#i got punk’d

[anthyies]

did you know that even if i know a link is not going to lead to where it says it will i still have the urge to click it to investigate. curiosity killed the cat.

#this is about rickrolls but also they sent out simulated phishing emails @ work and i caught it and reported it and everything #but now im seized with curiosity at what the page looks like if u click on the button. do they tell you you got punk’d. do they make you #take a cybersecurity quiz right then and there. i want to know #esha.txt

[aritamargarita]

BAE ARE WE GETTING AN UPDATE TODAY‼️‼️

#arita speaks #LOOK AT THE CAMERAS YOU JUST GOT PUNK’D #IM JUST KIDDING #YES UPDATE SOON I PROMISE

[huhniebowl]

i’ve had this idea of reader meeting dominic fike backstage at coachella and hitting it off for awhile but i never know how to do it justice so i’m hoping maybe you can

first of all, i want to thank you for the sweet and kind sentiment you left on my previous work. it gave me such warmth & i can't express my love & gratitude enough for you. thank you for requesting, i hope i did your idea justice<3

¥

You bounce your leg at a speed you didn’t know was possible. Heart beating a mile per second, breathing controlled, but erratic. You’re in Dominic’s tour bus, sitting next to Reed, as you wait for Dom to come back after his show.

You’re still trying to process how you got here in the first place, clicking your acrylics together in favor of not chewing on your bottom lip and messing up your lip combo. It all happened so fast that it feels like a fever dream. 

Dominic’s show wasn’t for another hour, but you knew that if you didn’t start making your way over soon, you wouldn’t get barricade.

So you took your last bathroom break, separated from your friends, and started walking to his stage.

When you were just a few feet away from the front, you spotted a man hauling equipment. Then, of course, he tripped and everything tumbled from his hold. 

By then, everyone had started making their way towards the stage, and barricade was filling up fast. The people who saw kept moving, and you really wanted to, too. But thanks to the heavyweight of your moral compass pointing directly at the man, you groaned and stomped in place like a child. Damn it. 

You mumbled curses on your way over to him, but quickly straightened up and gave a bright smile when he noticed you approaching.

Carefully, you helped pick up the equipment and placed it neatly back in the man's arms. You didn't try to rush it, knowing your front-row spot is now non-existent. 

He smiled at you graciously, a look of relief clear on his face. 

“Thank you so much.” He sighed, digging his shoes in the grass as if to make sure they were on tighter this time. 

“Of course, no problem.” You didn't want to look back at the field, but you couldn't help it. As you expected, in those few short minutes, it’s all filled up. You’d be all the way in the back, a far cry from where you would have been had you not stopped.

The man's eyes followed your gaze, then flicked back to you as you breathed out and slumped your shoulders. He puts two and two together and tilts his head. Making a decision quickly. 

“Could you grab the orange cord on top of the black one please?” He asked you. “The last thing I want to do is trip over it again when Dominic needs that one the most.”

He watched your eyes widen, and your mouth open and close; fighting for what you should say next. Shit like this doesn’t happen to you.  

The man hid his smirk by using his shoulder to rub at his nose. You settled for nodding wordlessly and grabbed the cord, not trusting your brain or your mouth. The man didn't hold back that time and laughed at you, then lead the way backstage. 

Cable guy, whose name you now know as Dean, introduced you to Reed, and then filled him in on how you helped him at the cost of losing your barricade. 

It was sweet, Reed smiled at you and held out his hand for a high-five. Going on to tell you thank you, and leaving with a promise to meet Dom after the show. Your mind went blank, head spinning around to make sure you weren’t on a reboot episode of Punk’d. 

Granted, you shouldn’t have been surprised seeing as you just landed yourself backstage, but meeting him? That hadn’t crossed your mind not once.  

“Huh, what? No really, it’s fine I just helped him pick up some cords. I–” You stumbled over your words, brain not quite catching up with what just left Reed’s mouth. He laughed at you, it was warm, but it had you shutting up in embarrassment. 

“It’s cool. He won’t mind in the slightest.” With that, he checked his watch and began to walk away. 

“You can watch the show from the side. I’ll come grab you before he leaves the stage.” And with that, he was gone. 

True to his word, Reed did come back for you just as Dominic finished up Why.

Your eyes were glazed over in admiration as you watched him jump around the stage, his energy liquid hot. Your body thrummed at how perfectly the scene fit him. And in that moment you had forgotten you were going to meet him after this all ended.

Well, until Reed placed his hand on your shoulder and jumped you out of your stupor.

Now here you are, back pressed against the cool leather of the tour bus couch. 

“You’ll be fine.” Reed says, swatting your hands away to stop your clicking. “He doesn’t bite.” 

You give him a nervous chuckle and shove your hands under your thighs. You know this, but still. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. He’s just another person at the end of the day. Just like you.

A human. A human who just so happens to be tall, talented, has tattoos, pretty eyes–

“Here he comes,” Reed whispers, and it’s then you hear his voice muffled behind the door, filtering in clearly when it yanks open. You see his leg first, then he’s fully coming up the stairs. Your heart stops, then drops to your stomach, he’s fucking beautiful. 

Reed hops up and goes to greet him, going in for a dap that turns into a hug. You watch as he talks, curls pressed down and poking out from his crochet hat with floppy ears. They swing around with him, and you watch them move.

Scared that if you stare at Dom for a second too long, he’ll notice you before you have a chance to ground yourself. You stay seated, he hasn’t seen you yet and you’re grateful for it. Using that small window of time to take deep breaths. 

You only get through one before you hear, 

“Who’s this?” 

Fuck.

You pick your head up and give him what you hope looks like a smile.

You introduce yourself, mentally patting yourself on the back for not stuttering your way through it. His head tilts to the side, eyebrows furrowed. Floppy ears fall with him.

“She’s the one who risked her spot at your barricade to help Dean.” Reed chips in. 

Dom’s eyes go wide in realization and he smiles a smile that has your body run hot. 

“Oh yeah! That was sick of you!” Your body goes lax.

“Thank you for that.” He continues.

You wave your hand up as if to brush off the sentiment. Cheeks starting to hurt from how hard you're smiling. 

“Oh, no problem. My moral compass wouldn't have let me live it down.” He laughs and moves from around Reed. Arms out for a hug. 

You don’t have time to think about it, your body moving on its own as reflex to not embarrass yourself more than you already have. 

You stand up and reach to wrap your arms around his neck. His arms circle around your waist and squeeze. It feels routine like it’s something you’ve done many times with him. He’s warm, smells spicy but sweet, and he’s solid.

You feel his knuckles dig into your skin, then feel him spread his fingers open, palm now flat against the sides of your back. He squeezes you with more intent that way, you can almost feel the skin under your shirt, protruding from between his fingers. 

It’s comforting, and you have to hide the sound of contentment you almost let out at the proximity. It rumbles deep in your chest, like a cat purring at a head scratch. It feels too natural. 

Dominic’s pulling away before you can process it. The hug leaves you dopey and relaxed. You can breathe a bit better now, heartbeat reduced back to its normal beat. You miss the way Reed gives you a once over, a knowing grin stretched on his lips. 

You feel as if you can speak regularly again, your brain no longer muddled and erratic. Conversation flows through you with ease. 

“Your set was by far the best one I’ve seen today. You were insane.” You praise, hands moving wildly with your words. Dom laughs and brings a hand to rub at the nape of his neck. 

“Thank you. It was my first show since tour, and I performed some new music. I was hella nervous.” 

“Yes! I noticed. Mama’s boy was sick!” By now, your nerves were reduced to nothing. The realization that he’s a person just like you finally making the forefront of your brain.

You move back a little and take a seat on the couch, tucking one of your legs underneath you. Dom follows, and sits across, leaving some distance in between. 

“How long have you been a fan?” You tilt your head up in thought, wondering how you should word it. 

“Um, since 2020? I actually remember seeing a picture of you on Tumblr back in like 2018 and was like ‘Wow he’s hot.’” Dominic snickers behind his hand. “But I had no idea you made music until I heard Vampire.” 

“Oh shit, I performed that during tour.” You nod excitedly, “Yes, I remember! I was at one of the shows. It’s one of my favorites, so hearing it live was godsend.” Dominic’s cheeks turn a hue of red, his dimples poking. 

“Yeah, it’s a favorite of mine to perform. Were there any that you wanted to make the setlist?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You clear your throat and sit more upright in your seat. Your personality doesn’t take long to show out once you deem yourself comfortable. Your next move of action is an example of that. 

“Wonder if she fuck dis 'cause she think we gon’ be…rich!” You move your arms up in a dramatic manner and shake your head as if you’re in a rap video. “Hol’ on hol’ on–” 

Just as you had hoped, Dominic lets out a laugh so loud it vibrates through you, causing you to break character to laugh with him. 

“I don’t see what’s so funny. Your rap career was a cultural reset.” You point, shrugging your shoulders, and raising an eyebrow. 

Dominic’s laugh is nasal, deep, and boyish. It has your stomach swirling and you swear bright pink hearts are in your eyes. His hat falls off when he tilts his head back, and you barely catch it before it can hit the floor. 

Dominic straightens up, a hand on his stomach as if it would help keep his laughs in. Eventually, they fade into giggles, and he’s breathing out a “God.” 

“I honestly wasn’t expecting that. That shit was funny. You're funny.” You tuck the hat under your arm to free your hands and bow.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night folks.” You send a wink. 

Dom shakes his head, then he notices his hat. You jump up.

“Oh yeah, here. It slipped off. It’s really nice, where’d you get it?” You go to give it back to him, but he holds his hands up. 

“You can try it on if you want, it was a gift from my brother.” 

“Oh, he crotches? I actually just picked up on that myself” You say, flipping the hat around to find the opening and tug it on your head.

You move the ears back so they’re laying on their respective sides and look up at him, smiling and tilting your head to the left in a vogue-like pose. 

“So, what do you think? Am I giving Dominic Fike 2.0?” He doesn’t say anything for a second too long, and it’s enough to have your bit of confidence pit in your stomach. You suddenly feel sick. Before you can spill out an apology, scared you’d gotten too comfortable, he speaks. 

“You look beautiful in it.” Your eyebrows raise and you squeeze your hands in your lap, lips slightly parted open. The pit in your stomach worsens, but not for the same reason. 

He stares at you, his eyes follow the shape of your eyebrows, to the point of your nose, down to the plumpness of your lips. His gaze is unnerving in the best way possible and you find yourself wanting to always be under it. 

“Oh, thank you.” You pull at the ears on Dom’s hat, “Your silence scared the hell out of me though, don’t do that again.” You reach over and lightly punch his knee. He’s about to say something else when Reed makes his presence known. Both you and Dominic jump at his voice. 

“As much as I hate to cut this short, Dom we have to get going.” Dominic whips his head back at Reed.

“Damn, you scared the shit out of me man, I forgot you were here.” 

“Me too.” You breathe, hand on your heart. As much as you’d love to drag this out, you know when to not push your luck. So you stand up and fake a pout. 

“It was really nice meeting you. Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to talk with me.” Dominic stand up too, “Of course, thanks to you I was able to perform on time.” 

He mimics your pout and opens his arms out for another hug, which you gladly accept. This one was a bit longer, and you aren’t afraid to squeeze him back now. You wrap your arms around his middle this time and rest your head on his shoulder. Dom’s face nuzzles into the hat and you can’t help but giggle in his arms at the cat-like gesture. 

The chances of this happening again are slim to nothing, so you make sure to bask in it. Taking a deep breath, and humming. You’re the first to pull away, arms lingering on his side for one more squeeze before pulling away completely. 

He’s looking at you with the same dopey smile you had given him earlier, and it would have caught you off guard if it werent for the fact that you’re giving him the same look. 

“Oh!” You start, fishing for your phone in your back pocket. “Can we take a picture?” Dom nods, “Of course, I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.” 

You look at Reed in silent question, and he hold his hand out gladly accepting your phone. 

A total of seven pictures are taken. And the one that you end up loving the most is the picture of Dom hugging you from behind, his arms wrapped around your neck and your hands coming up to hold them. His face is smushed against yours, both of you in the middle of laughing as you start to tilt over. One of the ears from the hat that’s still on your head wrapped around his head. 

It’s looks domestic, familiar. A warmth nestles in your chest. 

Dominic’s looking over your shoulder as you scroll through them, and at the same time you favorite the image, he’s speaking. 

“Could you send me those? Especially that one.” Your heart just can’t catch a break today. 

“Sir, yes sir.” You open Instagram and find his profile, messaging him the pictures.

Reed checks his watch, and you know your times truly up. You begin walking towards the door, and Dom reaches around you to push it open. 

“Thank you again!” You smile, looking from Reed to Dom. Your head feels hotter now that sun is beating down on you, and you realize you still have the hat on. You let out a sound of surprise and hurriedly pat your head to take it off. 

“No, keep it. It looks prettier on you.” You roll your eyes and put your hands down. 

“You better stop sweet talking me before you fall in love with me.” You point a finger at him, starting to walk backwards. He laughs out, and leans against the door. 

