#THIS IS A DISH TOWEL. WE NEED A HAND TOWEL. WHAT ARE WE BARBARIANS!!

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Sebastian: COMPANY IS COMING! I WANT THIS PLACE LOOKING LIKE DISNEY ON ICE IN ONE MINUTE! Sebastian: DAZAI-SAN IF YOU HAVEN'T MADE YOUR BED THROW IT AWAY IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE IT NOW! Sebastian: GET RID OF THE COUCHES, WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE S I T !

[monstrousvoice]

Spoiler territory? Now i'm going to be consumed with Thoughts even harder.

Also in regards to your fic i keep amusing myself with the idea of Godrick trying to receive guests. Does he clean the bodies up. Does he make the Scion in the kitchen dust the rafters. Which dining room gets used. How many holes in the castle wall does he try to bullshit filling in so they look presentable. I know this is also possible spoilers bc we'll get there, but i like to imagine the silly scenario of him pulling a "NO ONE CAN KNOW WE SIT" because someone from Lyndell with actual power wants to see him.

Unrelated, how do you think Mohg found the Moghwyn palace? I like to think that the Formless Mother just had him go on a pilgrimage to the warp gate and he got to play house flipper on something the Nox built. Speaking of which, what're your thoughts on them? Personally i really like their character designs.

Godrick: "Gostoc, if you haven't made your bed throw it away. It's too late to make it now!"

"We need more pillows! I need those things looking PUMPED! I need those things looking FLUFFED!"

"We can't have any clothes! Everyone take off your clothes!"

"Gostoc this is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! What are we, barbarians!?" Towel drops onto a pile of rotting Tarnished corpses. "But it's too late- AUHG!"

Godrick really is trying to pull a major Gayle, for sure for sure. The state of the castle will be a topic of discussion don't you worry 👀

As for Mohg finding the palace he did, I think the Formless Mother gave him directions too that location because it was a place they are able to influence with minimal interference from other gods in the realm. It's underground and away from the Greater Will's influence, and while the Nox are still waiting for their Lord of Night, there isn't much of a god presence in such areas.

I think the palace is a place the Formless Mother had been trying to break thru the veil separating mortals and gods there, and with Mohg being there the connection between the two of them is even stronger.

[cupofangst]

I like to imagine that this would be Salim when Jason comes to visit his home for the first time.

Zain ends up sneaking out of the house and runs to hide at Tariq’s after his dad has a mental breakdown over a towel getting sucked into the vacuum.

[puppy-steve]

stede is gayle when he cleans

[raychleadele]

Every time I put laundry away I hear Gayle saying “This is a dish towel! I need a hand towel! What are we, barbarians?”

[thenewfuture]

Mod Poi: just here to say hi! :)

Mod freeze:

Anons! We cannot have beds! Anons! We need more pillows, I cannot stress this enough! I need those things looking P U M P E D! I need those things looking FLUFFED! This is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! WHAT ARE WE BARBARIANS!? AAAAUUUGGGHHH!

-Mod

[babbushka]

The Rabbi Is Coming

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

A/N: This oneshot is based entirely off of one of my favorite videos of all time, Company is Coming by Chris Fleming. Every time I see it, it reminds me of preparing for my own family holiday gatherings, so I’ve taken it and run with it lol. I just wanted to write something short and silly for Passover, lol, and I hope you enjoy! 

Also inspired by this prompt sent in by anonymous: From your Passover prompts, will you please do this one for Flip? It sounds just like him!“They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat.”

2k, crack treated seriously lol, humor. Putting a small cw for the Zimmerman’s son, in case folks don’t like reading about kids (this is the last time he’s mentioned for a while I promise lol)

                                                ----------------------

Early in the morning, just after sunrise, Flip yawns and stretches awake. The golden light of morning shines through the curtains that gently move from the breeze of the ceiling fan, and a melody of chirping birds signal the official start of morning. Despite having to get up early for work every day, Flip isn’t much of a morning person. But something about Springtime and the warmth that’s on the way makes him appreciate getting up, even on the weekends.  

“Good morning, sunshine, light of my life – ” Flip rolls over onto his side, ready to coax you out of your sleep as well, ready to kiss you and start the day together, but when he reaches you’re your sleep-snuggled body, he finds the bed empty, and frowns.

