#Willi Faux

[arcaneprism]

Hair - Julie & Willie

I did two of these in one day it’s a late April miracle!

I saw that the prompt was hair and got excited because braids. I love braiding. Next thing I know, this is done and one of the longest in this domestic fluff instalment haha

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Do you want flowers? I think you want flowers.”

“Well, thank you very much for asking,” Julie laughed, more amused than anything else as Willie started grabbing fabric flowers from the accessories pile she had next to her.

She may not have been facing him, but she could almost see the grin on his face as he carefully pinned flowers into her braid. “Okay but when you see this, you’re gonna agree with me, Ju. You want flowers.”

“Of course I do.”

Julie couldn’t help grinning as Willie finished off her braid. The moment he did he jumped off the couch and pushed her behind him to where he had been sitting, both of them laughing as she complied and Willie settled down in front of her. Excited to see her own hair once she finished with his, Julie didn’t spend much time on small talk before she started brushing the tangles out of his hair.

Once upon a time, she thought Willie’s hair was like Carrie’s. Straight and thick and untangled and wonderfully well maintained. She made the mistake of brushing root to tip one time and never did it again. Willie’s hair was wavy and very fine. It was ridiculously soft to the touch and from a distance looked deceivingly well maintained. Though he wasn’t as bad as some of the boys, and even occasionally Kayla’s, Willie did not spend much time taking care of his hair, and often let it get tangled into a bird’s nest that Julie more often than not found herself having to carefully untangle. It wasn’t like Willie couldn’t do it himself, or that he couldn’t find someone else to help him. He just seemed to prefer Julie for it. It would be nice if he could have his hair untangled more often in between their biweekly braiding sessions though.

Julie hummed as she carefully brushed his hair, tip to root, slowly untangling any knots she found as best as she could without snagging and tugging, leaving the fine strands silky smooth. Willie had practically melted under her careful fingers, happy to let Julie have her way with his hair.

When she was done, Julie frowned down at his hair, trying to remember the braid tutorials she had watched the past week before she settled on an adjusted version of a simple five strand braid she had seen. Separating the hair at the top of Willie’s hair into five equal strands, she started manoeuvring the strands over and under each other, carefully adding more hair into the braid as she braided down his head.

Right, over, under. Left, over, under.

She was barely focusing on the braid, fingers moving on autopilot when she got to the base of his head. Willie was humming contentedly as she worked. 

Right, over, under. Left, over, under.

She continued braiding down, already thinking about how she could decorate the braid to make it look fancier. 

Right, over, under. Left, over, under.

By the time she tied off the braid, she had settled on flowers and ribbons. She didn’t bother giving Willie the illusion of a choice as she took a blue ribbon and then just started grabbing the fabric flowers she wanted – yellow roses, daisies, and carnations and started tying them into his hair.

“Hey,” Willie pouted, pretending to grumble about not getting options. But he grinned nonetheless when Julie sat back, looking over her work and making a few small adjustments to the flowers before, finally satisfied, she declared that she was done.

He was quick to tug Julie to a nearby mirror, though he needn’t have bothered really, Julie was just as excited as he. Both of them were practically running, equally eager to see what the other had done to their hair.

Julie managed to get to a handheld mirror first, and she held it up behind Willie’s hair so he could see what she had done in the mirror, proud of her work. Willie gave a delighted gasp, hands flying to carefully touch the braid.

“Ju! This is so pretty!” He laughed then, fingers moving to the flowers in his hair, “Oh hey, we match!”

He grinned as he took the hand mirror from Julie’s hands, gently pushing her in front of him so he could show her his handiwork. Julie’s eyes widened as she saw her hair.

Willie had gone for a fishtail braid, but he had taken larger chunks of hair than she was used to seeing for a fishtail to keep it just loose enough for the natural texture of her hair to be noticeable. She felt like a mermaid. It was then that she noticed the flowers. She had made sure not to look when Willie was taking flowers for her hair, and she gasped now to see that he had chosen the exact same flowers that she had, artfully arranging them to look almost like a laurel in her hair.

She couldn’t help the delighted laugh that left her lips as she turned to hug him, Willie easily catching her and laughing along.

She knew that Willie would suggest going out soon since they were all cute and matchy and they would have the best time of it. Julie would suggest ice cream. She’d get mint chocolate and Willie would get bubblegum and they’d take pictures to send to the group chat. Reggie and Flynn (at the very least) pout and playfully complain about being left out, Carrie and Kayla would demand one of them braid their hair, and Alex would whine about seeing less of Willie when he agreed. It was building up to be a wonderful evening and Julie couldn’t wait.

But for now, she was content to be laughing in her friend’s arms.

[jccheapalier]

[simpforrooster]

bullseye.

jake “hangman” seresin x f!reader

summary: you’re tired of waiting for jake to make a move, so you force his hand.

t/w: mentions of alcohol, some kissing

the dart leaves your hand sloppily. if only your dad could see you. he’d be so embarrassed.

you throw another one, no skill or finesse.

you feel his eyes on you.

hangman.

glancing over your shoulder at him, you meet those green eyes. his mouth quirks up in the corner. that damn mouth. he has no idea how distracting that mouth is.

you and jake have been flirty with one another since you met, but he refuses to make a move.

that ends today.

bringing your attention back to the dartboard, faux concentration covers your features. you take a few practice throws, then let the dart sail towards to board.

it misses.

footsteps sound behind you, followed by a beer bottle being set on a table.

“darlin’, you are no good at this,” hangman’s southern drawl heats your insides. all he has to do is call you darlin’ with that accent and you’d do anything for him.

putting a hand on your hip, you turn to look at him. “i know,” you whine, poking out your bottom lip for dramatic effect.

hangman’s eyes fall to your mouth, then back up to your eyes.

jackpot.

“turn around,” he says, nodding toward the board and putting a dart in your hand.

hangman slides up behind you, barely touching you.

“you’re throwing this all willy nilly, there’s a strategy to it,” he tells you in your ear. his hand runs slowly down your right arm, resting on your hand holding the dart. his hot breath against your ear causes your heart to pick up. you pray he doesn’t notice.

he guides your hand up. “loosen your grip,” he murmurs. his other hand comes to your waist. he steps forward closing the little space between you. the feeling of his body against yours is everything. you lean back against him, just slightly.

that hand on your waist slides down to your hip. “the trick is confidence.” hangman pulls your hand back, and your let it go when he guides you forward.

bullseye.

“atta girl.”

the praise makes you want to turn in his arms and kiss him. jake takes a deep breath, his chest pushing into your back. the hand on your hip hasn’t moved.

“wanna play me?” you ask him.

“what’s in it for me?”

“an easy win?” you turn and he looks down at you. you don’t miss his gaze falling to your mouth again.

the two of you could be the only ones in this bar with the tension floating between you. it’s getting harder and harder not to engage in anything inappropriate.