“Maybe I already am, who knows?” He tilts his head up in challenge and raises his eyebrows. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“Bye Dom.” You grin, waving goodbye. He yells out a farewell, saying your name in a medieval tone. You gave him one more giggle before turning around, and walking off. Looking to meet up with your friends and leave the festival. 

It’s not till you’re showered, and back home in bed that you check your socials again. You open Instagram and see a slew of notifications. One that says Dominic has followed you, and another that he posted on his story. 

You click his story first, and it’s one of the pictures you sent. This one is the selfie you took. You’re holding up the phone, one of your arms wrapped around Dominic’s neck and your hand cupping the side of his face, while he’s leaning into your neck.

Your head lays on top of his, hat ears falling to the side. You both share a closed-eye smile. You feel your heart flutter, then you look at the words in the top corner. 

“I’ve been convinced to play Jada Pinkett next show.” A laugh of disbelief comes out and you heart the story. It’s then your phone vibrates with a DM. 

dominicfike: You free right now?

dominicfike: Facetime? 

#dominic fike fan fiction #dominic fike imagines #dominic fike smut #elliot #elliot euphoria #elliot imagine #elliot smut #dominic fike imagine #elliot euphoria imagine #elliot fanfic #dominic fike fic #dominic fike #dominic fike x reader #elliot imagines #elliot x reader #elliot fan fiction euphoria #elliot fan fiction #dominic fike request #elliot request

[proxima-writes]

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

pairing: dieter bravo x ghost hunter!female reader word count: 4.9k rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

The producers of your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, have picked your next celebrity guest. Dieter Bravo. You’re not looking forward to being locked in a reportedly haunted mansion with one of Hollywood’s biggest divas.

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

the first of my october spooky specials is here! ghost image in title art is from TO LIFE, TO DEATH by Jean-Marie GITARD. if you enjoy this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment and thank you for reading!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), drug use - weed, smoking, dub con - sex following drug use, vaginal fingering, handjob, dry humping, getting locked in a haunted house together, misunderstandings. let me know if any tags are missing!

It’s not often you get called into an actual meeting with your producers. You’re on the road a lot filming for your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, so they usually spare you from attendance and send you an itemized e-mail recap.

Not today, though. Today, all five producers were CC’d on the e-mail that requested a meeting to go over your next episode, which is set to start filming in two days. You tap your fingers against the shiny wood conference table, staring out at the Los Angeles cityscape through the panoramic windows as you wait for the suits to join you.

They all arrive at once, three men filing through the doorway with veneered smiles and abnormally smooth foreheads. They shake your hand one by one before taking their seats.

It’s Alec, a paunchy man with grey hair and round glasses, that speaks first, starting with a mumble of your name followed with, “I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve got a celebrity guest for the McCallister mansion episode that you’ll need to work into your production this week.”

“This is pretty late notice,” you reply, mind already running through what you’ll need to do to adjust for the format of a guest special. “Who is it?”

The three men exchange wary glances and you sit up straighter, bracing yourself for the response.

“Dieter Bravo,” Alec finally says, smoothing his tie with his hand.

“You’re shitting me.” If there’s one person you can’t stand, it’s Dieter fucking Bravo. “Is this how I find out Ashton is filming Punk’d again?”

The joke doesn’t land. Alec clears his throat before saying, “This isn’t a joke. And it’s an excellent opportunity to—”

“To what? Pander my show to a diva who’s just going to make my job difficult?”

“He has a very strong fan base that could bring in a large number of new viewers. Your show is popular, but only to a limited demographic,” Alec says. “We’re doing this for you. Spirit Seekers has a lot of potential but if you’re going to remain at the top and have a chance for another Emmy nomination, maybe even an award, you need to be willing to work with the guests that will bring in views.”

You sigh heavily. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know. But I always am.” He slides a folder across the table to you. “Here are his requirements.”

“Requirements? He does know this isn’t a blockbuster production set, right?”

“This is the modified list,” the man to Alec’s right, Stephen, says. “Trust me, this is significantly better than it once was.”

You open the folder, scanning the document. “Alkaline water, glass bottle. Absolutely no plastic,” you read. “Organic, non-GMO, dye free, gluten free crackers. Did he just pick every Whole Foods buzzword and stick them together?”

“We will make this as easy for you as we can. We just need you to focus on the episode. Okay?”

“Fine,” you mumble, shutting the folder. “He breaks any of my equipment, I’m billing you.”

“Deal.”

Two days later you’re sitting in your makeshift command center with your crew mates, Andrew and Mike, making sure that all the monitors are displaying the feeds from the static cameras set up inside the mansion. You’ve already filmed solo interview segments with the owner, an elderly man who inherited the house over thirty years ago but left it untouched because of what he believes is a ghostly presence.

The sun is low behind the gorgeous Queen Anne Victorian home, orange sky haloing the steep roofed mansion. The historic building sits on six acres of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence that the owner, Paul, had to unlock for you to set up for the night filming session you would be doing this evening. He stands behind you now with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you connect your equipment.

“So you’ll be in there all night?” He asks, voice wary.

“Most of it. We’ll get three hours of footage with Andrew following us through the house and then a few more hours of single camera action, coupled with the static night vision feeds that will roll all night. We’ll be inside until 3 a.m. and then work out here for a bit before packing up,” you reply. “Thank you so much for letting us come in and do an investigation.”

“I’ve got a bet going with a buddy of mine,” Paul says, puffing his chest out. “If you find something, he owes me a hundred bucks.”

You laugh. “I can’t guarantee anything. My goal isn’t to make a ghost where there isn’t one.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you, this place has always been weird.” He glances up at the house, his frame shivering despite the California warmth. “Doors always opening and shutting on their own, footsteps, voices. Whole nine yards. S’why I never moved in.”

You knew all of this, of course. You’d done a walk through of the property with one of your camera guys, letting Paul tell you his first hand experiences in the old house. You’re about to reply when the sound of a car barreling up the gravel driveway pulls your attention away from the conversation.

A black Escalade approaches, coming to a stop in a cloud of dirt that makes you cough. Paul pats your back as the back door opens and designer boots drop onto the gravel.

Dieter Bravo stands with one hand gripping the door of the car while he uses his other hand to tilt his sunglasses down his nose to squint at you. He’s wearing black joggers and a faded gray t-shirt with a hole near the collar, his hair a fluffy mess of dark curls.

“Hey,” you say in greeting. You hold a hand out and give him your name, forcing a smile on your face. “Welcome to the command center.”

“Command center? This some kind of secret army operation or something?” He asks, shutting the door and walking past you, leaving you with your hand out stretched for an unreciprocated handshake.

“Michael keeps an eye on the static cameras in case one needs to be fixed,” you explain, gesturing to the man sat in front of the wall of screens with a headset on. “Now that you’re here only,” — you check your watch — “an hour late, we can get started. Andrew, could you get him mic’d?”

Andrew approaches with a wireless microphone and the actor steps back and holds his hands up. “Hold up, I gotta make sure you got everything.”

“Got everything?” You ask.

“Yeah. My snacks and water?” He looks around expectantly.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes, they got your snacks. They’re in the cooler. Can you please let Andrew get your mic on? We have to start the guest filming before the light is gone.”

Andrew approaches Dieter again, who lets him get close enough to hook the mic to the waist of his pants. Dieter smirks as he says, “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

You groan, grabbing your own mic. “Let’s get started.”

“The mansion itself was built in the late 1800s and has only been home to two families since it was finished. It’s been in Paul’s possession for thirty years,” you say, walking backwards towards the house as the camera man follows. Dieter stands off to the side of the wraparound porch, waiting for his cue. “And tonight, we’ve got the exclusive opportunity to explore this gorgeous home with a special guest. Tonight’s Spirit Seeker is none other than Emmy Award winning actor, Dieter Bravo!”

Dieter steps into frame and gives a smile to the camera, clapping his hands together. “Let’s catch some ghosts!”

“Now, Dieter, we’re not the Ghostbusters,” you say, your voice deadpan. Dieter raises his eyebrows at you.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” He asks. Your brows pinch together.

“Excuse me?”

“‘We’re not the Ghostbusters’? Really?” He waves his hands to the camera. “Come on, sweetheart, give it a little more energy.”

Your teeth are clenched so hard your jaw aches. “I had energy over an hour ago. You know, when you were supposed to get here?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Can we just get inside?”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to enter in front of him. Having toured the mansion already, you signal to Andrew to focus the camera on your guest for his reaction.

Dieter looks around the foyer, grand staircase and marble floors the centerpieces of the large space. “It’s a damn shame they don’t make them like this anymore. Look at the carvings! This has gotta be all original, right?”

“Yep. They’ve only upgraded the internal stuff, like plumbing and electrical,” you confirm. “The owner, Paul, inherited the house after his grandfather passed thirty years ago. He used to spend his summers here when he was a child and vividly remembers experiencing some…unexplained events that have left an impression on him.” You approach a table that’s been set up with your usually line up of equipment. “Tonight, we’re going to see if we can find an explanation for the inexplicable.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Dieter laughs. “You’ve got the cutest serious face, though.”

He thinks I’m cute? Your treacherous brain says, your face heating in response to the compliment. You quickly look at your equipment.

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go through the equipment.”

You start with the basics. A digital recorder for capturing electronic voice phenomenon, night vision cameras, and dowsing rods. Further down the table you have thermal cameras, electromagnetic field meters, REM pods, and spirit boxes. Dieter listens attentively, to your surprise, and even asks a thoughtful question about the spirit boxes.

“How about we divvy up the gear? I can take the recorder and thermal camera, you can take the EMF reader—“

“No can do,” he interrupts, holding his hands up. “I don’t fuck with EMF.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“That shit is toxic. It’ll warp your DNA.”

“Dieter,” you say incredulously, “The entire planet is comprised of EMF.”

“No, that’s the geomagnetic field,” he argues.

“It’s the same thing!” You take a deep breath. “You know what? I’ll take the EMF detector. You can have the thermal camera,” you compromise, shoving the camera into his hands. You hastily gather the rest of the devices.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

It’s the last hour of the main filming session where Andrew films you and Dieter using the equipment. So far, there haven’t been many notable experiences. You’ve captured a few creaking floorboards and the EMF meter has gone off a few times, but nothing that you can undoubtedly point to as proof of the paranormal, which is par for the course. What people don’t realize when watching your heavily edited show is that you cut out hours of silence and empty footage.

“Alright, Andrew, you’re welcome to head out. We’ll do a bit more upstairs,” you tell the camera man. “Thanks for you help.”

“‘Night, boss,” he replies with a little salute. Dieter watches him as he leaves.

“So, it’s just us now, huh?” He says, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “All alone in a haunted house…pretty hot.”

“Oh, please,” you say nervously, fiddling with your thermal camera, “We haven’t gotten any evidence that this place is haunted.”

“Maybe the ghosts are just shy,” he suggests.

You grab the REM pod and turn on the device, the LED lights flashing. “Let’s do a REM pod session. Here, hold the camera.”

Dieter holds the expensive equipment delicately, staring at the night vision screen to keep you in frame. “Not often I get put behind the camera,” he comments.

You spend the next twenty minutes asking a series of questions in the quiet room, your digital recorder running in your hand. Dieter remains focused on the screen.

“Why don’t you playback the recording?” He suggests. You glance at him, his face illuminated in the dark by the lights of the camera and the faint moonlight that filters through a window.

“Good idea,” you admit, hitting the stop button and running the tape back. There’s some static feedback before your voice announces the date and time of the recording.

“Is there anyone here with us?” Your recorded voice asks. There’s a beat of silence and you fully expect your voice to be the next thing you hear but instead there’s a garbled, “Yes.”

“Holy shit!” Dieter shouts. “That was a fucking ghost!”

“Shhh!” You hiss, flapping your hand at him. You play it back and sure enough, the same disembodied voice echoes through the room, clear as day. “Holy shit!”

“Play the rest, play the rest,” Dieter demands. He steps closer with the camera trained on the recorder.

Together, you listen to the rest of the recording. There’s another moment where you think you might have gotten a response, but it’s not as clear as the first one. You play it back again and again, and finally Dieter takes the recorder from you.

“Alright, enough, if I hear you ask, ‘Do you mean any harm?’, one more time, I’m going to have to tattoo it across my ass,” he says with a laugh. “Actually, that would be kind of cool, right? Very…provocative.”

“Oh my god.” You can’t help but laugh and the man’s face lights up with a cute smile, the corners of his brown eyes creasing with the force of it. “Let’s go check out the study.”

“How does this one work?” Dieter asks as you turn on the spirit box, the staticky feedback noise filling the room.

“It sweeps through different radio stations rapidly and, theoretically, a paranormal entity can manipulate it and use it to speak. Just ask question.” You fix the camera on him. “Ready when you are.”

“So…do any of the ghosts think I’m hot?” He asks, glancing around the room. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh as the static continues. “Tough crowd.”

You roll your eyes. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Uh…did anything like…bad….happen to you?” No response. “Do you…like having guests?”

“No.”

Dieter jumps, eyes wide as he looks at the spirit box. “No fucking way,” he says excitedly. “Okay, uh, why don’t you want guests?”

