#get em were ralph

[blazethecheeto]

Things Flash Characters Absolutely Have Said Pt. ??

Ralph: Care to give a free sample to a pretty person?

Cisco, running a bake sale, sarcastically: Sure! You know one?

Ralph:

Ralph: Care to give a free sample to an ugly person?

_

Frost: You've got to act tough, Caity! Show 'em you can't be pushed around! Show 'em they can't mess with you!

Caitlin: Right. Yes. Tough. Got it.

Caitlin, standing up on her stool and slamming her hands down on the bar: I'LL TAKE A CHOCOLATE MILK.

-

Cisco: Harry gave me a get better soon card.

Barry: That's sweet!

Cisco: I wasn't sick, he just thinks I can do better.

-

Frost: I swear I didn’t know you guys were coming over. I always ominously clean my weapons on the coffee table like that. It had nothing to do with you!

-

Sherloque: I hate to say ‘I told you so’—

Cisco: No, you don’t. You would marry 'I told you so’ and have a baby with it and buy adjoining burial plots.

-

Barry: You know, I really wish you’d just admit you made a mistake sometimes.

Iris, stirring her coffee: I prefer it with salt.

[joelswritingmistress]

Camp Crystal Lake - Chapter 13

Requested by @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz

Joel Miller x f!reader (romance/horror)

Setting: Camp Crystal Lake

The reader is taking on the position of a camp counselor at the infamous Camp Crystal Lake. While she begins to enjoy her summer, even crushing on the camp director Joel, a killer lurks in the woods unbeknownst to anyone.

Back at Camp

Teri had had enough of Scott’s subtle advances. When he was distracted by a television show and the company of Mark and Vicky, she slunk out the back door with a towel draped over her shoulders. When the screen door tapped the door frame behind her she sighed.

Freedom, Teri thought. Not that she minded her roommates, but having a moment of alone time was avidly welcomed. Teri was social until she wasn’t - and this was one of those times that she didn’t mind a few minutes to herself.

The lake was inviting and she found a spot around the corner from the main beach to strip down out of her clothing for an early night’s skinny dipping session. Again, something she preferred to do alone. It was therapeutic to the soul.

Teri dunked under the water and mentally counted to five slowly as the cool water encased her naked body.

One..two..three..four..five.

A deep breath escaped her lips as she resurfaced, pushing her hair away from her eyes as her legs peppered the unmoving water. Teri took a moment to look around at the distant lights around the lake - mostly from the silhouettes of houses saying their hellos. She wondered, for a moment, which lights belonged to the lakeside bar that her newfound friends were out at. The thought quickly left her brain when she took a breath and allowed her body to sink beneath the surface again.

Through the trees she could make out the lights from the cabin where they were all staying, and subconsciously she swam in the opposite direction, laying on her back and kicking until she found the far end of the dock. For a bit she rested her arms on top of the aging wood and let her chin lay against her knuckles. From one person’s point of view the atmosphere might have been creepy, but for Tori it was peaceful.

There's nothing to be scared of, she knew without having to convince herself. Teri closed her eyes and dunked herself beneath the water a few more times before finally returning her attention toward the shoreline where she could see the faintest movement near where her clothes had been.

For the first time, Teri’s guard went up and she began to tread water beside the dock to get a better look.

“Who’s there?” She shouted without a hint of alarm in her voice. It was all attitude.

A snicker hardened her expression and as she swam closer to shore she recognized Scott waving her shirt and shorts around like a child.

“Give me my clothes back, Scott!” She called out, a little relieved it was him and not Ralph or some other stranger. Still, the annoyance of his antics were now through the roof.

Scott giggled again and began to back away as Teri grew closer. “Come and get ‘em,” he teased.

She didn’t even care if he saw her partially naked, though Teri covered herself to the best of her ability, grabbed the towel she’d left in the sand and wrapped it around her before chasing him through a short path in the woods that led back toward the cabins.

 “Scott!’ She called his name out again and he continued to laugh wildly as he ran away from her. “This is so childish!” Teri was about to scream at him when all of a sudden she heard him scream.

For a second she had no idea what had happened until she got closer and realized Scott was now hanging upside down by one foot, waving his arms around wildly.

“Teri!” He was at her mercy now as he flailed around wildly, ankle caught in the loop of a thick rope that was tied to a branch so high in the tree that neither of them could see its origin. “Fuck! Damn Joel and all of his wilderness bullshit.”

“What the..” Teri shook her head and looked upward and then back to Scott who was now swinging back and forth. “What do I do?” She truly didn’t know.

“Get me down, that’s what!” He tried to glanced at her from the awkward position he was in.

Teri reached for his torso and stopped him from swinging, yanking her clothes from his hand. She then looked at him accusingly, “I oughta let you hang, you perv.”

“Come on, please,” Scott begged now, “Please, just give me a break here. Help me. Please.”

She cocked her head to the side and smirked at him. “You gunna cut the crap? I’m not dealing with this all summer.”

“Yes,” he said immediately, “Please, just go get something to cut me down.”

Teri narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help but chuckle at the instant karma that had taken Scott into its clutches, “Alright,” she agreed, “I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.” He tried to lift his head as she began to wander away.

Teri took a few steps back and looked back down at Scott, “Don’t go anywhere!”

Scott shook his head, “Very funny.”

At the Bar

“Do you think they’re surviving back at camp?” Jeff asked, diving into his fourth beer of the evening.

“I’d say they’re doing more than that,” Sandra told him.

“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning forward with my arms on the bar.

“Mark and Vicky,” she went on, “Hello!” Sandra was so intuitive, I decided. She picked up on everyone’s body language without missing a beat. I had suspected some mild flirtation but she was already penning them as lovers without a second thought about it.

“You think they’re into each other?” I asked.

“Right now Vicky is in Mark’s lap,” Sandra said, adding with a little smirk on her word play, “Mark my words.”

When the bartender came back over upon seeing my empty glass I gave a nod, as did Joel.

“This might be my last one,” I whispered.

“Good idea,” he said quietly back.

“Are we still on for ten o'clock?”

“I’d say we’re on for ten.. Ten-forty-five, maybe midnight and again at six in the morning.”

I snickered and raised my eyebrows at him, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” he countered with a grin, resting a hand on my thigh beneath the bar’s overhang.

“Mmm..” I leaned in with the alcohol as an added confidence booster, “What if we did it in the lake first?” I whispered.

Joel let out a laugh and leaned an elbow on the bar, looking directly into my eyes from just a few inches away. “I’ve never done that.”

“Me either. Maybe you can be my first.”

The line made both of us laugh after a second’s pause and Sandra leaned forward to intrude on the conversation.

“Don’t get pregnant,” she whispered, to which Joel put up both hands and leaned back in his seat.

“I want to have sex in the lake, too,” Jeff shouted purposely loud, to which I spun around to face him.

“You heard that?”

“Everyone heard that.” He used his thumb to motion to Ted, who was actively engaged and enamored with the bartender, “Except Teddy.”

“Teddy’s busy,” Sandra said, swatting her boyfriend’s arm “Leave him be. And give him ten bucks.”

“He did win fair and square,” Jeff said, “Now about this love making in the lake..” He squeezed Sandra’s shoulder who leaned back into him with a little giggle.

“Maybe we should stick to the cabins,” Joel said, glancing at me.

“It’s a big lake,” Sandra reminded him with a grin, “If you go far enough, no one can hear you scream.”

CLICK HERE FOR NEXT CHAPTER

@gissellec1 @cattt777 @mellymbee @armybts20137 @bbiophiliaa @littleblackcatinwonderland @mermaidgirl30 @brittmb115 @beltzboys2015-blog @lwfics @pedropascal111 @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @alex-does-art-things @gothcsz @sarap-77

[lizzy019]

Hey hey!! I'm the anon who requested the poly Daniel Larusso and Johnny Lawrence fic, but if u wanted u could do a blurb just to get it off the list?

Also bc u have full creative freedom it might be nice

Idk, in my experience only writing other people's ideas for a while can lead to some killer burn out and I would hate if u got that :((

