#i'm tagging the guys even though they're peripheral

[ceruleanmusings]

Big Time Audition - Masons

while going through these ep rewrites i couldn't figure out how i wanted to include "big time audition" since the masons don't meet the guys until a few episodes later and this finally hit me! and it also has finally spurred me to re-write the fic depicting them first meeting the guys because, well, frankly I can do it so much better now and make sure each girl's personality stands out a bit more. but, in the meantime, you can see what they were like before the guys changed their lives. (again this is less a rewrite and more a long scene addition but, hey, semantics.)

@witchofinterest @raging-violets @partiallypearl @myloveforhergoeson

------

The ping of an email sliding into her inbox set Jazz scrambling off her bed. Finally! Setting aside the half-assembled skateboard deck, trucks, and screws she'd been tinkering with, she landed on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud and grabbed her laptop off her desk. The slam of her fingers on the spacebar cut off the quick lick of a guitar solo slicing through the air. High-stepping over Mel's assorted Nikes scattered on the ground, she approached the pocket door in the nearby wall of her room. Extending her foot, she planted it on the door and slid it open.

It smacked against the interior wall with a heavy thud, revealing Sammi perched on the side of her bed, body curled over her legs where she applied nail-polish to her big toe while bending her head to hold her cell phone in place.

"Jazz!" she shrieked, unfurling from her position. Irritation weighed down her brows as she gazed down at the black line dragging across her toenails. "Do you see what you did! Now i have to start all over!"

"No one's gonna be lookin' at your toes, Sam," Jazz said with a roll of her eyes. "And if they're really getting that close, they have bigger problems."

"You're gonna have big problems! It's taken me two hours to get this design right!" Huffing, Sammi reached over to yank sheets of tissues out a nearby box. "God! if i can't fix this you owe me a new outfit."

"How?"

Sammi uttered a world-weary sigh and spoke slowly. "This design goes with a specific outfit. I can't wear the outfit without the polish and i can't wear the polish without the outfit. It doesn't make sense."

"You don't make sense," Jazz grumbled, resting her laptop on her hip. "Who cares if your toes and your eyebrows match?"

"Just because you dress like Tony Hawk threw up on you doesn't mean everyone wants to walk around looking like a grease stain. Some of us take pride in how we look." Sammi patted her large cloud of curly hair to emphasize her point.

"Yeah, yeah, hope when you swallow that pride you don't choke on it. Blue's not your color—literally." Jazz laughed and danced out of the way of Sammi throwing her large, fluffy pillow at her. "Quit with the dramatics! Look, Aunt Kelly sent us another round of audition videos! From Minnesota this time! —I know." Sammi held the same confused expression on her face Jazz was sure she'd made only a few seconds prior.

Why Aunt Kelly and Uncle Gustavo's last star search stop was in Minnesota of all places, she didn't know. Especially in the middle of winter. Uncle Gustavo didn't do well with the cold. Or people. Or cold people. So this was Hell and Hell freezing over for him at the exact same time. He was not going to be in a good mood.

"Hurry up! I want to see if these people are terrible too."

"Relax, no one can be as bad as Opera Guy," Sammi said with a scoff. "For one, he chose a terrible song for his range. Two, I could have done it better. And three, his shirt was untucked, his tie was too short, and he thought square toed shoes fit this century. He should have called me for help. He would've looked at least half-way presentable, which is the best he could have pulled off."

"Isn't most criticism supposed to come with a compliment somewhere."

"Sure," Sammi said with a shrug. "He'd never be able to afford me."

"Don't break your arm congratulating yourself," Jazz said. "Just hurry up!" Her feet slapped against the ground as she ran out of their connecting rooms, Sammi's phone conversation fading behind her as she jumped down the stairs, slamming to a stop on both landings. Navigating around the corner, she burst through the kitchen and went straight for the connected living room.

A stack of neatly folded blankets sat on the nearby ottoman, the creases so sharp it could cut glass. Just the way their dad liked it. A tray filled with a half empty glass of orange juice, toast two bites away from being finished, a mug with a dredge of dark coffee remaining, scattered silverware, and a balled up napkin balanced on a haphazard scattering of cycling and running magazines on the nearby coffee table.

And Mickey moved about straightening it all: adjusting the dented pillow left on the recliner, tucking the transfer board between the chair and end table, moving the lone navy blue slipper—left foot—to sit just beneath the coffee table, pulled the extended foot rest back in, and rolled up the long cord of the nearby vacuum around her arm.

"Hey." Jazz waved her arm, her voice and movement breaking Mickey out of her productive haze. She paused in the cord rolling, eyebrows lifting in a silent question. Or at least Jazz guessed from her head being pointed in her direction; her long locs hid most of her face. "We got more audition videos from Aunt Kelly. The last stop in Minnesota." Mickey's eyes slowly moved from the tray to the blankets to the recliner and back to the tray. "I'll get Mel so you can finish up," Jazz continued, "But Mick, seriously, Dad's not gonna care if it's not all spic and span by the time they get back."

Her mouth twisted to the side and she was quiet as she placed the wrapped cord around the back of the vacuum. Stepping on the petal that unlocked it, she turned to maneuver it out of the room, stopping only to say, "It matters to me" before passing.

Jazz stepped aside. Mickey preferred to keep everything in the right place to make his life easier. Jazz very much preferred that their dad was still around to have a life.

She made a beeline for the garage, a wall of sound knocking into her once she popped the seal on the door leading off the kitchen. Their dad had made it soundproof the day Mel got her first drum-set for Christmas on year. He re-enforced it every couple of years, for their' mom's sake since she worked most nights he said.

Mel's arms were almost a blur with how fast she hit the drums and symbols in succession. Her shoulders rose and dropped and her body moved along to a groove Jazz couldn't hear, half from the steady drumbeats and half from the large headphones Mel wore over her ears. With a grin, Jazz tiptoed forward until she stood behind Mel, able to see the lines of bright purple weaving into her long, dark braids. It was a recent changeover from her usual cornrows. It made playing goalie in soccer easier without having to fuss about her hair. As captain of the team, she didn't let anything get in her way. Literally.

"Yo!" Jazz snickered when Mel jumped at Jazz's shout after yanking a headphone off her ear. The drumbeat finished off-time due to Mel's flailing. Yanking the other headphone off, Jazz jerked her head backward when Mel whipped around with one drumstick pointed right at her nose. "Easy Jack Sparrow, you'll put an eye out."

"You're mixing up your movies," Mel pointed out, curling in the drumstick to spin it around her fingers. Her chest heaved and Jazz didn't need to check her pulse to know it was high. She swore Mel used drumming as an excuse for exercise as well to keep her skills up. As she liked to point out, you can't have an out-of-shape drummer and Mel needed to work twice as hard to get even some semblance of recognition for her contributions to their school's jam band or percussion section.