“Loud.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Keep going!”

“Do you want to hurt us?” Dieter asks. The device is silent, no responses coming through. His shoulders drop in disappointment. “Damn. Some confirmation that we’re dealing with Casper and not that fucking thing from Insidious would have been nice.”

“Try one more question? I’m going to get the thermal cam,” you tell him, rushing to the desk in the center of the room for your equipment. You hastily power it on and point both cameras at him. “Ok, go.”

“You’re supposed to say action,” Dieter says, making you roll your eyes. “But I’ll let it slide. Hmm…ghost, is there a room we should explore next?”

It’s silent for a beat, and you think maybe the session may be over, but suddenly the device spits out the word, “Attic.”

Dieter stares at you with wide eyes. “Guess we’ve gotta go higher.”

“Let’s do it.”

You open the door to the attic, revealing a dark, narrow staircase that looks particularly haunting. The man stands at your back, looking up into the inky black darkness. He audibly swallows.

“Uh…how about you go first? You’re the professional,” he suggests.

“You scared?” You tease, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s just a little attic.”

“In a very haunted house!” He hisses. “What if it’s luring us here to kill us?”

“Then you would have had to film for this ‘stupid show’ with nothing to show for it. Tragic,” you reply sarcastically, placing quotes around the words stupid show.

Because that’s what you’ve heard him call it. Your show was up for a Primetime Emmy award last year for your Halloween special and it was your first time attending an award show. Dieter was there to present an award and was seated only a few seats down from you, talking to another actor you vaguely recognized, when you overheard his feelings for your show.

“I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category,” he said, loudly. “It doesn’t even belong here.”

“What are you talking about?” Dieter asks as you reach the open attic. There’s a circular window that looks out over the grounds, caked with dust and only allowing a tiny amount of light into the room. You turn to face him.

“At the Emmy Awards last year. I was sitting two seats down from you and you said — and I quote — ‘I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category’,” you snap.

He stares at you incredulously. “Are you kidding me? I love your show. I’ve been begging my agent to get me on as a guest since your first episode!”

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically.

“It’s true! Just ask him!” He steps closer, eyes wide and pleading, looking like a puppy who’s just been reprimanded. “I was talking about that stupid potato documentary. It was boring as hell and had no reason being nominated!”

“Wait…so...you like my show?”

“I love your show. It’s, like, the closest thing to being in an episode of Scooby-Doo.”

You laugh and Dieter’s face brightens, like he knows he’s in the clear. Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming has you both screaming and Dieter launches forward, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he leaps into the air.

It catches you by surprise, all of his weight leaning into you and sending you crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and an echo of groans.

“What the fuck was that?!” You ask. “Dieter, get off, I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, rolling off of you with a thump and another pained noise. “You were supposed to catch me.”

“Catch you?” You wheeze, flat on your back.

“Yeah, like in the shows. Scooby always caught Shaggy.”

“Why am I Scooby?!”

“I don’t know,” he shouts. “Listen, let me go check what that was.”

“You’re not leaving me up here,” you hiss. “We go together.”

The two of you make it to the bottom of the stairs, only to discover that the door to the attic has slammed shut. Not only that, but the damn thing won’t open. Dieter slams his shoulder into it as he twists the knob, cursing up a storm as he tries to shove it open with no luck.

“Remember what I said about the ghosts trying to murder us?” He asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a radio. I’ll tell Michael he needs to come try to open the door.” You tug the radio free from the waist of your jeans, pressing the button and asking, “Mike? You there?”

Silence fills the room. You try again.

“Mike?”

More silence.

“Fucking Mike,” Dieter grumbles. He heads back upstairs to the attic and you trail after him. He makes a beeline for the small window, feeling around the edges of it. “Maybe we can get the window open and call out to him.”

“Good idea,” you tell him, coming up beside him and pulling a flashlight from your back pocket, shining the light on the windowsill to help him find the latch.

There’s a rusted crank that he starts turning, the hinges squeaking loudly enough to make you wince. The window opens the slightest bit, fresh air flowing into the stale room.

“Can you get it open a little more?” You ask. With a grunt, he forces the crank around, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt.

Not that you’re watching his biceps. Or the muscles of his back as he moves. Definitely not.

“That’s as far as it’ll go,” he says. “See if you can see your little tent down there.”

“Command center,” you grumble, doing as suggested. You can can’t see much except a corner of the white tent fabric, but you call out anyways, “Michael! Mike! Hey!”

There’s no movement from below, no responding shout. You call out for him again and again, but it’s no use. He’s clearly not answering.

“I don’t have my phone during investigations. Do you have yours?” You ask. Dieter pulls his phone from his front pocket.

“Fuck, it’s dead,” he groans, tapping the black screen. You sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” You check your watch and find it’s 1:30 a.m. You have no idea where the fuck Mike went, but hopefully he’ll be back by 3 a.m. for debrief and a very stern lecture about abandoning his post. Dieter grins at you.

“Wanna get high?”

“The episode you did at the asylum in Kentucky is my favorite. It’s so fucking scary. The gurney moving? The shadows? Fuck, I was hiding in a blanket the whole time,” Dieter says.

You’re sitting beside each other with your legs out in front of you, your backs leaning against the wall beneath the small window. You’re pleasantly buzzed, your head a little fuzzy and your limbs loose from the joint you’ve passed back and forth for the last half hour and you’ve been talking about your favorite episodes, yours to film and his to watch, the conversation flowing surprisingly well.

“You know, maybe I was wrong about you,” you say when there’s a lull in conversation. Dieter looks at you, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know. I thought you were this high maintenance asshole, I guess. But you’re kinda cool.”

Dieter laughs. “Oh, baby, I’m definitely high maintenance. You weren’t wrong about that.”

Something about Dieter calling you baby makes you feel warm and gooey. You’d like to blame it on the weed but if you’re honest with yourself for once, it’s because of him. You tried not to like him, you really did, but he’s funny and nice and doesn’t think your whole ghost hunting gig is a waste of time like a lot of men you’ve dealt with in the past. Not to mention he’s so hot, with his messy hair and pretty brown eyes and warm tan skin. Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but you’re realizing now that it’s actually part of his charm.

You must be quiet for too long or fidget too much because he’s smirking at you now, plush lips tilted up mischievously. “You liked that, huh?” He asks.

“Liked what?” You whisper. He’s scooches closer, his thigh pressing against yours and your shoulders brushing.

“Me calling you baaaaby,” he says, drawing out the word teasingly. “You got all quiet about it.”

“N-no I didn’t.”

“Riiiight,” he teases. He twists his body, reaching an arm across to grip your thigh. “C’mere.”

You go willingly, maneuvering your clumsy limbs until your legs are spread over his lap. He looks up at you with glassy eyes and a syrupy smile, sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans.

“You wanna try that again, baby?” He buries his face against your chest and you laugh, squirming in his grip. “Come on, be honest with me.”

“Maybe…maybe I kinda like it,” you mumble. His hands drift up your waist.

“Like what?”

“When you call me baby.”

He presses a kiss to your collarbone, the touch electrifying. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re so annoying,” you huff, trying to pull away from him. He holds you tightly.

“Nooooo,” Dieter whines, peppering kisses along all the skin exposed by your tank top that he can reach.”’M sorry, I’ll be good for you, baby.”

Your eyes flutter as you sink into his hold. His light kisses turn into teasing nips of his teeth that make you gasp and grind yourself over his lap. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, the length of his cock pressing deliciously against the seam of your jeans to give you the friction you’re craving.

Dieter’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you forward to press his lips to yours. It’s awkward at first, just a lingering peck, but then he licks at your bottom lip and you open up for him, his tongue hot against yours as you explore each other. Your mouths are a little dry from the weed but the kiss quickly grows hot and wet, a little desperate and messy as you move together.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans when he pulls back for a breath. “Keep moving, just like that.”

You have a better idea, though. You move down a little bit until you can get your hands on the fly of his pants, popping the button and pulling the zipper. He helps you out a bit, lifting his hips to shove his pants down just enough for you to reach into his boxers and wrap a hand around his thick cock. His eyes are dark and his mouth goes slack as you slowly bring your fist up, palming the slick head and smearing the bead of precum around the sensitive tip.

You withdraw your hand, bringing it to your face to lick your palm, getting it nice and wet as you keep your gaze fixed on him. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort and he gasps when you take him back in your hand.

“Fuck, feels so fucking good,” he groans, tipping his head back against the wall with a thump. “Tighter, baby, squeeze it tighter. Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

His words have your clit aching with need and you reach down with your other hand to unbutton your jeans, trying to keeping your motions coordinated as you do. Dieter looks up and notices what you’re trying to do.

“You need a lil something, baby?” He asks. When you nod, his hand smacks yours away, successfully undoing the button and zipper. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

His hand slides beneath your jeans and panties, thick fingers quickly zeroing in on your needy clit with tight circles that have your hand stilling around his cock as you moan. His other wraps around yours, encouraging your movements as he plays with your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, fingers dipping lower until they’re pressing against your slick entrance. “Keep moving your hand, baby.”

You hadn’t even noticed that you stopped, too focused on how good his touch felt. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dieter murmurs, one finger pressing slowly inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You try to focus on his cock, sliding your tight fist over his length, twisting your wrist around the flushed head, smearing the wetness at the tip around with your thumb. He pumps one finger, then two inside of you in a matching rhythm, the heel of his hand brushing your clit and making you moan.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, baby, I’m right there with you,” Dieter replies, his own hips chasing your hand. “Come on, come on, all over my hand, baby.”

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, your muscles tightening before releasing all at once as you cum, clenching around his fingers and moaning his name. Warmth spreads over your hand and when you finally open your eyes you see that Dieter has cum as well.

“Uh,” you say awkwardly, “What…what do I do?”

“Huh?” Dieter mumbles, withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“With the” — you nod towards your cum covered hand — “mess?”

“Oh, right. Uh…just kinda…wipe it into my boxers?” He says. You do as he suggests, wiping the sticky mess into the fabric. “I’ll just deal with it later.”

“Boss? You there?” Mike’s voice calls out over the radio, which sits discarded to the side. You scramble off of Dieter’s lap to grab the device.

“Mike! We’ve been locked in the attic for over an hour!” You hiss. “Come get us right now and maybe I’ll let you keep your job.”

Mike responds that he’ll be right up and you fix your pants, hooking the radio back onto your jeans. Dieter stands, pulling his pants up and gathering some of the equipment. You stand together, waiting for Mike in what you would consider an awkward silence until Dieter bumps your shoulder with his.

“We should do that again sometime,” he says. “Maybe without the audience.”

“Audience?” You ask.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear and making your shiver as he whispers, “The ghosts.” You shove him away, both of you dissolving into giggles. His face grows serious once more. “No, really. You wanna like…get breakfast or something? I know this good farm-to-table place that opens super early.” You smile at him.

“I’d like that.”

Dieter sits on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a box of gluten free crackers in his lap. “Hurry up! It’s starting!”

“Your fancy microwave burned my popcorn,” you whine as you rush back into the living room. Dieter sneaks a hand into your bowl, shoving popcorn hastily into his mouth. “Hey!”

“Boyfriend tax,” he explains. “Now, hush, or I won’t invite you over to watch anymore.”

“It’s my show!”

The opening theme music starts, some eerie instrumental that plays over a montage of scenes from earlier episodes. As the music fades, shots of the house and your recorded voiceover explain the location for the episode right before it cuts to you and Dieter.

“…And this, is Spirit Seekers,” you and Dieter say along with your recorded self, matching grins on your faces.

Dieter Bravo masterlist

All masterlists

#dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #tw drugs

[likeahorribledream]

Hey, I still know things about you that nobody else does! And I'm not afraid to use that to my advantage."

For biker Bucky? It just seems so fun

Thank you for sending this! I took a few liberties with the story and hopefully you’re going to like it!

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x female!reader

TW: none

Word count: 1.2k

Author’s note: I haven’t written anything in… I want to say months but I think it’s more than a year. So PLEASE be nice and patient with me 😭 I haven’t edited it, reading my own stories make me cringe so I apologize for all the mistakes you’re going to find.

Not a lot of names were feared in this town just by the sound of them, but Barnes was definitely at the top of the list. Mostly because of how he looked. Bucky was at the head of the only MC the town has ever known, taking his father’s place once he stepped down. The club is all he has ever known. At 6’3, long hair, a beard and covered in tattoos and muscles; he feels like he was born to be a biker especially because no one dared to cross him. No one was better than him when it came to staring down someone, he could go minutes without blinking and that freaked most people out. He absolutely loved to be feared, he loved that no one even tried to bother him, or challenge him because his reputation preceded him wherever he went and he wasn’t afraid to throw a punch (or five) to get his point across. Needless to say, no one willingly got into a fight with him because they knew they’d come out the loser. So every night you could find him sitting peacefully at the bar his father owned, with all of the MC by his side, drinking beers and enjoying music. Regular people were welcomed in, but they all knew to steer clear of the boys’ table.