“if you win, i’ll buy you a drink,” you offer. it’s lame, but

he smirks. “i’ll take that. what if you win?”

“if i win,” you pretend to think. his thumb rubs a spot above your shorts, causing goosebumps.

“yeah?” he murmurs.

“i want a date.”

he squeezes your hip. “deal.”

jake steps away from you. “ladies first.”

you turn toward the board. you feign hesitation. you glance over to jake and give him a shrug. “here goes.”

looking toward the board, you throw the dart with perfect form and precision.

bullseye.

jake’s mouth falls open. two more darts follow and land in the center circle.

“well, well, well. did you hustle me, darlin’?” that southern drawl melts your insides. jake steps toward you.

“you gonna throw your darts?” you ask him. he takes another step. he looks from you to the board.

“you and i both know i can land all three of mine in the same circle with my eyes closed.” he smiles down at you.

“we do know that,” you agree. feeling brave, you bring your hand to his waist, knotting your hand in his soft t shirt. his gaze falls to your hand, then back to your face.

he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’ve got to give it to you, i’m impressed.”

“i was tired of you not making a move,” you admit, pulling him closer to you.

“you want me to make a move, huh?” he asks. your bravado leaves you thanks to the way he’s looking at you. his eyes search your face, pupils blown.

“yes, jake,” you breathe. a groan escapes his mouth and he pulls your face toward him. kissing him is like being on fire and he’s the only thing that can put you out. your body arches into his, and your name falls from his lips like a prayer.

“every bit as perfect as i imagined,” he whispers against your mouth.

this time, you close the gap. he takes your lead, fully making out with you in the middle of penny’s bar. luckily, the dart board is situated the in the corner so you’re pretty sure no one is paying y’all any attention.

“psst, hey man,” coyote’s voice pulls the two of you apart. “things appear to be escalating past bar appropriate.” he gestures between the two of you.

jake grins down at you. “wanna get out of here?”

“yes, jake.”

masterlist.

[qqueenofhades]

-Quickly skitters into the inbox, with a boom box and an increasingly bass boosted version-

🎶I PUT MY HANDS UP THEY’RE PLAYING MY SONG THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY-🎶

- Party In The USA anon, on the recent glorious news

Look. LOOK. I know we've had technically bigger fish, but the Georgia case is a Big Fucking Deal. Because:

It is a MAJOR indictment both in terms of scope and seriousness of charges. Not just Trump, but *eighteen* of his allies and cronies got charged with RICO (anti-racketeering, often used against mob bosses) felonies, including Rudy Giuliani (I repeat, HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA), Jeff Clark, Mark Meadows, and other high-profile Trumpworld enablers

No Lindsey Graham (at least yet) but I guess we can't have everything

It encompasses both in Georgia and other states where Trump illegally tried to alter election results (Michigan, Arizona, and Pennsylvania), as those activities related to a conspiracy centered on Georgia/Fulton County

This is the big whopper: TRUMP CANNOT CANCEL THIS INVESTIGATION EVEN IF HE GETS RE-ELECTED. He can shut down the federal Special Counsel investigations run through the DoJ, but this? Bupkis. And Georgia governor Brian Kemp, another of the Republicans who dutifully continues to defend Trump even as Trump slanders him up and down, CAN'T PARDON HIM.

That drives the Republicans NUTS. So nuts that they were, you guessed it, already on Faux News whining about how they should make Georgia change that law.

Boo-fucking-hoo, you absolute fucking wankers.

Also: we need to remember that Trump rose to political prominence by being wildly racist and xenophobic about America's first Black president. He has coddled and exalted white supremacists and white supremacist rhetoric at every turn, it has been the central defining feature of his campaign, and his election subversion efforts were chiefly aimed at canceling the votes of heavily Black cities (Atlanta, Philly, Detroit, etc.)

Trump also won in 2016 thanks to the Electoral College, itself designed as an element of structural racism, by defeating probably the most qualified and beyond any doubt most historic candidate there has ever been, after it was revealed that he was a serial sexual assaulter and after he screamed for months about LOCK HER UP (every Republican accusation is a confession, etc)

All that said, with Trump's vile, derogatory bile spewed at everyone, but especially a) Black people, b) women, and c) powerful Black women, it is a Big Fucking Deal that a powerful Black woman, aka his worst nightmare, pulled this trigger on him.

Don't get me wrong. I deeply appreciate me some Jack Smith. But he is also a white male special counsel appointed by the Department of Justice, and who used to work for the Hague prosecuting war crimes (true story). It's in his brief to do this.

Fani Willis is a county district attorney AND a Black woman, as Trump's nonstop shitgibbering on Truth Social just can't help himself from pointing out. This kind of sprawling, country-wide investigation against a wildly corrupt ex-president and his cohort of equally corrupt cronies is not something she is, in the normal course of things, ever expected to do, but she did it.

NINETEEN DEFENDANTS, Y'ALL. Including Trump. On 41 different charges. That's a hell of an indictment, and she knows it puts a target on her back, while (as noted) she doesn't have the resources and protections of the federal government/DOJ to do it.

Let's hear it for Fani Willis (and Judge Chutkan, who informed Trump the other day the more he runs his mouth, the faster she will proceed to trial) y'all.

Black Women Get Shit Done.

[dc418writes]

✨Pairing✨: mechanic!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader

Summary🪄: Brynn has her first bout of stage fright (Operation: Rekindle addition)

⚠️: 18+ NO MINORS!, oral (male receiving, allusion to female receiving), allusions to happy adult fun times (please make sure willies are wrapped, there’s peeing after sex, and everyone is being safe), partial bad language word, pretty much all teeth rotting fluff💕

*DISCLAIMER!: although visual was made by me via Canva, I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

“Aliana Marie Y/L/N-Levinson, you need to put on clothes!”

The three-year-old only giggles as you chase her around the small living room - expertly dodging scattered toys along the way

Her sister Brynn just watching the whole ordeal from her booster seat while she finally ate her Mac and cheese. Short giggles coming from her as well enjoying her little dinner show

Eventually scooping her in your arms, you carry your wiggly daughter back to the couch where her clothes lay trying yet again to get her dressed

“Come on, we’ll go get milkshakes,” you sweetly try to bargain as she rolls and moves her arms so you can’t put on her shirt

“No!,” she replies giggling once again as you sigh completely exhausted. So far you’d been at this for almost an hour - on top of getting dinner ready and then giving the twins a bath. Not to mention doing Brynn’s hair in what had to be a perfect top knot according to the instructions from her ballet teacher.

Overall, you felt like you’d been going all day

Hearing the click of the lock and soft rattle of the doorknob tells you of Ari’s arrival before he makes his entrance with a deep but pleasant, “hello!” Both girls immediately squeal in excitement turning their attention to their father with an equally joyful, “hi daddy!”