"Speaking of movies, we have a new installment of America's Funniest Audition Fails!" Jazz wiggled her laptop around as if displaying a prize on a game show. "Come on!" She started bouncing on her toes. "I want to know if they all sing with those accents."

Mel hummed. "That's assuming they're all able to keep time." That was a sticking point for her from the auditions in Salt Lake City, Philadelphia, and Houston. Most of the auditions, really. That even the well-prepared singers couldn't seem to stay on time with the music they chose. They either rushed or dragged, or worse, changed the arrangement to something so flashy it didn't showcase their voice but rather pointed out the sharp strains, the flat hits, or displayed their flaws rather than their strengths. She went on a rant about each location's auditions for days. (Though that could also be leftover disappointment at not being allowed to audition in D.C., even though they weren't accepting drummers.)

"Well, here's the good part! You can take all the videos of the bad ones, explain why they're so bad, and throw in some of your drum reels and send that to Uncle Gustavo!" Jazz said with a sparkle in her eye, a finger pointed upwards in the air. "All Mom and Dad said was it wasn't a good idea to audition. They never said you couldn't show them your reels by accidentally sending them a link in an email you never meant to send."

Chuckling, Mel grabbed a gray towel with faded Gatorade logos on them and wiped sweat off her brow. "Remind me to hire you as my lawyer."

"Why? They can't get mad at you for that."

"No, but they'll be impressed with how much you can twist their words to fit your needs before they ground you for a month."

Shifting her finger from vertical to horizontal, Jazz wiggled her finger between herself and Mel. "You mean ground us."

Mel laughed and shook her head; her braids swayed as she swung one leg over her stool. "No, I mean you. I'm an innocent bystander."

"Annnd that's exactly where you'll stay if you don't take this chance," Jazz said. Mel's smile immediately dropped to a frown and she scratched at her hairline. "It's an opportunity of a lifetime. You want it bad, so you keep saying, but you're going to let something as small as an email stand in your way? What's that phrase?" She tapped her chin. "Ask for forgiveness rather than permission?"

"Will that still hold up when I shove this down your throat?" Mel asked, waving her drumstick at her.

Jazz grinned, pushing it away. "You know I'm right!"

"No, you're annoying."

"Same thing!"

Laughing, Jazz ran out of the garage, making it to the living room in time for Mel to jump onto her back and the two to slam down to the couch. Jazz managed to move her computer out of the way in time, twisting herself to take the blow of the soft landing. Sammi and Mickey trailed in a few moments later, squeezing themselves onto the couch in their usual order: Sammi on one end, then Mel, Jazz, and Mickey on the other end. Stretching her legs onto the coffee table, crossing the angle with the thin metallic red band over the other, Jazz balanced her laptop on her lap and pressed play on the video.

They laughed, cringed, groaned, and booed through the clipped together reel of auditions. Some people were flat, some were sharp, some didn't even sing, instead choosing to do an interpretive dance about acid rain and a mime act. Unsurprisingly, Gustavo whisked them off the stage fast yelling about how a mime can't have seriously tried to audition for a singing competition. (Plus, he found mimes creepy.)

One girl stood out, someone named Jenny Tinkler, simply because her audition started with her taking in a deep breath and then the shot cut to a firefighter using a fire extinguisher on curtain, some tiles hanging from the ceiling, the recording tilted, a few holes in the wall of the stage, and Jenny running around with security guards chasing after her all the while screaming "But I'm gonna be the next Gwen Stefani!" Kelly could be see in the background, wiping leftover extinguisher

"Whoa," they girls uttered in unison.

"She should come with a warning label," Mel said.

"So should her outfit," Sammi said. "Bows that big only belong on big presents."

"The dog was cute though," Jazz said. They all voiced their agreement as she fast forwarded through the next clips. It was a blur of color, of scuffles, of someone jumping off the stage, of—

"Wait! Go back!" Mel jabbed at a button on the keyboard, sending the reel backward.

"Hey!"

"Just—look!"

She hit another button and the video started playing again. A boy walked on stage wearing audition number 810, wearing a gray sweater and brown pants. He introduced himself as Logan and, instead of singing, started beatboxing.

"Not bad," Mel said after an approving hum.

Gustavo didn't agree by yelling Logan off the stage like everyone else. Mickey made a noise of sympathy at the zoom-in on Logan's shellshocked expression and robotic walk out of the room.

811 was next, a boy in a blue hoodie named Carlos who swung the microphone around until he farted into it, causing Jazz and Mel to crack up and Sammi to utter a sound of disgust.

James was 812, a tall boy with a confident stride and his chin held high. He took his time before he started, looking at his feet, taking a breath, and positioning the swoop in his hair.

"People say I'm the life of the party... 'cause I tell a joke or two..."

"Wow." Sitting next to her, Jazz caught Mickey's soft uttering of awe. And, out the corner of her eye, she watched Mickey sit up straighter and lean closer to the screen.

"Sam?" Jazz appealed.

Sammi nodded once. "He's good," she stated, running a ring along a chain around her neck. And she'd know, she was born with near perfect pitch. Which she loved to remind them about any chance she got. Which Jazz understood, despite how annoying it could get. Any way for them to be different.

"So Minnesota does have some talent," Mel remarked.

Not that Uncle Gustavo agreed with them. Before their very eyes, he started shouting about how the James guy had no talent (Mickry gasped at that) and how he was wasting his time. Then all hell broke loose when some blond guy sporting some impressive eyebrows came into the shot, yelling about Uncle Gustavo not having any talent and then singing about how he was a "giant turd" which started a brawl with security guards.

"Whoa! And I thought people from Minnesota were supposed to be nice!" Jazz said between her laughter which started up again when an older black woman started beating up the security guards with her cane.

"Uncle Gustavo kind of deserved it," Mel said. Sammi nodded in agreement.

"Let's see it again!" Jazz went backward on the clip only to jerk out of the way when Mickey's arm extended past her face, her cell phone in hand. "What the-?" her cry was cut short at the snort she emitted when spotting the deep disapproving frown on Mickey's face. "Oh, this'll be good."

With a sigh and half smile, Mel took thr phone out of Mickey's hand and held it up to her ear. Jazz leaned closer to listen, the buzz on the other end trilling three times until it was picked up.

"Hey Mel," Aunt Kelly greeted her warmly. "Hey girls. What's up?"

"Mickey's mad at you," Mel singsonged.

"How? What did I do?"

"We saw the auditions. Mickey's mad you didn't pick-"

"The hot guy," Jazz cut in.

"The hot guy," Mel repeated, "812."

"That was Gustavo, not me. You know I don't have much of a say."

"Then how do you call yourself a talent scout?"

They didn't need to see her face to know she rolled her eyes. "Look, Gustavo's looking for a certain thing and he didn't have it. So Mickey can be mad at him."