Until one night, where their peaceful evening was disturbed by commotion coming from the front of the bar. Their table was completely at the back, they couldn’t see but they could tell something was going on. Before they even got the chance to get up, people were getting out of the way as someone was furiously making their way towards them.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” You screamed before even seeing him. “Back office. Now!” You added once you were finally able to make eye contact with him.

The music stopped, and not a sound could be heard. It was comical, really, you would have laughed if you weren’t so pissed off.

Everybody’s attention shifted to Bucky as he slowly put his beer down on the table in front of him and stood up. Within a few steps he was right in front of you, staring you down like he does so well. “Excuse you?”

More than a few people were holding their breath, fearing for your safety but you didn’t even flinch. You crossed your arms in front of you and raised an eyebrow, challenging him in front of everybody before smiling sweetly. “I know things, things that no one else does, and I’m not afraid to use them to my advantage. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” You said calmly, never breaking eye contact. “Back office. Now.” You repeated yourself with a tone that let him know that it would be the last time. You uncrossed your arms and starting walking yourself to the back office, not even looking back to see if he was following you. You knew he was. You took a seat at the desk and waited until he closed the door behind him before speaking again.

“You got some explaining to do.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he leaned back against the door, surprised by the words that came out of your mouth. “I have some explaining to do?”

You frowned. “Don’t look surprised.”

“You came in here screaming like a damn fury, but I’m the one who needs to give an explanation?” He scoffed, looking around. “I’m getting punk’d is that it?”

“James.” You said his name in a tone that meant you were done messing around. Like an instant reaction, Bucky took the elastic off of his right wrist and tied his long hair in a low bun; a sign that he was nervous.

Bucky sighed, taking a seat across the desk from you, watching you as you pulled out your phone from your jacket pocket.

You looked through your phone and started reading off the screen. “I won’t be able to make it on Saturday, something came up. Tell your parents I’m sorry.” You finished, putting down your phone on the desk. “That would be the third time in three months that I’ll have to tell my parents “something came up”, James.”

“ I know.” He answered quietly, looking down at the desk.

“Can’t you just tell me the truth? Look, if you don’t want to meet my parents because you don’t love me anymore just tell me.” You said quickly, mentally bracing yourself for the words that you thought were going to come out of his mouth at any second.

“What? Baby, no.” He got up from his chair, walking around the desk and kneeling in front of you. “I love you.” He took your hands between his, his cold rings making you shiver against his hot skin. “I’m just… scared.” He finally admitted, shamefully.

“Scared?” This was the first time he had mentioned it to you. “Scared of what? You know my dad doesn’t care about the MC, he was in one and that’s how my parents met.”

You saw his lips move, but what came out was a mumble. “What?”

He sighed. “Your mom. We’ve only ever spoken on FaceTime for a few minutes, but I can’t tell if she likes me or not. I can’t read a single emotion off of her and it terrifies me.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Why didn’t you just tell me instead of cancelling at the last minute?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to make fun of me.”

“I’m still terrified of her, believe me. Plus, I wouldn’t make fun of you. Do you make fun of me when I get scared in the middle of the night because of noises from outside, and you have to go check so I can fall back asleep even if we both know the noises are raccoons and not robbers?”

It’s his time to chuckle. “Of course not, I know you can’t help it.”

You nodded and brought his hands to your lips, kissing his knuckles. “Then, why would you think I would make fun of you? Ever?”

He stood up, making you do the same by not letting go of your hands. “Because I’m an idiot.” He lead you towards the door, kissing your cheek before opening it.

“You’re actually quite smart. Most of the time.” You winked at him as you exited the back office.

“When you said you knew things about me and you weren’t afraid to use them, what did you mean?”

“Oh, I just have pictures of the big, bad biker that everyone fears; wearing matching PJs with his kitten.”

Bucky gasped loudly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You smiled brightly at him, leaning in to give him a quick kiss before letting go of his hand. “Cancel our “us” time via text again, and you’ll find out.” You waved goodbye to the guys and walked back to the front of the bar, leaving like nothing ever happened.

Everybody feared Bucky Barnes, but Bucky only feared two people in this world. You, and your mom.

As he took his seat back at the table, he asked himself how rude it would be to show up tomorrow at your family dinner with the guys from the MC. He’s definitely going to need protection. That’s what happens when you fall in love with the feisty girl who isn’t scared to call you out on your shit.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #James Buchanan Barnes #james buchanan barnes x female!reader #sebastian stan x female!reader #Sebastian Stan x reader

[hedawanheda]

secret recipe- prologue

Clarke has been given six months to find a serious and genuine relationship or else her father will hand over the company to Cage Wallace. Lexa just wants to cook.

or

Lexa is the Griffin’s personal chef.

Clarke Griffin is a leader. She’s a girl who knows what she wants and she doesn’t care how she gets it. When she talks, people listen. When she walks by, people stare. She exudes a confidence and energy that makes everyone who knows her respect her, while also fearing her a little. Her life is dedicated to her work, the Fortune 500 company her family had built from the ground up.

So when her father announces at his retirement party (that she flew all the way from California to attend and moved back home for this promotion) that his temporary successor would be Cage Wallace, she is understandably pissed.

“Don’t cause a scene,” her mother whispered harshly to her as she watched Cage walk up and shake her father’s hand. Clarke was in utter disbelief, waiting for her to wake up from her nightmare or for Ashton Kutcher to come out and say she was punk’d.

Cage caught her eye, sending her a gloating smile as he posed for the papers. Clarke felt the heat rise to her cheeks as her anger began to take over, clenching her glass so tightly that she was surprised it didn’t break. That should be her up there.

As the applause for Cage continued, Clarke downed the rest of her drink. Then the rest of her mom’s. Then she flagged down a waiter who was passing out shots to celebrate Cage’s promotion and Jake’s retirement.

And then she doesn’t remember the rest of her night.

She wakes up in her childhood bedroom which she miraculously got to somehow in her drunken state. The sun shines into her eyes way too early, rousing her from her deep slumber. Her rumbling stomach, pounding head, and dry mouth are too much to ignore, so she dragged herself out of her bed and trudged her way down to the kitchen in search of a greasy breakfast and some aspirin.

She opened the refrigerator and let the cold air hit her, taking a deep sigh and rubbing her forehead before searching for the orange juice. When she found it, she took a swig from the bottle, letting the citrusy flavor cost her parched tongue.

“Good morning, Miss Clarke,”

Clarke dropped the bottle of juice, startled by the other presence in the room. She was so hungover that she didn’t realize that she wasn’t alone.

“Holy shit- Lexa?!” she gaped. Clarke hadn’t seen Lexa since the girl went off to culinary school in Paris a decade ago.

“Welcome home,” Lexa smiled, ignoring the blonde’s disheveled appearance. Clarke was grateful for that, considering she was in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an old oversized college sweatshirt. Her hair was piled into a messy bun, and she undoubtedly had bags under her eyes from her late night. “Can I get something started for you?” Lexa asked politely.

“Huh?” Clarke was so shocked from seeing her old friend that she didn’t take in her appearance. Lexa was wearing a white chef’s coat and black pants, her hair tied back in braids. She was standing behind the kitchen counter, hands folded behind her back with an array of skillets and knives laid out in front of her.

“For breakfast,” Lexa explained patiently. “What would you like?”

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asked, answering Lexa’s question with one of her own. “The last time I heard you were at some Michelin star restaurant in the French Riviera.”

Lexa pretended that she didn’t hear that. “There’s pancakes or waffles, I could also do crepes if you wanted those. Omelets, eggs Benedict, frittata-“

“Wait, hold on-“

“Oatmeal, French toast, bagels-“

“Can you just stop for a minute-“

“Your dad has me hide his sugary cereal from your mom, I can dig that out-“

“Lexa! Stop listing breakfast food!” Clarke said, exasperated. “What are you doing in my house?”

Lexa paused, looked down and avoiding Clarke’s eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? I work here,”

“But… why?” Clarke was genuinely confused. Why would someone give up a great and promising career to cook for her parents?

She didn’t get her answer, because her father entered the kitchen with a bright and cheery smile on his face. Clarke instantly scowled. She may not have remembered how most of her night had gone, but she remembered being burned by the person she called her father.

“Good morning, sweetie. Good morning, Lexa,” he said gleefully. He walked over and kissed the top of Clarke’s head, ignoring his daughter’s sour face. “Isn’t today a glorious day?”

“I see you’re enjoying your first day of retirement, sir,” Lexa grinned at him. “Shall I prepare your usual?”

“Please. But add extra bacon, I feel like celebrating,”

“Didn’t you and your bestie Cage do enough of that last night?” Clarke grumbled. Jake turned to her, smiling, and placed his hands on both sides of her face.

“Lighten up, sweetie. I’m sure once you have some food in you, you’ll be happier,”

“Food won’t make me happy,” Clarke said through squished cheeks. She removed her father’s hands from her face, angrily crossing her arms. Jake chuckled at his daughter’s death glare.

“You’ve haven’t had Lexa’s cooking in a long while. She’s like a food Midas, anything she makes turns to gold,”

“What happened to Alie?” Jake’s smile fell while Lexa looked down at her hands. “What?” Clarke asked again, looking between her father and Lexa. It was weird seeing Lexa at the house and not having her mom there, the chef the Griffins had since before Clarke was born.“What are you not telling me?”

“My mother passed away last year,” Lexa said quietly, not meeting Clarke’s eye. “Cancer,”

This morning has turned out to be quite the surprising event for the blonde.

“Excuse me?!” Clarke said angrily, turning to her father. “You didn’t think of mentioning this to me over the past year? That the woman I’ve known for as long as I’ve known you died?”

“In his defense, she wanted to keep her illness private,” Lexa explained calmly. When Clarke looked at her, her gaze softened. She wasn’t the one Clarke was rightfully angry towards. “The funeral was a small affair. Just family,”

Clarke frowned. Wasn’t she considered family? “That still doesn’t mean it was okay not to mention it to me,”

“You’re right,” Jake sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. Why don’t we sit down and have Lexa make us a nice breakfast. I’m sure there’s something on your mind,”

//

“Why did you pass over me for the promotion?” Clarke asked as Lexa slid plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her and Jake. “Why did you choose Cage of all people?”

“I know what you think of him, but he’s actually a brilliant man,” Jake started digging into his meal, talking with his mouth full. “Difficult, but brilliant,”

“But I don’t understand. You’ve been preparing me to take over for you since I started at the company. And I actually worked my way up from the bottom,”

“Cage is only a temporary solution,” Jake explained. “He will be interim CEO for the next six months before I decide if you’re fit enough to take over,”

“And what do you consider that to be?”

“How do I say this?” Jake rubbed his chin. “Clarke, you need a life,”

Clarke looked and felt offended. “What are you talking about? I have a life,”

“You’re a twenty eight year old workaholic who’s never had a serious partner before. Your mother and I are worried about you,”

“And where’s Mom now? Work.” Clarke snapped. “And the partner thing? A little misogynistic, don’t you think?”

Jake sighed. “Honey, don’t start. If I gave you the position right away, you would never find time to settle down,”

“So what are you saying? I can’t get the position I earned until I get hitched?”

“Not exactly,”

”Not exactly?”

“Well, not married per say, but a relationship, yes,”

Clarke stared at her father, eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re serious,”

“I am,” Jake nodded. “You need to get out there and actually live in the world, Clarke. There’s so much more to life than an office.”

“I do yoga,” Clarke pointed out. “Work’s not my entire life,”

“Honey, I don’t think you realize how sad that sounds,”

Clarke slumped down in her chair. “I could just hire someone, you know,”

“I know. But I’m using the honor code here. I just want you to be happy, to settle down,”

“I can be happy and not be in a relationship,”

“But you’re not,” Jake folded his hands on the table, pushing his empty plate away. “Just try. Put yourself out there. As long as I see you’re at least making an effort, the gig is yours.” This made Clarke sit up straighter in her chair.

“Really?” she asked. “So I have to just go on a few dates?”

“Emphasis on the effort, Clarke. And besides, six months is a long time, who knows? Maybe you’ll find your person,” Jake smiled warmly at his daughter, who rolled her eyes. “You’re a little too old for that now,”

“And I’m also a little too old for you to be telling me what to do,”

Jake sighed. “This isn’t a punishment. I really do want what’s best for you Clarke. Six months. That’s all I’m asking for,”

“Fine,” Clarke huffed, throwing down her fork on her partially eaten plate. She had lost her appetite, no matter how good it looked. “I’ll agree to this, no matter how dumb it is. It’s not like I’m actually going to fall in love just because you gave me a deadline.” Jake smiled, doing a little happy dance in his chair.

“I think this is going to be good for you, Clarke,” he said. Lexa came in and began clearing away the dishes as quietly as she could, trying to go unnoticed. Clarke watched her, not wanting to look at her father’s triumphant grin. She didn’t realize her eyes were trailing the girl until Lexa left and her father cleared his throat. When she turned back to him, his grin was faint, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he looked between Clarke and the doorway where his chef exited.

“Something amusing?” Clarke asked.

Jake chuckled. “No, nothing at all,”

read on ao3!