He makes his rounds sweetly kissing Brynn’s forehead then Ali’s and ending with a soft peck on your cheek

An interaction much too short for your liking

“What’s uh going on here?,” he asks with an amused tilt to his lips seeing a half naked Ali in only her pull up, one sock on her foot, and hair unruly

“Your daughter apparently wants to be a nudist. She won’t put her clothes on.”

His large hands fall to his hips as he tsks in faux disappointment. “Now Aliana..”

“Hi daddy,” she giggles with her little fingers in her mouth peering up to Ari who looks the size of a tower from where she lay

“We gotta get dressed sweetpea. You don’t wanna get left do you?”

After a few seconds, she lifts her arms in the air as if surrendering herself to the larger man making you playfully narrow your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “Such a daddy’s girl.”

Chuckling, Ari squats down placing a hand on Ali’s tummy lightly tickling his little girl while also securing her to the couch. “Can’t say I blame you on the clothes rebellion though.”

“Well since you’re the favorite right now, mind getting her dressed? I’ll try to do her hair after I get ready or I’ll just have to do it there.”

“I’ll take care of it, you go ahead,” he motions his head towards your bedroom

“Thank you!” Ari knows he shouldn’t let your simple touch excite him, but it’s like a memorized response how his muscle warms and pleasantly tingles from your hand on his upper arm. Not to mention the little swell of his chest knowing he put that relieved smile on your lips

“Promise I won’t be long,” you state over your shoulder flitting from Brynn - to clean her face and release her from the booster seat - then to your room to finish whatever you needed to do

The whole time Ari lovingly watching you with that soft smile only the slightest mention of your name could envoke

That is until Aliana’s impatient kicks snap him out of his short lived trance. “Hey don’t you start, you could’ve been dressed by now had you not been difficult for mommy,” he replies only making her giggle more as he pulls her little dark jeans over her legs

-

Luckily you weren’t too late when your clan finally arrived at the dance studio. Ari took care of finding two seats near your families while you hurried backstage to get Brynn lined up with the rest of her class - of course making sure to get a few pictures and steal a few kisses before joining the rest of the parents in the waiting crowd

The once plain and neutral auditorium now sparkled with white and blue string lights - some in the shape of snowflakes both medium and small - along the walls. A couple frosted trees sat on either side of the front steps leading to the stage with piles of glittery, snowlike fabric underneath

And to wrap the winter wonderland together, plastic icicles hanging over the stage as if dripping from the small curtain at the top

It seemed everyone else was just as impressed as you, from the pleased murmurs and pointing

“Good evening all!,” the tall, slender woman greeted with a model-like smile. Her onyx hair tied back in a neat bun made her appear as if she was a dancer herself standing under the spotlights in her grey sweater dress and black heels

“I’m Miss Holli, the co-owner of this studio and head instructor, and I’d like to welcome all of you to our Winter Showcase!” The crowd erupts in a round of applause, slowly coming to a hush as Ms. Holli begins to speak again.

“We’ll be having a total of three performances tonight starting with our tiny tots and little kids, then our pre-teens, and finally ending with our older teens and young adults. Now we understand if you have to leave after your child’s performance, especially our little ones with stricter bedtimes...” The crowd - mostly those with said little ones including you and Ari - lightly chuckled at that. “But we hope you can stay and see what all our kids have been working on and practicing so hard for.”

“Now without further ado, our tiniest ones with Snowflakes in Freefall!”

You, Ari, and both of your families perk up in your seats watching Brynn’s class pad onto the wooden stage and to their marks with the help of their two instructors. You try to wave in order to get her attention, but she just stares straight ahead. Even Ali excitedly shouts “Ben!,” - she was still getting the hang of pronouncing Brynn - while standing on her father’s thighs at the sight of her sister.

Still she stares forward, and as the music begins to play - leading up to the note where she’s supposed to start her dance - you realize her staring isn’t due to focus

Brynn stays on her mark and even at her teacher’s beckoning, she doesn’t move

“What’s going on?,” Ari’s mom, Celia, asks in a whisper leaning in close behind you

“I’m not sure. She knows her dance and was excited all day today.”

Without a word, Ari hands Ali to you before carefully moving through the aisle to head towards the steps leading to backstage. There he meets a pouting Brynn sniffling trying to stop her tears as one of her teachers consoles her and the other tries to explain to the crowd how they just need a few extra minutes, and asks the stagehands to close the curtains

“I think it’s just nerves, but she won’t talk to me,” the younger of her two teachers explains to Ari as he kneels down to join them

“I’ll try to figure it out, thanks,” he smiles before the bubbly redhead rejoins the rest of the class. “Hey, what’s wrong honeybee?”

“People…lots,” she whispers wiping at her right eye

“Yea, it is a big crowd huh?” She nods. Definitely bigger than the few parents watching from behind the glass that she was used to. “I know it’s scary, but everything’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna do great.”

She still seems unsure wiping at her eye again and not making any attempt to move back on stage. “Wanna stay wit you.”

Ari sighs being careful of the light glitter makeup on her cheeks as he wipes the watery line below her eye. “I wanna stay too, but I can’t B.” Her disappointed pout cuts him deep enough that he’s ready and willing to leave now. To take his babygirl wherever she wanted to go and get an extra large strawberry milkshake on the way to make her smile again

But he knows he can’t. This was just the first in a lifelong line of things she’d have to conquer on her own. He couldn’t whisk her away every time she was afraid - although that protectiveness instinct screamed at him to do so

Though, that didn’t mean he couldn’t help at all

“Mr. Levinson?,” the redhead nervously returns, “I don’t mean to rush, but we have to get going. Will Brynn be able to go on with us?”

An idea - albeit a humiliating and potentially dumb one - sparks in his mind briefly turning towards her teacher. “She’s still nervous but I think I know what can help. If it’ll be okay that is?”

-

After 10 minutes and a short announcement from the head instructor, the lights dim and curtains reopen to Brynn front and center again with her classmates behind her. She seems a bit happier this time posed on her mark making you relieved that Ari could help

When he finally descends the short steps from backstage, your brow tilts in confusion watching him stop adjacent to the stage now only in his dark brown and white flannel, his jeans, and white socks on his feet. Additionally, posed just like Brynn

“Daddy,” Aliana points seated in your lap

“Yea, what’s daddy doing?”