Ily, have such a nice day, drink water, all that stuff!! 🫶🫶

Thanks babe! I'll try 😭 I'm lacking motivation lately. I used GN reader for this, I hope you don't mind! <3

~~~~~~~~~ 18+ ~~~~~~~~~~~🌿~~~~~~~~~~~ 18+ ~~~~~~~~~

"Whimperin' and moanin', like a bitch in heat. Bet your little Danny just adores it, huh?" Johnny snarled as you gagged on Daniel's cock.

Locked in an Eiffel Tower position, you felt utterly useless but to succumb to the two men. You really were like a dog in heat, taking everything they so graciously handed to you whether it be given aggressively or kindly. You took what you got and were thankful for it.

"Oh fuckin'- ah shit! Oh baby! Yeah baby, suck it! Suck it real go-oh fuck!" Daniel was such a bloody mess, his legs were barely holding him up if it weren't for Johnny's rough hands holding him still.

Johnny was smirking like he'd accomplished the greatest thing known to man, pounding into your wee, puffy little hole with vigour as you practically ate Daniel's cock.

It was stupid, all of this stemming from who had the biggest cock and who could last the longest.

But could you really find it in you to care when you were being used like a sex doll? No, you were enjoying it too much to really find a reason to complain.

Your body was sore, your back hurt from the constant arching and moving to adjust for the sake of your comfort, but it was always overtaken by Johnny pushing a hand back against you to keep you from moving.

"They're so good for us, aren't they, Danny? Look at 'em, just takin' these two cocks like a bitch. Bet they like it too, huh? Don't you? Don't you? Come on, fuckin' say it!" Johnny was cold with his words, as if trying to keep his cool even if he was staggering too.

He knew you couldn't speak with your mouth full of Daniel's cock, he just wanted an excuse to give your ass a slap, albeit not hard enough to hurt you.

Without any warning, Daniel had moaned just a bit too loudly as his hot semen filled your mouth and slicked your throat. It tasted yummy, as odd as it sounded. Like salt, but creamy and tangy with just a bit of sweetness to it.

Daniel didn't even seem to feel bad about losing and cumming first, he simply collapsed and let you use his body as something to lean on.

And sure enough, Johnny wasn't far behind as his cum spurted out of his urethra and into the condom he wore to protect you from his children ruining your hole and undergarments.

Poor Daniel, he had to catch you when you collapsed on top of him, and make sure he wasn't crushed under the weight of Johnny on top of you both.

But it was cozy, and you had to admit that being with these two men was nice, warm, and enjoyable.

"Johnny... next time, you should moan like me too. It gets 'em off." Daniel teased, kissing your head to soften the embarrassment he so obviously brought you while Johnny only laughed.

"Pfft, that's gay." Johnny muttered, rolling over to lay on his back and away from you two.

"...Johnny, you are gay." Daniel laughed.

Johnny simply shot him a look before trying to close his eyes and get some sleep. However, you were already long gone into your little sleep.

I kept messing up Johnny and Daniel because Ralph Macchio plays Daniel but he also plays Johnny in The Outsiders, so I had to edit this six times 😭

[master-of-stupidity]

Fuck it gonna put all my Tangled rants into a single thread that I'll just continue on if needed-

Oldest to newest btww (also spoilers most of these r about Eugene btw ik ik I'm a lil autistic spare me 💀)

That one part of Bruno is Orange but Eugene coded-

"Did you hear about that Father

Sent his own infant son away

And said "It's to *dangerous* for

you to stay so, I had to *save* you" "

I may be cringe but I am FREE

Yo omg ok so my brother is singin a Into the Woods song while I look at Tangled stuff n it made me remember a scene from the play where Gothel yells at the Prince "Rapunzel can think for herself!" n like- dude Cass said the same thing in Cassandra's Revenge to Eugene! Ooo girlll-

The way I would kill so many ppl if it meant getting a series about Lance n Eugene as kids like broooo imagineee-

Its crazy how like I'll be enjoying my day than suddenly I'll see a post of a mf going "Hey what if Eugene thought he was a yr younger cuz he was like a rlly scrawny kid?" Yeah ok sure n what if I hit u with a *metal pole*

My tangled ocs r so random its hilarious- like it goes from a bodyguard,a greedy businessman,a ringleader,n than that one serial killer who turns ppl into meat pies like how did we get here???? 😭🙏

I just remembered like just a few days ago my brother randomly said "vase" while playing Fortnite n my ass just said "vAHse" just to fck w/ him n like that kinda reminded me of that one scene of Eugene n Cass like damn they were sibling coded frrr lmao I miss em

Wdym there was a scrapped Eugene n Lance childhood episode??🧍And WDYM it's literally everything I ever wished for and more???????? 😃

Would love to see Eugene n Martin Kratt interact solely to see Martin be appalled n slowly lose his mind over how Eugene knows jackshit about animals 💀🙏

I think the Eugene genderbends look so weird to me because none of them kept the infamous goatee like cmon man don't be a coward give that girl some facial hair 🗣🗣

I should not be relating Heather's music to scenes from Tangled the Series yet here we r 😭

Omggg thinking about how Eugene proposing to Rapunzel in tts came from his abandonment issues n him literally not being able to see a life without Rapunzel omgg shut upppp leave me ALONEEE

Literally despise with every fiber of my being how the writers of the shitty Wreck it Ralph 2 movie had fcking RAPUNZEL of all ppl say "Do ppl assume all ur problems were solved just because a big strong man showed up?" They fcking HATEE the movie Tangled *so much* bro istggg

OMFG THE VOICE OF KING FREDRIC FROM TANGLED IS MR. FCKING KRABS WHAT?????

The way I wanna be bold n talk more about the "Over the Corona Walls" ep- esp about Staylan n Eugene n all the icky implications of that but I'm also so scared too cuz I fear ppl won't take me seriously or think I'm overanalyzing too much 😭🙏

Lowkey not over the fact Eugene was willing to trap himself back in an abusive relationship, "leaving" the one person he HAS died for n would die for again, all to save his best friend like bro don't TALK TO MEEEE

As u can tell I am totally normal n not at all ill about Eugene or this show 😁

What if I gave Eugene like- slight wedding trauma after the whole "Beyond the Corona Walls" incident??? I think it'd be kinda cool n in character ngll 🤭🤭

No but that prompt for the unaired Lance n Eugene episode STILL makes me so fcking ill bro stg can't STAND those mfss bro 😭😭

"And if I gave up on being *pretty* I wouldn't know how to be ALIVE" is SO Eugene coded idc idc idccccc

You think if I put Eugene Fitzherbert in The Amazing Digital Circus he'd be a walking dumpster fire considering he needs an identity to function n in TADC u like- quite literally don't have one??? 💀

Was listening to an audio last night n now I kinda wish we knew like- what Eugene's mom was actually *like* in a way considering I don't think her character was ever explored :((

Why is this plushie literally Eugene Fitzherbert omgg I want it nowwww

To the ppl who only see others as their pfps lowkey rlly hope y'all just see me as jester Eugene Fitzherbert cuz that'd be rlly funny n I'd love that 💀🙏 like yes I truly am just Eugene in a jester fit yappin my ass off on twitter dot com LMFAOOO (btw follow me @/theratbatjester)

[cevansbrat0007]

The Key

Summary: A broken furnace and a slip of the tongue lead to a special gift from your very stubborn boyfriend. Andy Barber x Black Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Protective Andy Barber, Insecure Reader, Pet Names, Light Smut, Implied Oral (fem receiving), Cursing, Minors DNI.

A/N: I don't know where this came from, but it's almost 3AM and I need to sleep. Anyway, I'm halfway done with like eight different fics, most of them requests. But then my writer's block kicked in. Please enjoy this installment while I try to get my life together. Part of my Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own.

___

"Ack, Andy Bear! What are you doing here?" You squeal as your man strides through your front door with you in his arms, your short legs wrapped around his trim waist. "Sh-shouldn't you be packing? Ope - don't forget the door!"

His booted heel kicks it closed. "Had to come check on you." Andy responds before brushing his warm lips over your own. "I'm your man, baby. It's what I do."

"But I'm fine..." You tell him, burying your face in the crook of his neck and inhaling his clean, masculine scent. "I don't need anything."

"No, you said you were cold. That makes you not fine." He tells you as his hand skims its way under your sweatshirt to lightly stroke your lower back. "I can't have you over here freezing while I'm out of town - I wouldn't be able to concentrate. I'd be too busy thinkin' about my baby girl home all alone just shivering."

"Oh, my goodness, Big Man. My landlord will be by to fix my furnace in a couple of days. Until then...I guess I'll just have to keep doubling up on sweatshirts." Wanting him to relax, you begin whispering sweet kisses along his bearded jaw, nuzzling at the soft scruff with your nose.

"A couple days is completely unacceptable." He growls, his tone letting you know that he was in no mood to argue. "It's November. And we live in fucking Massachusetts."

"Andy, sweetheart..." He shifts your smaller frame so that you're resting comfortably on his hip. Your boyfriend then carries you to your room and gently deposits you on your pink and periwinkle-colored duvet, all the while ignoring your feeble protests.

"You're staying at my place until that Ralph fucker decides to get off his ass and do his fucking job." Your man informs you as he begins rifling through your drawers, pulling out items and then haphazardly tossing them into your overnight bag.

God, how you adored every inch of your big, overbearingly ridiculous man.

"Honey, his name is Rodney. And I'll be fine. If it gets too bad, I can go stay with Melissa or something."

"Nope." Andy grunts, holding a pair of lacy pink panties up to the light. "The matter's already been settled. I want you in my home, snuggled in my bed, all tangled up in my of the sheets."

Shaking his head, he tosses the underwear back inside before muttering something about you "only needing the essentials".

Wait. Since when did those no longer fall under the category of essential?

"How many bras do you think you'll need? Eh, fuck it. You can bring 'em all if you want. It's the panties I have a problem with. Damned things always get in the way."

You scrub an exhausted hand over your face as your six-foot-something boyfriend remains hunkered in front of your dresser, quietly debating the usefulness, or lack-there-of, of your underthings.

"They get in the way of what?" Of course you just had to know.

"My fun." He grumbles, flashing you a petulant look. "So they stay here. Shit - I left my garment bag by the door. Go on and snag a few blouses and some pants, baby girl, and I'll help you get them all packed up before we freeze to death in here."

"Oh. My. God." You roll your eyes. It wasn't even that cold.

At least not yet.

"Andrew, darling, I never actually agreed to go with you. Plus, I don't even have a key to - oh." Your stubborn bull of a man silences you with a heated look before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small white box tied with a black ribbon.

"I was planning to give this to you on your birthday, but this seems like a much better time. As of now, I want you to consider my home your home too."

Removing the key from the box, you stare down at the shiny piece of metal your man had made especially for you.

Why did the weight of it feel so good resting in your hand?

"Thank you." You whisper, tears burning the back of your throat.

"You're welcome, Y/N. I want you to use it whenever. Come stay for a night, or for a week..."

Or, for forever. He thinks, letting the unspoken words hang in the air between you.

"But as for your not agreeing to go with me, well, I'm afraid that just won't work." Andy tsks as he zips up your duffle before unceremoniously tossing it into the hall. "One way or another, we're getting you out of this ice box, little one."

"Okay," you try again. "But what about my car? I really don't think -"

"Why are you fighting me on this?" He asks, his sensual lips set in a thin, firm line. "I need you some place safe and warm while I'm busy shaking hands and negotiating deals in D.C."

Your eyes stray back to the key that is now nestled safely in its little box filled with pink tissue paper.

"Answer me, please." Oh, Andy was using his attorney voice, the one that commanded both respect and attention in the courtroom.

"I - I just don't want to be any trouble. I feel bad for even saying anything about my stupid heat in the first place." You admit with a resigned shrug. "You need to be getting ready for your trip, but instead you're - you're here."

"I'm here because you need me."

"But I - I don't." You wince as those two words come tumbling out of your mouth.

Because it was a lie. You did need him.

"That scares you a little bit, doesn't it? The idea of needing someone, of needing me."

"No." You feel your lower lip begin to tremble ever so slightly.

God, yes.

"Y/N, how many times do I have to remind you that we're in this together? I'm your man. And I'm old-school when it comes to that shit. I believe in taking care of my woman, in providing for her however I can."

"I get it, Andy." You do your best to look at everything and everywhere but him. This man had a knack for making you feel vulnerable, and you weren't always comfortable with that.

"No, you don't." Using two long fingers, he tips your chin so that his soulful blue eyes clash with your own. "Whether you realized you were doing it or not, you called because you needed me today. And it's my job to take care of you - all of you."

"But I don't want to be a job for you. A job runs the risk of becoming a burden real fuckin' quick. And then when it becomes too much, bam! You run the other way." You jerk away from him, preferring to stare at your fuzzy sock-clad feet, wishing you could simply melt into the floor.

And there it was. You were afraid that this man would drop you like a bad habit the moment you became a burden. And as dramatic as it might sound, there was a part of you that knew that your heart might never fully recover something like that. Not with him.

Things are quiet for a while. And then Andy settles on the bed next to you before pulling you flush against him. The two of you are so close that you're practically half sprawled on his big lap, your bottom resting atop his thickly muscled thighs.

"Then please allow me to rephrase. It's not just my job to take care of you, it's my privilege, baby girl."

A sniffle escapes you before you can catch it.

"You're a strong woman. Strong enough to reach out when you need me. The same way it takes a strong man to lean on his woman. Understand?"

You nod, closing your eyes as you do.

"Look at me and say the words, Y/N." Your Big Man implores you before kissing the top of your head and burying his face in your curls. "I need to hear 'em, please."