"She is. You should see her face."

"Send it to me. I'll show him."

Snickering, Mel took out her phone to snap a pic of Mickey's still present frown, now with her arms crossed, and quickly sent it over. "For what it's worth, if he went this far and still didn't find someone, that guy may be his best shot."

"Try telling him that."

"We will! We can spam him!"

"Jazz."

"I said spam him. We won't do anything else. This time. We got grounded hard for signing him up for that toupee of the month thing."

"You. You got grounded," Sammi, Mel, and Mickey said in unison.

"Anyway, he seems to have his mind set. I'll try talking to him. He might not want him after being escourted out by security."

"Or, maybe that's the fire he's looking for!" Jazz said. "Just think about it! He'd have a built-in bad boy type!"

"We'll see. I talk to you girls later. I think he's about to yell at the bellhop. I love you. And stay out of trouble."

"We always do," they chorused before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Jazz drummed her fingers on her laptop, a slow smile pushing onto her face.

"Oh no," Sammi groaned at the sight of it.

Mel sighed. "You gonna order something?"

Jazz nodded.

"You gonna send it to Uncle Gustavo?"

Jazz nodded again.

"Are you gonna send a mime to glare at him?"

"Nah," Jazz said, shaking her head. "I could send Mickey to do that for free." She laughed, leaning out of the way of Mickey's attempts to hit her with a pillow.

"Well whatever it is, I'm not going down for it this time," Mel declared. "...Let's go to the library and use their computers. At least that way the IP can't get directly traced back to us."

"Good idea!"

All at once, the girls lept off the couch and raced each other for the front door.

[n3ptoonz]

'Permission'

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/F!Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Warnings/tags: Smut; Explicit, reader is a captain, from virginia, and an admiral's daughter, power dynamic, use of ma'am/captain, rough sx, reader's call sign is "raptor", dialogue heavy, thigh fucking, alternating between names and call signs on purpose

Word count: 3.2k+

Two months ago you were going through a long transfer process. It only took forever for you to finally get the call to be set at one specific station. One would think that being the kid of an admiral would make the process quicker but they're wrong. Apparently the scheduling kept moving around and there was some big mission going on overseas on the west coast, you were supposed to be Captain of that mission but they had to quickly call in someone far more experienced than you. Must have been dire, you think to yourself.

In retrospect, it was worth it because now you were being introduced to the Dagger squad by the very man your dad constantly droned on about even though they didn't even work for the same station. It's pretty funny to you that word travels fast even if it is coast to coast. You loved Virginia, but damn you could use some new scenery.

Let's back up a little bit, this isn't really your first introduction to the Dagger squad. When you first arrived to San Diego a few days prior you had heard about a bar that the aviators go to hang out and relax before missions. Though you didn't anticipate this beaming heat, already forgetting where you were; feeling a little overdressed in your leather jacket and jeans, the heat in the bar didn't make it any better. At least you had on a plain white tee underneath.

"You're new." you hear a man say behind you at the bar. You placed your beer down and swiveled the stool you were sitting on to face him in curiosity. He was already smiling at you with some unbelievably white teeth. From his face alone he looked like a cocky guy that thinks he could get any woman to swoon over that grin.

You almost did. Almost

"You're observant." you reply, sounding a little drier than you intended. You reached out your hand to shake his and said your name to clear the air a bit. He chuckles to himself and introduces himself too with a firm handshake. Jake Seresin.

"I meant more to this city. You don't look like a Cali native. I get that feeling since I'm also not. Let me guess..." he squints at you before huffing and folding his arms dramatically, bringing a finger up to his chin. "East coast."

"Impressive." you nodded, "What gave it away?"

"Well, It's 5 in the afternoon on the hottest day of the week and you're wearing a leather jacket with jeans." he said, taking a swig. "When you live here long enough you track things like this to avoid the inevitable heatstroke."

"Inevitable?" you inquired.

"Yeah, I mean it just gets so hot that ya just wanna take your clothes off. Not my rules." he puts his hands up on feigned defense, and in your peripheral vision you spot another guy walking up behind him as he peers over his should.

"Is this man bothering you, ma'am?" he says with a stern look but it was quite obvious he's hiding a smile--if you didn't blink, you could see his mustache twitch. You lightly chuckle at Jake's expression dropping at the guy's presence before waving it off dismissively.

"We were just having a chat."

"Yeah, Bradshaw. Why don't you go over there and feel like you can win at something for once?" Jake says turning to him and pointing at the pool table, flashing a very fake flashy smile at him. When you looked over you saw a lot more people over there joking around and getting frustrated over pool.

Bradshaw, huh.

The man poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue at Jake before visibly looking like he's decided against getting into it with him. You had a feeling it was because you were watching. He turned to you and pushed past Jake to do a playful bow, his forearm meeting his torso before lowering his head.

"Bradley Bradshaw at your service." he chimes and looks up at you with a cheeky smile before standing to his full height. You were about to say something when the nice bartender lady, Penny, leaned on the bar counter next to you and told them to scram. Both looking like scolded kids, they went to head off when Bradley looked over his shoulder to wink with a smile and walking off. You swiveled your stool back towards her with a smile in acknowledgment.

"Aviators." she mused before sighing and patting your hand twice, heading back over to the waiting customers.

-

"This is your Captain for this mission. She is an esteemed officer with a hell of a reputation to uphold and credentials to showcase. She is the perfect fit for this mission since she specializes in communications from the ground, as this mission has much to do with which 4 pilots can stop these three underground plants from exploding. Her call sign is 'Raptor.'" Pete says with a faint smile, almost like a proud dad before stepping back and offering you the podium to give more details.

As you stepped up you got a good view of everyone's expression looking vastly different for different reasons. Hangman pinched his nose before sighing and looking up at you, he couldn't believe he didn't ask who you were that day...which was literally yesterday. Rooster tried to keep that same serious expression again, but damn it he couldn't be anymore obvious he wanted to laugh. The others shared glances with each other and back at the two. They must've caught hell on the way back to pool.

"Thank you, Maverick." you nodded towards him. "I have heard a lot about you guys, but we are going to need just four people in the air; two planes." you stated and turned to pull up a map on the screen behind you. "As mentioned before there are three plants close to this city, but not so close that flying over it would disturb it. The only thing that would, would be the actual explosion. From the collected data, it has a radius of 4 klicks in every direction."

"Captain?"

You turned your head to see Rooster with his index finger up after stating your title.

"Lieutenant." you ackowledged him and gestured for him to continue. After reading their files you know already know all there is to know, including call signs. But he didn't call you Raptor.

"How will you determine who goes in the air? Since this requires four pilots at most-"

"I was getting to that." you said. Your expression couldn't get any more flat if you wanted to. It wasn't on purpose, you just do hate being interrupted. Especially during a debriefing.

