#monopoly tips

[inkdsythe]

Skill and the Hierarchy of Capitalism: Unraveling the Myth

Hey Tumblr fam, let's talk about the role of skill in determining our place in the hierarchy of capitalism. It's a common narrative that if you work hard and possess exceptional skills, you'll rise to the top. But is this really the case, or is it just a myth perpetuated by the system itself?

Capitalism, by its nature, creates an unequal distribution of wealth and power. It operates on the principles of profit maximization and competition, with the goal of accumulating capital in the hands of a few. While skill undoubtedly plays a role in individual success, it's important to acknowledge the systemic factors at play that can limit or enhance one's opportunities.

In a capitalist society, access to resources and opportunities is heavily influenced by factors such as social background, education, and networks. Individuals from privileged backgrounds often have more access to quality education, mentorship, and connections, which can significantly impact their skill development and ultimately their chances of success. On the other hand, those from marginalized communities face systemic barriers that limit their access to resources and opportunities, regardless of their skill level.

Moreover, the capitalist system rewards certain skills more than others. Skills that directly contribute to profit generation, such as entrepreneurship or financial expertise, are often valued more highly than skills in areas such as art, caregiving, or community work. This skewed valuation perpetuates a hierarchy where certain skills are deemed more valuable, while others are undervalued or ignored.

It's also essential to recognize that skill alone does not guarantee success within capitalism. Factors like luck, timing, and personal connections often play significant roles. Many skilled individuals may find themselves trapped in low-paying jobs or struggling to secure stable employment due to market fluctuations, industry trends, or unfair competition.

Furthermore, the hierarchy of capitalism often reinforces existing power structures and inequalities. It can perpetuate systemic biases based on factors like race, gender, and class, making it harder for marginalized individuals with exceptional skills to break through the glass ceiling and reach the upper echelons of success.

In essence, while skill certainly plays a role in individual achievement, it's crucial to acknowledge the broader structural factors that shape opportunities and outcomes within the capitalist system. A person's position in the hierarchy of capitalism is not solely determined by skill, but also by systemic advantages or disadvantages, social background, and the interplay of various external factors.

Let's strive for a more equitable society that recognizes and values the diverse range of skills individuals possess, rather than perpetuating a hierarchical system that disproportionately rewards a select few.

[autistme]

was trying to find some vintage videos but the links were all dead, but at least this comment section is preserved

[ghwosty]

I just think it's good to occasionally remind people what the word monopoly means. No reason..

[daylerogers]

What Goes Around

I’ve been the observer of culture long enough to know that there is nothing new under the sun. Solomon said that thousands of years ago. As a mom, I’ve watched toys cycle through new generations. My Little Ponies were all the rage when my oldest daughter was little in 1987. They faded from the scene only to come back in 2010 for another go-around. Traditional games, like Monopoly and Parcheesi…

[jackwhiteprophetic]

Board games that have been banned at the 118 and why:

MONOPOLY: Ravi kept talking about real estate, Chim made an awkward lawsuit joke when Eddie got sent to jail and Buck kept demanding he be allowed to pay the bail.

SETTLERS OF CATAN: Buck and Eddie just simply end up sharing all their resources because they can't say no to each other. Buck said "thanks I'm so bricked up now" after Eddie traded him bricks once and Bobby threw the board off of the loft balcony.

CLUEDO: Chim has NO poker face (poker is ironically also banned after an LAFD wide notice was sent around following the poker date) and Bobby kept trying to call Athena for tips.

UNO: No one could agree on the rules and Hen ended up trying to use the official Uno twitter posts as proof and Bobby stormed off. On a second attempt, Chim started a +2 chain that went around the group twice and ended up with him having to pick up +16 cards, and as revenge he said the Q-word. Bobby burned the pack at the next group barbecue.

PICTIONARY- Eddie and Hen are too good at it because they've had to spend recent years deciphering their kids' drawings.

They also tried to do heads up but Buck didn't know any of the films and Eddie refused to use a phone for a "board game".

PLEASE ADD MORE IDEAS THIS IS SO FUN

Also thank you to @wayfarers0 @eddiesfagstache @blue-desert13 AND THE OTHER AMAZING EDDIEBUDDIEBLR PEOPLE I LOVE YOU ALL

[mckitterick]

Walmart is the first place I noticed enshittification, back in the late 1990s, with the humble Q-Tips

back then, I didn't know to avoid the place. I distinctly recall buying a box of Q-Tips brand swabs from Wal-Mart (how it was spelled back then), and noticing that not only was the stick weaker (it bent under normal use) but the heads used less cotton

naturally, I never again bought Q-Tips from Wal-Mart, but I began to notice a weird thing: these crappier Q-Tips - still the premium brand, not just generics - started showing up everywhere. Walmart had not only procured a cheaper-made product, but in doing so made all the Q-Tips everywhere just as bad

and this is only one of countless examples that people Of A Certain Age remember, and why we rail against unfettered and unregulated capitalism:

corporate greed will always yield enshittification

dragging down entire markets until people grow accustomed to buying garbage

The one weird monopoly trick that gave us Walmart and Amazon and killed Main Street

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Walmart didn't just happen. The rise of Walmart – and Amazon, its online successor – was the result of a specific policy choice, the decision by the Reagan administration not to enforce a key antitrust law. Walmart may have been founded by Sam Walton, but its success (and the demise of the American Main Street) are down to Reaganomics.