It takes you a couple of seconds, but eventually you muster up enough courage to do as he asks.

"Yes, I - I understand. It takes a strong woman to, um, to lean on her man."

"Good girl."

"And please believe me when I say that your trusting me with your problems doesn't make you a burden. Not now, not ever. We're partners, baby."

For now and forever. Andy thinks to himself. It's clear as day to me, I just need her to see it too.

"Yes, we are, my sweet Andy Bear. I'm sorry for being such a neurotic mess sometimes. I know you must think you're dating a lunatic but -"

"Yep, I am." He sweetly interrupts. "But you've also claimed a crazy, possessive bastard as your man. So, I'd say we're pretty even." You feel another brush of his lips against your skin, this time on your temple.

The two of you sit there for a while in silence, simply enjoying each other's warmth. Truthfully, it wasn't that cold in your apartment, but according to the forecast, that would change over night. You needed to be some place with working heat and a comfortable bed.

And your Andy Bear came with all of that, complete with sheets and pillows that smelled just like him. Of course you'd find a way to pay him back. Maybe you'd cook him a big dinner, or buy him season tickets to the Patriots, or --

Your thought stream is interrupted by the sound of Andy's gruff voice.

"I think we need to do something to quiet that beautiful mind of yours, don't we?" He purrs, before lavishing the column of your throat with a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

And then you feel one large, slightly calloused hand go to rest on your chest. Using just a fraction of his strength, he gently forces you onto your back. A shiver courses through you as he runs his palms down the length of your body in an act of raw, unbridled possession.

Lifting your ass, you allow him to remove your black leggings. He makes sure to take his time, dragging the thin material across your heated skin with agonizing slowness.

A breathy moan escapes your lips when he parts your thighs, baring your panty-covered pussy to his predatory gaze.

"I'd like to rephrase my earlier statement one more time if I could."

Without warning, Andy leans in and buries his face between your legs. He takes a moment to inhale your scent before nuzzling your swollen clit through the damp fabric.

"Oh-oh-kaaay." You whimper as he briefly sucks the sensitive bud into his warm, waiting mouth. "

"It's my job, my pleasure, and my privilege to keep my lady's sweet body warm and her greedy cunt stuffed full. And I'm a man who believes in honoring his fucking commitments."

You cry out when he rips the lace from your body, leaving you naked and vulnerable from the waist down.

"This is mine, baby. All mine. Now, lie back like a good girl and let me show you just how much I enjoy caring for my woman, starting with eating the fuck out of her pretty little pussy."

END

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Happy Holidaze║ ⒸⓄⓁⓁⒺⒸⓉⒾⓄⓃⓈ

| HAPPY HOLIDAZE | part of the A Weight Off Your Shoulders collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║ | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x plus sized!fem!neighbor (Roxy)

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 9.7k | CONTENT: age gap (Joel mid 40s, neighbor late 20s), struggles of body image and self-worth, diet culture, awkward conversations and situations with your parents, fluff with dash of smut at the end, two idiots in love who are disgusting sluts for each other

| SYNOPSIS: You and Joel finally meet each other's families.

✧this is the fifth installment of a oneshot collection✧ ✧◦◦║ Part 1 ║ Part 2 ║ Part 3 ║ Part 4 ║ Part 6 ║◦◦✧

nail color? You text the question along with a picture of the wall of options in front of you. getting a pedi too so pick two The text bubble pops up then disappears for a moment before reappearing again.

You want it to match holiday stuff or whatever? I’m not an expert at this stuff. Don’t know if there’s unspoken rules or something.

You roll your eyes and smile down at your phone. Joel was older, old enough to not always get the social implications of certain situations, especially in the dating world - not that the two of you were officially dating or anything - situations, like asking a man to pick out what color you should get your nails done.

don’t need an expert

A playful grin warms your features as you type out a few extra snippets and hit send.

just need to know what color you wanna see on my nails 

you know, for when you’re watching me grab your dick and stroke it later

You bite back a smile, teeth tucked into your bottom lip, as you wait for a reply. As expected, the text bubble flashes and disappears on the screen repeatedly. You can vividly picture Joel texting you back in a frenzy over your flirty message. You relished in getting him worked up sometimes, knowing you could get him absolutely feral to the point that he’d just rip his clothes off the second he got through the door and fuck the living daylights out of you.

You stifle a laugh when his contact picture takes up the entire screen. Of course he’s given up on trying to text you back and is just calling you instead.

“Yyyeesssssss?” you draw out in an innocent voice.

“Goddamn you can’t just send me shit like that when I’m at work, baby.” His husky voice is clear even as it passes through the somewhat scratchy receiver.

“What’s the matter, Joel? Those big ass Wreck It Ralph hands of yours couldn’t type the words fast enough?” you tease. Joel’s deep laugh on the other end of the line makes your belly feel like a swarm of butterflies are about to burst through your throat.

“How the fuck did I end up with a brat like you, huh?” he chuckles.

You hum a laugh in reply and wait patiently for him to answer your original question.

“Alright, brat. Lemme think.” He makes small, thoughtful noises as you tilt your head and scan the wall. When he makes a low, throaty noise, you sniff a laugh through your nose.

“Okay, if you are actually picturing what the color will look like while I’m … doing that–” you pause, glancing around the nail salon as if an eavesdropper would somehow immediately know what sort of filth you were exchanging “–you’re gonna get sent to HR when somebody sees you all bricked up at work.”

Joel laughs again. He’d laughed every time you said “bricked up” since you taught him the expression several months ago.

“Alright, alright. Red. I want ‘em to be red,” he decides.

“Okay. And my toes?”

He makes a weird noise on the other end, and you roll your eyes. You know exactly what he’s thinking about.

“No, you will NOT have to picture what color my toes would look like wrapped around your–” you cut yourself off when you catch a curious, disapproving look from an older woman in a chair nearby getting a manicure. Joel busts out in a belly laugh, understanding that you were probably talking too loud and got a look from somebody.

“Hm, I dunno, baby. Never been into that, but who knows. Might be my new thing if you’re the one doin’ it. I like everythin’ you do,” he murmurs. It sounds like he’s cupped his hands against his mouth and the microphone so he could talk without getting noticed like you had. 

“Joel,” you warn with no real weight behind it.

“And besides, even if it ain’t a footjob situation, you know I like gettin’ those things up on my shoulders when I’m fuckin’ you senseless.” His voice is quieter now, but it’s less to do with volume and more to do with the raspy, lewd bend to his words.

“I just know I’m going to regret teaching you this, but there’s actually a name for that,” you say low, cupping your own hand into the receiver now so you could speak without catching another disapproving glance.

“Oh?” He sounds excited, as he always does whenever you introduce him to these kinds of things. Slang. How to hide photos from his main camera roll. How to work the remote on the TV. Turns out dating someone younger had its benefits - not that the two of you were dating or anything.

“Mmmhmmm. It’s kinda like the one I told you before. The ‘your hands would make a nice necklace’ thing. So yeah, you’d say ‘I wanna wear your ankles for earrings’ or, like, ‘I’m gonna make your ankles my earrings.’”

“Damn, maybe your generation ain’t so bad after all,” he chuckles. “Certainly come up with some handy terms, I’ll give ya that much.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” you giggle. “Like you’re that much older than me. Give me a break.”

He chuckles. You hear some yelling in the background on his end and then his muffled response to whoever it was that he’d “be right there.”

“Alright, honey. I gotta go. Lemme see. Alright. Toes. Hhhmm. How ‘bout blue? Like those one pair of panties I like’a yours,” he decides.

You smile. You know exactly the pair he’s talking about.

“Mmm’kay. Only ‘cuz I like you so much,” you hum.

“Yeah, you sure do like me ‘n these Wreck It Ralph hands. Don’t mind ‘em when they’re fingerin’ your–”

“Hanging up now,” you snip playfully.

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ when I yell ‘I’M GONNA WRECK IT’ when I’m balls deep in you tonight,” he hurries out before you can end the call.

“GOODBYE, JOEL. And you better not!” you snicker. “Talk about a turn off. I’d cut you off for a month.”

“Bullshit. You couldn’t go a month without me. Without my–” he laughs, not getting to finish before you cut him off.

“GOOD. BYE.” you huff in a giggle.

“Bye, baby. See you tonight,” he laughs easy before making some exaggerated kissy noises and hanging up.

You shake your head, trying to keep from erupting in laughter. This man was an absolute mess and full on dork, and you loved every second of it. You nab a seasonal red and a panty blue and wait to be called. You dutifully ignore the eavesdropper from before as she glances your way a few times. It wasn’t very hard to divert your attention with all the giddy, bubbly feelings surging through you. Joel made an outstanding distraction in plenty of ways, and you find yourself smiling like a love-struck puppy most of the time because of him. He really felt like the best thing that had ever happened to you.

He was wrong when he’d said “you couldn’t go a month without me” during your call. The truth was, you couldn’t go without him, period. He had become so naturally ingrained into your life that it felt strange to think of what it had been like without him. It just felt right that you existed in tandem. It was hard to separate how you felt and what you “knew.”

You knew you were in a casual “situationship” that neither one of you sought to define in any certain terms. You felt as though spending practically every night together, going on a weekend getaway together, and neither one of you pursuing anything outside of each other was decidedly more in the “serious, committed relationship” category.

You knew that it was a “textbook mistake” to jump from an almost decade-long failed relationship into a new, serious one. It wasn’t in line with what you were “supposed to do” after such a big change, which conventionally involved something along the lines of “playing the field for a while” and “just having some fun” while getting back out there. But your heart had decided that you were going to abandon all sense and become involved with the first guy you had a meaningful interaction with post-breakup.

So, here you are, just several months out of a heartbreaking split from somebody you were supposed to marry, and completely head over heels with someone new who felt too good to be true. You can’t think of a time in your life that you’ve been happier, so why did it feel so petrifying to just lean into the obvious? Why couldn’t you just yield to the undeniable, consuming magnetic connection between you and Joel?

He so often seemed to hold back for your sake, never wanting to push you past your comfort zone or ask too much of you too fast. Biting his tongue at times that you could’ve sworn he’d nearly slipped and said the “big L” to you and caught himself at the last moment. Just a miracle of a man who was patiently waiting you out, waiting for you to give in to it all and accept what was clearly happening. Admitting that, as crazy as it seemed and felt, the two of you were in love, and one of you needed to make the first move towards the next step. The definitive kind of step that makes this “casual fling” into a real relationship.

Something or someone was bound to give, and you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready for what that brings.

Your parents had booked the cruise long before your engagement was broken off. It was a dream of theirs to go on the two week long journey, spanning several continents and all of the major winter holidays you celebrated. Naturally you’d insisted that they don’t cancel on account of your bad bit of luck. At least somebody’s year was going like they thought it would, and it felt wrong to ask them to cancel the vacation they’d been talking about since forever.

That, and the fact that you were relieved to have a valid reason for attending Thanksgiving with your parents instead of going with Joel for a quick trip to see Sarah during her college break. Even though he’d asked in an offhand way if you’d want to go with him and meet her, you could tell he’d very much wanted you to say yes. Of course you wanted to meet her and share in Joel’s life that way, but it was a major shift into the “real, defined relationship” category – the kind where you had a title attached to your name when you were introduced to their family. 

It’s how you found yourself currently sat in your parents’ kitchen, poking around on the appetizer tray, while your mom busied herself with the normal fare in addition to “lower calorie alternatives” you were no doubt expected to choose if the quantities of each offering was anything to go by. You watch your mom slice impossibly thin pieces of cheese for the crackers and wonder if you should’ve just sucked it up and gone with Joel. Then again, you’d have to offer some sort of reason for missing out on a major holiday with your family. It was a catch 22.

“Roxy, don’t eat so many appetizers. I know it’s a holiday and all, but don’t go overboard,” your mom offers with genuine kindness that stings just as bad as if she’d meant to hurt you. You set the cheese slice and cracker combo back onto your plate. You knew you were stress eating from all the nerves about the possibility of the “how’s your love life”  conversation, but you surprised yourself by only realizing you were taking so many bites after your mom pointed it out.

You’d stopped being so vigilant with every morsel of food that passed through your mouth. You ate most of your meals with Joel, and you weren’t self-conscious about eating around him or in front of him like you always were with most people. It was a hard habit to break, to not be so focused on pacing yourself, matching your rate of intake with others so you didn’t look like a pig chowing down and wiping your plate clean before everyone else had finished.