The soft, playful music begins again and on cue Brynn starts her dance just as she’s practiced for all these months with Ari perfectly following along to every movement as well

Light giggles and chuckles could be heard among the crowd - and your families - getting a kick out of this giant of a man dancing along with a group of kids. From as many times as he sat at her rehearsals, you shouldn’t be surprised he knew every step yet here you were with bright eyes admiring the father of your children

A familiar warmth blooming over your body that you’ve tried to push away so many times, but ultimately couldn’t still being so deeply in love

When the final note plays, the kids and Ari stand in their final pose receiving applause and standing ovations. A wide smile on Brynn’s lips as she waves to her dad and an equally big smile on his as he winks at her

And when he somehow finds your eyes amid all those around - his cheeks a light pink as he gives a small wave - you forgo trying to ignore those feelings anymore. Fully letting them take control let it be for better or worse

-

It was a tad shameful how quick you were on him after you both put the girls to bed. Your lips immediately finding his as soon as he closed the door to their room, turning to tell you goodnight

You didn’t care though letting yourself get lost in the pillowy softness of his pink lips and his tongue on yours while your body pressed even closer into his. Your sudden need for him was surprising to Ari, but how could he focus on questions - or even thinking at all - with your hands roaming his firm chest and traveling lower to the buckle of his jeans. A small “oof” leaving his mouth as you lightly pushed him down to what used to be your shared bed after pulling his boxers down enough to release what was hidden beneath

Now on your knees between his legs, time is a foreign concept letting his pleasurable grunts and moans fill your heated ears until his release eventually coats your throat. Even then your slurping and bobbing continues, ignoring the burning in your chest and throbbing of your head

“Fuc- too much baby too much,” he mumbles gripping your hair to pull you off while he lies back trying to catch his breath. You can’t help but leave a last, teasing lick from its underside to the tip making him shudder and you softly giggle to yourself

Standing to your feet, you clean the embarrassing drops of drool and other fluids from your chin with a nearby tissue taking in his ruddy face. Bits of hair sticking to his forehead from the small beads of sweat and lashes - long and curled - lying against his cheeks. He always was so unfairly pretty

Slowly crawling up his body, you trail kisses along his sternum, collarbones, and jaw as you gently straddle his taut abdomen. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting old on me.” For that, you get a warning smack to your bottom slightly startling you yet also making you giggle while Ari tiredly chuckles

“Just gimme a couple minutes. We’ll see who’s makin’ jokes then.”

“I’m holding you to that,” you whisper nibbling his earlobe as you briefly grind down leaving a noticeable wet spot you’re more than sure Ari can feel, “because she really missed you.”

Clearly he’s caught his second wind sliding his hands from your back to gripping your buttcheeks and pulling you forward until your dripping core hovered over his mouth. A surprised squeak coming from your chest followed by a small mewl as his tongue dragged along your slit to your eager button

“Can’t keep her waiting then, can we?”

[sketches4mysw33theart]

The Concoction of Creativity 

Synopsis: You’re trying to teach Mr Willy Wonka how to read with little success, as there are plenty of chocolate-scented distractions stealing his attention. Inspired, you both drop the lesson to allow the creation of a new type of chocolate which, upon making and eating, gives Willy the inspiration to finally understand what you were trying to teach him. 

Word Count: 2.2k 

Warnings: None

“Oh, this just does not make sense,” Willy said exasperatedly, placing the stub of a pencil on the makeshift desk he was sitting behind with a distinct air of abandonment. Drawing a breath, you gave him a small smile, which you hoped came across as encouraging.  

“It’s not that bad, really,” you said. “Look, you have consonants and vowels,” you pointed to the two groups of letters that you had painstakingly copied out onto the blackboard, “and a Y and W, which can act as either or depending on the context. Now, there are 19 consonants and 5 vowels. In speech, the sound of consonant letters involves the blocking of air before it leaves the mouth, whereas vowels involve the opposite.” 

You had your back to him, drawing circles and symbols on the blackboard as you continued talking about certain letters. Without the pressure of your eyes, Willy was almost immediately unengaged, staring at the pencil he had harshly discarded for a moment before picking it up again. Lost beneath your booming voice, he said to himself, “This does look rather tasty.” 

The pencil was now balanced at eye level on his pinkie finger, and he was watching it jitter with his head slightly tilted. “I wonder if... hmm, Middlemist Red Camellia dew with a dash of pencil lead...”  

And, in as little time as it took you to turn around, he had the lead of the pencil between his teeth, gnawing curiously. Before you could exclaim, he took it back out again, and you watched in fascinated disgust as he pushed the minuscule chunk around his mouth for a moment to taste the lead, then swallowed without chewing. 

When you had decided to take over Noodle’s responsibilities of teaching the new arrival to read, you didn't quite know what you were letting yourself in for. The young girl had confided one day while working alongside you in the wash house you were both imprisoned in that the chocolate maker did not know how to read, and she did not know the best way to approach teaching him, so you’d decided to utilize your meagre writing experience and teach him the best you could. However, you were not prepared for the enormous difficulty that this task proposed. Not only could Mr Willy Wonka not read, but he also seemed to have very little motivation to learn how to do so. He did, however, have plenty of motivation and passion for creating chocolate.  

“That’s it, Y/N,” he said with a gleeful smile. “That’s the concoction of creativity.” And he was up from his chair and over to his travel factory, opening up his mini case of wonders in no time at all. He mumbled to himself as he shuffled through vials, dancing fingers hovering over liquids of gold and green and blue, until he seized one with sudden vigour. 

You watched him, shading the amusement you felt with a faux-disgruntled look. You didn’t mind giving up your time to tutor Mr Wonka (you didn't exactly have much else to do in the wash house) nor did you mind his frequent disruptions and outbursts; you were simply content with the opportunity to be ensconced in the sweet, hopeful presence of the chocolate maker.  

Still, with your hands on your hips, you put on your best teacher voice. “And do you, by any chance, have a chocolate that will force you to focus on vowels and consonants?” You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling as you said it, because the look of focus – downturned lips, wide eyes, bursting dimple – had taken over his face.  

“Ah,” Willy looked up from his ongoing creation, two small vials clutched in his hands, with a sheepish expression on his sweet face. “I could do a Ruby Remission – great for forgetting the naughty deeds of truant chocolatiers, among other uses.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh and moved to sit in the chair that he had just vacated. “Spare me, please. But I suppose we can take a break. What's the concoction of creativity?”  

“The dew of the Middlemist Red Camellia, one of the rarest flowers in the world.” He shook the vial he was holding in his left hand, which was half filled with a thick, red-tinged liquid that glimmered in the weak light. “I managed to collect some in China. Just a concentrated drop of it can stimulate the minerals and glucose of the body needed for energy and brain power, but it needs a little kick, a spark of imagination.”  

Now, he gestured to the pencil with his head. “If I can melt the lead of a pencil in acetone,” he said, shaking the second vial of clear liquid, “I think I could have the perfect essence of creativity to give the eater that hope of fantasy.” 

You were awestruck by his dedication, his methods of working, his inventiveness, and watched him joyously labour with rapt attention. He snapped the pencil in half and tipped out the lead into the acetone, telling you as he did so how the acetone would break down the lead into a liquid, ready to be sweetened and poured into the chocolate mix. Putting that to one side, he pulled the cork from the red bottle and lifted it to his nose to inhale deeply before holding it out to you. 