The law that Reagan neutered? The Robinson-Patman Act, a very boring-sounding law that makes it illegal for powerful companies (like Walmart) to demand preferential pricing from their suppliers (farmers, packaged goods makers, meat producers, etc). The idea here is straightforward. A company like Walmart is a powerful buyer (a "monopsonist" – compare with "monopolist," a powerful seller). That means that they can demand deep discounts from suppliers. Smaller stores – the mom and pop store on your Main Street – don't have the clout to demand those discounts. Worse, because those buyers are weak, the sellers – packaged goods companies, agribusiness cartels, Big Meat – can actually charge them more to make up for the losses they're taking in selling below cost to Walmart.

Reagan ordered his antitrust cops to stop enforcing Robinson-Patman, which was a huge giveaway to big business. Of course, that's not how Reagan framed it: He called Robinson-Patman a declaration of "war on low prices," because it prevented big companies from using their buying power to squeeze huge discounts. Reagan's court sorcerers/economists asserted that if Walmart could get goods at lower prices, they would sell goods at lower prices.

Which was true…up to a point. Because preferential discounting (offering better discounts to bigger customers) creates a structural advantage over smaller businesses, it meant that big box stores would eventually eliminate virtually all of their smaller competitors. That's exactly what happened: downtowns withered, suburban big boxes grew. Spending that would have formerly stayed in the community was whisked away to corporate headquarters. These corporate HQs were inevitably located in "onshore-offshore" tax haven states, meaning they were barely taxed at the state level. That left plenty of money in these big companies' coffers to spend on funny accountants who'd help them avoid federal taxes, too. That's another structural advantage the big box stores had over the mom-and-pops: not only did they get their inventory at below-cost discounts, they didn't have to pay tax on the profits, either.

MBA programs actually teach this as a strategy to pursue: they usually refer to Amazon's "flywheel" where lower prices bring in more customers which allows them to demand even lower prices:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BaSwWYemLek

You might have heard about rural and inner-city "food deserts," where all the independent grocery stores have shuttered, leaving behind nothing but dollar stores? These are the direct product of the decision not to enforce Robinson-Patman. Dollar stores target working class neighborhoods with functional, beloved local grocers. They open multiple dollar stores nearby (nearly all the dollar stores you see are owned by one of two conglomerates, no matter what the sign over the door says). They price goods below cost and pay for high levels of staffing, draining business off the community grocery store until it collapses. Then, all the dollar stores except one close and the remaining store fires most of its staff (working at a dollar store is incredibly dangerous, thanks to low staffing levels that make them easy targets for armed robbers). Then, they jack up prices, selling goods in "cheater" sizes that are smaller than the normal retail packaging, and which are only made available to large dollar store conglomerates:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

Writing in The American Prospect, Max M Miller and Bryce Tuttle1 – a current and a former staffer for FTC Commissioner Alvaro Bedoya – write about the long shadow cast by Reagan's decision to put Robinson-Patman in mothballs:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-08-13-stopping-excessive-market-power-monopoly/

They tell the story of Robinson-Patman's origins in 1936, when A&P was using preferential discounts to destroy the independent grocery sector and endanger the American food system. A&P didn't just demand preferential discounts from its suppliers; it also charged them a fortune to be displayed on its shelves, an early version of Amazon's $38b/year payola system:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

They point out that Robinson-Patman didn't really need to be enacted; America already had an antitrust law that banned this conduct: section 2 of the the Clayton Act, which was passed in 1914. But for decades, the US courts refused to interpret the Clayton Act according to its plain meaning, with judges tying themselves in knots to insist that the law couldn't possibly mean what it said. Robinson-Patman was one of a series of antitrust laws that Congress passed in a bid to explain in words so small even federal judges could understand them that the purpose of American antitrust law was to keep corporations weak:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Both the Clayton Act and Robinson-Patman reject the argument that it's OK to let monopolies form and come to dominate critical sectors of the American economy based on the theoretical possibility that this will lead to lower prices. They reject this idea first as a legal matter. We don't let giant corporations victimize small businesses and their suppliers just because that might help someone else.

Beyond this, there's the realpolitik of monopoly. Yes, companies could pass lower costs on to customers, but will they? Look at Amazon: the company takes $0.45-$0.51 out of every dollar that its sellers earn, and requires them to offer their lowest price on Amazon. No one has a 45-51% margin, so every seller jacks up their prices on Amazon, but you don't notice it, because Amazon forces them to jack up prices everywhere else:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

The Robinson-Patman Act did important work, and its absence led to many of the horribles we're living through today. This week on his Peoples & Things podcast, Lee Vinsel talked with Benjamin Waterhouse about his new book, One Day I’ll Work for Myself: The Dream and Delusion That Conquered America:

https://athenaeum.vt.domains/peoplesandthings/2024/08/12/78-benjamin-c-waterhouse-on-one-day-ill-work-for-myself-the-dream-and-delusion-that-conquered-america/

Towards the end of the discussion, Vinsel and Waterhouse turn to Robinson-Patman, its author, Wright Patman, and the politics of small business in America. They point out – correctly – that Wright Patman was something of a creep, a "Dixiecrat" (southern Democrat) who was either an ideological segregationist or someone who didn't mind supporting segregation irrespective of his beliefs.

That's a valid critique of Wright Patman, but it's got little bearing on the substance and history of the law that bears his name, the Robinson-Patman Act. Vinsel and Waterhouse get into that as well, and while they made some good points that I wholeheartedly agreed with, I fiercely disagree with the conclusion they drew from these points.

Vinsel and Waterhouse point out (again, correctly) that small businesses have a long history of supporting reactionary causes and attacking workers' rights – associations of small businesses, small women-owned business, and small minority-owned businesses were all in on opposition to minimum wages and other key labor causes.

But while this is all true, that doesn't make Robinson-Patman a reactionary law, or bad for workers. The point of protecting small businesses from the predatory practices of large firms is to maintain an American economy where business can't trump workers or government. Large companies are literally ungovernable: they have gigantic war-chests they can spend lobbying governments and corrupting the political process, and concentrated sectors find it comparatively easy to come together to decide on a single lobbying position and then make it reality.