"Apologies, Captain." he cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat.

You gave a small nod before going over the rest in complete detail so there was no confusion. You did accept a few more questions, but once that was over they were dismissed and headed towards the planes. Fixing your stack of papers you just caught Rooster looking at you again at the very last second over his shoulder. Although you did want to see what this was about before anything else continued without knowing what was going on.

"Rooster." you called out to him before he left out the door. Stopping in his tracks he shamelessly watched you walk over to him. The closer you got he tensed up and stood there at attention.

"Am I going to be a distraction to you?"

"...Permission to speak freely?" he asked with a hint of mischief in his voice. So much for stern expressions.

"Granted."

"Absolutely." he stated. He took a pause and saw you didn't find that very funny, blank stare and all. "Um, no. No distractions here, ma'am. Uh, Captain...Raptor, ma'am." he cleared his throat and sniffed, still looking away from you.

"Are you sure? Because if you're not fit for this mission-"

"No distractions here, ma'am."

You nodded and patted his shoulder. "Good." you say and walk past him. "As you were." you called out, hearing him sigh from inside the room.

-

Two, long hours of frustration, bickering between the pilots, and losing count of whoever got how many push ups later, you came outside to hand out waters. Even if you were slightly annoyed you still had to build trust with this new squad you've been assigned to. It was Hangman, Bob, Coyote, and Rooster doing their last 35 push ups as the others drearily went back inside for some cold air and to feel their limbs again.

"15 more to go, boys." you said cradling the i've cold water bottles in your arms. In all honesty they wanted to collapse when it was over, but now that a woman has arrived that was out of the question. They all just slowly stood up in collective pained grunts and took the water, Bob being the only one that said thanks before downing it.

You had to admit... watching Rooster's fitted black shirt stretch against his tanned, sweat-glistened biceps during and after those push ups played in loop at the forefront of your brain from the time you came out here to now. The sheer determination on his face to get that shit over with...hm.

Were you really going to risk your career for a tall, hot, sun kissed man that could probably be wanting to sleep with you so he can get an advantage? Absolutely no-

"Do you like pizza?" Rooster's voice--though a bit out of breath--cut through your thoughts like a freshly sharpened knife.

"From time to time. Why?"

He shifts his movements before glancing at the entrance, seeing the other pilots mocking him in the door.

"Perhaps when this week is over-"

"Are you about to ask me out on a date?"

He nods slightly, "Maybe I am."

"Lieutenant."

He took a pause and quirked his head with a small smile. "Yes, I am."

"Bold." you said. "Real bold." you crossed your arms and turned to the door, seeing the others scrambling to get back inside. Heading towards the door you could almost feel him about to say something,

"My office. Two hours."

"You have an office?" he asked with that same damn cheeky smile present in his words, you didn't even need to turn around.

"Three hours."

"Okay, okay, I'm so-" he groaned in frustration. Bad and good. You used your title to your advantage and he just found that so-

-

"Hot." he muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" you leaned forward in your chair onto your file-cluttered desk.

He opened and closed his mouth trying to recollect the conversation. "Sorry, what was the question?"

"I asked you, besides yourself, who you think could be fit for this mission." you cocked your head in confusion. "Are you distracted, Rooster?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then answer the question."

"Can't really say. It's a good amount of us who have exceptional abilities. And Hangman." he said. One of the few times he sounded dead ass serious.

"But if you had to pick..." you pressed. You were going to take his words with a grain of salt. This was a test. Over the last three hours you did the same thing with everybody else and ordered them not to tell anybody.

"If I had to pick," he mused, "Besides me, Phoenix, Bob, Payback, Fanboy."

"Hm, okay, thank you." you immediately started filling in notes again.

"Um," he muttered, "You never gave me an answer earlier," you looked up at him, "ma'am."

You placed your pen down, standing up from your chair and rounding the desk until you were standing in front of him.

"I have been here for all about a week and you are already trying to make moves on me. I could write you up."

"Will you," he says now looking at you. "Captain?"

The sound of his voice uttering your rank at such a register with intent and a taste of rasp made your jaw clench.

"Should I?" you dared.

"I think you would've already." he challenged.

You hum at that sentiment and head back to your chair. "Yes." you say while writing notes again.

"Sorry?"

"I like pizza and I will go on a date with you." you said as you kept writing. "Do not think this gives you any advantages over anyone else. Because it surely will not."

"If you have a bad time." he says, but his smirk quickly falling upon seeing your unamused expression once again.

"No adavantages, noted."

-

The date went well. It was a nice, fun evening of drinking, eating, dancing, flirting, Bradley occastionally saying "Ma'am" just to get your reaction. The way you kept playfully scolding him when he would act all proper around you ran circles around his mind. Your pencil khaki skirt that was just above the knees bunching up around your thighs with every movement. He wanted to get you out of here as quick as possible.

But at the end of the day, he is still a gentleman. Even if he is strong enough to pick you up against the closest wall and have his way with you.

He offered to take you home since he picked you up from the base. The ride back was relatively quiet but no signs of awkwardness. Just soft jazz buzzing quietly on the radio.

Upon arrival he decided against walking you to your door just in case and not cross any boundaries. You were still his superior, and who was he to think he could sleep with you? He presumes you had a good time but that is it. These things take time.

You thanked him for a nice outing and taking you home. Approaching your door you looked over your shoulder as you unlocked it, turning to face forward before slowly walking in and leaving the door open.

Bradley felt his heart leap out of his chest. Is this really happening? You're...letting him in?

In such a short span of time you could hear him parking and nearly teleport to your door. And as soon as you heard it close, he could not get one word in once your lips locked with his. His hands fell right to your hips to pull you closer. Half of him was completely caught off guard, but the other was making that blood flow right to his pants.

Panting softly as he backed away, he glided his hands down your hips and stopped right at the small of your back.

"Permission to speak freely." he said breathlessly. You'd think he ran a mile.

"Denied." you said in a sing-songy, whispery tone against his lips. His lips pulled into a smirk as he did that tongue-in-cheek gesture again.

"Permission to act freely?" his fingers wandered to the hem of your skirt. Your eyes darted to from his lips to his eyes the second you felt his fingers brushing against your bare thigh.

"...Granted." was the only word he needed to hear to pin you to the closest wall, and slide it up just under your ass. You were facing the wall with your hands planted to keep balance. The warmth of his breath and palms gripping and groping you freely made your knees slightly buckle.

"I won't utter a word until you give me the say-so." he whispered against your ear. You could hear his zipper coming undone and shuffling sounds until feeling his warm, throbbing dick in between your thighs. You both inhaled sharply at this. He pulled at the flesh of your upper thighs for easier access and start thrusting himself against your already soaked underwear.

There was something about not fully seeing your naked body but the lewd image of him sliding between your thighs that could make a grown man cry. It didn't help that your shaky sighs and very slight rocking of your hips were becoming more obvious by the second.