Sitting up, he looks around the bedroom. Your side of the covers are neatly made, and Flip can only blink, his frown deepening. He clears his throat, raspy from disuse overnight, “(Y/N)?”

It isn’t until he hears the vacuum cleaner going downstairs, followed by a frustrated groan echoing through the house, that he remembers just what day it is, and falls back onto his pillow with a wince, lighting up a cigarette and scrubbing a hand over his face with a low,

“…Oh shit.”

He checks the clock, sees that it’s practically seven o’clock, and gets out of bed. Pulling on a casual t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he leaves his room to see his son standing tentatively in his own doorway, as loud sounds come from downstairs.

“Pop?” The five year old asks with no small amount of hesitation in his voice, immediately reaches for Flip, who scoops him up and balances him on his hip.  

“Mornin’ honey.” Flip kisses his son’s cheek, and the boy giggles, clinging to him as Flip walks down the stairs.

He’s obviously annoyed that it’s not you who gets to wake him up and carry him downstairs, as he normally prefers, but Flip doesn’t know how to tell him that today isn’t a normal day. Still, the boy is always filled with questions, and his little eyebrows furrow into an all too familiar frown as they move closer to the chaos that is you deciding to vacuum first thing in the morning.

“Why is Mama acting like that?” He demands to know, as the two of them stop at the landing, watching as you, still in your pajamas, are fighting with furniture.

“Tonight’s the first night of Pesach.” Flip explains.

“So?” His son challenges, and Flip wants to laugh, because he agrees with the kid, but when you get into a mood like this, there’s no stopping you.

“So, there’s a very special guest coming for dinner tonight, and she wants to make sure the house looks nice and clean for him.” Flip sets the boy down, and he purses his lips, like he’s trying to assess the validity of that, eventually settling on complaining,

“But we already cleaned the house.”

Flip sighs, because he’s right, you spent the entire week cleaning to prepare for Passover. It wasn’t like a normal house cleaning, Passover had special rules that had to be obeyed. One of which, was the complete and total elimination of chametz, or food made from leavened dough. The other, was the koshering of the kitchen.

But he wasn’t so sure his five year old would care to hear about all that this early.

“I know son. Let’s go see what she fixed up for breakfast,” Flip leads his son through the living room carefully, before crouching down to his level and saying very seriously, “And then when you’re done eating, just do whatever Mama says, you hear me? Whatever she says.”

Just then, you come barreling through the living room with the vacuum and a tangle of cord in your hand, shouting at a completely inappropriate volume for the hour, “Zeeskiet if you haven’t made your bed just throw it away it’s too late to make it now!”

The boy looks up at Flip, and Flip immediately shakes his head and amends, “Not that.”

Flip is a good helper. He likes to help, and he wants to help, but sometimes when you get like this, it’s a danger to himself and everyone around for him to try and insert himself into a situation where you are a hurricane of anxious energy. He busies himself with getting your son settled at the kitchen table, giving him a big breakfast of fresh fruit, nuts, and yogurt, before bracing himself to venture back towards the dining room.  

“The Rabbi is coming – get rid of the couches we can’t let people know we sit!” You shout, pointing an aggressive finger at one of the dining chairs, “This chair needs to be pushed in, there cannot be any signs of living in this house.”

Flip is quick to do as you say, even though what you’re saying is nonsense – he knows better than to point that out.

“I don’t care if we have to throw everything out,” You’re mostly talking to yourself at this point, just…loudly, and aggressively, “I want this place looking like a contemporary fusion restaurant by noon.”

It was a miracle and a half that the Rabbi agreed to lead your Seder dinner, and to say that the pressure was getting to you was the understatement of the century. You had everything picked out, what you were going to wear, what Flip and the kids were going to wear; you’d been cooking and prepping all week, and now the day was finally here and you were totally freaking out.

“Flip?” You shout, walking in circles around the dining room, trying to get rid of any possible point of contamination of chametz.

“Yeah?” Flip replies, already knowing that because he’s in the other room, you probably can’t hear him. He already is walking towards you when he hears you again.

“Phil!” You call a little sharper, and Flip huffs out a laugh, his suspicion correct.