As Vinsel and Waterhouse discuss, US big business has traditionally hated small business. They recount a notorious and telling anaecdote about the editor of the Chamber of Commerce magazine asking his boss if he could include coverage of small businesses, given the many small business owners who belonged to the Chamber, only to be told, "Over my dead body." Why did – why does – big business hate small business so much? Because small businesses wreck the game. If they are included in hearings, notices of inquiry, or just given a vote on what the Chamber of Commerce will lobby for with their membership dollars, they will ask for things that break with the big business lobbying consensus.

That's why we should like small business. Not because small business owners are incapable of being petty tyrants, but because whatever else, they will be petty. They won't be able to hire million-dollar-a-month union-busting law-firms, they won't be able to bribe Congress to pass favorable laws, they can't capture their regulators with juicy offers of sweet jobs after their government service ends.

Vinsel and Waterhouse point out that many large firms emerged during the era in which Robinson-Patman was in force, but that misunderstands the purpose of Robinson-Patman: it wasn't designed to prevent any large businesses from emerging. There are some capital-intensive sectors (say, chip fabrication) where the minimum size for doing anything is pretty damned big.

As Miller and Tuttle write:

The goal of RPA was not to create a permanent Jeffersonian agrarian republic of exclusively small businesses. It was to preserve a diverse economy of big and small businesses. Congress recognized that the needs of communities and people—whether in their role as consumers, business owners, or workers—are varied and diverse. A handful of large chains would never be able to meet all those needs in every community, especially if they are granted pricing power.

The fight against monopoly is only secondarily a fight between small businesses and giant ones. It's foundationally a fight about whether corporations should have so much power that they are too big to fail, too big to jail, and too big to care.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/14/the-price-is-wright/#enforcement-priorities

[docjayfeather]

All of the Ren Lore i’ve compiled from his single player series and old streams

Favorite meal is roast lamb and roast potatoes

Has an ex-girlfriend

Hates One Direction

Was on a boating team in high school

His mother’s first cat’s name was Ebony

His single player world started in 1.2

Ren’s favorite language is Spanish

Ren has been to Spain several times

His brother had a dog named Rorschach

Ren’s favorite armor set in the original Diablo was the Moon set

Ren and his brother used to have to shower/bath together, then dry off infront of an electric fireplace. Through a series of events, young Ren got his butt stuck to the glass pane of the electric fireplace, and has had a scar on his butt since.

Ren has said “I always think about [Ren’s brother’s username] when I think about my butt”

Ren knows how to do a cats cradle

Ren used to have frosted tips

Ren’s favorite commander deck is Kraum/Tymna

Ren got kicked in the literal butthole by a horse

Ren likes burning things

Ren created a rigged marble slot machine in high school

Went on an introspection journey, visiting all the places he lived and all his jobs pre-YouTube

Did the insane thing of asking the lady who was now living in his first house if he could go inside and check out his old room

Ren had a patreon tier where he’d sent his patrons a “Ren Crate”, a lootcrate full of stuff

Ren doesn’t drink (anymore)

Officially has OCD

Ren loves apple juice

Ren loves driving games

Event manager for The Deftones once

Plays MtG on Sundays

Ren wants to retire with Doc

Ren’s wants his spirit animal to be a shark

Ren’s favorite book series is LotR

Ren is “below-average hairy”

Ren’s favorite season is Autumn

Ren’s birthday is October 11th

Ren is a slut for tiramisu and ice cream

Ren wants to open an LGS/tabletop cafe

Ren is not a religious person

Ren worked in a seedy pool bar

Ren almost got an upper back tattoo

Ren loves green tea

Ren is Left Handed

Ren was at one point a vegetarian for several years

Ren has lost his wallet multiple times, once leaving it on a train

Ren eats a whole lemon every day, and drinks lemon juice straight from the lemon

Ren got in trouble at boarding school for “trying to summon demons”. He was just playing MtG.

Ren has had a pair of lucky underwear since he was 18

Ren’s favorite ice cream is strawberry

Ren loved getting aggressively physical in rugby

Ren loves cinnamon buns

Ren used to have super long butt-length hair

Ren really liked playing with fireworks when he was younger. They’d bury huge ones in the sand near their house to make craters.

Ren loves Love Island

Ren can only sleep on his arm

Wears exclusively Star Wars socks and has matching pajamas

Beat Gabriel Nasif in a Magic Grand Prix

Ren hates Oysters

Ren’s favorite dog breed is a chihuahua??

Ren’s favorite dnd class is bard

Ren enjoys cleaning the bathroom the most out of any room

Ren’s favorite musical is Les Miserables

Ren has a favorite kitchen knife, and used to cook a lot.

Ren’s favorite tool is the hoe (of course)

Ren and Iskall used to play League

Never farts irl

born in the same city as J R R Tolkien

Ren named his first car Maximus

Ren is a bath person

Natural Mace Race runner

Ren really likes pet rats

Ren has a very consistent shopping day of tuesday

Ren has an extremely strict sleep schedule

Ren has 7 pairs of the same pajamas to wear 24/7

Ren has a BA in English

Ren does 100 push-ups a day

Ren does a 15k bike ride every day

Ren had a max weight of 110 kilos, is now down to 80

Ren uses youtube in light mode

Ren has seen Metallica live

Ren wore fake glasses in college

Ren has 20/20 vision

Ren has been in plays during school, and blinded the lead with glitter accidentally during one of them, trying to spice up his one line.