His hands went from your hips to his arms wrapping around your waist, back flush to his chest. He was right, he has not uttered a single word this whole time. Which was only like seven minutes but felt like thirty. He only grunted and sighed as he couldn't take his hands off of you, but he needed more. There was a part of you that did want to see if he could cum like this though. The friction was coated in your own fluids of arousal, and you wondered what his cum would look like on your thighs.

You swear for a split second you could hear him whine against your neck. He held you tighter and moments later you felt a warm liquid trickling down your thighs when his hips met yours. His breathed hitched the second he pulled back. Now it was your turn to be cut off by a kiss. He lightly tapped under your thigh so you could straddle him. Once you were hoisted up into his arms your brain was void of all that superior crap, you just needed him to be inside of you within the next five seconds.

"You can speak freely now," your voice just above a whisper and cupping his jaw, "Lieutenant."

"Wall or chair?" he asked, his tone much more cocky now since you used his rank.

"I gave you permission to act freely, didn't I?"

As if you hadn't said anything but a word, your back met the comfort of the soft living chair next to the couch. After swiftly sliding your underwear off he wasted no time slamming into you and bottoming out, eleciting a choked out and surprised gasp from you.

Both your legs were slung over his shoulder as he went to town and his arms caged you in when his hands gripped both arm chairs. He huffed with every stroke and tried to keep his composure, but you were so wet and nearly slippery he could die smiling.

One glance at your pleasure-contorted face made his movements stutter. You bit your fist to stop yourself from letting the entire neighborhood know what was going on at exactly midnight.

"You close?" his hoarse voice woke you from whatever haze you were falling under. You nodded lazily and whined, now gripping the pillow behind you.

"Are you?" you asked and moved one of your legs to his other shoulder so he could come closer to you.

"Not without your permission." he whispered against your lips, stilling his movements just enough to kiss your g spot. You cursed at the feeling and caressed his cheekbone.

"We will cum together." you said with a kiss, quickly broken when he somehow fucked into you deeper than before. Not even five pumps in you both reached climax. Bradley pulled out just time and made sure to lift your shirt and make a mess on your stomach. You on the other hand were trembling for a few moments before you felt your muscles relax finally.

He carefully peeled himself off of you and helped you stand up, holding your hips for support.

"You sure I won't get an advantages after all this?" he playfully asked. Almost instant teasing regret hits him the second the question comes out his mouth.

"...Denied."

[gyozumaki]

Why the fuck did youtooz post that video on Springtrap, I did not need to see peepaw throw it back with his springcheeks. Anyway

Can I beat up a bear?

As a 5'7" twink, limited processing unit, and way too much knowledge on shit that doesn't matter, y'all know the drill.

EXCLUSIONS - Help Wanted 1+2, UCN, AR, FNAF World, books/comics, Dreadbear, The Blob (FUCK THE BLOB, FUCK BURNTRAP, FUCK THE AFTON ENDING IN SECURITY BREACH) alr let's go

Starting off, we have Phantom and Shadow Freddy. Both technically do things but not much. If I don't look, what are they gonna do? They're goobers in my peripheral, I'm going to forget they exist in about three seconds.

Classic Fredbear. Like Springbonnie, there is a non-zero chance of getting hurt that is extremely low. He's a hefty guy with a nice bite, yet he really can't do much. Not a problem.

Everyone's new dad, Glamrock Freddy is next. He CAN kill you, however the chance is low (in theory at least, we all know how broken the game is) He's a cool fazfriend, I like him. I don't trust the stomach capsule though, I've seen what suspicious animatronic stomach hatches can do.

Return of one of the most forgettable animatronic lines, Rockstar Freddy. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please deposit five coins. Please de

We have our first trio lumping! Original, Withered, and Ignited Golden Freddy, all essentially the same. I'm not messing with Cassidy, hell no. Disregarding that, Golden Freddy is kinda just there. Not too much of a hassle if you don't panic.

Nightmare Freddy, father of three, pretty easy to deal with if you have a flashlight. Arguably the easiest Nightmare to deal with. I'm taking the Freddles for myself, they're adorable. N. Freddy should be scared of me.

Withered Freddy, the face of FNAF merch despite being almost nobody's favorite. He's oddly uncanny but easy to deal with. Honestly, he seems chill to be around. Though there's definitely a chance he'd catch me off guard. Not difficult but not the easiest.

Toy Freddy has finally regained meme status love thanks to CaseOh. He doesn't seem to be particularly aggressive but I'm not going to provoke him. Not much else to say, really.

Uuggghhh these lists have made me think about Security Breach and Ruin more than I want. Ruined Glamrock Freddy is a pretty creepy concept and I would avoid him at all costs. This is where we make the large leap between "yeah, shouldn't be difficult" to "yeah, I'm fucked seven ways to Sunday" with this guy being unique. An old friend becoming an enemy is gnarly in games, the first thing coming to mind is Akira Nishikiyama from Yakuza. Avoid at all costs, pray and run.

Another TJOC entry, we have Ignited Freddy. Easy to deal with if you know what to do but if you're stuck in a room with him, might as well get a quick prayer out. He's extremely quick, prominent, and bites??? Fuck that. He's no Ignited Bonnie but I'm still keeping my distance.

Molten Freddy and Creation are two mangled messes that I'm staying FAR away from. They are merciless beasts that won't stop to get what they want. What do I even aim for?? The body? That's either a wired mess or endoskeleton spine. Absolutely not.

Har har harhar har harhar har har fedd. Original Freddy is an absolute beast to deal with in the game. He's a sneaky bastard and difficult to track. Have you seen those eyebrows? He's one angry dude. How can I fight against that? And it gets worse from here!

Who doesn't love Funtime Freddy? I know I love his charisma. But I'm also terrified of charismatic individuals. And faceplates. Him and Bon Bon tag-teaming is a match made in hell. I lose. How can I win here unless I have a magic cattle prod or something?? IT STILL GETS WORSE????

Ohhhh boy. This is the highest I've had any FNAF 4 animatronic and for good reason. Nightmare and N. Fredbear. Sweet fuckin Jesus. If I look outside my door and see those red eyes, I'm calling it quits. There's nothing I can do except hope my death is quick. Their designs are so over the top and kinda goofy but I'm their setting, they're horrifying to me. So yeah, I'm not messing with them. Not a chance.

And that's it for the main cast! Should I do other FNAF lists of characters/animatronics? What do y'all think about this?

[eiirisworkshop]

Well, it looks like the majority opinion is Alma--and understandably so, she is not treated well by Ennis or the circumstances--but I don't actually agree that she got screwed over the worst.

One of the things, to me, that makes Brokeback Mountain such a good tragedy is that everyone who intersects with the central love story is worse off for it. And I mean everyone, from Aguirre and the Chilean shepherds whose flock gets mixed in with the sheep up on the mountain, to Alma's second husband.

