d be involved in this productivity suck somehow,” he says as he sidles up to her, hands stuffed in his pockets in a way he likes to think exudes nonchalance.

Rebecca regards him, unimpressed, over the top of the screen. He’s not sure if it’s the light reflecting from her phone, or her makeup, or both, but she’s even paler than usual; glowing alabaster amongst the dimly lit cubicles.  

Her answering laugh is entirely mocking. “I see your invite failed to get lost in the mail. Kudos on the costume, though—rich white dude is about the most repulsive thing I can think of.”

He gives a pointed once-over to her dress—a complex concoction of white frills and lace—and feels his lips curl back in a smirk. “Almost as terrifying as the prospect of eternal matrimony,” he agrees. “Once again, my deepest condolences, by the way.”

Any chance she has at supplying some kind of rejoinder in retort is squashed by the approach of a waiter—exactly how much money had Darryl spent on this thing, anyway?—with a round mop of black hair that looks like it escaped from a disco in the mid 70s, brandishing a tray boasting an array of dips and elaborately carved carrot sticks.

Rebecca frowns, apparently already somehow acquainted with the server. “Marty?”

“Rebecca B! This is where you work? How about that! Sweet digs. Sweet digs indeed.” The disco flunkey’s eyes light up when they roam across to Nathaniel. “And aren’t you two a fright for sore eyes? A perfectly spooky bride and groom! Yeah, that gaudy ring really finishes the look. That’s gotta be from that pawn shop over on East Cameron—they sell the weirdest old junk there. Something borrowed, something boo, am I right?”

The blossoming red blush breaks out across Rebecca’s chest like bright, blotchy watercolour beneath her skin.

“It’s not—we’re not…” she begins, face scrunching. “This is not—he’s not even wearing a costume!”

Nathaniel, amused enough at her discomfort that his disdain for the entire scenario is secondary, catches the eye of the source of her distress over her shoulder, shaking his head minutely to confirm the absurdity of the assumption.

He can’t help himself, though—his palm finds the small of her back of its own accord. Rebecca’s eyes, if possible, bug even wider as he tugs her towards him. “It never feels like a costume when it’s as real as what we have, though, does it, Muffin?”

Marty lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “Right on—I hear you, buddy. Hope you two enjoy the… patê,” he adds, indicating the tray of dips before disappearing with a playful shimmy.

Barking out a polite laugh at the eye roll-inducing pun, Nathaniel shepherds a still spluttering Rebecca into the break room—currently empty, ostensibly in favour of the makeshift dance floor forming over by the elevator—before promptly dropping his hand away from her back as if badly burned.

“Muffin?!” she seethes as as she whirls to face him, giving him an incredulous shove before batting haphazardly at his chest with her tiny, ineffectual fists.

“It only seemed apropos,” he drawls, lazily, “given how many of them you eat.”

“You…” she growls, then shakes herself, her train of thought seemingly lost to her irritation. “Why are you even here? I thought you couldn’t be within a ten mile radius of candy without your teeth literally falling out.”

“Ha ha,” he says with exaggerated sarcasm. “As distasteful as this entire embarrassing excuse of party is, it is a company event. It’d be unseemly of me not to at least make an appearance.”

“Couldn’t resist ruining everyone’s fun, more like it. God, it’s like everything is some kind of masturbatory performance with you, isn’t it?”

Her ample bosom, amplified by the cut of her gown and in considerable clear and present danger of spilling over and out entirely, rises and falls with the uneven rhythm of her steadily mounting frustration.

Not that he’s looking, or anything. Just that it’s making some kind of point of filling up his field of vision.

“Please,” he sneers, looking down the ridge of his nose and being careful to focus on her splotchy face rather than directly below it as he gestures out towards the bullpen. “Are you telling me you didn’t choose that costume as some sort of dry run for your impending nuptials to the flip flop? I bet you’ve been parading around in that dress all evening, flashing that ring at anyone that so much as glances in your direction. Congratulations, by the way—purple is his colour. Really makes that pawn shop gemstone pop when it’s curled around your fiancé’s spandex covered bicep.”