#it’s suuuuper short i just wanted to get the gist out there before i dive in!! #clexa #clexa fanfic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #clarke x lexa #fic: secret recipe

[peterman-spideyparker]

Costumed (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I think I started to write this back in July, and I didn't want to forget to get this posted like I usually do with holiday themed fics. I'm just sorry the title sucks. I hope you enjoy! :)

Summary: You're not really one for Halloween, but you love a good costume. And while you're not looking forward to doing a group costume, you find something that you just can't pass up.

Warnings: Fluff, regular Nelson and Murdock shenaniganery, mild swearing

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson and Karen Page

Word Count: 1,668

What compelled Foggy to come up with the idea that you all wear costumes to the office on Halloween is beyond you, but Matt agreeing and being pretty enthusiastic about it all confused you even more. So when Karen suggested a theme of “superheroes” with a sly smirk and Matt still agreed, you thought that Ashton Kutcher was going to jump out with a camera crew to tell you you’d been punk’d. But when none of that happened and everyone started to plan and chatter about their costumes in the main reception area, you decided that a walk around the block was exactly what you needed. 

“Oh, you’re being a bit dramatic,” Karen chuckles as you grab your jacket on the coat rack. 

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m just convinced that I’m in a parallel universe,” you say as you slide on your windbreaker. 

“Just think about it, though,” Foggy adds. “We go straight from work to Josie’s for the costume contest.”

“All this being contingent we don’t have client meetings or need to go into court,” Matt says with a little smirk. 

“I can’t believe you. Matt Murdock, of all people, wanting to have fun. Voluntarily.”

“What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me.” Taking a few steps in your direction, Matt leans in and gives you a kiss. “See?” he teasingly smirks.

You roll your eyes and grin, kissing him again. “I’ll be back soon. If you guys want me to grab coffee—.”

“Yes, please,” they all say in unison. 

“Fine, text me what you want. I’ll be back!"

With a final round of goodbyes, you leave the office and trot down the stairs and into the street. A few minutes into your walk, you find a new little costume shop open for the season. With everything in the office fresh in your mind, curiosity gets the best of you and guides you into the store. You slowly browse the shelves, looking at the different options available, some very impressive, and others in need of some extra fabric. 

“Hi, welcome in,” a salesperson greets behind some pumpkin trick or treat pails. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Maybe,” you hum, peeling your eyes away from something particularly high up. “I’ve been outvoted in doing a themed group costume.”

“What theme?”

“Superheroes.”

“Ah, a classic. Well, we’ve got plenty to choose from. Classy or sexy?”

“I’m thinking a bit of both, actually.” Turning my focus back to the wall, the sales clerk comes to your side. “Could you help me grab that one, please?”

“Ooh, nice choice!”

A few minutes later, you’re leaving the costume shop with a bag in hand, continuing your route of the coffee cart, and returning back to the quiet office, each of your friends nose-deep in work. 

“I thought I was gonna have to send Matt out looking for you,” Foggy finally says. “Where’d you go to get the coffee? Italy?”

“No, I just got a bit side-tracked along the way,” you hum, stuffing the bag into your desk drawer before going over and handing everyone their drinks. 

“What did you pick up on this side track?” Matt hums with a kiss to your cheek as he grabs his cup. 

“Something you guys will get to see in two weeks,” you hum. 

“Did you just pick up your costume?” Foggy asks excitedly, much akin to an excited golden retriever. “But you—!”

“Yes, and that’s all you’re getting, because I’m clearly nothing to win. No hints, no nothing, and no dwelling on how quickly I caved.”

“But what if we wear the same thing?”

“Trust me, Foggy, we’re not gonna have the same costume.”

“If you do, it’ll just have to be a who wore it better,” Karen grins as she sips her latte. “A little Halloween fashion show.”

“Yes!” Foggy cheers enthusiastically.

“No fashion show,” you counter.

“Yes, fashion show,” Matt grins like a cat that ate the canary.

“Goobers, all of you!” You take Matt’s face in your hands, pressing kisses to his lips. “And you’re the head goober!”

Matt smiles and kisses you once more. “I appreciate the recognition, sweetheart.”

“Alright, break it up, love birds,” Foggy teases. “We’ve got a law firm to run.”

“I don’t think that’s much of a costume,” Foggy pouts as you walk into the office. 

“You just gotta wait,” you hum as you walk around to your desk to sit down. 

“Is it a couples costume?” Karen asks. 

“No. Honestly, I don’t know what Matt’s dressing up as.”

“Well, the established plan is to wear our costumes and then go to Josie’s,” he clarifies. “So this ain’t gonna cut it.”

“I know. And this is part of my costume. Just take a deep breath, Flash.”

“No way, if I am wearing this Catwoman bodysuit all day, you’re wearing yours all day,” Karen hums. 

“Fine. You two go get coffee and bagels, my treat, and I’ll be in the Foggy and Karen approved costume by the time you get back.”

Handing them some cash, you shoo them out of the office and lock the door, working on taking off your clothes to reveal your Wonder Woman one piece underneath. You slide on the matching boots and throw on the tiara before you adjust your gauntlets and loop on your lasso of truth. 

Sitting back down at your desk, you resume your previous task of responding to emails when you hear the door unlock, the squeaky hinges opening wide. You smile and stifle a giggle when you see Matt walk in in a Superman costume—giant S on his chest and a cape and all.

“Looking good, Kansas,” you tease, leaning back in your chair. “It’s a good fit, but, part of me can’t help but think your broodiness would make you better suited for a Batman costume.”

“You—I . . .” Matt stutters with his mouth agape as he tries to figure out what your costume is. “What are you wearing, angel?”

“My costume,” you say, turning to give him your full attention from your computer. “We agreed on a superhero theme, did we not?”

“Yeah, but, this . . .”

A smile pulls across your face as you watch his cheeks flush with a deep blush. You stand up and make your way over to him, the click of the heels of your boots loud against the old hardwood. 

“Wow,” he breathes as his hands settle into your waist. “This . . . Wow.”

“You like it?” you chuckle as his hands start to trail up, his fingertips hitting your exposed shoulder blades.

“That’d be an understatement, angel.”

“I kinda hesitated about it. It was an impulse buy initially. I’m glad it’s paying off,” you hum as his hands go down over the curve of your ass before giving it a squeeze. “Maybe I should dress as a superhero every year.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea, sweetheart. It’s definitely paying off.”

“Feels good?”

“Very.” He leans in to kiss your neck slowly and repeatedly. “I don’t know how I’m gonna focus all day with you in that costume, smelling your skin like that.”

“Well, you should find a way, Murdock.” You can’t help how your eyes flutter shut and the goosebumps that spread all over your skin as he holds you flush against him. Matt knows just what buttons to press and how to press them to make you putty in his hands. “Otherwise, I’ll have to use my Lasso of Truth on you.”

“You gonna tie me up, angel?”

“You need to behave, but it’d be a bit unprofessional to do that here. We’d just have to go back to your place tonight if that’s what you’re jonesing for, though. Not like I need to return the costume or anything.”

As Matt leans in for a kiss, you lean back, taking your index finger and twirling Matt’s cowlick onto his forehead. It holds into a curl, and you lean forward to press a kiss to his freshly-shaven cheek. “There. Now you’re perfectly Superman-ed.”

“Thanks for keeping me authentic, angel,” he smiles as he leans in for a kiss. 

“Hey, whoa, you can only kiss Lois Lane!” Foggy calls as he walking into the office. “Of course you’re Superman. And damn, (Y/N), rocking the tiara and one-piece. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I wish I had your legs.”

“Thanks, Fog,” you say. “I’ll never not be weirded out and flattered when you say that.“

“Thanks a lot Fog for—holy shit, (Y/N)!” Karen says as she comes in, box of bagels and coffee in hand. “You look hot! I mean, you usually do, but, damn!”

“Thank you,” you chuckle. “Now that you guys know I’m committed to the costume theme, can I please put some more clothes on? It’s kinda drafty in here.”

Matt presses a kiss to your temple before going over to his office to pick up an emergency suit coat he hangs on the back of his door. 

“To keep out the draft,” he smiles softly, kissing your cheek before whispering in your ear: “And so I can hold on to you easier during the day while you wear that.”

“I’m seeing now how this plan is backfiring,” Foggy nods with an exaggerated, turtle-face pout. “It’s worth it, though, cuz we’re gonna win the costume contest! Or at least you two are. But a victory for part of Nelson, Murdock, and Page is a victory for the whole! So let's get to work, keep it in our pants, and then get that victory title. That middle part is for you two, by the by.”

“Yes, Fog, we get it, we’ll behave” Matt confirms, his hand still on your waist as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “But let the record show I’m glad we’re not having a costume ‘Who Wore it Better’ with you can (Y/N).”

“Joke’s on you, Murdock, I’d look fabulous dressed as Wonder Woman. This hair was made for a tiara.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x fem!reader fluff #daredevil #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fluff #daredevil x fem!reader #daredevil x fem!reader fluff #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

[thekidsarentalright]

I GOT FUCKING SOUL PUNK’D??!?!?!???

#HOW THE FUCK DO I KEEP WINNING SO HARD IM STILL IN SHOCK SORRY HELLO???? HI??? WHAT THE FUCK MAN?????? #PATRICK I NEED TO SPEAK TO YOU PATRICK HELLO HI. PATRICK. #txt

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

bam breaks his tailbone skating and is a little bitch about it

Pain in the Ass

After a stunt gone wrong, Y/N takes pity on their boyfriend (and his poor ass)

Bam Margera X Gn!reader

1k Words

(Fluff)

Warnings: Whump, suggestive content, crude language, medication

AN: Aaaa thank you for the request!! I hope u enjoy!

You and the guys sat in the little $50 X-ray place, crowding around the doctor’s computer to scrutinize the black and blue image on the screen. Of course, giggles abounded as Rick got in close with the handheld camera, asking questions to the technician, “So where’s the tailbone here?” Cracking a slight smile, she gestured with her computer mouse to the middle of the scan of Bam’s pelvis at what looked like oatmeal in his abdomen, “It’s right here- underneath all this feces.”

Laughter erupted in the room, mostly from the party viewing the image, but even your boyfriend- the one sitting off to the side on the gurney in the little paper gown with the blue flowers- found it hilarious, “You- you can see my crap inside of my stomach?” He chuckled unbelievingly as Ryan sat on the side of the bed, leaning in, “Dude, we can see your balls.” And another round of laughter. “That is sick- am I ‘gettin copies of this?”

Seemingly, you were the only person in the room who was, in the slightest bit, concerned. Leaning over to the poor doctor who had to witness all of this, you asked, “He’s okay, right?” She waved a dismissive hand at you, equally as entertained while announcing to the whole group, “He’ll be fine- a broken Coccyx is a very mild injury.”

“Oh, he hurt that too? Looked fine to me…”

You absentmindedly twirled Bam’s hair as he laid on his stomach while you watched an episode of Punk’d on the couch, softly humming. While you watched Hillary Duff getting blamed for a carjacking, you could hear an audible smile in your boyfriend's voice as he piped up, “Y’know, this morning I slapped Ryan with that jelly ass doughnut I got.” You chuckled, not quite paying attention to what he had to say, completely enveloped in the rare moment of calm you captured, even if your hand was pressing an ice pack to his asscrack. “Mmhm.”

He groaned at the shocking cold on warm skin, shoving his head between his crossed arms in front of him. “This sucks…” Your boyfriend whined, looking up at you from your lap, “Can’t skate…can’t sit up- I can’t even shit on my own!” He did have a point. It was like seeing an animal in a zoo without enrichment. You felt a little bad, even if he was being dramatic, “Well, I think I found an upside to this.” You spoke quietly, comfortingly raking your hand through Bam’s thick hair, his pale eyelids fluttering shut. “Mmhm?”

“Jeff sent me an email. Apparently,” A grin crept into your voice as you pulled out your phone to show him, “they got that X-ray framed at MTV headquarters!” All of a sudden, your boyfriend's face lit up and he whispered unbelievingly as he looked at the photo. “No way…no way!” He almost giggled, pulling himself up to the best of his ability, “All those millionaires- goin in to make deals n shit- they’re all gonna be ‘starin at my dick!”

You smiled at how quickly his demeanor changed. “Mmhm.” He went to get up, standing up too fast and stumbling a little with a wince. God, it was like didn’t even know he hurt himself, or at least that he didn’t care. “Can you, uh- can you get me some of those Advils? ‘M goin upstairs.” You nodded, starting off to the kitchen before calling back, “Be careful!” Slugging up the hardwood steps, he jokingly grumbled, “Sure, mom…” before disappearing to his room. You followed him shortly, the pain medication and a bottle of water in hand as you skipped up after him.

Of course, since sitting upright was out of the question, laying down required a certain finesse. You shut the door and got on the bed first while your boyfriend shimmied his jeans off and you giggled at his pale legs. Bam rolled his eyes, scoffing as you gently grabbed his hips and helped him onto the bed. It really was kinda cute, how he could be so aloof one second, but the next he’s practically begging for your attention, especially like this. Your big shot jerk boyfriend, always tormenting everybody around him, but when you caught him like this every now and again it really was sweet.