Distracted by the pencil lead bubbling in acetone, you didn’t notice the offer at first, not until Willy said your name with a smile on his face. He couldn’t help but enjoy how much you enjoyed watching him work. You too inhaled the scent, a rich combination of rose bouquets and candyfloss, tinged with a faint Earthy smell of spice. “Wow,” you said, leaning closer for a second whiff. “That smells incredible.” 

He grinned. “And with the lead, it’ll taste it too, I just know it.” He turned back to his mini laboratory to focus on his concoction, but this time at such an angle that you couldn’t watch his nimble fingers at work. Dismayed, you stood up and sidled quietly towards him, leaning somewhat disruptingly over his shoulder. At the feel of your presence, the closeness of your bare skin to that of his arm, the natural, if a bit soapy, scent of you, Willy was rather flattered; the idea that you wanted to be so close to him, to watch him do what he so loved, made him glow.  

However, your sudden closeness caught him somewhat off guard as he was pouring the dew into his machine, and the warmth of you mere inches from his body unconsciously made his fingers tremble, causing him to almost drop the vial. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, thinking you’d startled him and taking a hurried step back with a meek expression. 

“No, no, not at all,” he was quick to rectify the unconscious betrayal of his body and sheltered the conversation from an awkward silence by stretching out the vial towards you. “Would you like to pour the rest?”  

“I- yes, I’d love to,” you exclaimed, quickly broaching the space you’d shamefully put between you to gently take the vial from his fingers and stand, this time, beside him. “Where do I -” 

Willy pointed to a built-in glass container housing a thin spiral tube on his side of the case. “Pop it in there, we’ll add the lead and a pinch of stardust nectar extracted from the Luna Petalas plants of the celestial pools in Delphi.” His face fell into a dreamy expression as you watched, and he cast it toward you with an expectant pause that threatened to turn your knees into jelly when you didn’t make a move to start the chocolate creation.  

Startled out of your stupor, you quickly leant in front of him to pour the red liquid into the container, and watched it slowly travel through the spiral tube. So close to your companion's body, you were drawn into his heat and overwhelming scent of sweet chocolate tinged by the harsh soap of the wash house and an unfamiliar earthy smell that seemed to cling on to him desperately. When you stood back up, you couldn’t help but make sure you were close to him. 

He stoppered the vial that you had handed to him, carefully placing the bottle away before picking up the acetone, which was now a light grey. “Now the melted lead.” He handed the vial to you once more and gestured to the glass tube with a wave of his thin fingers. You repeated the actions of leaning across him, overwhelming your senses with his scent, pouring the liquid in, returning to standing, and handing over the vial. 

The machine made a noise, a happy-sounding one, you thought, but you looked to Willy for reassurance. The smile stretched across his face and the twinkle in his eyes, illuminated by the soft lights of his travel factory, assured you it was. Still, in tune with your discomfort, he clapped to calm it before saying, “Perfect, Y/N! Now,” you watched his fingers dance across his numerous bottles again, “a sprinkle of stardust nectar,” he handed you the correct bottle and allowed you to pour it in. “And then we press this button,” he pointed to a square button beside the glass container, “and voila!” 

As soon as you pressed the button, the mini factory burst to life, a conveyor belt beginning to run until there emerged four red chocolates in the shape of the most fantastic autumn leaves. You watched in awe as each perfectly engraved chocolate appeared as though by magic, looking as delectable as you had ever seen any Wonka’s chocolate look. They glimmered generously, reflecting the absorbed faces of yourself and the chocolate maker in hazy, romantic shades. Once the conveyor belt stopped with four perfect chocolates produced, the mini factory fell instantly quiet and silent once more.  

Willy turned to you with a triumphant look on his face. “You just made chocolate, Y/N! Try it, go on.” He plucked one of the leaves from the belt and held it out to you in the centre of his smooth palm. You took it eagerly and popped it into your mouth. Instantly, your taste buds were coated in the sweetest combination of rose, honeyed ambrosia, and wild berries, with a faint metallic taste reminiscent of grapefruit on the cusp of ripeness. You couldn’t resist the groan you let out as you bit into it and swallowed the noisette-like substance within. 

“Oh, Willy, that’s delicious! It’s perfect.” He was going to respond, but you lurched forward and pressed a quick kiss to the smooth roundness of his cheek, which instantly erupted in a flush of crimson. For a moment, he stuttered around the words his mind had yet to string together, then cleared his throat and pressed on. “I, er – wow, thank you.”  

Sparing more of his blushes, you picked up another chocolate from the belt and held it to his lips between your thumb and forefinger. “Your turn.”  

His cheeks still aflame, he opened his smiling mouth and accepted the chocolate onto his tongue. As the taste spread, his eyes closed and he inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening and Adam’s apple bobbing while he chewed and swallowed. It was your turn to blush as he opened his eyes and caught you looking.

But he just smiled. “Oh, that is good. We’ll make a chocolatier out of you yet, Y/N.”  

“Well, I definitely think you’ve got the creative juices flowing. But how are you feeling, Willy? More creative? Ready to work through Shakespeare?” you said teasingly. 

“Hm, absolutely. In just a second,” he responded with a grin, picking up one more chocolate and popping it in his mouth. He swallowed it, stared at the final one with his lips rolled together, and then looked to you where you now stood beside the blackboard with an expression of surprise.  

“Mm, you know, I think I’ve got this whole word thing, Y/N.” You watched him with a hopeful smile as the cogs of his mind continued to whir. “Sure, okay, consonants are like cacao nibs, they bring certain notes and textures to words, so they have rhythm and structure.” His hands were gesticulating wildly, primarily in the direction of the final chocolate, but his eyes focused out of the window as though the answer to reading was just out of reach in the cold London night. “But vowels are more practical, like the grinding of the consonant nibs, refining their texture and making them smoother. So, consonants are the structure, they block air, while vowels are the essence of flavour, releasing air.”  

You were beaming as he finished his unique comparison. “Yes, Willy, you got it!” As though snapped out of a trance, his eyes darted to you, and his face lit up. 

“Really?”   

You nodded enthusiastically, stepping closer to him once more to squeeze his arm as you continued your encouragement. “Spot on, well done! And now I know how best to teach you in the future. But, I think we’ll call it a night for now.” You turned away from him to go about cleaning the blackboard in preparation for hiding it from Scrubbit and Bleacher, should they come looking.  

With your back to him, you could not see the moment of inspiration that flashed in Willy’s eyes, followed by a second of hesitation, rounded off by a steely determination. With lithe steps, he approached you, gently placed a hand on your shoulder and pressed his lips to your cheek before you had a chance to turn around.  