“There was a slight miscommunication on which Phantom he was dressing up as, okay,” Rebecca snaps. “And I’m not bothered by it, because it’s a charming anecdote that I’m going to tell all the Jewish-Filipino babies we’re going to have every year on Halloween.”

He forces out a sardonic laugh. “Well, have fun with that. Remind me again—why is this a Halloween party?”

“It’s Halloween in September,” she says, incomprehensibly defensive, the no duh implicit in her voice. She crosses her arms, and it does nothing to coax her heaving cleavage back into its confines. “It’s like Christmas in July, except for Halloween. Darryl’s a big fan of mixing things up, unlike you—we get it, dude! You like burgundy ties!”

Just as a riposte is forming on the tip of his tongue, Jim—an eyesore in bright red pleather if one ever existed—barrels through the break room with a drunk and disorderly, vampire-fang-bearing Tim hot on his heels, forcing Nathaniel to sidestep abruptly out of their path. The issue with that is, he fails to notice until he hears the resulting sharp intake of breath, is that it has him pressing Rebecca into the corner of the bench in front of the tinsel-adorned coffee maker.

The smart thing to do would be to step away. The dangerous thing—the stupidest decision possible, really—would be to stand his ground. To loom and crowd her further.

God, it’s like the idiocy of this place is seeping into him via osmosis.

Rebecca gulps, untamed breasts brushing distractingly against his sternum, and casts a frenzied glance out into the party proper, making sure no one is watching them through the slats.

A little light headed but ultimately spurred on by her fluster, Nathaniel straightens his spine and dips his head, voice tipping low to tease. “It still makes sense, you know. The costume choice. After all, your life is basically a soap opera. And nobody can blame you for wanting to hide that—” He nods towards the photocopier, where Josh is otherwise occupied with his attempts to get a Jenga game going with several desks’ worth of highlighters. “—away behind a mask.”

“Yeah, well,” she sputters, “it’s lucky that he got the costume wrong. Because his left is actually his best angle. Yeah. So you’d be missing out, otherwise. And you’re, like, so incredibly wrong. I don’t want to hide his face. I love that face. It’s my favourite face.” He doesn’t miss the way her gaze flits down to his lips, and his tongue darts out to wet it on autopilot. “I wanna rub my face all over his face, all the time.”

He leans in further, and he can’t be imagining it—the way her breath falters, and her eyelids start to flutter as his breath fans out across her face with deliberation. “Uh-huh.”

Interesting, he thinks, filing away the visible pluck of the cords in her neck as she swallows, as if in slow motion, to revisit later.

As if compelled by some inexplicable urge and drunk off finally, finally feeling like he has the upper hand, he tilts minutely, mouth moving towards grazing the shell of her ear. “I know it’ll be tempting, when you’re lying in bed tonight, trying to get the image of your mediocre choice of a life partner squeezed into a morph suit the colour of Barney dinosaur out of your head. But do me a favour, Rebecca, hmm? Try not to—” He pauses dramatically for effect. “—think of me.”

He can tell by the way her eyes widen with surprise for a split second only to scrunch in confusion that she’s caught the reference. Finally, he thinks as his pulse thrums through him with intense satisfaction: a use for having to spend hours inside a stuffy theatre box with an aunt that always smelled too strongly of peppermint oil.

A moment later and Rebecca’s spring-loaded, shoving him aside to make her escape. Just before she melts back into the throng of partygoers, though, she turns, left hand curling around the edge of the wooden partition, ring glinting red beneath the disco lights; the only time all night she’s managed not making it look embarrassingly staged.

“In your dreams,” she tells him, deadly serious, then hikes up her voluminous skirts and stomps off in flurry of frilly white lace and bouncing black-brown synthetic curls.