Ren has a “black book” of atleast 9 board game ideas

Ren gets pretty motion sick

Ren enjoys mosh pits

Ren really likes competitive monopoly and risk

Ren burned his eyebrows off with a bunson burner once

Ren still cries at The Lion King

Ren plays Ornn, Urgot, and Tristana in League

Ren was allegedly born in 1982

Ren drunk-puked into his shirt in a german taxi the night he met Doc infront of the people sponsoring them

Ren drives stick shift and loves it

Ren thinks he might have a gluten allergy

Ren puts butter in his coffee

Ren tried to write a YA fantasy novel, got 80k words in before scrapping it

Ren would like to live with Keralis hypothetically out of any of the hermits

Ren’s favorite superhero is wolverine

[mugglebornmarvelite]

A Snowstorm, a Grump, and a Game

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: The snowstorm traps everyone inside the compound, but you're determined to make the best of it. The rest of the team is scattered around, playing games or lounging, but you’re already on a mission: pestering Bucky into joining you for board games.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Fluff, like two swear words, teasing, playful threats

Author’s Note: Thank you to my mom for unintentionally giving me this idea <3

Navigation

The compound was a war zone of boredom. The snowstorm raging outside had the Avengers grounded for what felt like forever, and everyone was handling it differently. Tony was shouting at Clint for cheating in Monopoly, and Natasha was kicking Steve's ass at poker. You were up to something different. You’d made it your personal mission to annoy Bucky Barnes until he played a game with you. 

You hummed, skipping into the Common Room, with a miechvious smile on our face. You spotted him on the couch, with a book in hand, looking like every bit of a grump. Your favorite grump. 

His hair was messy, dark strands a little messed up from him running his fingers through it, and his scowl was as deep as ever. Perfect. 

“Mr. Barnes,” you called, plopping onto the couch beside him. “You’re such a buzzkill. It’s not even fun teasing you anymore. I may just give it up entirely.”

“Good,” he said without looking up, his voice as flat as he was pretending to read, his attention now on you. “Now fuck off.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “You wound me, Bucky. Right in the soul. How am I supposed to enjoy board games without my partner in crime?”

His eyes flicked up from the book, unimpressed. “Sounds like a you problem, baby.”

Determined, you slid closer, reaching for the dice you’d conveniently left on the table next to him, knowing it would bait him hook, line and sinker. “I don’t need your attitude, I just need these-”

Before you could grab them, he moved quicker. 

In one swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, making you yelp in surprise. His vibranium arm was around your waist, pinning you down like you weighed nothing. 

“Stop being a fucking menace,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly in your ear. “You send my blood pressure up.”

You wiggled, grinning despite yourself. “Oh no, what will I do now? Big, scary Bucky Barnes has me trapped,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock distress. “I’m terrified.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, a rare sound that made you feel like you’d won something. “You should be,” he said, though his grip on you was more protective than punishing. 

His hands were strong, but he held you like you were breakable, and something about that made your cheeks heat. That heat also pooling in your stomach.

“I am not even scared, not even a little bit,” you pointed out, squirming just to annoy him more. “Honestly, this is kind of disappointing. I expected more from you, old man.”

He huffed, setting his book down without loosening his hold on you. “You’re impossible, дорогой.” Sweetheart.

“And you secretly love it,” you shot back, leaning your head against his shoulder with a satisfied smile.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against your side. You melted like butter on warm toast.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost fond. “Yeah, well, don’t push your luck, doll.”

You sighed contently.

“Will you play a game with me later?” you asked, batting your lashes at him like a total brat. 

“We’ll see, brat,” he said gruffly, looking at the ceiling, avoiding your doe eyes. 

“Please?”  

“Maybe.”  

“Please!”  

“Don’t whine.” He tugged on a strand of your hair.

You were undeterred, already used to how he pretended to be mad at you but always handled you gently. Your smile grew even wider as you started chanting, “Please, please, please—”  

“If you don’t shut up-” he growled, but you cut him off by leaning in and planting a kiss on the tip of his nose.  

The room seemed to freeze. His blue eyes widened slightly, and his gruff demeanor faltered for a split second before he exhaled sharply, huffing like a frustrated old man. He was your old man.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you in a snowstorm for that,” he muttered, but his hand on your waist betrayed him, his thumb brushing soft reassuring circles against your side.  

You tilted your head, trying to hold back a laugh as you watched his icy exterior crack just a little more. “So you’ll play a game with me? Pretty please?”  

He sighed like it physically hurt him to give in, but he always did. 

“Fine.” Bucky said so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

You grinned liked the cat the ate the canary. 

“One game. If it’ll get you to shut the hell up.” His large hand was warm on your back.

“Two games.” You pushed, with a hopeful smile and poppy dog eyes.

“Don’t push it, sweet girl,” he warned, though his tone lacked any real bite.  

You grinned triumphantly, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you made yourself comfortable. “We both know you’ll cave,” you teased, your voice full of smug satisfaction. “You always do.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. His tone was low, threatening in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “Are you so sure, дорогой?”

“Keep it up, and the only game we’re playing is who can survive the longest in the damn snowstorm. Spoiler alert, it’s not gonna be you.”  

You laughed, the sound soft and bright, and you felt his chest rumble faintly with a chuckle of his own.  

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Just don’t forget, I always win.”  

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he replied, “The only thing you’re winning is a one-way ticket to getting thrown off this couch, your cute little ass hitting the ground.”  

And yet, neither of you made any move to separate, content to sit there tangled up in each other as the snowstorm raged on outside.

You soon fell asleep on his lap and Bucky made no move to wake you.

In fact, when Peter came to poke you, Bucky hissed at him, and Peter scampered off.