“Thank you for teaching me, Y/N,” he mumbled, biting his bottom lip nervously. “Same time tomorrow?” 

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Oliver Willis at Oliver Willis Explains:

The media industry, in particular, thrived during Trump’s time. Instead of sleep-inducing policy wonkery as they had to contend with during President Barack Obama’s two-terms, Trump lurched from drama to drama and crisis to crisis. When he wasn’t feuding with celebrities or Saturday Night Live, he was pissing off NATO allies, mismanaging a pandemic, or bowing to North Korea’s dictatorial regime. And of course there was the steady stream of racism and misogyny.

Four years into President Joe Biden’s time in office, it is clear to anyone with open eyes that the mainstream press desperately wants to go back to the good old days. They want easy stories and a torrent of clicks to their websites and eyeballs on their broadcasts. They want to be able to churn out a series of bestsellers, compiling information they should have been reporting in newspapers and broadcasts, packaged as buzzworthy scoops to juice book sales. Like Zaslav, the mainstream media - the New York Times, CNN, Associated Press, the networks and the rest — tipped their hands as they took part in the post-debate media orgy. Biden’s performance was putrid, as he has admitted, but the coverage went above and beyond with the press beating the drumbeat for Biden to drop out of the race louder than a Taylor Swift concert extravaganza. The press misses Donald, their meal ticket, their path to riches and an easy day at the office. He makes a big show of speaking negatively about his coverage, but like a wrestler working a gimmick to get the audience out of their seats, everyone in this pantomime is playing a role.

[...] The press does not like criticism from the left. The left is supposed to just suck it up and take it and bow before them. Simply because the left side of the aisle does not share Trump’s position that the free press is the “enemy of the people,” that is supposed to be carte blanche for lies, unfair coverage, and agenda-based reporting against Democrats. Nonsense. Biden was well within bounds to push back on the media’s reprehensible behavior and in fact he should have been more forceful. Because in this election — as in past elections — the Republican Party isn’t his only opposition.

The people who continually carry water for specious and debunked right-wing attacks, like the Swift Boat lies of 2004 or the Willie Horton smears of 1988 or the email faux scandal of 2016 are all the same people: The media. The Republican Party and conservatives have a steadfast ally in the mainstream press that amplifies their bad faith attacks without context, who abdicate their roles as journalists or fact checkers to operate as stenographers for whatever dumb thing Republicans come up with. When George W. Bush and his team wanted to sell lies about weapons of mass destruction, they didn’t go to Fox News. The went to the New York Times. Of course the press should investigate and press back on claims from Democrats, and when Democrats lie or massage the facts, the news media should take them to the rhetorical woodshed. That is their job. But for too long they have operated with two sets of standards for the two parties. What is merely a faux pas by Ronald Reagan, George W. Bush and Trump is seized upon as a major crisis and scandal if the perpetrator is Barack Obama, Bill Clinton and Joe Biden (along with Al Gore, John Kerry and Hillary Clinton). This cannot continue to stand, not without some blowback.

Oliver Willis wrote a solid piece on why Joe Biden was right to call out the bothsiderist MSM in a Monday interview with NBC’s Lester Holt.

[mj-thrush-gxn]

okay sorry yall but i just gotta rant about my mom real quick.

i posted a picture of me dressed as willy stampler on my snapchat story. i forgot that my sister had me friended. my mother and my sister are on a trip to my sisters dance competition. my sister saw the snap and showed it to my mom. my mom called me, and i assumed it was just to say hi since she hasn’t texted me all day. nope.

she called me just to say she thought i was weird for dressing as a man. her specific words were,” i can deal with you being gay, but this is too much for me.” I HAVE NEVER ONCE INSINUATED THAT I WAS INTO GIRLS?!?! MY MOM ASSUMES THAT I AM QUEER- I HAVE BEEN QUESTIONING SINCE I WAS 10- SHE HAS ALWAYS BEEN ‘supportive’ in the sense that she “is happy for me but wants me to know the world might not treat me the best” MOM? EXVCUSE ME?!?! she puts so much pressure on me that i can’t even process my thoughts and opinions myself. i want to figure myself out? but she is already so sure she knows me and it’s annoying. she needs to just accept that i love her but shat she is doing is not helping me in any way. she jokes about me being gay all the time. i know for a fact i am not het, but i don’t want to admit it to her because she will just be there with her faux support. i’m so done with her.

[msfbgraves]

Let it stand alone

Saw "Wonka" with the nieces way too late, because I thought it was a cash grab franchise milking faux nostalgic manipulation move, and I guess it was, and I still had a good time.

Now, if I were Roald Dahl, I'd likely object to this sweetheart of a Wonka. Wonka's a mad borderline dangerous maverick in Charlie. But this isn't the book, it's an adaption. If you don't know Wonka isn't a sweetheart, him being one doesn't ring false in the film. And books get adapted all the time - various adaptions aren't necessarily a commentary on one another.

So why tie this so deliberately to the Gene Wilder version? It isn't the same Wonka, and that's OK! It isn't Dahl's Wonka, and that's OK! It's another take on Wonka that works fine for what it is. Do they really think audiences would not have gone to watch a lovely romp about a sweet chocolatier anyway? That Oompa Loompas aren't fun without green hair? Look, this setup could have worked as "The Corruption of Willy Wonka" too, but that isn't what it wanted to be. Tying it too closely to another film for the parents' sake is the only thing that suddenly creates plotholes and ooc moments when there weren't any before.

[kaseyskat]

hi so uh cal @llumimoon and i have been concocting a. fun little au. that im gonna tell yall NOTHING about because this wip is meant to build intrigue <333 this bit is only one part of the whole fic, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!!!

~

“okay, kid, time to wake up.” 

you open your eyes. 

the first thing you notice is that there’s a man standing in front of you, staring at you with dark eyes. you don’t recognize him. 

the second thing you notice, as you take in how you don’t recognize this man, is that you don’t recognize anything. there are blankets tucked over your body, soft to the touch, and yet as you nudge them aside, you do not remember how you got here. there are walls around you, a room that you’re laying in, and it is as unfamiliar to you as the walls of your own mind, empty and desolate. 

you do not know who you are. this, you realize as a fact, and subconsciously one of your own hands moves to clench at the fabric of the very plain purple shirt that you happen to be wearing. your mind feels hopelessly spacious, and you rapidly push at the walls of it like there might be a hidden door or passageway that could give you some answers– nothing happens. 

the man sighs, then, loudly enough that it draws your attention from your startled state of being. “oh good, you’ve woken up,” he notes, and something about the saccharine sweetness of his tone has you biting at your lip, hands clenching again against your own will. “i was worried you’d sleep forever.” 