“I’m right here ketsl, what can I do?” Flip startles you by suddenly being behind directly behind you, and you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“Oh my god – we need more pillows.” You gesture to the den where the conversation pit is decked out entirely with pillows. “Can you fluff the pillows? I need these things looking fluffed.”

Flip does exactly as he’s told, and the rest of the morning follows suit.

You wandered around the house cleaning; vacuuming sweeping dusting sanitizing every possible surface, the floors, even the ceiling, shouting out random demands and requests like:

We need more flowers. We gotta put flowers in every window. Philly can you put flowers in the kitchen?

We can’t have any clothes! Everyone take off your clothes!

At that, your son cast a semi-distressed look to Flip and asked, an uncertain, “Pop?”

“Not that either!” Flip immediately answered, lest his son think it’s okay to go running around in the nude tonight.

Somewhere around hour two, your mood shifts from manic to meltdown. Your son had been instructed to make sure his toys were all nicely put away in his room, mostly to keep him out of trouble or to prevent any accidental tripping over wires. Flip though, is still running around trying to keep up with you, out of breath from your own chaos.

“What is this?” You yank the perfectly good little towel out of the oven door handle where Flip had just watched you place it, and near-tears, you groan, “This is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! What are we, barbarians?”

He’s about to say something, try to console you or at the very least calm you down, but then you come to a complete and sudden stand-still and point out, “Phil oh god there’s muffins on the counter.”

Frowning, Flip whirled around and wondered how the fuck those even got there. All of your friends knew that there was absolutely no leavened product allowed in the house, Rabbi or no, and he’s trying to wrack his brain around where they came from as you back against the wall.

“Oh my god oh – that’s it -- we have to go into the witness protection program folks!” You chuckle humorously, effectively giving up. “Shalom Rabbi! Welcome to the Zimmerman household. We live outside. We eat mud. And sticks.”

At this, you give one big overwhelmed sigh, and a little sob hiccups out of your chest.

“Hey,” Flip frowns, kicking himself for not trying to get you to take a breather earlier than this, “Hey it’s going to be okay.”

Flip gets down on the floor with you, and pulls you into a tight hug. You shove your face under his neck and cry it out, and Flip soothes your back. He knows how big of a deal tonight is for you, and he wants to do everything he can to make you happy, but letting this go on any longer won’t be good for anyone.

“I’ll get rid of the muffins, we won’t tell anyone about it, okay?” He pulls you to face him, your eyes wet and wide, your chin wobbling. He thinks you’re so ridiculous, working yourself up like this, but he loves you so much to see it regardless.

“Did you fluff the pillows?” You ask in a small sad voice, and Flip nods seriously, brushing some of your stray locks that escaped the scarf you have wrapped around your head to protect your hair, away from your face.

“Yes ketsl, I fluffed the pillows.” He kisses each of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your forehead.

“Okay, alright okay, everyone calm down.” You say, wiping your tears away and taking deep measured breaths, suddenly asking, “What time is it?”

“Uhh,” Flip cranes his head around to try and catch a good glimpse at the clock on the wall, wondering how the hell it’s only, “Nine-thirty.”

You blink, and blink again, and then shuffle to sit upright there on the kitchen floor.

“Oh.” You reply, pursing your lips and scratching the side of your jaw. “In that case…I’m going to take a nap.”

Flip chuckles and lets you go. You’re too much all the time, and that’s exactly why he loves you. He’s never met anyone who cares as much about something like this, than you, and he wants you to go relax while he takes care of everything.

And he does, his son a proper helper as you snooze in bed, already having worked yourself to exhaustion and needing your strength back for the long dinner that’s going to come. The offending muffins are given to a neighbor, the surfaces re-sanitized, the kitchen all prepared. Your son even sets the table all by himself, enjoying being tall for his age thanks to Flip’s genetics.

When evening falls much later, and all your other guests have arrived, you feel your pulse spike as the doorbell rings. You’re dressed to the nines, as is everyone else, but Flip thinks that you’re the most radiant thing in the universe. You’re holding your son on your hip as Flip opens the door, already extending a hand for him to shake.

“Shalom Rabbi, thank you so much for joining us tonight, we can’t tell you how much of an honor it is.” You beam, as if you hadn’t had a total breakdown only that morning, as Flip invites the Rabbi inside.