Bucky pulled a blanket over you, holding you snuggly against him, cradling the back of your head with one hand and rubbing circles on your lower back with the other.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Happy Holidays!

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[diejager]

I never thought I would like a stepdad!konig so much, I just don't. But here I am.Soo I saw the need to do this

I felt 'jealous' of f!reader's mother.Simply the fact of reading how she becomes unconscious (with good reason, it's könig!) After a while with him.... And that they are practically husband and wife. It's a strange feeling,You know. like a delusion (I feel so stupid right now)

How would stepdad!konig react if he found out about it? (I feel a little better with the comfort of dbf! Horangi, scary, I know)

You are incredible, thank you for your writings 🌻

Oh, that sunflower at the end is cuteee Cw: unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, sex marathon?, stepcest, DUB-CON?NON-CON, degrading, tell me If I missed any.

"Oh, is the what you want?" König cooed, smirk cruel and smug as he watched you wail beneath Horangi.

He recently came out of his room, baggy pants hanging low on his angular hips, dropping on one side and showing off the sharp dip on his navel and happy trail, a salacious way to walk into a room smelling of sweat and sex. He cleaned up, brushing his ginger hair with hints of silver to the side, messy and slightly damp from his session with your mom. Chest clean and body fluids wiped off, he always came to you clean and ruggedly handsome. Much like his friend who, until a few minutes ago, had the monopoly in your attention and silent cries, who drove his cock into you with strong and purposeful thrusts while he kissed your mewls away, swallowing them down with the harsh press of his scarred lips.

"You should have told me, Schatz," könig pushed on, pulling his waistband down enough for his engorged cock to spring upwards, slapping his deep V with a wet sound.

Horangi chuckled, hoisting you up on his lap, hands guiding your hips up and down his cum-coated thighs. You clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into his sculpted back (for someone of their age, they still had an enviable physique, back, arms and thighs ripped with thick and strong muscles while having a soft but equally sculpted abdomen.) With every buck of his hips skyward. You hid your face in his neck, damping it with your tears and open-mouthed mewls by biting down on his shoulder, muffling any keens and cries that would echo too loudly in your room.

"Use your big girl words, ja?" Your stepdad went on, pumping his pre down his uncut head, pulling down the foreskin to show his red and angry tip.

Feeling quite smug about your disheveled look, being the one responsible for it after your stepdad took too long fucking your mom to sleep, Horangi pressed kisses up your neck, behind your ear and teasing you with his teeth, playfully nipping at you while he looked at König. He peered over your bouncing shoulders, brown eyes seeming pitch black in your dark room, illuminated by a small lamp, the dim yellow light giving a golden tint to his eyes. He was goading König in a way, narrowed eyes and cheeks pulled by scars when he smirked at your stepdad, flashing his teeth as he bit down, reveling in the whimper he pulled from you.

"We shouldn't disappoint, huh, König?" Horangi chuckled, ramming you down his cock, feeling your walls clamp down on him while your legs shook, toes curling as you come, painting a pretty ring around his shaft.

The only reply he got back was a vindictive laugh, deep and rumbling, a bigger hand wrapping around your nape, scuffing you. König yanked your head back, blurry and teary eyes staring up at him, he held you there until Horangi finished, until Horangi painted your cunt white, until he got a turn to stuff you full of his cock and cum, and until he could fuck you unconscious like you wanted to.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[beeisokay]

got back on a painting kick and decided to paint this sketchbook cover using unconventional tools. I ended up using a palette knife (for paint mixing), q-tips, an old toothbrush, a comb, a popsicle stick, a sponge, a couple scraps of cardboard, and my hands. I’m really really happy with it. If you couldn’t tell (you probably could) it’s a picture of monopoly mountain from Third Life. :)

Bonus under cut: my bucket of tools and the amount of paint on my hands at the end

[karlathewitch]

Canaan House fun. As in what would happen, if all the houses sat down to play Monopoly?

Second House: The ones who insist reading the rules mid-game. Judith quit, because she thinks the Third is cheating.

Third House: Corona picked the cutest piece, and pretends she's just having fun. Secretly she supports Ianthe, who already has 8 different plans at the ready. Babs doesn't play, just keeps scowling at Gideon.

Fourth House: Nooo Magnus, don't buy that hotel! Magnuuus, I don't need help.

Fifth House: Magnus just wants the kids to have fun, so he "loses" halfway. Abigail provides snacks and hot chocolate.

Sixth House: Palamedes is allied to Harrowhark, and they are working together to win (or at least he thinks so)

Sevent House: They are not present, for obvious reasons.

Eight House: Silas refused to play, as it is beneath him (nobody invited him), and in the past two hours he kept telling to Collum how easily he could've won.

Ninth House: Harrow is 100% sure Palamedes is her enemy, and must be destroyed. Gideon has no idea how to play, but she keeps getting angrier at the glances Ianthe keeps shooting at Harrow. Secretly the Fifth keeps giving them tips, which are, according to Harrow, are unnecessary. (She still utilizes the tips)

Ianthe wins. Gideon and Babs are having a fistfight. Camilla got into a fight with Judith, nobody knows why.

[teamatsumu]

monopoly. (gojo satoru x reader)

summary: it seems this year is going to another lonely christmas for you. until your very intrusive coworker shows up at your door.

word count: 2777

warnings: fem!reader, canon compliant, smut, nsfw, dirty talk, whiny!gojo, desperate!gojo, swearing, unprotected sex.

There isn’t really anything interesting playing on the television. You merely turn it on to add noise to your surroundings. The apartment is way too quiet without it.

The characters on the screen are part of some overly cheesy Christmas movie, and you aren’t invested in them, but it serves as good background noise while you scroll through your phone and munch on some brownies you had bought. You make a mental note to thank Nanami for his recommendation. He really knew his bakeries. The brownies seem to melt in your mouth, still slightly warm and very fudgy.