We see the most of how it impacts Alma. I'm sure most everyone how voted for Alma in this poll did so thinking of either her face through the stormdoor when she sees Ennis and Jack kissing, or the raw hurt and anger in her voice when she later tells Ennis that she knows he and Jack weren't going fishing. So that feels really rough and really big, and though I'm not sure I agree I am prepared to hear an argument that Alma gets hurt the worst, but hurt is not the same thing as screwed over.

She divorces Ennis. Also, the date given for when that happens is significant, it's right after no-fault divorce became available on a national scale in the US. As soon as she could leave him without outing him, she did. There's a whole character study to be done within that, but I digress.

Alma leaves. She remarries, and Bill Monroe seems like a genually nice, responsible guy who cares about and treats her well. From what we see, he accepts the girls into his family without any resentment about them not being his, and he even even seems to be supportive of Alma and Ennis co-parenting to an extent based on the fact that Ennis was over for Thanksgiving at Alma and Bill's house, and that seems perfectly civil until Ennis and Alma's argument in the kitchen. Alma is even having another child with Bill, and we know from conversations we see he have with Ennis she wouldn't be doing that if she didn't feel comfortable and taken care of, financially among other things.

Alma has a painful chapter in her life with Ennis but she moves on from that in really a very positive and healthy way. She's gonna be just fine.

In the end, I think she might get screwed over the least. Certainly out of those close to Ennis she does.

Lureen does become a widow, and I have no doubt she's hurt by the events of the story (especially since, as my other poll indicates, we pretty much all agree she knew Jack was having an affair) but because of her social position she's actually better off as a widow than she would have been has a divorcee. We're here again at the difference between hurt and screwed over, but she can actually afford the therapy she'd need to be okay.

Jack's parents have the pain of losing their only son, which is significant, but they're really no more screwed over by his death than they were when he settled in Texas rather than taking over the family ranch. There's an argument to be made that if he'd lived he might have eventually left Lureen and returned to the family homestead with Randall, if not with Ennis, but the indication seems to be that he was always big talk no followthrough about that kind of thing. It was a dream, nothing more.

And the rest of the adults listed in the poll are kind of peripheral to the whole mess.

So, as several people went off about in the tags (I love you all, by the way) the people who really get screwed are the kids.

Junior and Jennifer-Francine, and Bobby.

Bobby's father dies suddenly and violently when he's like 16, leaving him with a mother who was already kinda emotionally distant and grandparents who were always pretty open in their disrespect for Jack. How is that dynamic going to affect how Bobby mourns his father? I don't know but it's not going to be good. Even before Jack dies, there's a lot of tension in that household that we see Bobby get caught in the middle of. His whole childhood is pretty screwed up, in large part because, no matter how much Jack may love his son, the life Jack has that includes Bobby is not the life he wants. And a kid is gonna pick up on that.

Similarly, Junior and Jenny grow up with increasing tension between their parents, leading to screaming matches in public by the time Junior is about 10, and ultimately culminating in what seems to be a pretty ugly divorce. Their lives to stabilize some once Alma marries Bill, but that's not gonna undo what emotional trauma they've already been through, and we see that their relationship with Ennis is pretty dang distant from that point on, and they'll probably never know why. It's likely that on some level, both girls at least wonder if the falling out between their parents was somehow their fault. A lot of children of divorce carry that feeling with them, even when they know it's not true, and it messes people up.

At the very end of the film, though, we do at least see Ennis making a to-that-point unprecedented effort to be there for and connect with Junior, because he has actually learned and grown from living through tragedy--it's just a shame it took tragedy for him to have some of that growth. But that does leave me with hope that, between the increased stability they have with their mom and what looks like it'll be an improving relationship with their dad, the girls are gonna be okay too.

Which leaves me to conclude the most screwed over, is Bobby.

Please explain your reasoning! I’m interested!

[flrtwoo]

wc: 1.3k

as changmin neared the locker room, he heard a bunch of shouts and hoots coming from inside. soon after, a crowd of highschool kids started making their way out of the room, buzzing with energy and excitement. siyeon, who was in the crowd, spotted him and ran towards her favorite uncle.

"uncle changmin!" she shouted, earning a jolt from the clueless guy. when he saw siyeon coming his way, he smiled so wide and opened his arms for her. she jumped into the hug, laughing in happiness.

"that's a lie, you now have all the time in the world to do mom's errands WHICH you can't run away from anymore!"

"okay... maybe but don't think that i'm not dragging you with me to do them!"

you watched changmin and siyeon interact so animatedly from the entrance of the locker room, and you couldn't help but fall even further for the guy who's already stolen your heart. his smile could literally light up the whole world, you truly believed that.

"so i lost to dimples? huh."

"so i lost to dimples? huh."

you turned to meet the owner of the voice. "younghoon i still don't know how to respond to your comments, i love you but also are we really okay?"

your best friend laughed as he slung an arm around your shoulders. "YES we're okaaay it's just funny to see your reactions whenever i make comments about my crush on you!"

"you're sick, you know that? sick in the motherfriking head." you poked his head, younghoon continuing to laugh. "i know, i know."

from his peripheral vision, he saw changmin waving siyeon goodbye and walking towards you. with that, younghoon made it his cue to leave.

"looks like lover boy is coming right this way, so don't feel pressured to come to the lunch! i'll take care of the kids for now, you enjoooy your time." he teased and winked at you. you pretended to gag, mouthing a "what the fuck?" to him as he shrugged and left your side.

once you faced forward, you were met with a very nervous-looking changmin. "congrats y/n! you're the last person i needed to congratulate, i already spoke with younghoon but yea." he said.

"thanks changmin." you gave him a soft smile. he looked extremely anxious and you didn't know what was going through his head, so the both of you just kind of stood there in an awkward silence.

as you were about to end the conversation because where tf was this going to go, changmin cleared his throat. "i know your busy with the team, but can we talk? there's something i actually need to say to you."

"oh, sure! we can talk outside, at least it doesn't smell like chlorine and sweat out there." you commented, trying to lighten the mood. however, changmin didn't respond and just made a beeline towards the entrance of the arena.

you were confused, a little scared even. "what if he didn't want to be friends anymore? what if he was moving away to someplace far? what if he's not actually human? what if-"

"y/n, don't worry! it's nothing of that sort." he chuckled. "holy shit i thought out loud." your face grew beet red, and you stuttered out an apology for how he shouldn't have heard your thoughts.

you two eventually made it outside after an excruciating minute of you fanning the red out of your face and him trying to hold in his laughter at your embarrassment. you found a bench and sat on it, gesturing for him to follow.

as he sat down, he rubbed his hands against his pants, wiping off the nervous sweat that had formed. "okay, y/n i'll need you to listen to me carefully. let me know your thoughts after, alright?" he asked as he turned to face you.