#crazy ex girlfriend #rebecca x nathaniel #my fic #halloween prompt meme #heartbash #I'm here come talk to me about dumb stuff #hate when ficlets get too long and feel kinda stunted because they were supposed to be snappier....... #the party theme is a result of me doing mental gymnastics to fit it into the timeline of the show #and this is set prior to the events of 2x11 except rebecca has already announced her engagement to the office

[jengajives]

Part four Caranthir is a dick

Part one

Part two

Part three

Up close, Daeron noticed that the Fëanorian dinner table was smaller than he’d imagined; granted, he had been imagining a cartoon rich-person table with about fifty seats at it, and it was big, to be sure, just not as big. There were maybe fifteen chairs pulled up, each of them carved of twisting metal and dark wood to match the elegance of the dining table. A stream of red silk ran down the middle. No food was set out yet, and now that Daeron thought about it, he couldn’t imagine any of these people making their own meal. He’d seen Maglor attempt to cook before, and it had not gone well; judging by the established patterns of behavior, the rest of his family would be much worse. The help would probably bring the food out once it was all done.

What a bizarre thought to pass through his mind.

Five of the chairs were occupied, all at the nearest half of the table. Two redheads sat talking back and forth, apparently blind to their surroundings and dressed in almost identical, expensive-looking sweatshirts; a frowning man with deepset eyes and hair of the deepest auburn, so dark it was almost indistinguishable from black, dressed in a silken suit that gleamed violet in the sunlight (Curufin took Celebrimbor from Daeron and took a seat at his side, looking smug); a tired red-haired woman who sat with her arms folded, a drawn scowl on her face; and, of course, the one Daeron assumed to be Fëanor himself, comfortably seated at the head of the table and weighing Daeron with his silver gaze. The family resemblance hit Daeron hard. Fëanor’s face was almost identical to Curufin’s, but he had Celegorm’s sharp jaw and Maglor’s eyes. He also saw the compact build on the red-haired twins, and there was something in the brow that Fëanor shared with the man in the suit. A bit of every son present there, except for Maedhros, who seemed to take after his mother. Unlike his boys- indeed, unlike almost any Noldo Daeron had ever met- Fëanor wore his black hair cropped short and close to the skull, without braiding of any kind. He didn’t look like a particularly nice man.

“Maglor,” he said, and a smile crossed his face that did nothing to put Daeron at ease. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hello, dewdrop.” The woman smiled, too, but Daeron liked the look of hers. He got the impression he was going to like Nerdanel. Her skin was brushed with dark freckles, and her nose was crooked, but she had a warmth to her where Fëanor had only intensity and heat.

Maglor put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Daeron. Daeron, this is my mom and dad, Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras.”

One of the redheads rolled his eyes. “Last again.”

“I was hoping you all wouldn’t mind speaking Sindarin tonight?” Maglor seemed to be staring at Caranthir as he spoke. “Switch it up a little.”

Nerdanel looked like she was about to say something when Caranthir interrupted.

Just hearing his voice, Daeron got a bad feeling about him. Too calculated and much too smooth.

“Why should all of us have to speak a lower language just to cater to him?” He glanced at Daeron and there was a dismissive flash in his inky grey eyes.

Maglor took a step forward before Daeron even had time to process how offensive that was, and put an arm protectively in front of him, apparently on instinct.

“That’s pretty rude,” he said. His voice was calm but the glare he gave his brother certainly was not. “We all speak Sindarin. It’s not a big deal.”

“Can your friend not speak Quenya?” Caranthir glared right back. “I thought the Dark Elves had finally picked that up, but maybe that’s an overestimation on my part.”

“Lay off, Caranthir, seriously-“

“I just don’t see why he can’t use our language if we’re his hosts.”

“My Quenya is fine,” Daeron butted in, though of course he knew his accent was all off. He understood it a lot better than he actually spoke it; he just didn’t want to cause a fight over this. Maglor was too staunch a defender. Daeron didn’t want him to feud with a brother over this.

“Fine might be too generous a word,” Caranthir said. He looked mad. Daeron couldn’t fathom what had possibly set him off.

“That’s too far,” chided Nerdanel; her use of Sindarin didn’t go amiss. Her son grumbled and flicked out his phone instead, and Maglor’s fists somewhat relaxed.