You tap rapidly on the screen, not even properly focusing on the Instagram stories you were zipping through. It was all the same, people Christmas shopping, or pictures of sunsets, the snow, or coffee cups in people’s hands. Pretty boring stuff. But you don’t really have room to judge when you are sitting at home, alone on Christmas Eve, watching (but not really watching) some nonsensical Christmas movie. At least these people have something worth posting. What the fuck are you doing?

You sigh and switch apps. Instagram is not the place to go to when your life is the way it is. You shake your head and scowl. It isn’t that bad. You are alive, despite working in a field with a scarily high turnover. You have a job, you have good students who are fond of you. Good coworkers, who respect your skill set. You have killed more curses and you can feel yourself getting stronger as time passes. You’re making a real difference. Things are good. You’re good.

Then you glance around your empty apartment and deflate once more.

The sudden, loud banging on your door startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin. You curse under your breath, annoyed at why anyone would knock like that. What happened to two gentle raps using your knuckles? Why do people have to use their whole fists now?

When you pull open the door, your anger is replaced by confusion, eyes falling on none other than Gojo Satoru.

“Wh-” Your eyebrows furrow. “Gojo-san?”

His resulting grin is huge, his black shades are splattered with droplets that likely started as snowflakes and melted along the way. His hair, white as the snow that coated it, is weighed down a bit as well, damp and unruly from the wind outside. His long, lanky arms are loaded with shopping bags, which he lifts up to bring into your field of vision.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, incredulous.

“I come bearing gifts!” Is his reply, answering and simultaneously not answering your question, in classic Gojo fashion. He rushes inside, pushing past you and into the house. You feel the cold radiating off him, making you shiver and hurriedly close the door after him. Your toes curl in your woolen socks as you watch him tip his own shoes off, arms still loaded with the various bags. The smell of baked goods and cinnamon hits your nose, and you can spot a box poking out from one of the bags, wrapped in gift paper.

You have known Gojo since you were teenagers at Jujutsu Tech. You were a year younger and very naive, while Gojo was already what could be classified as the don of the school. Between the many deaths and losses along the way, you and him were survivors, both now holding teaching positions at the school. Despite all that, you still felt withdrawn from him. He was your senior, and much, much stronger than you. While you two were on good talking terms, maybe even hesitant friends, you wouldn’t say you were particularly close to him.

“Why are you here?” You ask again. “It’s Christmas Eve. Go spend time with your family.”

You follow Gojo as he places everything on your kotatsu before shrugging off his huge black trenchcoat. His sweatshirt underneath is black as well, and you conclude that no one can pull off an all black look quite like him. It all sits so perfectly with his porcelain skin.

Gojo makes a face, sticking out his tongue and making a hurling motion. You suppress a laugh.

“I really don’t want to spend days listening to my father talk about the responsibility of being the Strongest.” He sounds disgusted. You roll your eyes in amusement.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Gojo takes off his sunglasses, giving you a piercing look. “Trust me, it’s way worse than what you think.”

Your lips twitch and you shake your head, sighing.

“So you’re just going to stay here?” You ask.

Gojo pulls out a long, rectangular box from one of his bags, shaking it at you. It rattles, and your eyes catch the large letters written on it in colorful font. Monopoly.

“Game night.” He declares, placing the box on the kotatsu before sitting down, shoving his long legs under the blanket. You can’t help but grin back at him.

………………….

“This isn’t fair!” Gojo pouts, handing you the last of his paper money. You grin triumphantly at him, taking the money and brandishing it in front of him with flourish.

“It’s more than fair, actually.” You counter. “You owed me rent. It’s rent. Who told you to invest in the water company anyway? It’s rent is so low! Also, I have never seen someone end up in jail this often. You’re really breaking records here.”

Gojo groans, leaning forward and banging his forehead against the table. You giggle, tossing a bite-sized pastry into your mouth, watching as he whines and complains about how you are a merciless landlord and you shouldn’t have built so many hotels on one property.

“Well, there’s no point in playing anymore since you’ve gone bankrupt and all your properties are on mortgage with the bank.” Your words are so gleeful it makes Gojo look up and glare at you. “So I guess I….. win? Congratulations on playing the shortest game of Monopoly known to mankind.”

“I’m gonna flip this board over.” Gojo threatens, and you give him a challenging smile.

“Go ahead.” You goad, making him sigh dramatically and throw his hands up.

“Alright fine, you called my bluff.”

You continue to laugh as you pull your phone out, positioning it above the table and taking a picture of the board, littered with cards, tiny plastic houses, and two half empty cups of coffee on the sides.

Now you have something to post on Instagram story too.

A few hours later, you find yourself on the couch with Gojo, still trying to go through everything edible that he had brought to your house. The TV is on again, but this time Gojo is filling in the terrible movie with commentary of his own, making you giggle and laugh every few minutes. He had truly bought a huge amount of food, but as you see it disappearing little by little, you realize he has more than enough of an appetite to put it all away.

“What is this?” You hold up a small, light brown…. thing. You truly can’t place it. You have never seen anything like it before.

“A salted pastry. Dip it in this.” Gojo holds up a small plastic container with a white sauce of some sort in it. “It’s more of a savory treat than a dessert. But it’s real good.”

You do as he says, dipping the thing into sauce before popping it into your mouth. You mull over the flavor as Gojo watches, before shrugging.

“I don’t care for it.” You declare. “It’s okay. Not anything spectacular.”

“You don’t care for it?” He grins. “Okay, princess.”

You slap his arm, giggling as you chew. He laughs and continues to watch you, squinting.