You watched his dim silhouette in the dark room as he propped himself on one arm and you unscrewed the cap of the bottle of water. Taking the oblong red and blue pills from you, he threw them into his mouth and stilled before looking up at you with those pale blue eyes as you pressed the rim of the bottle to his barely parted lips. You tilted it back, looking down at the curiously sweet and intimate act as his eyelids fell half lidded while he gulped down a few sips, his Adam's apple bobbing, before pulling back. He wiped his mouth with a groan and laid back down. You blushed a little, finding it oddly attractive.

He sighed, settling into the soft mattress, keeping his one leg propped up awkwardly while he waited for you. For the last week, your boyfriend hadn’t been able to sleep without a pillow between his knees, which in and of itself was adorable, especially when you stumbled in on him for the first time like that, but since your methods of pain management had advanced. You shushed him as you walked around the bed sinking into the plush surface next to him.

Bam knew the drill, throwing his leg over your hip and nuzzling his face close into the soft skin of the back of your neck, inhaling softly. “Fuck…” You giggled at the feeling of his lips moving on your skin as you pulled him arm over your waist to make sure he wouldn’t roll over onto his back while he slept. You stroked his palm with your thumb comfortingly. “Feelin alright?” You murmured as he snuggled closer, your fingers grazing over his chipping black nail polish. “Mmhm.” You brought his hand up, placing a gentle kiss on a tattooed knuckle.

#jackass #bam margera #jackass fanfic #jackass fanfiction #bam margera x reader #ryan dunn #whump fic #fluff #jackass x reader

[quesadillayuri]

it's a gift! for @routeriver! for the @mcytblrholidayexchange! hi, i hope you enjoy some foolish & tina shenanigans, with quite a bit of bagina and empanada in there too, because i love those girls!

ao3 link

Foolish is a fantastic friend.

Honestly, he’d say that he’s a pretty great guy all around, and frankly, he’s been keeping it all together pretty well for a guy in his situation. He got forced into a death game, and then there were all the eggs, and the duel, and the boat leaving him behind as a meteor struck. He’s cracked to pieces, he can’t see out of one eye, and he’s more shark than he’s ever been before, which doesn’t seem like a great sign.

But, comparatively to some people, like Max who died, Foolish is doing pretty well. He looks like shit, sure, but he’s doing well.

Everyone looked like shit at the end of Purgatory, it’s part of being in Purgatory, so Foolish thought everyone would be on the same page.

Tina, apparently, didn’t get the memo.

“Okay, I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Foolish says, squinting at Tina. His vision is blurry, and he knows that he’s been going a little crazy since this started, but he doesn’t think he’s gotten to the stage of hallucinating yet. This means that, unfortunately, his very close, top ten favorite, longest known friend, Tina, is actually reapplying makeup. Tina glances at him in disdain, and makes a face.

“You wouldn’t think that, would you?” She says, looking him up and down. Foolish sputters in disbelief.

“You can’t— Tina, what? Tina, I— You cannot be serious right now?” Foolish hisses, whipping his head around like someone is going to come out with a camera and TV crew and tell him he’s on Punk’d. Tina just hums in acknowledgment, pulling at her face so that she can put a pencil-looking thing to her under eye in a way that cannot be comfortable.

Listen, Foolish loves Tina. People talk, have talked for years and years, about how they seem to butt heads, how they don’t really seem to get along, but Tina and him are friends. Like, real friends. They’re weird, in their own way, but Foolish always has weird friends. He’s friends with Bad, of all people, so everyone should really start to expect his friends to be weird. But, this is where Foolish is drawing the line, because they need to leave. They needed to leave hours ago, but Foolish couldn’t find Tina anywhere.

“Tina—” Foolish tries, but Tina shushes him, waving him off.

“Shhh,” She says, shoving her hand in his face, and he just stares at her with wide eyes. He can’t believe her, this can’t be real.

“Am I— Tina, are you real? This isn’t real, I— This isn’t real, you’re pranking me, this is a prank—” Foolish rambles, collapsing to lay down in the sand, hands over his eyes. The sun is a bright, glaring red, and Foolish thinks that he is going to be the first person to ever experience what nuclear radiation does to a totem. He’s not that interested in being a scientific anomaly, but that’s just how life goes.

Tina does not seem to care much about his crisis. When he tells her that he doesn’t want to become the Federation’s grand scientific discovery, and that his life isn’t worth a Nobel Peace Prize, or any prize, she just shoots him an absent thumbs up. Her tongue sticks out in focus, and Foolish feels a little bit like he’s going to snap into pieces.

“Tina—”

“Oh my God,” Tina hisses, “I’ll be ready in a second, just wait, asshole!”

Foolish isn’t proud of this, okay? He’s a nice guy. He’s a great guy. But, and this is important, he’s known Tina long enough that he doesn’t really need to be nice to her.

So, Foolish does what he has to do. He lassos Tina, picks her up, and launches her into the ocean.

For the first few miles, Tina just floats on top of the sea, letting Foolish do all the hard work of swimming so that she can mope around. Then, Foolish decides that he would also like to breathe air for a second, and she attempts to stay under the water so she doesn’t have to talk to him.

Foolish thinks about letting her drown. He doesn’t let her, but only because she would absolutely tell everyone that he left her to die, and he really does not want to deal with that.

It’s only on hour three that she says something, and honestly he’s regretting wishing that she would talk to him at all.

“Could we not have built a boat?” She says, spitting water out of her mouth as he speeds up. He can’t maintain the speed, but it’s good to keep her on her toes. He dives under the water too, just to humble her. It’s a little petty, but Foolish is a little petty, and she’s been so put together this whole time, that he just can’t really help himself.

She starts yelling as soon as he surfaces, which he takes as a good sign that he’s succeeded in making her angry, until he realizes that it’s actually kind of awful, because he’s the one stuck with an angry Tina for the next few hours. She starts swimming faster, just to get closer so she can yell in his ear, but she can’t keep up. He doesn’t fault her for that, because Tina is wearing seven layers of clothing at any given time and Foolish is incredibly aerodynamic. Foolish is also a shark, but he thinks the aerodynamics is what really gives him the advantage.

Once Tina has finished yelling at him, and once Foolish is done trying to get her to yell more, they drift in silence. Foolish knows which direction the island is, and the wind is, thankfully, pushing the ocean that way so he doesn’t have to work as hard, so for a little while, he’s able to chill. Tina has decided to dedicate herself to dethorning the lasso around her. It was fashioned from a vine that seemed to be pretty painful for everyone that wasn’t made of precious metals with skin that isn’t as thick as a sharks. Foolish knows Tina’s durable enough to not feel the thorns, and even if she wasn’t, the many layers of clothing do a good job at protecting her.

She’s probably just bored, being alone with her thoughts. Tina’s never liked that. Foolish doesn’t mind it nearly as much as she does. Foolish likes to think, contrary to popular belief. He used to always think aloud, but once he started living around people again, he realized that talking to yourself isn’t the best trait to have. So, he tries to keep in on lock, at least when he’s thinking about things he doesn’t want to share.

Foolish shares a lot with Tina, but it’s been a long week, and Foolish has a lot to think about for himself, so he lets her struggle on her own.

There’s something itching at him. It might be all the people left behind, by the boat they couldn’t make it to, and by Foolish who couldn’t find them: Cellbit, Baghera, Etoiles, and Bad. It might be Max, who Foolish is still trying to wrap his head around because he died and he also nuked the island. It’s not that though, because it’s something smaller. He wracks his brain, trying to figure out what’s bothering him, because he knows it’s something, someone.

He thinks it has to do with Tina.

And then Tina screams, and the thought is left behind, because holy shit, who the fuck is that?

“That’s a person, oh God—” Tina starts yelling, so Foolish starts yelling because oh, God, that is a person.

There is a person, sinking in the water beneath them, and Foolish makes the split second decision of ‘I should probably help this guy’ and dives under the water, reaching blindly for the pale, thrashing person in the water. When he makes contact, the person is distinctly furry, and Foolish recognizes the bright orange vest of the workers. The worker tries to fight Foolish’s hold, but Foolish is strong enough to get a good grasp, and he doesn’t care at all if he has to knock this guy out to stop them from drowning.

So, he does that, and he ties part of the rope around them too. The worker is... weirdly buoyant, so it’s once again, just him and Tina swimming, this time with a furry mass bobbing beside them. It’s weird, and Tina hisses every time the worker floats a little too close to her, but it’s altogether pretty alright. They make small talk, but Tina always seems half-focused on watching the guy out of the corner of her eye.

Foolish can’t remember much, but Tina being wary, paranoid, doesn’t strike him as especially strange. It should, probably, because Tina has seemed fairly upbeat and positive the whole time she’s been on the island, but it doesn’t.

Foolish puts Tina into the same category as Bad. They’re weird, obviously, and Foolish knows there’s some sort of complicated history with them, but he just can’t remember. He tries not to let it bother him. Some things he can’t change, and island-induced amnesia seems to be one of those things.

She seems happy enough when they spot the beaches of the Island, but Foolish supposes that anyone would be happy at that point.

When they climb onto land, Tina detaches herself from Foolish almost instantly, ripping the rope from around her body. They drag the unconscious worker onto land, and as Foolish stabilizes the guy, Tina scrunches the water out of her hair. Agent 18 meets them, and after a small crisis where Foolish has to confirm that yes, he is alive and yes, they should probably stop having funerals for him, they’re able to escort the other worker into the Federation building. Apparently, he was not normal, and was a worker from the other island, which makes a lot more sense.

Tina seems glad to go along with them, lamenting the ways she was rejected from the Federation as an employee. Foolish isn’t really holding out hope that she’ll actually become a worker, due to her... associations. He says as much.

“I don’t think they’ll let you in,” Foolish says, and Tina frowns at him.

“Wha— Why not?” She asks incredulously, crossing her arms, “I have all the qualifications.”

“Oh yeah,” Foolish says sarcastically, “Like being a barista! So highly qualified.” She rolls her eyes, and elbows him harshly.

“Yeah, exactly,” She says, squinting up at him, challenging him, “I’ll have you know I’m incredibly skilled.”

“I’m sure you are,” Foolish placates, before pausing. He has to figure out how to say this in a way that won’t make her yell at him. He looks to Agent 18 for help, but he is studiously ignoring both of them in favor of arranging a small prison cell around the Unnamed Freaky Eye Worker. Foolish takes a deep breath, and turns to Tina.

“Based on your...” He pauses, and Tina looks like she’s about four seconds away from smacking him, “associations, they’d probably think you’re a spy.”

“My associations?” Tina asks, and now Foolish is confused, because it seems pretty obvious. Pretty cut-and-dry, if he says so himself.

“Well, y’know, you and Bagi?” Foolish says it slowly, in case Tina is concussed and needs him to speak slower than usual. She looks a little spacey, eyes wide and mildly panicked. He continues nervously, “She’s not really on great terms with the Federation, and well— like, y’know, if she’s not on their good side, then you’re not on their good side. It’s like those people who are attached to each other and can’t be separated, like twins, conjoined twins—”

Now, Foolish could’ve kept talking. He’s pretty good at it. Tina doesn’t really let him, because Tina is Tina and Tina is a freak, so she starts coughing violently in response.

Foolish immediately stops talking, rushing over panicked to Tina because if she chokes and dies now, he’s gonna be so pissed. Tina is wide-eyed, flushed, and Foolish thinks that he either majorly fucked up his perception of events or Tina is wildly more concussed than he thought she was.

“What makes you—” She coughs again, and clears her throat. “What makes you say that?” She asks. She seems normal, but Foolish knows Tina, and Foolish knows that something is very wrong. Her eyes are sharp, and her tone is frantic, and Foolish gets the sinking suspicion that he has triggered something that he’s not sure the fallout of, but he’s sure that he doesn’t want to know the fallout of.

“Nothing,” Foolish says, turning away from Tina and pretending like he can’t feel her eyes boring into his skull. Agent 18 has, conveniently, slipped out of the room, so it’s just Foolish, Tina, and an unconscious, furry cyclops sleeping like a brick in a prison cell. “It was, uh— I was just saying, y’know, because everyone knows that you and her are like— Well, It’s nothing.”

Foolish is so good at this. He should win an award. He should win ten awards.

“It’s not nothing!” She yells, obviously not caring if their prisoner wakes up, “What do you mean everyone knows—”

“I didn’t mean anything, I just said it randomly!”

“Well, I’m just randomly telling you to continue!” Tina hisses, and Foolish feels a beat of anger in his chest. It’s a little like arguing with Bad, an age old familiarity that shouldn’t attach itself to someone that he really doesn’t have any working memories about.

“Why do you care so much?” Foolish says, like an idiot, because obviously Tina would want to know why everyone thought her and Cellbit’s cool, but kinda insane, sister were involved in some sort of... deal, or whatever.

“I don’t care,” Tina says petulantly, like an even bigger idiot, because obviously, she does.

“Obviously, you do!” Foolish says, mildly hysterical because he’s the one that’s been getting yelled at for something he thought was supposed to be obvious.