Joel was a good cook, and he often brought you bites to test or little plates of this and that to tide you over before the whole meal was done. You weren’t even embarrassed when he’d feed you pieces of popcorn while you watched movies together, snuggled up together on the couch. He’d chomp a few pieces down himself and then pop a few kernels into your mouth, always attentive. Just like he was with everything when it came to you.

But here in your childhood home, listening to your mom’s offhand comments about your intake, it brought you right back into all those years of shame and guilt. You knew she meant well. She always had. Never wanting you to struggle the same way she did, years and years of diets and exercise regimens and restriction. She’d dropped a lot of weight since taking up Weight Watchers, and you were happy for her. She was always nicer and more relaxed when she’d hit those lower ends of the yo-yoing. All the more uptight and anxious the moment her weight crept back up again.

Your dad didn’t seem to care either way what she looked like, but it was a bit of accidental negative reinforcement that he liked interacting with her a whole lot more when she was nicer to him and everybody else. It just so happened that was only when her jeans didn’t fit so tight and the numbers weren’t too frightening on the scale. She’d no doubt come to internalize the dynamic and equate her lower weight with better interactions and a more fulfilling relationship with your dad, never even realizing it was the way she interacted with him and others that brought about those pleasant times and not what size she had to pull from the rack.

“Awfully quiet, Rox,” your dad notes.

You look over to find him studying you with those astute eyes. He was never much of a talker, but god could he communicate so much with a look or a gesture. Your mother on the other hand–

“Yeah, hon. Please don’t spend the day thinking about that awful, awful man.” You suppose your unusual quiet could most readily be explained by all the feelings that might come about spending your first major holiday out of a relationship for the first time in almost ten years. You aren’t sure which is worse: that hypothetical explaining your silence, or the truth, which was an over the moon sort of romance that you couldn’t talk about yet.

“I’m not thinking about Michael,” you mumble petulantly. You didn’t want to give him any sort of win, even if he wasn’t around to know about it.

“Y’seem distracted,” your dad says plainly.

He’s watching you with those eyes that say he already knows something is up, but he doesn’t know enough to speak on it yet. Your gut pinches. It won’t take him long to figure it out. It never does if he’s got his mind set to something. It was a trait you’d always admired and envied. You shrug off his observation, but your mom isn’t so quick to let it go.

“You’ll get to a place where you can put yourself back out there, hon. I just know it. You’re a resilient girl, and you’re not going to let that loser change that,” she sniffs with an air of indignation. It’s hard to imagine this was the same woman who this time last year had been so effusive with compliments and general praise to the same man she was now deeming a loser. Still, the sentiment that he had kneecapped your entire romantic life annoyed you more than it should’ve.

“Who says I’m not ‘back out there’ already?” you grumble to the half empty tray of appetizers.

Your mom jolts like she’d been doused in ice water. Your eyes flit to your dad who gives you a knowing grin. Even though you hadn’t even actually said anything, it felt good to talk about Joel, to acknowledge his existence at least. You feel a sudden urge to just tell your parents everything about Joel. You chug the rest of your red wine to reign yourself in and wait for the onslaught from your mother.

“You’re seeing someone?” she breathes, excitement boiling over.

“Well, I mean… I guess I’ve been, you know, like, talking with somebody,” you say as casually as you can manage.

“Oh? REALLY? Oh! That’s-That’s wonderful, Roxanne!” your mom exclaims, rising to the balls of her feet and clapping her hands together quietly. “How long have you been seeing each other? Why haven’t we met him yet?”

“Take it easy, will ya, Melissa? She didn’t say it was anything serious,” your dad mutters. 

For all his faults, your dad at least grasped the concept that the dating world had changed significantly since he and your mom got together, and it was no longer the kind of landscape where you were “going steady” with the same person after two successful dates. Your mom, on the other hand, struggled with the concept of casual anything when it came to relationships.  A romantic at heart, she was always the type to believe in the sorts of things like twin flames, finding your soulmate in every universe, and so on.

You snort to yourself, considering how you were a perfect blend of the two. The logical, practical side of you knowing that you and Joel hadn’t defined your relationship with any specific terms, but you were mutually exclusive. A noncommittal sort of committal. The bleeding heart side of you knowing good and well that you were in love with him. It was the stuff of romcoms, the type that you’d make Joel watch with you on the weekends when it was your turn to pick the movie. The kind that he pretended to be annoyed by but never truly complained about and never made you feel like a mawkish idiot when you’d cry at the sappy payoff in the overwrought finale.

“Oh, shut up, Robert,” your mom snips. “I just meant I wanted to know more about him. Don’t act like you don’t, either.” She did her best to be annoyed with your dad, but she broke almost immediately when he smirked at her and poked her sides teasingly.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t. Just wasn’t gonna push her, dearest,” he mocks half-heartedly. He swigs a sip of beer and turns back to you.

“Of course we’d love to hear about him, Rox. Wanna know who’s got my little girl’s attention, ya know?” He smiles, mood and tongue steadily loosened by the beer in his hand. Your mom makes a low sneering sound. When you and your dad both look at her curiously, she sighs and shrugs.

“Sorry. It’s just- Yes, of course we want to hear all about him, serious or not. I want to know who’s got your attention, too, but I-I just…” she trails off, suddenly seeming uncomfortable as she and your dad exchange a loaded look.

“What? What is it?” you demand.

“I think what your mom is tryna say, Rox, is that we want to know more about him for the sake of knowing about him, but also because we’re both… we both hope whoever it is treats you better than.. what you dealt with before,” he finishes clumsily.

Your dad wasn’t the talkative type, but he was always better at expressing himself when he did decide to speak. Choosing his words more carefully than your mother ever did and communicating clearly despite not offering up much conversation very often. It felt odd to hear him stumble over his words, but it went hand in hand with their shared look moments ago.

They’d obviously talked amongst themselves about your complete failure of a relationship with Michael. It had been humiliating to tell them the truth of the situation, why you couldn’t “work it out” and why you had to move back home, but they were ultimately supportive.

It felt all the more humiliating on your end because your parents had been madly in love and happily married for decades. It was the kind of relationship you didn’t hear about much anymore, the childhood sweethearts who were destined to fall in love and be together forever. You’d thought that you were going to have the same thing, just a little rougher around the edges. Instead you’d ended up with a mockery of a relationship that you’d wasted years of your life on and would never get back.

“Maybe somebody closer to your age would be better, too,” your mom’s third glass of wine said. 

Your dad didn’t say anything, but his face spoke all the agreement in the world with the sentiment. Your stomach flipped. Great. Of course they were going to write off anyone with more than 5 years of seniority on you after Michael had so dutifully upheld the classic trope of “older man divorces his wife for his younger girlfriend and then repeats the cycle when she ages out of his desired demographic.” Yet another aspect of your life that he ruined despite not having spoken to him since before you left Colorado and came home.

“Maybe you should meet him before deciding you don’t like him,” you gripe defensively. The urge to defend Joel was strong, but you regretted your words the moment they left your lips.

“What a lovely idea!” your mom practically sings. Your dad’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise at your quick to defend attitude for this “casual relationship.” Right off the bat and you’d shown your hand. You wonder if your dad will clue your mom in that you obviously had strong feelings for this mystery man. You pour another glass of wine and resign yourself to divulging the bare minimum of information about Joel to your parents.

You don’t give a specific on age – “he’s older than me” – or when you met – “he lives next door.” Your mom was biting back annoyed sighs at how you danced around questions. You’d finally had enough to drink that you promised to talk with Joel about the four of you meeting up for dinner sometime in December before your parents left on their cruise. You hope that Joel will help you concoct some sort of excuse for not scheduling such a dinner, but your instinct tells you that he would probably be even more excited about it than your mother, if that was even possible.

“Joel, I don’t think this is structurally sound,” you half-joke.

The gingerbread structure, which was really just a bunch of graham crackers stuck together with store bought icing, was definitely leaning towards the left, but there wasn’t any discernible freefall motion to it. Just a slow, sinking slant towards the dining room table surface.

“Just leave it to the professionals, huh?” he snips back playfully.

“I knew I should’ve gotten a second opinion,” you theatrically mutter under your breath.

Joel pops a marshmallow into his mouth and chews loudly just because he knows how much it annoys you. “You got the best right here, baby.” He smacks his mouth in big gnawing motions. “Can’t get any better than this.”

His goofy grin is endearing, and you focus on that instead of the voice in your head readily agreeing that, yeah, you couldn’t do better than Joel and you might not even be good enough for him in the first place. 

“You up for a lil friendly competition?” he suggests. 

You shake off your negative thoughts with a loose shrug and smirk back at him. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“Whoever makes the best gingerbread house person wins,” Joel proposes in a borderline smug tone . You’re about to agree when he holds a single finger up. “But wait just a minute, let’s make it interesting. You make me, and I’ll make you.”

Your mind is already going into overdrive producing hilarious confectionary Joels, and you don’t even waste any time offering up a verbal agreement to the challenge before diving right in. It’s only a minute or two later that cereal boxes have been erected between the two of you as “anti-cheating shields.” Sprinkles and icing cover the surface of the table everywhere you look. You’d both worked in near silence as you diligently crafted holiday candied versions of each other. 

You give your creation a once over and beam at your work: rice krispy treats mashed together with extra marshmallows for a broad, strong body, brown and black sprinkles mashed into the “face” to make a patchy beard, little red licorice pieces for the mouth, a chocolate candy smeared with marshmallows for his “salt and pepper locks,” and two mismatched sprinkles for eyes.

You start to peek around the boxes, but Joel is quick to block your line of sight. “Hey, no looking until it’s done!” You put your hands up in mock surrender and giggle uncontrollably at how serious he’s taking the task. He grins big and wide before nipping at your bottom lip, cheek, and earlobe in quick succession. “Absolute brat,” he breathes out a laugh. His eyes slide to your making of him, and his smile goes even wider.

You pick it up gently and present it to him. “Ta-da!”

He wheezes in laughter as he produces his version of you, and you’re quick to join him when you see it. Two jumbo marshmallows shoved together, some sort of pink taffy crammed into it near the bottom to represent what you can only assume is your vagina, two smaller but still sizable marshmallows attached by toothpicks for breasts – pointed ends of the toothpick still visible, of course, for your nipples – and random bits of icing and sprinkles mishmashed into a face.

“Oh wait wait wait,” you giggle like a maniac. You shove three mini marshmallows onto a toothpick to give your candy Joel a penis. He arranges the two of you against the lopsided graham cracker house, marshmallow penis situated crudely into your pink taffy vagina, and you both take in the completed scene.

“Never seen a better lookin’ gingerbread family,” he chuckles.

You nod, enthusiastic with agreement at the deformed but lovable pairing. You want to shove down the urge to mention the impending dinner with your parents, but you can’t quite manage.

“Speaking of family,” you awkwardly lay out, “you sure you’re still up for meeting the folks?”

Joel only looks a touch more serious when he answers. “Wanna meet the people responsible for creating such a beautiful thing like you.”

“Can’t promise they won’t make you pay for all of Michael’s sins,” you mutter.

He just smirks back in response. “If they didn’t give the next guy shit after that colossal failure of a man you were with, I’d wonder if they actually gave a shit at all.”

As usual, Joel brings everything into focus and props the situation up on a patient, flexible perspective for everyone involved. If he was in charge of the narrative, maybe the dinner wouldn’t be that bad afterall.

The pretty green satin dress you’d finally worked up the courage to buy and wear suddenly felt three sizes too small and ten times too revealing to wear for dinner with your parents. You smooth over the already smoothed fabric, hands gliding freely over the swell of your hips and belly where the light catches, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Joel groans from the doorway.

You twist around awkwardly to find him staring at you. His eyes roam back up to your face, and he shakes his head with a small, incredulous laugh. His grin etches out little grooves of joy around his eyes. “You look incredible.”

And it’s as simple as that. Joel looking at you how he does and saying the things he does, dispelling those nagging, intrusive thoughts in a moment’s passing. You turn to face him directly and do a bit of admiring yourself. Crisp, neat gray slacks paired with a nice button up shirt, hair lightly gelled back, scruff a little less scruffy. Joel looks devastatingly handsome, and you tell him so.