“what happened to me?” you ask. your voice comes out rough, hoarse, small. has it always been that way? you don’t know. you’ll never know. 

the man frowns, then, and the frown reaches the corners of his eyes, like his entire face is devoted to showcasing the emotion he’s offering. “those dang kids. one of them cast a spell at you– don’t you remember?” 

you don’t. you try, and you get a fleeting sense of… well. maybe someone you knew did cast a spell at you. but it goes away as soon as you reach out for it, and you can feel yourself frown in return, shaking your head. “i don’t… no, i can’t…” 

the man’s face, once again, morphs into something you might’ve once perceived as faux sympathy but now you do not recognize. “the spell must’ve done worse damage than i thought. do you know who i am?” 

“no.” the answer comes easily to you; though your heart pounds a little faster in your chest when he steps into your direction, you cannot place why, nor do you know his name or anything about him except that you don’t know if you like the way he looks at you. 

“well, you can call me willy. i am… a mentor to you, in a sense. your parents tried to kill you before, and i saved you. remember that?” 

you scrunch your nose, trying– but once again, the memories elude you, and you shake your head. it doesn’t make sense. “why did they try to kill me?” 

the man – willy – just sighs, and he sits at the edge of the bed. “because you’re special,” he says. “that’s why those teenagers – the adventurers, the ones that attacked you – were trying to kill you too. they’re all afraid of you.” 

“i don’t… i don’t understand,” you whisper, and your voice cracks a little bit at the edges. this is too much. you don’t get it. “who… who am i?” 

willy smiles. “you’re Perfect.” 

oh. 

you take in the information you’ve been given. your parents wanted you dead, enough so that they had adventurers come and try to kill you too. willy had saved you, and he saved you again, just with the cost of your memory. why would anyone target your memory? 

should it matter? you’re Perfect. despite it all, you want to be Perfect so badly all rationale disappears as you nod, sitting upright in the bed with a shaky sigh. 

willy must sense your inner conflict, because his smile loosens, and he offers a hand to you, still sitting at the edge of the bed. “i know this must be confusing,” he says, sympathetically, his voice dropping into a lower register. “but i assure you, you’re perfectly safe here. in fact, i was teaching you how to protect yourself before you were attacked.” 

you frown. this… feels weird. you can’t explain it. there’s a void in your chest, one that pulsates under your fingertips as you grip the fabric of your shirt a little harder. “that makes sense,” you say, even though it doesn’t. “because i’m… special.” 

“very special,” willy confirms, and the smile drops from his face as he gives you another once-over. “maybe resuming our lessons will jog your memory. care to give it a try?” 

it does not feel like a question. 

you swallow, and then nod, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. willy stands, still holding your free hand to guide you to your feet, and you’re startled by how little you sway; almost like, despite forgetting everything else, you remember the feeling of freedom, of being able to move. 

and then your stomach growls, and you blanch, the sound startling you. that void in your chest tugs at the back of your head, red-cold and curling like smoke into the crevices of your empty mind. it feels soothing, in a way that you don’t think it should be. 

willy seems to pick up on this, and he smiles once again. “you felt it then, didn’t you?” 

“what is that?” you ask, quietly, rubbing a hand into the sides of your temples. “it feels weird.” 

“i told you, you’re special,” willy says, and he starts leading the way out of the room, dropping your hand in the process; hesitantly, you follow. “you have a connection to the greatest power in the entire world. it’s a very rare thing to have, kid. you don’t know how… fortunate you are.” 

you don’t feel very special, but there’s an ache in your soul when you think about it. you want to be special, don’t you? 

“and… and if i learn from you, i’ll find out who i am?” you ask. it feels redundant when willy’s already told you who you are: you are Perfect, after all. but you still don’t really know what that means. 

willy smiles again, that grin composed of sharp teeth and curved edges and a tilt to his head. “i am absolutely sure of it.” 

he offers his hand again, and this time, you accept it wholeheartedly.

[outstandingmenshair]

I reckon there might be a clause in a boyband’s contract that at least one boybander must fuck about with different hairstyles once a firm fan base is established. Quite often they were either the second lead or the first to jump ship, after which they would get the clippers and take everything off in a middle finger move to former management.

exhibit 1 (above); Zayn Malik. In & out of 1D, that glorious dark hair was thinned for a textbook first gen faux hawk, blown back and brush rolled for a number of quiffs, streaked and loosely curled for a jelly roll, slicked but for a strand for a cry baby, undercut with a top knot, and more. On leaving 1D, the hair went, came, went, went, came, came, came, came… I dunno how many times, but he’s sure had fun with a variety of long and short.

further examples; Robbie Williams of Take That^, Shane Lynch of Boyzone, Nicky Byrne of Westlife, Matt Willis of Busted, Harry Judd of McFly, Scott Robinson of 5ive, Brian Harvey of East 17, Keith Flint of The Prodigy (ok, not strictly a boyband….but they were all male), Duncan James of Blue, Aston Merrygold of JLS, Jaymi Hensley of Union J, Jay McGuinness of The Wanted. And it didn’t stop with the UK, Backstreet Boy Nick Carter cut the curtains for some spikier styles, Justin Timberlake tossed off the spaghetti noodles for scruffier crewcuts, buzzed, and straightened and slicked back. I’m sure there are plenty more of lesser worldwide fame that could be added to the list too.

(^Jason Orange sported a very fetching low hawk during TT’s earlier heights of fame, while Howard Donald grew out his curly curtains and went for shoulder length dreadlocks around the same time. But otherwise neither had too many other noticeable deviations.)

[recapqsmp]

Dimanche 10/09 - O melhor dia de todos

Vegetta est revenu sur le serveur. Avec Willy, ils ont posé des mines un peu partout sur le serveur, notamment dans la base de Tubbo. Celui-ci, déjà dans un état mental assez faible à cause de la perte des oeufs, a complètement craqué.

Forever entends le tic-tac d'une horloge en boucle dans sa tête depuis quelques jours. Il a changé de skin pour un habit blanc et un visage très souriant et a décidé de construire quelque chose à Copa Cabana pour Richarlyson. Il est persuadé que les œufs sont en vacance et que Richas n'a pas voulu aller avec eux et est encore dans sa chambre en train de dormir.

Forever a aussi des médicaments dans son inventaire. Quand il entend les bruits d'horloge dans son esprit, il se met a prendre les médicaments, et a soudainement un boost d'énergie. Il passe son temps a répéter que c'est le meilleur jour de sa vie, que tout va bien.

https://clips.twitch.tv/FreezingIgnorantSangSMOrc-BUfpSCmjv9Hx4YN0

Cellbit, en rentrant dans la salle de Forever, a rencontré un "homme mysterieux", dont la voix a été modifié. Il lui a dit qu'ils se rencontreraient bientôt, et s'est enfuit.