“We’re happy to have you, Daeron.” Fëanor had a very good voice, and his Sindarin was flawless. Daeron suddenly began to understand this man’s popularity; he might not look friendly, but he sounded like an ally. Simple as that. “We don’t get Grey Elves very often. And since your Quenya needs improvement, we are all happy to share your language. It’s no difficulty, is it, boys?”

No one answered him. The twins were whispering to each other, checked out, Curufin had a stupid, knowing grin on his face, and Caranthir was still pouting.

“Quenya needs improvement.” He should be grateful I even bothered learning this much. Stupid language.

“Thank you,” Maglor said shortly, glaring at his brothers.

He pulled out a chair and motioned for Daeron to take it, which he did, rather hesitantly. Caranthir was still staring at him, and it felt as if Fëanor was trying to pick him apart with his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably as Maglor sat down beside him.

“Food is almost ready- where’s Nelyo?” Fëanor looked at Maglor like he thought he was hiding Mae in his pocket somewhere. Mags only shrugged.

“Upstairs, I think.”

“Got another mysterious phone call, did he?” Curufin smiled smugly. “Any clue who his secret lover is yet, Mags?”

“I didn’t realize I was supposing to be investigating.”

“Course you are. You’re his favorite.”

“Mae is entitled to his privacy.”

“Sure, sure. You think it’s one of the Valar again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fëanor spoke firmly, putting an end to any speculation. “Nelyo knows better than to tangle with that lot.”

“One of them would be better than a Sindar,” Caranthir said. It was quiet, but not quiet enough; he’d meant for Daeron to hear it.

Maglor had really neglected to mention how much of a dick this one was.

“Did the Sindar do something to you?” Daeron asked as politely as he could manage, ignoring the way Maglor gripped his thigh in a clear signal not to engage. “If we did, I’m sorry, but there’s no need to generalize like that.”

Caranthir met his gaze, cool but undeniably angry. There was a slightly purple tint to his storm-colored eyes.

“Don’t like Dark Elves,” he said in a particularly chilling voice. “Bad for business.”

“That’s good, because I’m not a Dark Elf.”

If this smug little bastard wanted a fight, Daeron would give it to him.

“Babe…” Maglor said, tugging at his arm.

Caranthir looked like he was about to stand up and start laying into him, so Daeron braced to get to his feet, but the boiling tensions were somewhat lessened when Maedhros came into the dining room. Initially, it looked like he was out of breath from taking the stairs too fast, but his face was also a bit flushed, and a strand of hair that had been up a few minutes ago was loose and clung to a line of sweat on his forehead.

“Sorry. Am I the last one here? Didn’t mean to keep anyone waiting.”

“Celegorm is still outside,” Maglor offered. “Daeron and I can go get him.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m already up.” Mae flashed his tired smile and vanished again; Maglor looked very worried about it. He knew Daeron was close to chewing his brother out at the dinner table during his very first family visit, and that wouldn’t exactly be a good look, but before he could think of another excuse to relieve tensions, his mother did it for him.

“Caranthir, stop glaring and leave our guest alone. We’ve agreed to leave politics away from the dinner table, yes?”

“Like we ever do that,” he grumbled.

“Shape up. You’re a grown man and more than capable of putting on a courteous front for a few hours.” Nerdanel folded her arms, and Daeron was stricken by how muscular she was. The biceps strained against her sleeves- it was a miracle she even fit them in at all.

Caranthir looked like a scolded puppy, but still he whined, “But I-“

“No. You owe Daeron an apology.”

A long silence. Caranthir looked like he’d rather kill Daeron then apologize to him, but his mother kept him locked in a death stare, so eventually he caved in and grumbled, “Sorry.” It was not very convincing.

“It’s fine,” said Daeron in a clipped voice. It wasn’t fine, but he would rather Maglor’s family not hate him, so he could pretend. It seemed to put Mags more at ease, at the very least.