It’s an easy atmosphere for most of the car ride to the restaurant. It’s the kind of familiarity and comfort that comes so easy that it ends up being difficult to explain to people. A sort of if you know, you know energy, and the closer you got to the restaurant, the more you were scared your parents weren’t going to “get it” at all. The nerves crept up and tightened like a vice squeezing around your chest. Your dress feels too snug and inappropriate again all the sudden.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice plucks you from your mini spiral. He’s glancing at you while he waits for the light to change, but you hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped at all. “It’ll be good. It’s gonna be a nice dinner, okay?”

You shake your head. “No, I know. I know it’ll be alright. I’m just–I don’t know why, but I guess I’m just nervous.” You give an apologetic shrug as if you might offend Joel for feeling anything less than ecstatic for him to meet your parents.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be worried about. If you get too nervous at dinner, I can handle it. I know how to steer a conversation, baby,” he assures you.

“But it’s not fair to ask you to take charge of the conversation just because I’m being overly anxious,” you grumble. “Especially since they’re my parents. I should be the one fielding questions and directing the conversation to pleasant chitchat.”

“Well, I guess that’s just one of the many things that makes me such a catch,” he teases with a wink.

You can’t help but smile a little at his attempts to keep you level headed. “Can’t argue with that.”

You focus on the lazy circles his wide hands draw on your thigh for the rest of the drive. You keep a flow of steady breaths as you pull into the lot and tell Joel not to worry about paying for valet. He grins knowingly at you. It was always a good sign if you were focused on economics and prudent money practices. His arm wraps across your back like a stabilizing bracket. The hostess informs you that the rest of your party has already arrived and is awaiting your company. Your heart jumps into your throat when you spot your parents seated in the middle of the restaurant.

It’s a bit of a blur as Joel introduces himself, offering a firm handshake to your dad and a friendly kiss on the cheek for your mother. He’s not even batting an eye as he prompts you to take a seat in the chair he’s pulled out for you. You plop awkwardly into your seat and feel like a deer in headlights. You realize now you probably should’ve prepped more for potential conversations and what sort of cohesive statements you and Joel would make in return. Your mouth feels like sandpaper, and your mother has to ask her question again when you realize you’ve missed it.

“I said, are you feeling okay? You’re just staring off,” she repeats with an edge of worry.

You snap into “fake it until you make it” mode and laugh it off. “Yeah, sorry, mom. Just realized it’s been a while since I ate something. Guess I’m a little hungry.”

It was the first thing that came to mind for a flimsy but passable excuse, and you want to launch yourself into the sun for immediately inviting the topic of food and appetite to the table. Even your dad pauses for a split second to squint at you as if he’d misheard. Your mom doesn’t take note of it, too delighted by your choice of topic. 

“OOooohhhh, is it intermittent fasting? I’ve heard a lot about that. How long have you been doing that? I’m so proud of you!”

The unspoken “I’m so happy that you’re finally trying to lose weight again” hangs in the air and makes your cheeks start to burn. You’d rather shrivel into a ball of mush and seep through the cracks in the floor than have Joel bear witness to one of you and your mother’s back-and-forths over eating and body weight.

Joel barely finishes his sip of water before wading into the disaster of a conversation you’ve started. “Intermittent fasting? Ain’t that what you do before a doctor’s appointment?” You appreciate his willingness to throw himself into whatever awkward bullshit you’ve managed to whip up in such a short amount of time, but he’s truly not well-versed enough in your mother’s history of food and diet culture to really understand just what he’s getting into.

“Oh, I guess, but this is a real winner from what I’ve heard. One of my girlfriends just switched to it from keto, but she’s still quite plump, you know? It’s supposed to do wonders for cutting back on calories and weight loss, ” she reports with glittery, tired eyes that shift to you for a split second at the word plump.

“What? Like a diet or somethin’? You tellin’ me people just cut out whole chunks of time and won’t let themselves eat?” Joel’s misgivings with the entire concept is obvious. Your mother of course further ensnares her victim into the conversation, knowledgeable or not of the verbal intricacies and diatribe lures that await them. “It restarts your metabolism,” she explains excitedly to a further perplexed Joel.

At least she was trying to salvage the discussion and didn’t seem put off by Joel’s less than stellar reception to her passionate opinions.

“Sounds a little strange to me, but I guess to each their own,” he offers, noncommittal and not entirely convincing.

Your mom deflates a bit but takes it in stride. It was more than what she normally got in those types of conversations. You thank the high heavens when the waiter comes to start your orders. You fumble with the menu and mentally thank Joel when he casually suggests something for you, exactly what you would pick for yourself had your brain not been in panic mode. Everyone is focused on their menus for a short time, muttering here and there about which special looks good and what the house favorites are. You spend the entire time dreading the thought of your mother talking about your weight, dieting, and body in front of Joel and haven’t picked a dish by the time the waiter returns. All your brain can do is hammer thoughts of the night ending badly one way or another.

Before Joel can step in and just order for you, your mother supplies you with her ever helpful suggestions. “You know, there’s a lot of really delicious looking salads. And it’s easy to get the dressing on the side to save yourself some Points.”

“Salad? Points?” Joel asks.

“Oh, I guess intermittent fasting wouldn’t be Points,” she laughs at herself like she’d just made a funny joke. “Weight Watchers does Points. You know, tracking your calories through Points. Makes it so easy, especially during these cooler months when everybody just starts letting themselves go and eat anything they see!” She’s nodding with an enthusiasm that no one else at the table shares.

Joel glances at you with a look of why the fuck would anybody waste a nice meal out being worried about calories? but he doesn’t say that – thank god. You order a pathetic sounding salad just to move things along, and you ignore Joel’s bewildered expression over your dinner choice. Your mother makes a face – over what you can only assume is the fact that you didn’t order your dressing on the side – before she orders a smaller, even more pathetic sounding salad and a bowl of glorified bone broth. It’s steaks and seafood for the men at the table, and then you’re left with the expanse of time between ordering and the food arriving.

“So, Joel,” your mother starts up again. “You’re quite the mystery man! It was a pleasant surprise when we found out our little Roxy had made a nice friend.”

Joel’s face radiates warmth and pride at the mere allusion of being yours, being your mystery man - a “nice friend.” He gives a breezy explanation of how it’s been nice for him to have such an intelligent, funny companion that’s just a stone’s throw away from his own house. Things get a little rocky when he mentions his house being more quiet since his daughter went away to college. Your dad all but freezes on the spot and pins you with a look that you can’t place.

By some divine nature, your mom doesn’t say anything and opts to just blink repeatedly at Joel with a blank stare. Sensing he might’ve opened a can of worms with the innocent comment, Joel looks to you with uncertainty for the first time this evening. Something in his search for the right thing to do at this moment gives you the drive to speak up.

“Yeah, it’s been nice for me, too, honestly. It’s the first time I’ve lived alone in a really long time, you know? And I think I would’ve been doing a hell of a lot worse if I hadn’t met Joel,” you attest.

He gives you one of his shy, goofy grins, and part of you wonders why you would ever feel nervous when you’ve got someone like him by your side.

“Well, it certainly sounds… convenient,” your mother notes with a questionably loaded emphasis on the word convenient.

Ah, yes, there’s the other part of you screaming and hopping up and down that says THIS is precisely why you would feel nervous, even with Joel by your side.

“Maybe it was destiny. Aren’t you always going on and on about that sort of thing, mom?” you shoot back with a glare. Heat prickles on your neck at the insinuation that you and Joel enjoy each other’s company simply because it’s easy and right in front of you. Your mom huffs a little at your pointed tone, but you don’t back down. 

“I never said it was a bad thing. I just think it’s certainly an element that’s made things more… speedy. But that’s neither here nor there, I guess.”

“Oh so now it’s not just because it’s easy but it’s rushed, too?” you scoff.

“That’s not what she’s sayin–”

You cut your dad off before he can jump in to defend your mom’s rude comments. “Sounds pretty clear what she’s saying, dad.” When you catch a “just so fast” and a “the whole Mike situation” muttered under her breath towards your dad, you feel on the verge of screaming. A large, firm grip on your thigh snaps your attention to Joel who levels you with a look – no, a silent request to let him take this on for you, to make good on what he’d promised in the car: ain’t nothin’ to be worried about,  I can handle it, I know how to steer a conversation.

“Hey,” he bids to you, tender but firm. “Let them say their piece. This is all new to them, alright? They’re just wantin’ to protect you is all.”

“I’m not going to let them disrespect us– you,” you grit out.

“I can handle myself, sweet girl,” he reassures you with a lopsided grin. He motions for a waiter and orders a bottle of white for the table. The brief pause has deescalated some of the tension, but you’ve yet to look at your mom for fear that you’ll want to snap all over again. Joel turns his full attention to your parents.

“Joel, I didn’t mean anything bad from what I was saying, it’s just—” Your mom is rushing to appeal to his understanding, easygoing nature, and you think to yourself she doesn’t much deserve it right now.

Joel waves a dismissive hand - water under the bridge. “Pardon me for the interruption, but you don’t need to explain yourself to me. If somebody did to my daughter what that prick did to yours, I’d probably be behind bars,” he says plainly. You swear your dad smiles for the briefest moment at that. “So I don’t take any issue with y’all wantin’ to keep her from gettin’ hurt again.”

Your mom frowns and drops her gaze. A spark of guilt nips at your gut. Maybe you weren’t being fair. Maybe you were just so keyed up from the start that any little thing was bound to set you off. When the waiter appears with the wine, you happily gulp down the entire pour. Your mom sips at hers and avoids your eye.

“Here’s to new beginnings, yeah?” Joel offers with a lift of his glass. You clink your empty cup with the rest of the table in a muted cheers. “And to the love and happiness that we all deserve,” your dad adds with a soft look in your direction. The conversation shifts to meaningless chit chat, anything safe and tame to avoid another labile interaction.

You’re happy when dinner arrives just to have something else to focus on. Without a word, Joel takes your salad and scrapes half of it onto his plate before doling out a large portion of the steak he’d ordered. He nestles the bowl back in front of you and bites back a devilish smile.

Your dad is definitely sporting a tiny grin now, no mistaking that. Your mom of course looks puzzled but thinks better of commenting. When the table is quiet long enough for it to start being awkward, your dad steps up to the plate. “Pretty dress, hon. Don’t think I’ve seen you in it before. Don’t tell me you went and bought some new digs on account of this little dinner,” he teases.

You smile softly at the compliment and taunting. “Glad you’re sitting down already because I actually did buy this not too long ago. Realized I didn’t really have any going out clothes I actually liked.” You relax into the ambiance a little and cut through Joel’s – your – steak. 

“You got my daughter out here acting strange, Joel,” your dad jokes. “Can hardly convince this one to spend a dime on anything, let alone herself. Good man.”

Joel chuckles goodnaturedly. “She’s been a good influence on me. Taught me a thing or two about finances I’m ashamed to say I prolly shoulda known at this point in my life, but better late than never I guess.” He gives you a playful nudge, and you feel like melting into a happy puddle. This is really happening. You and Joel, out and about as a legitimate, bonafide pairing, having dinner with the parents. It might be the entire glass of wine you downed on an empty stomach, but you’re pretty sure Joel is what’s got you feeling so intoxicated and fuzzy brained.

“Can’t work a lawn mower worth a damn, though,” he taunts. You groan and hide your face under your palm. Your mother zeroes in immediately on the inside joke and manages to convince Joel to tell the story. He sugarcoats none of the language or tantrum involved, and your parents both crack up at the telling. “Wish I could’ve snapped a picture of her face when she came back out to see me pushin’ that thing around without a problem.”

You’re a good sport, knowing Joel somehow finds all those less than flattering aspects of your personality more endearing than damning. He seems happy just to be talking about you so freely with others who know you and know how you can get. Joel can’t help ribbing your dad about the time you called a screwdriver a “screw gun,” and you can only laugh and shrug innocently when he claims they’re gonna “take his man card” for having his daughter out here misnaming basic tools.

You’re struck by how comfortable and confident Joel seems, how effortlessly he commands the attention of the table with his amusing storytelling and magnetic charm. Your parents are both genuinely smiling and engaged with him, and your eyes start to prick with the realization that this might actually end up okay. You and Joel stepping into this serious, committed territory might be nothing more than a no brainer, a path set in motion and followed with ease because it was just waiting for you to take the step forward and begin traveling.

You feel floaty by the time Joel excuses himself to the restroom. He plants a small peck on your temple before walking towards the back of the restaurant. You know you should gauge your parents’ impression of him before letting yourself just sit there in an unmistakable, lovestruck haze, but you can’t quite find the will or the concern to do anything else but bask in it. Joel just makes it around the corner and out of sight when your dad turns to you with a shrewd stare.

“He makes you happy. Doesn’t he?” he posits.