“You’re the one that cares, asshole!” Foolish’s eye twitches, but Tina just kind of glares at him, her tail lashing behind her. Foolish isn’t really paying attention to it, but if he was, he’d see that it’s less of a cat tail and more of a demon’s, with a spade tip and a sharp look to it. Tina’s eyes are dark with slit pupils, but Foolish is more focused on his own show of dramatics, tossing his hands above his head as his own eyes glow in frustration. Through the cracks in his body, a totem’s glowing light can be seen, simmering under the surface in a mildly angry boil.

“Oh my god, whatever,” Foolish groans, pushing his hood down as he runs his hand through still-wet hair. He slides down the wall to sit down, energy leaving him. He was already tired, and the adrenaline of purgatory, and having to swim for his life, and then the thrilling argument with Tina had already started to leave him. He’s just kinda tired now, and he can feel the water seeping under his skin through the cracks, leaving him feeling just kind of damp. Through just a look at Tina, he can tell that she feels similarly, collapsing down to sit next to him.

She still looks pristine, Foolish notes bitterly. Her skin is clear and glowing, and her hair has light waves from the water but no knots, and from what Foolish can see, there’s not a single cut or scar or burn on her. It’s honestly kind of frustrating.

They both just breathe, for a minute or two. Foolish lets himself wind down, but Tina seems lost in thought, brow furrowing every so often as she mumbles to herself quietly. She looks up at him, at one point, and Foolish is too tired to do anything but just kinda look back, expectantly.

“The Federation thinks we have something going on?” Tina asks, whispering. It’s a stark contrast to before, and Foolish can’t help but continue to feel like he missed something.

“Yeah,” Foolish says, and once he starts, he can’t really stop. “But, I mean, It’s not just them. We all thought something was going on, and— well, like, Cellbit said he crashed some sort of date, and Bagi told you she loved you that one time—”

“She what?” Tina interrupts shrilly, almost squealing at him. Foolish doesn’t quite block his eyes, but he flinches enough that Tina grimaces in apology, repeating herself quietly. “She what?” She says again, this time in more of a stage whisper.

“Yeah,” Foolish says, mildly amused, “I thought you were just being nice about it, but, like, I guess she said it as you were leaving. It was right at the beginning, like when teams were getting picked, and then you went to your team— and, well, like, we all knew she liked you.”

Tina looks a little shell shocked, and Foolish understands why. It’s a lot to hear that some girl is in love with you when you had no idea. Foolish has had his fair share of clueless days, so he empathizes with Tina not knowing. Tina’s very pretty, and people tend to fall in love with you when you’re incredibly pretty and kind and funny. Foolish would know. So, he’s very willing to be there as Tina figures out what to do.

“It’s okay, Tina,” He says, because he’s a great, and incredibly observant friend, “It’s just that with her liking you, the Federation won’t let you join, even if you don’t like her back. It’s very unfair.”

He’s so good at this friendship stuff.

“Wait,” Tina says, and Foolish waits, because he’s great. Tina pulls back, “You think I don’t like Bagi?”

Foolish is confused. Tina is confused. They’re both just staring at each other, as Foolish tries to piece together the puzzle in his brain. Bagi likes Tina, Foolish knew this. Tina likes Bagi, and Foolish did not know this. Together, this means that—

Something clicks.

“Oh my god,” Foolish says.

“Foolish,” Tina groans, already tired of him and his revelations.

“Oh my god!”

“Foolish, it’s really not that big a deal—”

“Tina, I had no idea—”

“You’re yelling, Foolish,”

“You’re gay?”

“Yes, I like her, it’s really not—” Tina pauses. Foolish is looking at her, incredulous. “Foolish,” Tina says, completely and utterly shell-shocked, “You didn’t know I was gay?”

“No idea,” Foolish says, “You didn’t give off any of the signs.”

“Foolish, I’ve been obsessed with her since the moment she joined. I said that she made me nervous and that she was the coolest person I’d ever met, and that I desperately wanted her to like me—”

“Oh my god,” Foolish groans, and Tina cackles at him.

“You didn’t know?” She says, breathlessly, like she can’t believe it because she can’t.

“I had no idea, I thought—” He gestures aimlessly, mildly pathetic, and Tina can’t stop laughing at him.

“What did,” She interrupts herself, laughing even harder, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, “What the fuck did you think?”

“I didn’t realize!” Foolish whines, and she doubles over, almost rolling on the ground from how hard she’s laughing. He’s embarrassed, but he’s not terribly surprised. Tina’s been obsessive over Bagi since the moment they met, but it didn’t strike him as weird or crush-y, because his mind was telling him that’s how Tina is. That’s how Tina was. Vaguely, he can grasp memories of her acting like this before, with warrior girls and tricky fairies, and he just— hadn’t thought of it.

She’s always been Tina to him, since the moment they re-met on the island. She’s indescribable, because he can’t remember anything about her, just that she is her and he’s known her and loved her for centuries. She’s his best friend, and he can’t describe her at all. Part of him is desperately, terribly sad, despite how he’s laughing with her now, because this is basic stuff. He thinks that, maybe, before the island, he would’ve known this, and he would’ve been there to meet all the girlfriends and know all the inside gossip. This time, though, he didn’t. He couldn’t remember, and then they went to Purgatory.

There’s so much about Tina that he used to know, that he should remember, and he doesn’t. It makes him a little sick, and it makes him a little sad. Mostly, it just makes him feel empty.

Foolish is a good friend, and he’s an observant guy, he really is. He can pick up on things easily, and he thinks that, maybe, in another life, he would’ve known this about Tina instantly, would’ve remembered and categorized it away in his head. The island makes things slippery, makes things harder to hold onto, both memories and objects and people.

Foolish wants to say this. Tell Tina that he’s sorry he forgot and that he misses her and that he knows her but can’t remember her and that he wants to remember.

“Congrats on coming out,” he says instead, because it’s not the time for that.

“Thanks,” Tina replies, instead of saying I know. Foolish can hear the words underneath it anyway. He wipes at the tears in his eyes, formulated from laughing so hard he almost cracked another rib, and Tina does the same, waving at her eyes with her hands, so she doesn’t mess up her makeup even further.

Oh my god, the makeup.

“Was the makeup for Bagi?” Foolish asks, and Tina stops, glancing over to him, wide-eyed.

“Um,” Tina says, “It depends. Does it look good?” Foolish groans loudly, which makes Tina flush in embarrassment, checking herself in a mirror situated on the wall to make sure it’s still good. It’s messy, from her dive in the ocean, but Tina still looks lovely, nearly sent from Heaven. The demonic influence helps, her form shifting to always look tempting and perfect compared to others, a secret invitation to Hell disguised as a welcome into Heaven, but it’s mostly her own skill and dedication to presentation.

“Looks like shit,” Foolish lies, and she smacks the side of his head with her hand.

“Oh, fuck off,” She grumbles, wiping off bits of watery mascara that have become runny due to the swim. Foolish wheezes a loud windshield-wiper laugh. Tina startles at the noise, which only causes him to laugh even louder.

There’s a grumble from the bed, and they both whip around to see the Eyeball Worker blink a bleary eye awake. This is their cue to run, and Foolish doesn’t hesitate to jump up and throw Tina over his shoulder, slamming open doors and sprinting out of the building at an unrivaled, never-seen-before speed.

“I’ll drop you at her house,” Foolish wheezes, and Tina screams in his ear as revenge.

“Put me down, asshole, I’ll find my own way home,” She says, and Foolish grins, slowing and stopping to drop her unceremoniously on her ass. He waves goodbye, as he runs in another direction, and she dazedly waves back, wobbling as she gets back on her feet.

“Fucking scumbag,” Tina says, shaking herself out, tail whipping behind her. Tina combs a hand through her hair, checking to make sure that the cat ear accessories placed over her horns are still in place, and turning around to make sure her tail is still looking like a cat tail. As she’s checking herself over, she hears a twig snap behind her somewhere, and she sighs as she fully turns to look.

“Foolish, I swear to—”

It’s Bagi. A tired, messy-looking, still kind-of-dirty Bagi, but Bagi nonetheless. It’s also a Bagi with a little girl in her arms. She’s tiny, and wide-eyed, and has tiny little horns that mimic Tina’s peeking out from under a floppy, pancake-esque hat.

“Um,” Tina says, eloquently, before her brain catches up with her and her face flares with embarrassment because, really, Tina, that’s what you say to your kind-of-girlfriend, kind-of-not that you haven’t seen for days holding a child that looks kinda like you.

“Hi,” Bagi says, like Tina’s not an idiot, and Tina falls a little bit more in love with her.

“Hi,” Tina says, because she is an idiot. She tries not to think about how bad she wants to kill herself out of embarrassment, as Bagi tries to not think about how gorgeous Tina is even with, especially with, wet hair and smudged makeup.

“Hi!” The little girl says, “I’m Empanada.” She holds out an expectant hand, and looks up at Tina with all the confidence and flair that Tina never had as a kid.

“Hello, Empanada,” Tina says, smiling softly, “I’m Tina.”

“I know,” Empanada says frankly, and Tina recoils slightly, still smiling but this time far more confusedly. Empanada clearly notices this, because she continues. “You’re my mom,” she says, “It was on my certificate. That means you can call me Em.” She rummages around in her dress pockets, squirming in Bagi’s arms before she hands Tina a carefully folded certificate that proclaims Tina as her mother, along with Bagi, Jaiden, Mouse, and Niki.

“Ah,” Tina says, “It’s lovely to meet you then, Emmy.” The nickname slips out, but Em just grins widely and holds out two arms, making grabby hands until Tina leans forward enough for her to wrap her arms tightly around Tina’s neck. She jumps out of Bagi’s arms and clings to Tina in a strong enough hug to knock her breathless.

“Hi, Eomma Tina!” Em says, head tucked over Tina’s shoulder making it so that she’s talking just loud enough for Tina’s ears to mildly ache, “It’s so, so, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Mamãe Bagi. She said that you were very nice and very smart, and she said you were really pretty, and she wasn’t lying, because you are!”

Tina turns to look at Bagi, who’s turning more red by the second. “Em,” Bagi says, mildly frantic and wide-eyed as she studiously does not make eye contact with Tina, but Em just barrels on.

“Honestly, I thought she was gonna be lying, because she clearly likes you, but she wasn’t, which is nice,” Em says, before pulling away to frown at Tina. “Do you like her too? Because she really likes you, and it’s not a normal like, but a like-like, and it would be cool if my moms were dating.”

Tina hums, and out of the corner of her eye she can see Bagi redden even further, which she didn’t even think was fully possible.

“Em,” Bagi chides, “Tina just got back. Let’s not overwhelm her with questions.” She takes Em from Tina’s arms, avoiding eye contact and physical contact by any means necessary.

“I don’t like Mamãe Bagi,” Tina says, lowering herself to Em’s line of vision. Em frowns, and Tina can hear Bagi’s breath hitch slightly, and she decides to take a risk. She taps Em’s nose, and when the girl scrunches her nose, Tina laughs softly.

“I love Bagi,” Tina says, and when it registers in her brain, Em beams with a huge smile, turning in Bagi’s arms to look up at Bagi. Tina hurriedly takes Em’s face in her hands, and when Em looks at her quizzically, Tina puts a finger up to her mouth in a shushing motion.

“Shh,” Tina whispers loudly, enough that Bagi can hear but quiet enough that Em thinks it’s a real whisper, “You can’t tell her before I do. It’s a secret.”

Em nods gravely, and makes a zipping motion over her mouth, before turning back into Bagi’s arms and giggling to herself. Tina rises from where she was crouched, and resolutely does not look at Bagi as she links their arms. She allows herself to grasp Bagi’s upper arm softly, as she walks so close to her that they’re knocking into each other.

“Let’s go home,” Tina says, finally looking at Bagi. Bagi doesn’t say much, just nods with a stupid smile on her face and lets Tina drag all three of them to her house, content to listen fondly as Em and Tina chatter quickly with each other.

#HIIII #hope you enjoy the gift i am so sorry its so far past the holidays! #happy new year i guess!!! i really do hope you enjoy heart heart #qsmp #foolish #tinakitten #oibagi #bagina #bagikitten #qsmp shipping #qsmp fanfic #my fic #holiday exchange 2023

[mayonnaisetoffees]

[Podfic] Buttercream

My podfic for @911podficfest this year is the wonderful Buttercream by @kitkatpancakestack. The absolutely fabulous cover art you see above is by the phenomenal @like-the-rest-of-la

Link: [Podfic] Buttercream

Rating: General Audiences

Pairing: Gen, Hen's Cake Guy & the 118, background pairings

Summary:

“Perfect.” She grinned, eyes crinkling behind her lenses. “I need a cake of this guy’s head, with licorice as a penetrating head wound.”

He laughed before he could help himself, but when the woman’s face remained unchanged, sobered instantly. “I’m . . . what?”

“Licorice,” she repeated. “Penetrating head wound.”

He waited a beat, expecting Ashton Kutcher to pop out from behind him and tell him he’d been Punk’d.

*

Or, 5 times Hen's cake guy made cakes for the 118, + 1 time he got a surprise himself.