"will do changmin!" you turned to face him too and flashed him an encouraging smile.

changmin was nervous in front of you, but the warmth you exuded from your smile alone was enough to give him the confidence to just think fuck it and tell you what he's been meaning to tell you for a while now.

"y/n the way we met, it was so, how do i put this... out of the blue? i mean, who expects to be punched during work duty and be pushed into the pool for literally standing there?"

you laughed at this, recalling the memory of how messed up your first and second meetings were.

"okay, i admit the second time was partly my fault, but still! it's crazy to tell people 'yea i met them in a haunted house where i was the scarer they punched'! but honestly, it's a much more interesting story than all the other 'how did you meet?' stories out there."

you nodded in agreement.

"when i met you the third time, you as siyeon's coach and me as her uncle, not gonna lie i wasn't the happiest about that. i'm sure you knew that too. but we kept meeting and meeting again under the most unexpected circumstances, and eventually i just thought 'maybe they're meant to be in my life, one way or another.'"

"we started talking more and hanging out, and soon i started looking forward to every time we talked and, well, hung out. i mean, you made even the boring things seem fun! that time i was studying for that dance theory test? all you did was ask the dumbest questions and i was already on the floor laughing my ass off!"

you wanted to protest about how your questions were NOT dumb, but changmin stopped you.

"i'm sorry, yes your questions were not dumb, i was just kidding." he patted your head, smiling affectionately at you. you rolled your eyes, however a smile similar to his soon made its way to your face too.

seeing you look at him with so much love in your eyes made something in his mind click and suddenly, his thoughts have never been clearer.

his heart's never been happier.

he didn't just like you. you meant so much more to him, and he knew you needed to know.

"what i'm trying to say is: home is somewhere i feel happy in, where i feel comforted, where i feel loved. and if being with you makes me feel those things, then y/n you are my home. and i hope you feel the same way, because i love you."

changmin exhaled as if he was holding his breath the entire time. he looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

you, on the other hand, was shocked. just plain shocked, and you didn't know what to do, how to react, or what to even say.

the guy who'd stolen your heart had just admitted that you've stolen his heart too, so how the fuck do you respond to that.

after you had stayed silent for 13, 14, 15 seconds (yes, changmin was counting), he lost all hope. sighing, he looked down at his hands. "i'm sorry for putting this all on you, i knew it was a stupid idea, i'm sorry-"

you cupped changmin's cheeks to stop him from talking. he looked up, meeting your glassy eyes. you slowly neared his face until you were inches apart, and whispered your reply.

"i love you too, dumbass."

you closed the distance, lips meeting his as you kissed him slowly, sweetly. he smiled into the kiss, holding you as if you could disappear between his fingers.

it was a very romantic moment that unfortunately didn't last very long, because shortly after a bird landed on changmin's head causing him to scream, you to scream, and the bird to go number 2 on his head.

but oh well, everything about your relationship was so out of the blue anyways, right?

out of the blue | jcm

[chapter 19]

previous | masterlist | next

summary: when you find out that one of the students you coach is the niece of the guy you accidentally punched in the face and pushed into a pool, you're not surprised that he's, well, disappointed at the outcome. however, you're determined to make amends with him for the sake of his niece... and maybe for the sake of his cute face too.

taglist: @s0ngk4ng @wooyoung-a @skiez @kittkyu @stealanity @sofie296 @ccobbiee @deputyjuyeon @enhacolor @simplewonderland @jaerisdiction @arepabella @snuhee @loonathewurld @loki-in-hogwarts @hidejeon @jakesahi @nyujjan @suzy-rainbow @w8nuzone @yeletbz @seungcheoluwu

can't tag: @yannew @deobib

(reply to this post or send an ask/message if u wanna be part of the taglist! :>)

a/n: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE i had to finish writing this piece but 🥲 last update on wednesday AAAA i hope you guys liked this chapter though, i didn't expect to go past 1k but i think i got carried away? 😃 it's not super edited too, so i'm really sorry if there are any mistakes!! please send me a message or tell me thru the ask box if there are hehe THANK UU <3

[spencersmagic]

What's love? - 505 interlude

THIS ISN'T A FIC. IT'S JUST SOME WORD VOMIT ON THE PRETTIEST BOY IN THE WORLD. I HOPE YALL LIKE IT.

ALSO I'M NOT PLANNING ON REREADING IT. I JUST WROTE IT. AND NOW IM POSTING IT (I CAN'T PUT MYSELF THROUGH THOSE FEELINGS AGAIN LOL).

In my brain this is an interlude to 505. A way of understanding the character within this concept, and not just as the TV show depicts him.

masterlist��// 505 series taglist

Spencer is a genius.

Spencer has an IQ of 187. He's a certified genius. He reads 20.000 words per minute. He has three PHDs and thee MDs, graduated from high school and was accepted into MIT at age 13. He works for the behavioural analysis unit of the FBI. He is a high ranking federal agent.

Spencer has read every single government document, and still stays up to date with each document that is published. He plays chess, and it's nearly impossible to beat him. Spencer reads investigation essays on any topic, ranging from physics to philosophy and everything in between. Spencer solves case after case. With the help of his team, he puts away bad guy after bad guy. Spencer makes connections between locations to understand the behaviour, motivations and possible future victims of an unsub.

And while these traits make Spencer Reid who he is, he's so much more.

Spencer loves with a mending heart, one which is shattered way too often. Spencer cares for his friends, does their paperwork because he's "faster doing it". He brings coffee for his teammates when they're working consecutive cases. He stops at the cute shop around the corner from his apartment to buy Penelope small things to fidget with. He goes into baby's clothing stores to look at small shoes to buy for JJ's kids, even though those places are always downright filthy. Spencer watches in awe, as if he were documenting an experiment, as Derek talks to him about what he's learned on women - he talks about love, and how easy it is to slip and shield yourself from rejection, and sometimes even about sex, and how weird or amazing it can be. Spencer always tries to sit near Emily or Hotch on the flights back because they always talk about something interesting, usually relating to human behaviour.

He has trouble understanding human behaviour. That's probably why he is so interested in studying psychology, behaviour and philosophy. He fidgets nervously, submerges himself in the peripheral to ignore what confuses him. He is amazed by numbers, and finding the connection between them. He memorises statistic after statistic, percentage after percentage, to make sense of the senseless.

Spencer doesn't understand love. In the simplest way possible, too. He is completely aware of what people say it is: a tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach when the person is close. It was enjoying proximity (though he didn't know if this would apply to him too).

Until he met her.

Now, he knows how knowledge is acquired. He knows that the only way of truly learning something is if you push yourself, you read, you study and, eventually, you know. He knows there is on way to learn about something by mere proximity.