“Of course Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, the honor is mine. And may I say, you have a beautiful home.” He looks around appreciatively, giving a nod of approval that has all the air rushing out of your lungs.

“I’m thrilled to hear you think so.” You grin, leading him through your home and into the dining room where your other guests have been happily entertaining themselves, “Shall we get started then?”

“They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat!” Flip announces, and that has everyone laughing, including the Rabbi.

And as the Seder commences, Flip looks across the table and gives his son a wink. In return, he lets out a small giggling laugh, glad that all the preparations and chaos you put them through have successfully paid off.

                                                     ------------------

Taggin’ some Flip lovin’ friends! @mochabucky​​ @sacklerscumrag​​ @artsymaddie​​ @bitchydecisions​​ @direnightshade​​ @reyloaddict55​​ @thembohux​​  @sunflowersinthesnow​​ @babayagakeanu​​ @safarigirlsp​​  @steeevienicks​​  @the-unmanaged-mischief​​ @materialisthicc​​  @hswritingrecs​​  @han68000​​ @rosi3ba3z​​ @chapterhappygirl​​​ @loverofallthings​​​  @bxnnywriting​ @groovetoob​ 

[promptfairy]

𝐆𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐄   ♡   𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

    change gendered language to your needs.  ♡

“  the results were disappointing.  i was devastated.  ” “  i’m not gonna deal with that shit.  ” “  so,  i put the panini in a balloon   &   swallowed it whole.  ” “  you watch your mouth in my house.  ” “  try not to let anyone see you,  i hate the way you move in public.  ” “  if you haven’t made your bed,  throw it away.  it’s too late to make it now.  ” “  so i swiffer-vaulted out of there   &   broke my fucking mandible on some nutri-grain bars.  ” “  you callin’ me a liar?  ” “  WELL TUESDAYS.  AREN’T.  GOOD FOR ME.  ” “  so i black out from the rage,  and come to covered head-to-toe in hollandaise sauce.  ” “  it gives me a panic attack when i look at your legs.  ” “  i think i left the blow-dryer on.  ” “  you got no lips.  you have skin that turns into a mouth.  ” “  nothin’ gets me goin’ like a juke box musical.  ” “  why should i even get out of bed?  ” “  i got your grape juice,  you pansy.  ” “  i’m gonna go put myself on craigslist.  ” “  i’m gonna punish you with my leg.  ” “  could you excuse me for one second?  ”  *screams* “  so i stole a pig.  ” “  menopause is only gonna make me stronger.  ” “  i’m angry,  i’m aroused   . . .   ” “  what would you have done?  ” “  was that you doing zumba on my front lawn?  ” “  it’s my birthday so that means you have to watch me do crunches.  ” “  LOOK AT ME.  ” “  why do we have a sink if you’re not gonna wash the blueberries?  ” “  let’s face it.  this town needs a change.  ”  “  the anthropologists are gonna see this   &   they’re gonna want to study you.  ” “  i’m gonna sleep in the chimney tonight.  ” “  YEEHAW MOTHERFUCKERS.  ” “  could i have a word with you under the table,  real quick?  ” “  okay,  was anyone planning on telling me that a walrus can suck the skin off of a seal or was i just supposed to read that in national geographic myself?  ” “  you’re a walking lisa frank notebook.  ” “  i was already in hell,  but now it’s like i’m going to hell grad school.  ” “  i don’t know which apostle i swirlied in a past lifetime,  but i’m really paying the price now.  ” “  this is a dish towel.  we need a hand towel.  what are we,  barbarians?  ”

[miindjack]

“ this is a dish towel. we need a hand towel. what are we, barbarians? ” with timothy

i was incredibly excited to write this one out! 

find more prompts to send in here! 

word count: 339

“timmy.” CRASH!!

a little louder this time, maybe? “timothy..” BANG!!

this time, you draw in a deep breath before a louder “timothy!” leaves your lips. finally, the noise from the kitchen quiets down and your boyfriend turns around to look at you. he holds up a towel, fixing you with a look. 

you knew this was inevitable. jack and nisha were making an appearance in the apartment tonight, for some reason or another, you weren’t exactly too up to date on all the details. you run a hand over your face before stepping into the kitchen a little more. “why does it sound like you’re destroying our kitchen?” you ask. 

he shakes the towel in your direction, looking incredibly stressed. “this is a dish towel. we need a hand towel. what are we, barbarians?” he replies, tossing the towel onto the counter now. “i can’t find a hand towel. i need a hand towel.” you take a moment to process what he’s just said to you before you start to laugh. 

and you continue to laugh, even as timothy huffs and places his hands on his hips. by the time you’re done laughing, your face is hot and you’ve got slight tears in your eyes. you loved your boyfriend, really you did, but you couldn’t help yourself but to laugh sometimes. you shake your head and grab the towel off the counter, folding it back up. 