As mentioned above this was written for the 911 Podfic Fest 2023 so go check out all the other podfics! More will be coming too!! (Depending on when you see this...)

#911 podfic #911 fic rec #911 podfic rec #911 podfic fest

[thecreelhouse]

tramps like us

Paring:Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

CW/tags: slight hurt/comfort and angst, but otherwise nothing else

WC: 809

〘 this is a sequel to part time soulmate, full time problem ✧.┊listen to the series playlist here. 〙

prologue ✧. ┊

escape route - paramore

◁◁ ▐ ▌ ▷▷

⋆｡♪ and if you try to find me now / I’m in all the echoes that have faded out ♬ ₊˚.

10 years earlier

Touching down in New York, you felt a weight finally lift from your shoulders while the plane rolled to a slow crawl. You were finally, finally away from your family. Finally away from the place that only sent you further into depression as each year of your life passed. Finally, a peace settled over you, remembering you’d never ever have to see Gator again.

A sense of ease washed over you, even though you never had a plan from this point forward. Anything was better than being trapped at home.

Wandering around Brooklyn with an old backpack from home, fraying at the seams, while whip stitches and safety pins held the fabric together, you lucked out meeting Bea in her record shop; a kind-hearted, middle aged woman, tattooed from head to toe. Personality wise, she reminded you a little bit of Iona from Pretty in Pink. As conversation continued naturally, Bea asked about your story. She could tell how sheltered you once were back home, and how you needed to break free and become your own person.

“Kiddo, if you need somewhere to stay, an apartment just opened in the house I have right up the block.” She wasn’t pushy, or unsettling with her offer. If anything, she had such a motherly presence, one you yearned for from your own mother your entire life. It felt natural to trust Bea.

 “Oh, thank you… but I couldn’t- I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“I won’t force you, but the offer’s available if you need.” Bea scribbled her address and phone number on the back of a crumpled receipt, passing it across the counter to you. “Or even if you need a friend, if not me, there’s plenty of kids like yourself renting in that house. Again, won’t force ya’, but the door’s always open.”

Without fail, your luck on finding a place ran dry, while the early summer downpour wouldn’t let up. Pushing your pride aside, you ended up on Bea’s front steps. Without hesitation, she welcomed you in, as did the other housemates.

The rest was history. The beginning of a completely different book, not just a new chapter. You wondered if you were being punk’d when she told you the cost of rent, more affordable than what you were bracing yourself for. The disbelief only grew when she showed the available apartment— the top floor of the house, a loft, with the cutest kitchenette, a bay window along with others, two bedrooms, a bathroom with the dreamiest clawfoot tub, all to yourself.

“Bea… are you sure? What the— why don’t you live up here?!” As you explored, your jaw dropped, admiring the vintage charm of the building and your new living space. It was bare, but you knew you could thrift some cheap furniture to get started. “You can’t be serious about the rent cost.”

“I’m serious as a heart attack, kiddo. I don’t like the way landlords profit off of hardworkin’ folks and take advantage of their struggles. All I ask is for your share with shared utilities, and we take one night a month for family dinner where everyone takes turns cooking.”

“That’s fair. More than fair. Holy shit.” You breathed, eyes still dancing around the apartment in awe.

 “Oh, and if you got a partner that wants to live with you, I just ask for them to pitch in with their share and effort, too.” 

Your mind drifted to Gator, for whatever reason. Not like the two of you were together, or that you’d ever speak to him again. Pushing him from your thoughts, you just respond with a quick, understanding nod to Bea.

“So, as long as you’re cool with those conditions, this place is all yours.” Bea smiled warmly, watching as your eyes teared up, while you still gazed at the high ceilings, the big windows, the empty bookshelves begging to be filled.

“Bea?” Your bottom lip wobbled as you looked her way, trying to smile but so overwhelmed by her kindness, and the complete luck that brought you to her. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this, but I’ll try my damndest.” 

Maybe it was fate instead of luck. Whatever higher power let this all fall into place, you were grateful for.

“All I ask is that you live your life to the fullest. Got it?” She gave you a quick, reassuring squeeze of your hand before turning for the door; her touch was so welcoming, a sense of familial security radiating from her energy alone.

 Your voice cracked as you held back happy tears, “I won’t let ya’ down on that, Bea.” 

Holding the doorknob as she smiled kindly, she glanced back at you before leaving, “Welcome home, kid.”

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x you #tramps like us #part time soulmate full time problem #my fics

[cherienymphe]

I mean every region has good and bad apples but I think actually growing up in the south makes us overly aware of both the bad apples and what the bad entails 😭 bc why we on the 3rd date and it's just now coming out ya granddaddy used to be in the KLAN

stop this reminded me of when we pulled up to his house and tell me why it was a trump and confederate flag side by mf side 😭😭 i was waiting for ashton kutcher to pop out saying i got punk’d like woah

Now whyyyy would he bring you there knowing that-

#asks

[kayrllylikesblitzwing]

OLD AND NEW ART DUMP featuring ocs and canons

HI WELCOME back to my page thanks for coming anyway here’s what’s going on

First video is something I finished tonight on a whim bcuz I thought it would be funny the blue one and yellow one are mirage and hot shot respectively and the red one is my oc Cynder!!! I’m writing a tf story and they’re kinda like the main three YOUNG AND SPRY Autobots that get up to absolute bullshit

the context is Cynder was a racer back on velocitron during the start up of the Great War and one day while she was racing the planet got bombed by a Decepticon raid. Cynder survived the bombing thanks to a totally not evil medic who I will post about later bcuz I love (HATE) her, but in the process lost her legs. She has little fakey prosthetic legs that look like the legs real amputees use to like run and stuff which are cool but she constantly loses them and they at all like her old legs so she can’t race like she used to :(

Okay the SECOND picture is my cast for the transformers story I mentioned but the ISSUE IS it’s old and outdated and some characters have been replaced or removed or redesigned I drew all of those little shitpost things one night and I couldn’t fit them all onto the drawing so I just started stacking them on one another and now it’s an amalgamation of sadness

THIRD PICTURE is just strobe. Hi Strob

FOURTH is mirage with a clown license when I rped him he was kinda a jerkass and messed with people constantly sooooo drew that started spamming it to people when mirage PUNK’D them

FIFTH!!! AND I LIKE THIS DEAWING!!! So a long long long time ago I posted my oc leviathan/fluffy and Y’know HES cool and all but I thought the visor made him look too sophisticated so I changed up his face I gave him FOUR EYES big teef and a HUGE LIP I like his redesign!!! I decided that when he’s outta water he wears his little visor to protect his many many eyes but when he’s IN the water the visor is off and all of the eyes are out!!!!

Anyway!!!! Thank you!!!!! For taking time out of your day!!!!!!! To listen to my ramblings!!!!! I appreciate everyone who looks at my blog and likes my posts and reblogs I REACHED 50 REBLOGS THE OTHER DAY THATS SO COOL!!!?!!??!! Anyway thank you for coming have awonderful morning or evening or even NIGHT 💪❤️❤️💪💪💔❤️❤️❤️❤️

#transformers #maccadam #tf rp #transformers roleplay #shitpost #tf art #transformers art #transformers rp #tf idw oc #tf oc #transformers oc #transformers original character #mirage #tf mirage #hot shot #tf hot shot #all I want for Christmas!!! is legsss

[halsinsbiggernaturals]

okay but what happened in the wild dragon age fic. why was it terrible. i'm curious now

okay, SO. i’ve talked about this fic with a few people, but i’d love to share it with the world at large. i had seen art based on a fanfic, but no link to the fanfic, so i reverse searched a bit of the passage to try to find it. i found this random fic on fanfic.net (no idea anyone even used it for dragon age) that had no relation to the original fic, but intrigued me enough i kept reading it.

the basis was that hawke was this evil, horrid, cartoonishly awful blood mage that was a menace to kirkwall, and anyone around her. already a fascinating premise, because how many times do you see hawke portrayed as inarguably in the wrong? like the true antagonist of da2?

it was so interesting to me, and even more so how the companions reacted. no one liked this hawke, she was utterly unlikeable. instead, they banded together and followed after her in order to negate the disasters she left in her wake. hawke was still their rallying point, but instead of hawke keeping their merry band of misfits together by the skin of their teeth, the companions united in spite of her, working together to keep kirkwall safe from hawke.

it was easily the most interesting da2 party dynamic i’ve read about.

additionally, the author portrayed blood magic in a way i hadn’t previously considered. hawke was happy to use other peoples blood, of course, but also heavily relied on her own blood. and it was a detriment to her health. she was described as anemic, pale, scrawny, underfed. i guess it sounds like common sense, but i really hasn’t considered the health risks of constant blood loss when using it for magic. and having their MC be described as so sickly and unhealthy was entirely new.

i would have hailed the author as some kind of writing genius, but something terrible happened:

hawke got better.

she decided she’d had quite enough of accruing the enmity of everyone and their dog (literally, the dog hated her too) and used blood magic to make a spell that would make everyone like her. the backlash caused a entirely foreseeable effect: it made her more likeable.

it was then that i realized that what i had been reading was the prologue, which set up this cartoon villain hawke in order to compare and contrast her to the new, improved hawke, who was sweet and kind and everything the old hawke wasn’t.

i felt like i'd been punk’d.

it’s possible that things get reversed or more interesting later on in the fic, there were plenty of chapters when i stopped. i’d read a few more just in case, but after the author described how eating properly and stopping blood magic had changed hawke's appearance, giving her 'curves in all the right places', i realized this fic was no longer what had captured my interest.

i haven’t been able to relocate it, and i’m afraid it might have been deleted. but it still lives in my head rent free. the greatest bait and switch i was ever subjected to.

#pew pew queue #dragon age #hawke #all this to say #it introduced a villain protagonist that the companions had to work around as an obstacle #making the main character the glue that binds them but in an entirely different way than normal #it ripped open my third eye #and then threw a pie in it and said jk #look at our new stereotypical protagonist!!

[mcflymemes]

QUOTES FROM SURVIVOR ON CBS

hey... hold up, bro.

i just always wanted to say that.

that’s the way it sounded to me.

he’s got his head so far up your ass his eyeballs are sticking out of your mouth.

that means you don’t respect me.

it’s fricking nauseating, frustrating... AND I’M PISSED!

i kept having to remind myself “don’t get booty blinded.”

you know, they keep me warm.

i already know this is not for me.

i can’t even keep myself warm! get off of me!

what are you trying to pull? i’m already going home.

it’s a fucking stick!

it has a face on it!

i’ll lie, i don’t care, but i’ll make up a good lie.

i’m just gonna spread truth, lies, and rumors.

that’s probably the most boobs i’ve probably seen in my whole life.

when it comes down to it, i want that million dollars.

i’ll wear a tiara. a man tiara. do they make those?

i don’t forgive, and i don’t forget.

are you really going to eat it? because that would be hot if you ate it.

when it comes down to it, we don’t mix. we’re like chicken parm and tuna fish - it just don’t taste good.

i didn’t know they could frickin’ fly.

as long as it’s not me, i’m happy.

i’m not calling you stupid.

those are the worst looking water shoes i’ve ever seen.

would you agree with that?

you know, whiners are wieners.

you need to go home.

he’s gonna dump me.

that was the most childish act you’ve done so far.

i came back broke, full, half-drunk and pissed off, so i’m gonna burn this house down in the next day or so.

making love is my sport.

you need to get in the ocean and wash your ass.

i’ve never heard anything that surprised me more than what you just said.

somebody call a whambulance!

you may remember me for making men speak llama.

you have like, your normal stomach and your dessert stomach, so your dessert stomach is still hungry.

it’s that kind of cocky attitude that makes people really hate your guts.

i’m against you.

we’re devouring them one at a time.

they won’t. they never do.

we just annihilate them.

i don’t pray for anything.

i brought my bag of tricks tonight.

my second chance is all about family.

you’re garbage at rapping. you can’t rap. you have no bars.

i know i gotta stay here, ‘cause i’m on probation!

like, how do you infiltrate that?

i’m like a phoenix rising from the ashes... ready to burn down your house.

i’m totally using the mom card, are you kidding me?

are we being punk’d?

does anyone want to come marvel at this splendor?

i can get loud too! what the fuck!

i’m gonna burn his hat.

i don’t think you were the mastermind behind it. i don’t think you’re smart enough to do it.

i don’t know... i wasn’t paying attention. i don’t really care.

my grandma’s at home watching jerry springer right now.

you have made my life hell from day one.

he’s a snake and he lies, but he also tells the truth too.

i will always wave my finger in your face.

i hope you guys all get bit by a freaking crocodile.

no, go ahead, you have to say something bad about me.

we’re younger and cuter.

the tribe has spoken.

you give away so much. you don’t even know enough to keep your mouth shut.

you take care of her, i’ll take care of you.

one man should not have this power. luckily, i’m not an ordinary man.

pony ride’s over. you’re welcome for carrying you this far.

au revoir, arrivederci, or, as we like to say in boston... see ya later.

it’s getting the best of me.

fear keeps people loyal. that’s straight out of the godfather.

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