But when he met her he suddenly understood. He understood that love is wanting to wake up early to make them coffee, but staying in bed for five more minutes to be able to properly inhale their presence. It's hugging the pillow when they're not home, closing your eyes tightly and knowing that they will be coming back. It's not being able to take the distance, no matter what you tell yourself.

Love is worrying about them every single second of your life - no matter where they were. It's wanting to wrap them in bubble wrap, the indestructible kind. The kind that doesn't allow for any injury - either physical or emotional.

And that's the thing. Because He would never imagine he could hurt you. So the first time he comes back home from a case, exactly the case you'd taken a break from because the last one had hit a little too close to home, he had lashed out. He had called you everything short of lazy and annoying. He had criticised you for taking a much-needed break. "If you had been there we would've been able to stop Michaelson before he killed the second victim! How can you not see that?". He was incapable of stopping his words as the pain and exhaustion from the case got the best of him. Spencer had hurt you.

And, as Spencer spewed his words, unable to stop them, he felt nothing more than absolute fear. Fear because of how scared he was. Fear because of the pain he saw in your tired eyes.

Love is questioning everything. Everything pushing your emotions towards fear and worry of loss. Of deceit.

When she told Spencer she was ready to have sex with him, he felt that feeling at the pit of his stomach. But this time, it was mixed with the same fear that had hurt her mere months ago. Because the idea of his filthy hands roaming around her body, corrupting her saint-like spirit, it was too much to handle.

She had let him in, broken her walls. She had made him her own, and, in doing so, she became his, too. They became one, like a sculpture that's carefully being crafted. The creation of the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa by Bernini, a beautiful piece where Saint Teresa is depicted just minutes before the angel plunges an arrow in her heart. Their pieces were mended together, creating the prettiest, most heartbreaking piece of art humanity had had the chance of witnessing.

Spencer was a genius. Yet, he knew no amount of books could teach him anything about the incredible woman with whom he had the opportunity of approximating his time-space continuum with.

**

Super special, cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x @inlovewithbabygirl @username2002 @spencerreid-mgg @eoupe @galaxydefenderjulia @urie-bowie-mercury @huntheimpossible @onyourfingertips

tags not working: @s1utformgg

[golbatgender]

Tagging is fine. If you don't like the meme, it's perfectly reasonable not to want to see it. As for the rest…

Let me put it this way: when the video of Richard Spencer getting punched went viral, it didn't make very many people sympathetic to Richard Spencer. There is, in fact, such a thing as negative publicity.

When this dude tries to set up his tables now, somewhere where people weren't dealing with him already, people will be like, "Seriously, you're actually doing that meme in real life? With Republican shit like that? That's so embarrassing." He'll look like the one guy who misinterpreted the meme.

As for politically neutral iterations of the meme, most of them are harmless and a lot of them are fandom-specific shitposts, and they still increase recognition of the meme and still make it more likely that the original dude will be seen as gauche for "trying to play it straight." I know reactionaries rising and getting bolder is a very real and scary thing, but memes like this and the diaperplay protest guys from TPUSA (which I always want to read as "Toilet Paper USA") just encourage people to see those reactionaries as pathetic, contemptible, and not with it. They're the guys who got memed. And this happens largely on a subconscious, pattern-recognition level, and it still happens when people don't know the full context. And while memetic mockery is a dangerously volatile tool of mass persuasion, when you can for once get it to work for good instead of against it and the bad people just fucking hand it to you on a silver plate, you don't just not use it. Because these people are generally trying to enact genocide or are much too comfortable being associated with the ones who are, and if you think they aren't using memetics to shift the Overton Window on that, well, you must be new to the internet. So when we can, we shift it back.

The worst possible thing to do is cede bigots this power. Then, they sense that they've won, and they double down on whatever it was they were doing. If the left has a moral contamination panic and drops "change my mind"? The Nazis are going to swoop in and start using it as the original jerk who got memed was intending it, and the jerk himself will probably get a book deal.

Like, I'm still mad the left didn't try harder to rehabilitate pepe the frog. Like, I didn't even like the meme, but when Nazis attacked a presidential candidate with a version of it, suddenly it was untouchable to the left, and I felt a pit in my stomach I didn't have words for at the time. It should have been an occasion to trounce the alt-right—seriously, you're waving around a fucking frog and expecting us not to laugh at you? And then we didn't laugh at them, only chuckled nervously out of the sides of our mouths and declared the frog to be morally unclean, and so the Nazis succeeded in turning a goddamn meme frog into a legitimate symbol of terror. (And if you're even peripherally connected to Judaism, the fact that the meme frog was a frog is particularly annoying, because hello, second plague of Egypt. Which, funnily enough in this context, can technically be read in Hebrew as one super giant frog instead of just an awful lot of frogs, apparently, though I can't confirm because I can't read so much as an aleph. So Nazis just getting to use the meme frog to promote genocide with virtually no pushback is like if Pharoah had not just told Moses and all that they couldn't go, but also switched Egypt's entire economy to exporting frog legs, processed with slave labor. It's just this extra "fuck you.")

But when you turn bigotry into something to laugh at (and never with), you send a message. "Just try to kill us, you fuckers. How confident are you that you can actually get all of us? We'll all die someday, but do you really think you can succeed with this well enough that, after you die, there won't still be enough of us to pass on our version of the story, complete with all your bad fashion choices and all your embarrassing mistakes, but most of all, that we'll still exist and that's your biggest failure?" And if you look at the history of genocides, the odds are greatly on the side of the people issuing the challenge. There's always some diaspora, some who manage to hide, alone or helped by the few good people who dare to disobey power, some who pass well enough as the oppressor to get false names and false papers and bury their real selves, but who don't ever forget the truth or try to believe the necessary lie. Those people will survive to tell, numbers horribly diminished but hardly gone, and then who is there to remember anything grand or dignified that the fallen tyrant did? Nah, they're only remembered for shitty hats. They'll always be remembered, but only for shitty hats. And that will strike fear into those proud tyrants and their power-hungry lackeys, because all such people are afraid of death and want to find a way to be strong and powerful forever, and that's the worst twisting of their dream of immortality. So let them live with that fear in their hearts, let it make their hands shake every time they sign their name to another order of death and evil. And meanwhile, we're less afraid, because even if we personally die, almost certainly someone else will live after us to tell our story and we'll have the last laugh. That's winning.

Everyone’s going like “don’t use the change my mind meme the guy it’s based on is transphobic” but like, making it a meme is mocking him and his annoying signs. It’s refusing to engage with him the way he wants and just repeating the words back at him in that wonky SpongeBob voice. It’s like making fun of Haman’s shitty hat and making up an entire genre of cookies about it. Basically, saying to stop meming the thing is saying to take that jerk seriously, and that’s what he wants. For fuck’s sake, don’t just hand him the win over some sense of thought-free moral performativity.