You blink back tears and nod with a watery smile. Your dad clucks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and nods back. “You know, your mom earlier… I think she was trying to broach a subject that we– to keep from making the same mistake twice. Her and me both—” you gently shake your head, not following the train of thought “—We had our reservations about Mike, and we didn’t say anything at the time. We didn’t want to rain on your parade, you know? But, we should’ve– we both should’ve shared our concerns we had about him from the start. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that, but we regret it, hon. We really, really do. Feel like we let you down. Like we failed at being your parents.”

The blissful tears inching towards the front of your eyes were blurring into those of rueful retrospection. Of course it made sense that they hadn’t been crazy about the freshly separated, not entirely divorced, and notably older coworker you’d found your heart embedded in. He’d lived an entire life before you’d come around, and then he’d thrown all of your pivotal young adult years down the drain like you were nothing.

“Joel’s nothing like him,” you blurt out.

“And we can see that, hon, we really can,” your mom adds quickly. Her eyes are glossy and entreating, and you sniff back the impending outpour hot along your lashline. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you, too. And we just have to be honest with you this time around, okay? If we see something, we’re just gonna have to speak on it, and I’m sorry if that’s upsetting to you.”

“We aren’t looking to make Joel pay for anybody’s sins. We just– We owe it to you to do it right this time around, Rox. Can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror if you got hurt again because we didn’t say something when we should’ve.” Your mother’s hand stays cupped in his when he reaches across the table to hold onto yours.

“It’s not your fault,” you sniff. “The only person who should be feeling bad right now is that scumbag back in Colorado. I deserve better than him, and I’m not going to let him hold me back from finding that person.”

“Of course not, of course not,” your dad agrees. “We just felt it was only fair that we be upfront with you about where we’re coming from this time around. Thankfully Joel seems like a great guy, so there’s no need to get the pitchforks out just yet.”

You snort and roll your eyes at the much welcomed turn to levity in the conversation. “Yeah, well, he’s a really good guy, and I know the more you get to know him the more you’re gonna love him.”

“Like you do?” your mom presses.

“Like I do what?”

“We’ll love him, like you love him?” she probes.

“I-I… um… I need to use the bathroom,” you announce as you stand and skitter the direction Joel headed what seems like 400 years ago. Without a second glance, you round the same corner he’d taken and make a beeline for the women’s restrooms. You’re not even cognizant enough to be startled when Joel pulls you into him.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” His smile falters when he sees the barely contained tears, and then his hands are cupping your face until you tell him what happened. You give him the quickest recap possible - dutifully excluding the part where you’d run off before having to answer your mom’s question about whether or not you were in love with Joel - and promise it’s nothing major. After the fourth time of asking if you were sure you were okay, you turn the questioning onto his whereabouts during the whole thing. You’re prepared to be annoyed with his answer, but the wind goes right out of your sails when he reveals he had given his card to the waiter to handle the bill and placed a to-go order for some dessert “in case you weren’t full from the half steak half salad.”

You don’t even allow yourself to sit with the genuine kindness and thoughtfulness oozing from Joel right now. You’re about two seconds from an emotional whiplash cry session, and you want to finish the night on a good note. Joel kisses you lightly across the forehead while he brings you into his embrace, and you take the opportunity to talk low and private.

“When we get home, I want you to turn my cervix into a dick punching bag,” you rasp. You meant for it to come out more joking than it did, but your abrupt detour into sexual frustration turned that intention right on its head.

Joel groans and sneaks a handful of your ass into the hand closest to the wall and out of sight of passerby. “Fuckin’ nasty. Baby needs some stress relief and it gets her talkin’ real filthy, huh?”

You look up to him with wide doe eyes and nod urgently. He sucks in a breath and looks to the ceiling like he’s collecting himself. He adjusts the crotch of his pants and crowds you against the wall. His breath is hot against your cheek when he murmurs, “Don’t wanna hear it later when I’ve got you pinned down with nowhere to go but to just take it, you understand?”

You gulp back a moan and bob your head yes. “S’good. S’real good because I ain’t gonna let up until that pussy is all beat to hell and raw from my cock, you hear me?”

“Oh my god,” you whimper. You rub your thighs together at the mental images he’s conjuring.

“See you back at the table, baby,” he toys. He waggles his eyebrows and is gone with the turn of a heel. You practically sprint into the bathroom and slap a towel drenched in cold water around the back of your neck. When you finally calm down enough to return to the table, Joel helps you into your chair and informs you that your parents will be joining the two of you at his house for a home cooked meal after they get back from their cruise. He manages to keep the mood friendly and light for the rest of the dinner, and your dad doesn’t even get weird about the bill when he’s informed Joel has already taken care of it.

By dad code, that has to count for something, right? Not turning it into a pissing contest over who’s going to cover the tab was as good a sign as any that he definitely liked Joel. Your mom’s full on squeeze hug and cheek pat settled any lingering doubts. Your parents like Joel. You think Joel likes your parents, too. Despite a minor hiccup at the beginning, everyone had come out unscathed. Hell, you already had plans for them to spend more time with you and Joel as a couple.

You say your goodbyes to your parents and wave them off as their valet arrives. You’re awash in the swell of your successful night as Joel walks you to his truck. You’ve got that silly, happy smile plastered across your face. You can feel it pushing your cheeks against your temples with the intensity of it. You’re brought back to earth when you see that Joel has not only opened the passenger door for you but has the rear passenger door opened as far as it will go without hitting the empty car next to his truck. You’re boxed in by the doors and the cars. Joel tosses the container of dessert onto his dash and flings your purse onto the floor of the passenger seat.

“Hey! I don’t even think it’s zipp–”

The sheer heft and heat of Joel slams into you from the back and pins you against the seat. Your arms fly up and onto the seat as you try to catch your balance. Your next round of indignant complaint is halted when Joel curves himself flush against you, arms resting atop your own. He grinds slow and steady against your backside. Your breath hitches at the feel of him fully thick and hard for you.

“You see what you fuckin’ do to me?” he grunts against the side of your head. “Wearin’ this pretty thing. Bein’ so goddamn beautiful all dinner. Then seein’ me in the back and beggin’ me to fuck you so hard your pussy goes all bruised from me slamming my cock into you. Gonna fuck you so hard I gotta kiss it all better after, huh? S’that what you want?”

“Oh sh-shit,” you gasp.

Without waiting for your stunned response, Joel shoves your dress up to your hips and kneels between your legs. His mouth is on you in seconds, and you bite into your arm to stifle the surprised sound trying to claw its way out of you. He licks into you with blinding need and only stops working you with his fingers just long enough to free his dick from his pants and start jerking himself off.

“Fuck yeah, all mine,” he growls into your sloppy wet heat. He smears some of the mess from his mouth and chin onto his hand and tugs himself harder with the added lubrication. He slips two fingers into you and works them in tandem with his stroking. You bend your head as far as it will go and drink in the sight of Joel crouched on his knees in the middle of a parking lot with your slick glistening all over his face in the dull glow of the streetlight. He locks eyes with you and grins like he knows a secret.

“You’re mine now, yeah?” He hooks his fingers and plunges them faster. Your legs start to tremble.

“Y-Yes! Mine. Yours!” you choke out.

“Gonna let me have this pussy all out in the open if I want it, huh? Got me so wound up I can’t even wait ‘til I get you home. Bet you’d like it if somebody came walkin’ by right now and saw me claimin’ this pussy all to myself.”

You sob out a moan at the thought. Joel buries himself between your legs again and sends vibrations through you with every grunt and growl. You tense against the seat when your orgasm comes barreling out of nowhere, and you cling onto the truck for dear life when your legs start to give. Joel shoves his head up into you harder, licking and slurping up your cum at the same time he presses you against the car for support. He pulls back with a heaving inhale and grips at the fat of your ass as he erupts between your spread legs and onto the concrete in thick splats.

He stands and meets the heavy rise and fall of your chest with his own. “Goddamn perfect,” he pants. You reach a hand behind you and scratch against his scalp. He leans into your mouth and kisses into it like he’s putting the final mark of his claim onto you. He tucks himself back into his trousers and rights your dress before helping you into the truck. You can feel your arousal wetting into the fabric of your dress beneath your ass in the seat, another indication of who you belong to - officially.

That little mark of pleasure had ruined your dress. You cast a pitiful frown to where the still visible line of demarcation had resisted all intervention the dry cleaners could muster. You were supposed to be meeting Sarah in a few days when she got into town, and now you had no cute evening dress in the event you went out together. You make it through a few household chores and a handful of work calls before calling it a day an hour and a half earlier than usual. It wasn’t like you to dip out before you were scheduled, but you didn’t have anything as pressing as your ruined dress.

You drag your feet the entire 2 minute walk into Joel’s house. “Joellllll,” you call out. His truck was in the driveway, wasn’t it? So he should be here. You call out for him again with the added news that he “officially owed you a new dress after ruining the green one.” Just as you’re starting to get concerned with the silence, the stairs creek. You round the corner with a heavy pout. “You ruined my dress!”

The bright set of eyes and impish smile that greeted you were an echo of Joel’s but not quite his own. You recognize her from the hundreds of photos Joel had shared with you. Sarah. Days early and looking increasingly amused and curious at your presence.

“Ruined your dress, huh?” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall. Her grin spreads the longer you blink silently back at her. “Should be an interesting story.”

Your cheeks burn, and you don’t think she’d be as amused if she knew just how right she is.

part 2 coming tomorrow :)

[sadboytristan]

Ill fully admit, the quality of the wreck it ralph Wii game is ATROCIOUS. You know for a fact, they blew the whole budget on those cut scenes-

B U T BY GOLLY THOSE CUT SCENES, oH WERE THEY EVER ABSOLUTELY WORTH IT!

They gave us so many fun details!

Ralph, Felix and Tamora watching the roaster race

Tamora, crouching so shes at his height level, and pointing out things to Felix!

Ralph being clumsy and rolling off the announcement podium

Tamora putting her arms around Felix and moving him away, as Ralph flails before rolling off the-

Felix saying he hates something. This guy said he was CROSS instead of saying pissed or MAD. Hearing him say "I haTE seeing our beloved home like this!" Absolutely satisfying

"Oh no, they even destroyed your home!" "Actually Felix, they didn't-" this interaction was hilarious

Tamora greeting Felix, pulling his hat over his eyes

Felix and Tammy's kiss cut scene, where she pulls his hat over his eyes

Felix, smiling and not fixing his hat because he KNOWS it's her

FelixS LEG TWITCHING AND DROPPING HIS HAMMER while she's kissing him

Tamoras soldiers in the background as they avoid staring, while she's fully making out with felix

Felix sings when he's sad, and he's GOD AWFUL AT IT TOO

"I'm fix-it felix, fix-it felix, FiXiN aLL tHe ThInGs a FiXeR gUy cAn" a.. fuckin' theme song, this dork wrote himself a THEME SONG

Ralph YELLING- it caught me so off gaurd, literally sounds a BRICK if it could scream

Felix constantly thinking about Tamora, "I wonder what my lady is up to" "Oh my land, where IS she..!" And I can't remember the lines, but there's two more

Felix has a nana who gives him advice

Felix is lactose intolerant

That "oof-" "ouch!" Sound felix makes if he takes damage

The fuckin- "hhHURMPH" felix does, pulling himself up cause he's dangling off a ledge

Felix as he STRESSES ME OUT, saying "caaaaarreefuuuuul" boy if yoU DONT-

Tammy cALLS FELIX SWEETUMS

"see ya later tonight, sweetums! WhA- gET BACK IN FORMATION, solDIER-" lady, reLAX. We already know yall bouta have se- HaNkY pAnKy later💀

Ralph being so subtle, "if ONLY we knEW SOMEONE who haS A MAGIC HAMMER that fIXES THINGS" homie thinks we're as dumb AS A BRICK

The cutscene where tamora pulls his hat over his eyes AGAIN, and he actually pulls it back up this time. Before HOLDING BOTH OF HER HANDS AND SWOONING

I know there's definitely more stuff but it's been several years since I last played the game, and those are what stuck with me.

If yall remember anything else, doesn't have to be felix or heros cuties related(pretty sure I have those ingrained in my brain)

Please reblog and add em' to the list!

[coffeecat1983]

Wreck-It Ralph & Mario Bros: Of Plungers and Hammers Epilogue

   A leisurely stroll through the Mario Kart tracks led the pair to a hill overlooking Peach's castle. Night had fallen and stars sparkled overhead.      "Golly." Felix uttered as he looked up. "So many stars. I don't think my game could ever render this many."    He let go of Mario's hand and darted forward, his face alight with joy.      "A shooting star! Oh, make a wish, quick!"    Joining him, Mario took his hand again. "Already got my wish." Felix's blush deepened as Mario caressed his cheek, his hand coming to rest on the heated skin.    The two gazed at each other, hearts pounding as they drew close.