“Hold on.” A hand comes in contact with your face, fingertip brushing over the corner of your lip and wiping off the sauce. You freeze.

You then watch as Gojo brazenly licks the sauce off his thumb, and you feel your face flame up.

“Gojo-san….”

“Satoru,” He corrects. “Gojo-san makes me feel so old. We’re basically the same age.”

You gulp, remaining silent. The TV fills in the quiet that suddenly falls on the room. You eye the kotatsu, the mess on the floor in front of the couch, Monopoly cards and money still scattered around everywhere. When you look back, you find brilliant blue eyes still staring directly at you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, Gojo reaches out to thumb at the dimple it creates on the skin outside. You let him touch you. Let him lean closer until your breaths are mingling, until his lips are making soft contact with yours.

He tastes like the cinnamon sticks he had been eating, along with something that’s very distinctly him. When his tongue slides into your mouth, you feel yourself stiffen, arching closer to him. Your eyes roll up when the hot muscle glides over your own, and you press closer to his warmth.

His body is lean and firm against you, his arms enveloping you and holding you flush against him. You detest the layers of clothing you are wearing, wanting nothing more than to feel every part of him in direct contact with you. When he tilts his head to slot his lips deeper into yours, deft fingers sliding into your hair and cupping your head from behind, you melt into his embrace.

It feels like hours when he pulls away with a loud, smooching sound, a thin trail of saliva extending between you. He breaks it with a swipe of his tongue, lips twitching up. The action makes your insides clench, your breath catch. And Gojo being Gojo, notices it immediately.

He wastes no time connecting his lips with yours again, and this time, it’s rushed, hasty, almost desperate, as he tilts your head to his liking. His hands wander now, from your waist to your hips, and back until large hands grab and squeeze your ass hard. You moan at the feeling, arching into him more, your own touch running all over his torso. You slide your hands under his sweater, finally making contact with his bare skin.

When your leg is thrown over his waist, you feel the outline of his bulge against your sweatpants, and you can’t stop the little whine from escaping your mouth. Gojo pushes your ass harder into his erection, helping you grind on him. His breath mixes with yours as you both groan at the feeling, and your tug at his hair, soft under your touch.

He is quick to pull back and tug your clothes off, both your sweater and pants removed from your body while you pull his own sweater over his head. His bare skin is a sight to behold, tight cords of muscles flexing under your touch. He is lean, but built, and with his disheveled hair falling over stormy blue eyes, he is a sight to behold. You can feel how wet you are at how incredibly sexy he looks, and you clench again, feeling so unbelievably empty that it makes you whine and your hips jerk up, desperate for contact.

Gojo seems to know exactly the effect he has on you, pushing off his pants until he is left in his boxers. His dick strains against the cloth as he pushes down hard against your panties, grinding on your clit in a way that has you gasping. He pulls back just enough to let his fingertips run over the damp crotch of your panties, before pulling the cloth aside to look at your bare pussy. He groans and bites his lip, running his tongue over the bottom one at the sight. You flush at the wanton look on his face.

“You have no idea how bad I want you.” His voice is much gruffer, breaking at the very end of his sentence. The pad of his thumb runs slowly over your clit, and your mouth drops open.

“You’re so wet already, princess.” He whispers, almost to himself. “Got such a perfect pussy, fuck.”

You whine at his words. “Satoru. Please.”

His eyes dart up, meeting yours. A grin spreads on his face.

“Please what?”

You groan. Now is not the time for him to become an insufferable prick again. You are dripping, walls tightening around nothing, and you want him inside you so bad it makes you ache. Despite the flush on your cheeks, you’re too horny to be embarrassed. So you speak your mind.

“Want your cock, please. Need it. Satoru, I-”

“Fuck, okay.” His thumbs hook in the waistband of his boxers and he tugs them off. His cock springs up, hard as a rock and flushed deep pink. The head is wet with precum, and the sight of it makes your mouth water.

Satoru grabs a hold of it, running the head through your slit, using your juices to slick himself up. You pant in anticipation, legs spread wide to allow him to sink into your tight heat, which he does.

Your mouth drops open as he bullies his way inside, walls separating to make way for him. His cock is long, and reasonably thick, and you struggle to accommodate the intrusion. It results in a delicious burn running through your core, and you revel in the broken groan that emits from Satoru’s lips. He lowers himself to his elbows on either side of your head, jerking forward to bury himself into you to the hilt. You sigh when he is all the way inside, walls spasming like crazy around him.

“Fuck.” He whines. “Fuck. You’re gonna kill me. Got the tightest little hole. You a virgin, baby? Been savin’ it for me?”

You doubt that Satoru is taking his own words seriously. His sentences are getting jumbled, more and more nonsensical as he pulls back and snaps forward again, setting a fast, sloppy pace. He is rutting into you hard and quick, as if he can’t bear to leave your warmth for too long. You let him ramble on in your ear, talking about how good you feel, or how you were made to take his cock, or how he is never gonna fuck another pussy again now that he knows what you feel like. You can’t help how his words turn you on, adding to the sensation of his cock plunging in and out of you with full force now, ramming into you until you are arching into him and cumming hard.

Your legs seize with the force of your orgasm, nails digging into Satoru’s undulating back. He doesn’t stop for even one second, and neither does his mouth. He coos and talks you through your high, praise leaking from his lips without a filter.

“There you go. That’s it, baby. Fuck yeah, cum on my cock. Getting my dick soaking wet, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you? So perfect. Makin’ the prettiest faces-”

Then he is speeding up again, breaths coming heavier and faster, cock fucking into your barely recovering hole until you are on the brink of orgasm again. You can see and feel how his movements grow irregular, beautiful blue eyes nearly crossing as he chases his end.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna nut in your pussy, baby. Then I’m gonna lick it all out of you until you’re clean and ready to take another load. Ya want that? Want me to dump it all in you?”