The skittering off claws on hardwood indicated the arrival of Huan and his master, and as Maedhros and Celegorm took seats on either side of their mother, Fëanor said something about eating, and the smell of something fragrant with herbs drifted in along with the small herd of cooks and servers. It smelled a bit too much like poultry for Daeron’s tastes. He got the feeling the Fëanorians would not approve of his not eating meat.

This whole thing was starting to feel like a really bad idea.

#jenga makes junk #fic #modern au #maglor #daeron #daemags #maglor x daeron #feanorians #feanor #nerdanel #maedhros #celegorm #curufin #caranthir #amrod #amras #starting to feel a litttttle crowded here

[ser-rctslcyer]

Something Simple | Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary: Request for something valentine themed? any stranger things character of your choice 😎 Words: 676 Warnings: Fluff bois

Of course I am choosing Billy cause I love that hoe.

Valentine’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Valentine’s Day.  A lovely little holiday for couples and or people with crushes both helpless or seemingly blooming into something more, a time where people can express their love for one and other and it be socially acceptable for everyone to be ‘cute’ and ‘kind’ and make out in the middle of school hallways because it’s the time of love. 

Fuck that.

You hated Valentine’s Day, for you it was quite overrated. Yes, you're happy and in love but not everyone needs to see it. To you the holiday was a waste, you always thought why don’t people in relationships show this kind of love to each other all the time instead of deciding to go all out on this one holiday in which most couples probably break up a few weeks later. 

Valentine’s day just wasn’t for you.

You were walking through the halls, rolling your eyes at all the red and pink hearts hung around Hawkins High school. You were praying for the day to be over finally so you could go home and relax away from all of the lovey dovey shit.

“(Y/N)!” the familiar voice of your boyfriend called from behind you. You turned around to see Billy jogging at you, neatly wrapped red gifts in his hands.

“Hi Billy.” you smiled as he finally reached you.

“Here, these are for you.” he placed the gifts in your hands.

“You know, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“But why would I do that? It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yes it is but if I am being honest here, I truly hate Valentine’s Day.”

“Woah, really?”

“Mhm. I just find it stupid that couples will go all the way out for each other for this one day and then they just go back to their normal relationship. That’s just so stupid. Why not continue showing that same enthusiasm in the relationship all through the relationship? Why do you need a holiday to show how serious and great you are? In my brain that just makes no sense.” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Wow, you really hate Valentine’s Day.” Billy placed his hands on your hip.

“Yeah, sorry for the rant, I’m just sick and tired of this stupid holiday.”

“That’s alright Babygirl, not every holiday is for everyone.”

“Thanks B.” “So, uh, since I now know you don’t like Valentine’s Day, which throws my plan out the window but -- hey don’t get sad now, it’s totally fine.” he hugged you and your head rested on his shoulder

“I feel bad for ruining your plan by not telling you I don’t like Valentine’s day.” you pouted.

“It’s totally fine (Y/N). I’d rather do something you actually enjoy than making you do something you won’t like.” he smiled down at you, nuzzling your forehead.

“How sweet of you, Billy. Thank you again.”

“No problem cutie, now, what would you like to do today?”

“Hmm after this hell hole is over, why don’t we go to my house and watch all the movies we want, play any games we want, eat all the junk food and candy we possibly can and just cuddle and make out all night? Maybe you can even spend the night over, if you can?” you traced small circles onto his chest.

“Hmm, I’m sure I can stay over. But seriously only cuddle and make out?” Billy grinned devilishly, and you smacked him on his chest lightly.

“Calm down there Mr. Sex Fiend, I know how much you fucking enjoy my cuddles and maybe if you can beat me in Jenga then we can talk about doing something more than just cuddling and making out.” you smirked, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Oh you’re on, you know how much I love competition.” 

“Good, cause I ain’t going easy on you. Now let’s hurry up and get to the next class and hope the rest of the day goes by quickly.” you pulled away from his grip, grabbing his hand and dragging him to his next class.

This took me a while to get to, sorry. I hope y’all enjoyed it tho.

#rct fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #billy hargorve #billy hargrove x reader