   The kiss was gentle, Felix's eyes closing as he reached up, this time not to push Mario away but lightly hold his shoulders as Mario wrapped his arms around him.    The warmth became a heat, the tenderness turning to a passion that left both breathless as they parted.      "M-Mario," Felix's eyes were nearly glazed over, "I'm not the kinda fella to say this to anyone but I mean," he peered out from under the bill of his hat, a look Mario found endearing, "the penthouse does get awful lonely at night."    Taking his hand, Mario silently led him back to the tram. Slipping past the still going party, they quietly made their way to Felix's game and up to the penthouse.    Had anyone been outside, they would have seen that up in the Penthouse bedroom two shadows met in a passionate embrace.

   The next morning...    Mario awoke and sighed contentedly. Felix was curled up in the crook of his arm, his head resting on his shoulder as he slept. A tender kiss to the forehead woke him. He stretched, letting out a mewling yawn like a kitten before giving Mario a bleary-eyed smile.      "Mornin'." he mumbled. A chuckle. "Mornin', sleep okay?"    A sleepy 'mmmhmm' as Felix closed his eyes and put his arm around Mario. "You were incredible."    Warm fingers caressed his cheek, trailing down to lift his chin and give a light kiss.      "So were you." The two snuggled up together, enjoying each other's warmth. The quiet of the morning was broken as the bedside alarm clock went off. Felix groaned as he turned it off. "Forget to turn that thing off last night."      "I'm awake now, how about we get some breakfast?" Mario sat up and Felix turned red.      "Oh, um, you, you got some scratches there. On your back." he sat up and began looking for his tool-belt amid the scattered clothing on the floor. "Hang on, I can fix em for ya."    He let out a yelp as Mario pinned him back down with a sly grin. "Leave em." the plumber purred as he leaned in close to Felix's ear.      "I like trophies."    His warm breath made the other shudder with pleasure.      "Mamma Mia." Felix breathed in a daze.

   Later at the castle track in Mario Kart, two figures were at the starting line having a discussion...

     "So what happened? Mario and Felix work things out?" Daisy asked.      "Sure seems like it, Mario didn't come home last night and Ralph said he saw them both holding hands and sneaking into Felix's game." Luigi smirked. Daisy kicked her feet, giddy with laughter.      "I love it! But I wonder something." Luigi tilted his head,  raising an eyebrow. "What?"    She grabbed him, pulling him in for a passionate kiss that made his head spin.      "I wonder," she resumed, letting him go, "is he as bold as you in the bedroom?" He blushed hotly and then groaned as he pulled his hat over his eyes.      "Euuugh, I do not need to picture that!" Daisy's laughter traveled over the racetrack. She stifled it but continued giggling as Mario wandered over, eyebrow raised.      "What's got you two goin'?"      "Oh, nothing." Luigi said innocently. "Just didn't think I'd ever see my big bro with a hickey on his neck."    Daisy rolled in wild laughter as Mario frantically checked his neck in the reflection of the nearby kart.      "I'm kiddin', Mario!" Luigi wheezed, tears rolling down his cheeks.    The princess laughed even more as Mario began to playfully chase his brother around, threatening to tickle him in revenge.

   Across Game Central Station, Felix whistled happily, tossing his hammer and catching it again as he did a small dance across the floor. Spotting Ralph and Vanellope, he gave a wave.      "Mornin' you two!" he beamed as he approached.      "Well someone's cheery this morning." Ralph said, raising an eyebrow. Vanellope got a wicked grin that Wario himself would have been proud of.      "Yooooou spent the night with Mario, didn't you?" Turning pink, Felix folded his arms and refused to look at her. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."      "Fix-It, you're wearing his hat." she deadpanned.    Panicking Felix yanked the hat off his head only to find it was his own, the look on his face sending Vanellope tumbling over in hysterical laughter.      "I knew it! You just gave it away!" Ralph nudged her arm. "C'mon kid, that's enough." he gently reprimanded. "Seriously though," he smiled warmly to the other. "It's nice to see you happy again, buddy. You deserve it."    Felix practically glowed, a shy smile at the kind words. "T-Thanks, Ralph."  he turned towards the Mario Kart port. "It... It doesn't feel so lonely anymore."

   Deep within the code vaults of both Fix-It Felix Jr, and Mario Kart, the codes hidden behind the golden hearts of both heroes changed and a new icon appeared. Mario's now held a red heart with Felix's face, and Felix's had Mario.

By "CC"

[greekceltic]

An old roleplay post that is one of my better ones (for laughs). Context: We were spending a lot of time using the Wreck it Ralph setting as a sandbox and Alf was magically living inside a Jurassic Park arcade game. He had NO knowledge of electronics or the modern world.

--

Alf had... feelings.

They were loathfully complex but in layman's terms he felt like he had been given two choices. Suck on a lemon or suck on a lime. Life in the jungle had been pretty okay at first, and then very suddenly not. He didn't know it but the source of his agony was a spunky twelve year old named Brian. Brian didn't get the highscore, but he gave em hell.

It began at 8:10 in the morning. He'd been padding around by the coast when he heard a clink that seemed to come from everywhere and no where. And then there was music.

And then God said 'let there be helicopters', and there were helicopters. And seeing that helicopters were good, God said, 'let there be raptors, and let them bring forth Jeeps and guns'. And God said 'they're everywhere!' and it was so.

Alf looked upon all that He had made and hid in a bush.

[jeork]

"It's all according." Reg and Laurie in the bathroom

It's maybe a bit of a random choice, but this is one of my favorite scenes in the book. But I always wonder if I don't read a little too much into some of the things being said.

So Laurie recommends against Reg following through with his plan, to which Reg replies "Well, Spud, maybe not. It's all according, see what I mean?" Laurie sees what he means. His first and most obvious interpretation of this is that it's simply about him being gay. He defends himself on that front by stating that this doesn't hinder him from understanding human relationships, and that the same things happen to queer people.

Next, to really get Reg off his mission, Laurie admits to not having the money. He spent it in town. Reg appears to respect him for it: "You hang on to that. Got to be independent. Make 'em think all the more of you." Even though Ralph had tried to be imperious over the bill, Laurie made them split it. Reg views this as admirable, because of the power dynamic between Ralph and Laurie? As we know from the first open conversation they've had about the topic, Reg definitely assumed that Laurie was getting taken out by some officer, potentially that there was something more sinister going on he had to protect Laurie from. As we've seen with Harry at The Party, and by some other comments Ralph makes later on, the dark side of queer communities during wartime was the abuse of power. Especially officers were known for taking advantage of lower rank men. D.H. Lawrence wrote his short story The Prussian Officer about this. As an older working class man Reg is likely to have an awareness for this.

But then I also have this additional reading of this, which would change the way "It's all according" functions. Traditionally women get their dates payed for by men. I don't know to what degree the stereotype of one part of a gay dynamic being 'the woman in the relationship' was a thing back then. But that's kind of what this reads to me, which would make it admirable for Laurie as the 'woman' to show financial independence.

This idea also reminded me of an interaction Reg and Laurie have towards the beginning of the book. Reg tells the story of his father being unfaithful to his mother. He concludes that his mother eventually made peace with it. "It's not the same for a woman. That's their lot, and nature made them stand it. But a man's nature is different." When Laurie and Reg meet in the bathroom, the conversation is about Reg taking leave to deal with the guy Madge has been cheating on him with. Laurie tells him it's a bad idea, Reg says it's all according. Because it's not within Laurie's nature to relate to this level of anguish over getting cheated on? Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I thought this was an interesting way to look at the "It's all according."

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hihi! Since your taking requests, could you do a Detroit Become Human x reader where the reader is a flower shop owner? Specifically with Connor and maybe Hank? Perhaps reader gives them a bouquet for helping deal with some troublemakers trying to wreck their shop?

Hearing the ding of the bell, you looked to the entrance of your flower shop, smiling as you saw two familiar faces walk through the door. “Welcome back, gentlemen.”

“Hi.” Hank greeted with a nod, hands stuffed into his pockets. “So uh, you don’t have to worry about those teenage pricks messing around in your shop anymore.”

“We’ve apprehended them without incident.” Connor chimed in as he approached you. And you couldn’t help but notice how his movements were less stiff and robotic; they were now casual, lifelike.

It seems even Cyberlife’s “perfect” android wasn’t immune to deviation.

“That’s great.” You beamed. “Thank you so much. And..what of the WR600 that went missing?”

“The good news is that we found him squatting in the abandoned home at Camden. Bad news is..he wasn’t willing to come with us. He didn’t really believe anything we said.”

“It’s okay. I’ll find a way to get him back here..if he wants to come back. I’ve been missing Ralph for far too long.”

It was true. Even before the android revolution, you saw your own WR600s as people, treating them like equals. You had two that ran your shop while you did the paperwork aspect of your business. But while you were away one night, some teens broke in and stole one of your androids: Ralph.

According to Connor, he sustained severe burns to his face and was heavily scarred, sparking his deviancy.

It infuriated you, and you worried that you’d never see him again--whether it’s by his own shutdown or disassembly at the recycling camp. But knowing that androids were finally free and that the two detectives returned to give you closure on the case was an immense relief.

Even your remaining WR600 smiled upon learning this. He could very well leave if he wanted to, but he chose to stay.

As Hank and Connor were about to leave, you told them to wait. You knew a simple “thanks” couldn’t even begin to describe how grateful you were for their help; you had to do better than that.

So you quickly went into the back, the WR600 following close.

When you returned a few moments later, you were holding a small bouquet of blue flowers, presenting it to Connor. “I know this isn’t much, but..I wanna give you these. I really do appreciate your help.”

He blinked, analyzing the various types of flower you arranged together. His lips twitched into a small smile as he took them from your hands. “These look nice. We’ll find a good place for these in the office. Right, Lieutenant?”

Although Hank had no clue what he nor an android would do with flowers, he didn’t wanna be a dick and reject your gift. So he just nodded in agreement, smiling as well. “Yeah, we’ll find a place for ‘em. Thanks.”

“Oh no, thank you.” You chuckled. “It’s the least I could do for the two best detectives.”

[pokemonranch]

One eyed Eevee anon here! Turns out you were correct about the Sobble and Quaxly being shiny and the Eevee is perfectly healthy despite missing an eye! The Raltz and Oddish are also fine!

I decided to actually name them now but I have a few options for each one and I need help picking what name for each

Sobble: squeaker, puddle, tsunami

Quaxly: maestro, dazzle, sir quackers

Eevee: sandy, buttercup, nora

Oddish: daisy, hugo, sprout

Raltz: percedal, evangelyne, toph

What name should I choose for each one?

I'd go with Puddle, Maestro, Sprout and Toph, but I'll let you know I'm not the best with names!

Also, you got quite a team to raise, too! I hope everyone gets along well, Sobble and Ralph especially can be quite peculiar with other 'mons, so make sure you keep an eye on 'em.

[ladylooch]

No, but imagine when Emma would stop answering and disappear from Timo and he needed to follow her life by any stories published by her or some friend of hers and always had THAT GUY in the videos and photos, then cuts to Emma getting pregnant and they getting married, suddenly they meet this guy and Timo dies of jealousy and hates him so for free and Emma is totally "helloooo???"

hahaha ☠️

I hit post to send the story of our date night drinks to my close friends on Instagram. I chuckle, setting my phone back down on the table top.

"I remember, before Lio, when I was in Switzerland and you were still in San Jose, anytime I posted on socials you were the first person to see it. Like it wouldn't be up for even two minutes and you had already seen it." TImo runs his tongue along the inside of his lip. "Even with the insane time difference."

"I had notifications on for you."

"You did!? Thirsty."

"Parched." He chuckles, leaning in to kiss me. "I'd get so pissed when you were with Ralph."

"Before you knew he was swinging for the other team."

"He always had his fucking hands on you. Like on your hips and ass."

"Who the fuck is that?" I mimic his voice when he saw me with Ralph on Snap during my January trip home to pack when I was barely pregnant.

"Kay. Let me have it." He motions his hands to me. "Really give it to me."

 "Tell that fuck to get his hands off our kid." I continue. 

"If you would have answered me right away, you could have saved me from myself." Ralph and I had gone to a 3 hour movie and by the time I came out, Timo was in a jealous, panicky rage.

"Maybe I liked it." I run my pointer finger along the softness of his expensive button up. I get to the top button and work it apart, then the next one. Timo watches my fingers, then drags his blue eyes to mine.

"You still have two weeks." He reminds me, thumb stroking my bottom lip. 

"Humph. But you're so sexy." I drawl. "And I'm so needy..."

"You make this so much harder than it needs to be." We stare at each other until motion catches our attention behind our bar stools.

"Hey, sorry we are late." Nico says. Timo and I look away. His hand comes to my thigh, stroking heat along the outer skin while greeting my brother.

"No problem. Em and I were just discussing how serious the 6 week rule is."

"Very." Lexi says, giving me a look. I roll my eyes. 

"You're a buzz kill just like Nico." I reach out to hug her anyway. "Why aren't you my sister yet?" 

"Actually, we have something to tell you."

[powderblueblood]

@vvitchwords: Oh my god, PLEASE may I request Ronnie Ecker with 'Did you know that cigarettes are a shield against meaningful interaction with people?'

200 CIGARETTES SENTENCE PROMPTS!

you stiffen up a little against the outer wall of the hideout, giving this girl a once-over. she's dressed like a child's cartoon of a train conductor, with her overalls and her peaked cap and her little festive bandanna tied around her neck-- so not the clientele you were expecting when you agreed to see some metal band at the shittiest dive bar your hometown had to offer.