“timmy, honey.” you start. “i don’t think nisha or jack are going to care if there’s a dish towel where a hand towel should be. i really don’t.” you murmur, placing the now folded towel back on the counter. 

“they aren’t going to, but i’m going to.” timothy replies, a small pout on his lips from your laughing fit. 

you move closer, wrapping an arm around his waist and stretching up to kiss his cheek. “if it helps at all, i’m pretty sure some of our hand towels are in the dryer.” 

and with that, timothy is gone and running for the dryer. 

[mashathebear]

“This is a dish towel. We need a hand towel! What are we, BARBARIANS?”

Gayle Starters

Masha closes her linen drawer, holding a nondescript thin, spotted, towel in her hand. “...Therese, are you calling me a barbarian?”

[a-musing-mixologist]

@matador-of-love​ asked: 

“ this is a dish towel. we need a hand towel. what are we, barbarians? ”

Gayle || Accepting

    “Do you even know the difference between the two?”

[dawnscngs]

@veritcs​ said:   [ jono @ ranpo ] “ this is a dish towel. we need a hand towel. what are we, barbarians? ”

𝐆𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐄   ♡   𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — accepting

     “Ehh...? Are they not the same thing? They’re all just towels, right?” Ranpo certainly doesn’t care to tell the difference. He crosses the minimal expanse of his small kitchen to peer inquisitively at the towel held in Jono’s hands. Nope, looks like every other towel he’s ever seen. They’re made of the same stuff, serve the same purpose, and are fundamentally indistinguishable, so...

     “At least I have towels, y’know. If I wanted to be really barbaric, I’d tell you to just dry your hands on your pants.” After a grin and a peck to the hunting dog’s cheek, the detective is back to his previous task of searching for a snack amidst the clutter of his cabinets. “But, if you want different towels, we can go get different towels. I’m not exactly attached to these ones.”

[rubiesintherough]

(( @tinymute​ sent --- “ this is a dish towel. we need a hand towel. what are we, barbarians? ” (Aedus) ))

He’s forced to stifle a laugh at the near frantic movement of her hands, wildly flinging the towel around along with her signed words in his direction.   “ Dear,  d e a r ... “    Gods, it’s a struggle for him to keep his voice at all even. One flame-warmed hand reaches slowly for hers, taking it and pulling that offending fabric away in one gentle motion.   “ Please, sit down for a moment. I can assure you, they won’t be inspecting our towels when they come... you’re going to work yourself up into an absolute frenzy before we even get started on dinner. “   

[subserviiient]

“ this is a dish towel. we need a hand towel. what are we, barbarians? ”

Gayle: accepting

“Spring cleaning, I take it?” She asks, entering the room after hearing Sophie talking to herself, she raises an eyebrow at her mentor- she could understand her frustrations, but Anzu doesn’t really care what towels she uses for things, that’s more Takehiro’s angle. Regardless, she knows the difference between the two towels and gestures to herself as she speaks once more, an offer, as per usual- it seemed every word she said always became a suggestion of service to others.

“Do you want me to go get you a hand towel? I’m sure I can pop down to the shops to buy you one pretty quickly.”

[thebakerstboyskeeper]

My mom was cleaning the house and got mad when my dad and I sat on the couch. She did not appreciate the following ten minutes when my dad and I quoted that Chris Fleming video at her.

Just picture us yelling across the house:

"We can't let people know we SIT!!"

"If you haven't made your bed, it's too late to make it now!"

"There cannot be any sign of LIVING in this house!"

"This is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! WHAT ARE WE BARBARIANS?"

We're such assholes.

[paperworkanddogs-moved]

“This is a dish towel. We need a hand towel! What are we, BARBARIANS?”

"But what's the difference?" Texture? Use?