Cellbit Antoine et Pac ont voulu investiguer la base de Forever pour comprendre ce qui lui arrive. En se promenant dans son sous-sol, ils ont remarqué une salle secrète, ressemblant à un jardin d'enfant, avec une petite maison. Dans celle-ci, ils ont vu le lit de Richas, mais à la place de l'oeuf endormi se trouvait un cailloux. Forever a définitivement perdu la tête.

https://clips.twitch.tv/StormyPowerfulAsparagusNerfRedBlaster-HUPsNeDozHtu-DWv

Alors que Forever voulait avoir si Romero Richas avait réapparu avec l'aide de Cellbit et Pac, ils ont rencontré à nouveau l'homme mysterieux dans le château de Cellbit. Celui ci leur a dit qu'il les observait depuis longtemps. Quand ils lui ont demandé s'il était de la fédération, il a répondu que c'était classifié et est parti.

https://clips.twitch.tv/PoisedTenderMartenThisIsSparta-ul7ThfZ9ZGOpsl9a

Forever a demandé à avoir un rendez-vous avec Cucurucho. Ceux-ci sont parti dans son bureau, mais Antoine BadBoy et Cellbit les ont suivi en invisible. Cucurucho a essayé de les tuer, mais au bout de 5 minutes à ne pas arriver à les toucher, Cucurucho et Forever sont partis au club pour discuter. Cellbit Badboy et Antoine ont regardé les livres que Cucurucho avait donné à Forever, et ont compris que la fédération a drogué le président.

Forever l'a d'abord remercié pour les médicaments, même s'il n'avait pas envie de les prendre au début, cela lui a changé la vie. Ensuite, il lui a demandé où en était ses demandes. Cucurucho lui a donné une arme et ses autorisations. Ensuite, Forever lui a montré le système de vote, et lui a demandé s'il pouvait faire quelque chose pour réparer ça. Cucurucho lui a répondu que c'est lui qui a construit ça, donc c'est lui le plus a même de le réparer. Néanmoins, la fédération peut aider a sécuriser le bâtiment et fournir de quoi le réparer. Ensuite, Forever a expliqué vouloir construire la prison non loin de son bureau. Cucurucho a répondu que la fédération allait s'en assurer. Enfin, Forever a demandé ce qu'il se passait avec les quêtes des oeufs, car il n'y en a pas aujourd'hui et il veut faire les quêtes de Richas aujourd'hui. Cucurucho a répondu qu'il y avait un problème dans le système de quête, et lui en a donné dans un livre à la place.

https://clips.twitch.tv/FaintGiantHareRalpherZ-KZi_E34h2lTwCCgW

Forever est allé voir le faux Rircharlyson pour commencer ses quêtes. Il lui a donné de la nourriture, puis est allé à CopaCabana pour récupérer une photo pour lui. Néanmoins, en revenant, Cellbit l'a confronté, pour lui dire qu'il se trompait, que ce n'était pas richas, qu'il fallait pas qu'il tombe là dedans car il avait besoin de lui. S'en est suivi une grosse enguelade, et Cellbit a cassé le lit du faux Richarlyson avant de partir. Forever s'est assis dans un coin, en pleurant, puis a replacé le lit et a continué ses quêtes. Il est parti en disant qu'il est content que Richas soit encore là, car si quelqu'un lui faisait du mal, il le tuerait. Une vidéo s'est joué, où on le voit poser des blocs ensemble, avec un message glitché disant "I'll end it all". La vidéo se termine avec Forever, deux TNT dans les mains.

https://www.twitch.tv/forever/clip/ThoughtfulInterestingSandwichPeteZarollTie-WR43D_xXTK0jqXQN

Cellbit a reçu des coordonnées de l'homme mystérieux. En y allant, il a découvert une espèce de crypte, et un livre disant qu'ils se reverraient bientôt, signé d'un "A" en binaire. L'homme est réapparu dans son château, lui disant que peut importe où il irait, il serait là avec lui.

Les joueurs ont décidé de détruire les bâtiments de la fédération. Ils ont commencé a répandre de la lave et de l'eau sur le bâtiment présidentiel, et a casser des murs avec des machines Create. Cellbit, passant par là, leur a dit qu'au début il voulait les en empêcher, mais qu'au final, la fédération mérite ça après tout ce qu'ils ont fait à leurs enfants.

https://clips.twitch.tv/FrailGleamingFlamingoKAPOW-V4oFGqZvwnsSAKdb

Etoiles Cellbit Antoine et Bad se sont mis d'accord sur un plan : il faut tuer Forever pour lui voler ses "médicaments" et lui redonner la raison. Vu que Forever a des milliers de totems sur lui, Cellbit a proposé à Etoiles de s'en occuper, car son épée est capable de tuer avant que le refill de totem ne s'active. Etoiles a accepté la mission, et a précisé à Cellbit que son épée n'était pas complète et pourrait être bien plus forte que cela. Cellbit a donc pour idée de demander à Cucurucho l'épée du code en tant que récompense de ses enquêtes, même s'il pense que la fédération ne pourra pas répondre à sa demande.

https://clips.twitch.tv/SmilingScaryTroutPartyTime-snNyRv__JfG_gW_i

https://clips.twitch.tv/EnchantingAmazingQueleaNinjaGrumpy-OtukDe5Xb4rsR_sK

[fizzarollitm]

this could be a very bad idea. // from Sir Pentious! | @fearedelight

Huh, who knew scaly skin took grease paint well enough.

Tongue sticking out, Fizz used his thumb to follow the contours of Sir Pentious' face creating faux shadows for....cheekbones ? Snakes had cheeks, right ? " Shush, you look beau-ti-ful, and chicks dig clowns, know we'll fuck'em silly. " There was no place to put a proper clown nose so he circled the tip of his snout with red to give the impression. " Help me with this show and Cherri will have no choice but to suck your double willy, noooo question. "

In reality he just needed a single night off from leading the unenthused inhabitants through cheer exercises, and Sir had just been the slowest one of out Nifty's Continental Inedible Breakfast.

Spinning a mirror around, Fizz presented his artwork. " What'cha think ? "

[houseofbrat]

Remember when The King was diagnosed with cancer and after Willy got his Top Son cover even though he hadn’t bothered to visit his father? Then we were told by their comms team that any family interaction was “private” ie it wasn’t to their PR advantage to be seen showing support for The King when dead mummy Di makes for better headlines.

Just last week Willy was telling us that even though he swore an oath to The King, he and Cathy only aspire to live dead mummy’s legacy in their work.

Now suddenly The King is their bestie with leaks all over the place. And note how it’s always framed as THE KING running after them. Oh he went to visit Cathy in hospital (nothing about Willy paying him a visit). Now he’s calling them daily (nothing ever about Willy, Cathy or their children calling on him when he had cancer because that’s “private”). THE KING is reduced to the servant role for faux KANG WILLY and KWEEN CATHY.

Kensington Palace are lying liars, aided by a lapdog press, and it’s sickening to watch them exploit someone who actually has cancer!!