"maybe i want to shield myself against meaningful interaction with people?" you retort through a pointed cloud of smoke. "not that it's exactly plentiful around here..."

"ah!" the girl, with her hands shoved in her overall pockets says--again, she's wearing overalls, "i see the ghost of shitty new years eve has visited you too!"

complete with ghostly voice affectation. who the fuck is this person.

"what?"

why are you smiling.

"i don't-- i don't know what that was," she clears her throat, dodging another exhale from your cigarette. you chuckle a touch, which pulls her eyes from the pavement and back onto you. this smile twists around her mouth, like it's a piece of wire she can't get untangled quick enough and she's kind of panicking about it.

"you here to see this band?" you ask, narrowing your eyes. because it really, really doesn't look like her scene.

"um," she says, kinda high pitched, "yeah? technically?"

"oof. sounds like they suck, the way you just said that."

she cringes in a way you can't quite decode. "like not-- not terrible, but not... a hundred percent in the pocket, either." a beat. "but hey, can you blame 'em? they're filling in. main act cancelled."

"oh? who was the main act?"

"pest control," this girl nods. "they never showed up, even though there's probably roaches, so they had to open the bar anyway. so. that's why--"

that gets you; a giggle pushes past your lips and you push off the wall, crushing your cigarette under your heel. "you're kinda funny."

"please, kinda funny is my father's name!" and she physically cringes again, eyes wincing closed and everything-- warmth pricks at your chest. she's... "ronnie. sorry. i'm ronnie."

"ronnie. right. i'm--"

but before you can tell her, through the swinging doors leading into the bar comes some dude with an incredibly on theme haircut for a place like this. "ron, the fuck! it's ten-- don't tell me you're out here ralphing again."

through gritted teeth, she's all, "eddie. i was not--"

fucking guy, this eddie, turns to you. "was she? because you can tell me-- i mean," his stare gets a little slicker, "you can tell me, sure, you can tell me whatever you w--"

"wrong tree, buddy," you clarify for him.

eddie flattens his mouth and nods, fairly respectfully. he ushers ronnie inside with a pull on her wrist and you decide to follow them, because, sure, weird energy, but it was the most energy you'd been able to squeeze out of tonight.

"you guys must really love this band..."

eddie is shoving ronnie towards the stage, like, really shoving her. but when he hears that, he pivots toward you.

"love the band? sweetheart, we are the band."

your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline and you guffaw, looking to ronnie. she's climbing over her drumset (clumsily, shit knocking everywhere), shrugging with a drumstick in either hand.

"sorry for what you're about to hear, i guess?"

your grin softens at her; eyes bright and eager and you really actually have decided that you would like to look at 'em a little longer. good thing the night's still young.

"i mean-- better than pest control, right?"

[aggressivelyarospec]

Anonymous submitted:

“Strange Bedfellows” (2004)

Now, the movie is definitely not perfect and a product of its time, but there’s no denying that the core message is wonderful.     Earlier parts of this film have uncomfortable moments, but they’re intentionally uncomfortable, showing the mindset of this small town. These parts can be hard to sit through, but it helps to know this is intentional - the writers are tricking people into buying what they think is a ticket to a shallow film with Crocodile Dundee, but actually getting a story that is teaching a somehow both subtle and obvious lesson about prejudice, the importance of platonic love, and how you shouldn’t need to explain or reveal your private life to anyone, nor be forced to explain why/how you care about someone.    The two main characters, Vince and Ralph, are extremely close. The tiny town they live in starts to believe they are in a romantic relationship, and is not very welcoming. Vince and Ralph themselves are uncomfortable with this assumption, but undergo character development after facing this prejudice and meeting actual LGBTQIA+ people in the city. It all comes to a big confrontation at the films end, where Ralph gives an absolutely lovely speech.“Now, I know some of you are wondering what’s going on. And others have probably made up their minds already. But, for starters…I’d like you to welcome some friends of Vince and mine from Sydney. G'day. They’re all wonderful people…who I know you’re going to love when you get to know ‘em. OK. Now, I understand there’s been a bit of speculation around town about Vince Hopgood and myself. Well, it’s nobody’s business but ours, what goes on between Vince and I. We’ve been mates since we were kids. Most of you have known us all your lives. Crikey, we’ve… we’ve lived and worked amongst you for years. That’s what you should be judging us by. Not about what may or may not happen between us in private. Vince has been part of every important event in my life. He was my best man. He was there when my daughter was born and…when my wife, Helen, passed away. He was a tower of strength to me. See, it doesn’t matter who you are. If you have one real friend in this life one person you can truly trust then you’re very lucky indeed. Vince Hopgood has been the best mate a man could have. And, yes, for anyone out there who’s interested I love him. And I’m not ashamed to admit it.”Here are some more reviews:https://www.imdb.com/review/rw0916554/?ref_=tt_urv 

P.S. I actually found out about this film by reading an article about how a 2007 American film plagiarized it. Curious, I watched both of them. The 2007 film that plagiarized it was dumb, shallow, immature, and rather homophobic. In contrast, the original 2004 “Strange Bedfellows” was miles better (due to the above-written reasons). The world in 2004 had miles to go in regards to LGBTQIA+ issues and tolerance, and this movie was doing its part to help. As such it has become somewhat dated now, but what it was trying to do in the time period it was made is rather heartwarming.

Additional Information: R | Comedy Trailer:

Added!

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: An evening with Bill.

Moon Knight afterward from issue #25. 

Truth, I agonized on if I was going to acknowledge this. My business is with the Moon Knight comics, after all… History, development, and personal insight into the comics. You know, me screaming into a dark room about how much I love this comic. 

But where would we be if we didn’t have a little insight into the legend himself: Bill Sienkiewicz. 

Issue #25 was a special double long comic. These bad boys come out once in a blue moon to celebrate the success and growing popularity of a comic! Once a comic becomes top ranking, you’ll start to get Annuals and yearly (sometimes bi-yearly) double longs! 

So here we sit in 1982, just a few years after the creation of Moon Knight and we get our first double! 

But what really makes you pick up a comic in the store in the first place? Especially if you know nothing about the characters. Sure, Marvel (and DC) will splash a crossover event with a popular character across the cover to lure in those that are fans of the one character. They’ll also do variant covers to get the collectors wild (gotta catch ‘em all!). Limited runs? You know someone’s trolling Ebay for that blank cover that gives nothing away. You’ll also get guest artists who do ONLY covers. Fans of the art will collect them just for the covers. 

But all those special things aside, you know that a well done cover piece is what makes you pick it up and go “Neat. I wonder what’s inside.” 

So what makes a cover? To all the aspiring artists out there, this one’s for you. 

Don’t worry people. I’m not going to make you squint. I’ll just type up everything verbatim that Mr. Sienkiewicz has to say. And I admit, I was so pleasantly surprised to find his sense of humor on point. 

I've also added the final cover product so you can really see how the cover ended up laid out in publishing.

A TALE OF THREE COVERS by Bill Sienkiewicz

When Denny and Ralph asked me to come up with a possible topic for the editorial pages in the double-sized issue of MOON KNIGHT, my first reaction was "Editorial? Isn't that your job? I've just finished the art for this issue and the last thing I feel like doing is an editorial page." Then I made some crack about them earning their money and proceeded to walk out. 

"Hold it!" Denny snapped, bringing his riding crop down smartly on the New York Post. I turned, my nostrils filling with the stench of wounded printer's ink, and did some serious reconsideration. 

"Look," Denny began, "I don't want you to get the idea that this is something you have to do," his gloved hand waving the riding crop in what could be construed as a menacing fashion, "But we'd like to give you the opportunity to do something that you'd like to do to get you involved in EVERY aspect of the book, not just the artwork, to tell the readers some of your viewpoints and..." Denny leaned back, crossed his jackbooted feet on the desk. He smiled a wicked smile "...to let the readers know that we're just one big family here at Marvel. My mind raced. 

"Covers." I said. 

"What?" asked Denny, cocking a thumb under the visor of his cap. Light glinted off some odd metallic insignia there. 

"Covers." I repeated. "Unused covers." 

"Go on..." He crossed his arms awkwardly, creasing his holster.

"Well... The covers -the unused one-- we could run them along with the ones that were used, and I could write about the dumb...the uh, reasons that they weren't used, you know, why I did them the way I did and why you turned them down." 

There was a long pause. Very long. Then he smiled again. Only worse than before, and said -- "We'll do it..."

I relaxed. I turned to leave but Denny wasn't finished. "Sienkiewicz," he hissed. 

I cringed. "Yeah?" 

"Don't make me look like the bad guy in this." 

"No. Of course not." I said, then turned I left. 

I returned one week later, armed with the covers and my feelings about each. I walked into Denny's office and snapped to attention. The Post was still on the desk. It had decayed horribly "At ease." Denny cooed. He shot a sly grin at Ralph. 

"What did our little artist friend bring us perchance?" Said Ralph as he woke up, "Our meal ticket?" 

Denny's smile faded. "You can be replaced, Macchio." 

I looked at Ralph. Innocent of face. Stubbly of beard. Ralph. Ralph Macchio. Ralph went back to sleep. There was a smile on his face. 

Denny turned back to me. "What have you got?" 

This--" I replied, and proceeded to show him what a week of coffee, cigarettes and images of a mutilated newspaper had inspired.

"First: Issue #9's cover for The Return of the Midnight Man. I wanted to do a total image, an essence of the relationship between him and Moon Knight. The paintings --the Jekyll and Hyde shots of Midnight Man's face. The target around Moon Knight. Moon Knight's expression of worry and insanity --He was going through a lot back then." 

"That's all well and good--" Denny smirked. "But it's too tall--the paintings would be obscured by the logo. All that we could see would be the two big faces and MK going crazy. And he's been crazy or in a losing position on the past five covers. I wanted to show him fighting, maybe winning. I thought about it. I really did. But you were moving to a studio and couldn't be reached in time to do another. Frank Miller was in the office and drew the cover that was used." 

"Oh," I said. My hand shook as I reached for another cover. Number 12. Morpheus and Moon KNight. Boffo action. "I wanted a closeup," Denny said. "Simple as that. Miller was in again and did it up. Milgrom inked it." 

"That Miller guy again." I thought. 

I turned to issue 13, which guest-starred Daredevil. Frank was drawing Daredevil. Denny thought it would be fun to have Frank draw the cover and me ink it. I agreed. I spoke to Frank on the phone. He said we could do "crossover" covers; I'd do one later for Daredevil. Fine idea. "What are you waiting for, Sienkiewicz, "Denny screamed, interrupting my reverie. Veins showed in his forehead. Big ones. 

"Right," I said. "The cover for issue 13--Frank pencilled, I inked. I really had a good time with this one. It was the first time I inked anyone else's work." 

Denny Scowled. "Except it was too tall. The logo would have obscured the pinball machine's scoreboard. That's why I nixed it. Ron Wilson happened to drop by the same time as Dave Simons did. The deadline was tight. I had no alternative. They did the cover." 

Deja vu. Denny was beating a dead Post. "That will be all for now. And Sienkiewicz--About the article. Flattery will get you nowhere." 

I managed a weak smile, and again turned to leave. As I did so, I glanced at Ralph Macchio, his eyes closed in contented slumber.

—

Ralph Macchio is a comic book editor and writer. He's done a lot of the big ones (The Avengers, Captain America, Ultimate Marvel, Doctor Strange, Thor, Spider-Man...). He retired in 2011. 

Dennis O'Neil (Denny) is the editor for Moon Knight at the time. He also worked for DC back in the day. He tended to write the more mature themes in early comics that were often controversial. Also the creator of notable characters like Ra's Al Ghul, Talia Al Ghul, Iron Monger, Lady Deathstrike, and many others that I have no idea who they are off the top of my head. 

If anything, I am more endered towards Bill after this. The idea of him turning in cover after cover only to have them nixed and replaced by the LEGENDARY Frank Miller, and then being playfully bitter about it is the funniest thing. The notion that these other cover artists just happened to be hanging around only to ruin Bill’s day… 

Also, some of those nixed covers are amazing! The Dare Devil one in particular is amazing! And relevant to the comic! I wish I could see it in color! What happens to these rejected covers? Do they get sold? Trashed? Look at that Midnight one!

Anyway, there are a lot of little afterwards in the backs of the early comics. A lot of letters from fans with author/editor responses mostly. But now and then they include a behind the scenes with narrative from various levels of Moon Knight creators. My favorites are these ones that show the character of the creators themselves. It also gives us a peak at the process of how a comic is made and the art and skill it takes. 

Current comics don’t really include these anymore. You’ll see some fan letters in the backs of some (I’ve been in one! For a Moon Knight of course.), and a few spotlight articles on writers or artists… But you don’t really get the big behind the scenes things anymore. The characters are all established, the readers/fanbase know what they’re in, and there just doesn’t seem to be interest anymore into the creation of the comics. 

Which is a pity. 

I’d love to see more excerpts like this. Imagine getting an aside from Lemier!Jed Mackay! Smallwood! 

What do you think? What afterwards would you like to see in modern day comics?