And you’re nodding desperately, nearly shrieking when you cum again, pleading and begging for Satoru to fuck his cum into you, giving him the last push he needs until he is releasing inside you, painting your walls white with his load. He groans and whines as he ruts into you, hard and slow, not wanting the orgasm to ever end. His head spins, and he nearly chokes at the feeling of you squeezing every last drop of cum out of him. He can’t remember the last time he came so hard in his life.

You try to blink the tears away from your eyes, vision swimming. A whine escapes from your lips when Satoru pulls his softening dick out of you, pools of his cum leaking out right after. You try to close your legs, give them a little relief from the beating you just took. But two large hands are already on your knees, keeping you spread. Your eyes meet Satoru’s, and you catch the little twinkle in them as he lowers himself until he is eye level with your twitching hole. Your face flushes.

“What did I say, princess? I promised I would clean you up, didn’t I?”

[oatmealdaydreams]

Random Headcanons No One Asked For :)

I have many Thoughts.

Ford speaks many alien languages from his time dimension-hopping and will forget human words sometimes. so he uses the alien word for things and no one knows wtf he's talking about

Stan being on the road for 10 years & Ford dimension-hopping for about 30 years has parallels that I can't articulate right now

Stan gives Mabel boxing lessons after she uses her Mabel Power on him (aka: puppy-dog eyes)

Mabel & Ford share a love for scrapbooking/journaling, so Mabel gives him some tips about better glue and the use of fun stickers

Dipper and Stan play card games together, including poker and slap jack

Family Game Night is one of the most chaotic nights of the week and Monopoly was banned after "The Incident"

Ford is allergic to strawberries and fucking hates bananas (because I say so)

While sailing together on the Stan O' War II, Ford and Stan find out about each other's scars and where they're from. Protective Sibling Bonding ensues.

Stan makes an off-hand comment about an attractive guy and that's how he comes out to Ford

All four Pines have different mental struggles after Weirdmageddon & the whole Bill Cipher situations, so they try their best to be there for each other because they understand a bit better than anyone else

Sometimes Ford & Dipper get really horrifying nightmares relating to Bill-Possession and stay up talking in the middle of the night

Ford still struggles with paranoia and paranoid episodes (as does Dipper, depending) but he's growing and learning how to trust again & always has his family to support him

Stan likes to visit the Mystery Shack sometimes to check in on Soos and Wendy

Ford and Fiddleford work on rebuilding their friendship, sharing sea adventure stories and how life is living with Tate

Fiddleford and Tate work on rebuilding their father/son bond, which often includes fishing together at the lake

Ford, now in his 60s, discovers he's asexual and has this moment of peaceful realization. helps him feel more like himself as he recovers from everything he's been through with Bill

Stan sometimes worries that a piece of Bill is leftover in his mind, but is often reassured by his family that Bill is truly gone and can't hurt them anymore

Stan struggles through memory relapses and amnesia episodes, but Ford & family are always there to help him through it (the memories always come back in the end)

Stan and Ford finally catch up with Shermie after so long of no seeing him & it's an emotional reunion (and a bit of a surprise to Shermie to see both of his younger brothers alive)

at some point during highschool, Dipper has an "oh shit" moment when they realize they like using they/them pronouns

And many more things! This is long enough, lmao.

[lovebugism]

Play wrestling with bff Steve and getting giggly when he just straight up manhandles you 😭😭😭

✶ ┄ SORE LOSER !

summary: steve harrington doesn't like to let you win until he realizes how good it feels to lose. pairing: best friend!steve harrington / f!reader word count: 1.6k warnings: a lil bit suggestive towards the end, but nothing crazy a/n: i got super carried away with this lol i kinda just took this request and ran with it and well... here we are :) enjoy!

Steve never lets you win. 

He thinks it’s letting you off too easy.

The boy’s competitive to a fault. He can’t stomach a loss, even if it’s in something as meaningless as a carnival game you only wanted to play for the giant dinosaur plushie that’s half the size of you. 

He always ends up giving it to you when he inevitably wins, wearing a big smug smile on his pretty, pink lips. You take it from him with a pout. The childlike scowl is quelled only by the funnel cake he buys you after.

It doesn’t matter what it is — a game of monopoly, trivia questions on the ends of popsicle sticks, taking in the groceries — Steve finds a way to make all of it competitive. He wants to have the most fake money and little fake properties, he wants to shout the answer before anyone else can, he wants to carry more heavy plastic bags than everyone else. Just to say that he did it.

If you put this much effort into school, you’d be in college right now, Harrington, you’d tease.

Not my fault you’re a sore loser, he’d retort. I’ll let you win the next one, sunshine. Promise.

He never does.

You and Steve play-wrestle like a couple of kids. It usually comes out of nowhere. You’ll make fun of him, he’ll shove at you, and you’ll shove back harder. Then it just turns into a game of who’s stronger than who — and it’s always him. Obviously. 

You try your hardest to prove your strength, pushing at him with nimble fists and wriggling something fierce in his hold, but you come out red-faced with a participation ribbon laced within his taunts. And even though he’s got several inches on you and quite a bit more muscle, he never lets you win. Ever.

He manhandles you, perhaps a little too rough at times, but it wasn’t like he had to be kind to you. You weren’t dating or anything, you were best friends — this is what a couple of pals do, right?

They play fight on the carpet of the other’s movie room after being told their closest confidant would murder them in a game of fuck, marry, kill between Anthony Michael Hall and Robert Downey Jr. with zero hesitation.

Friends totally force the other onto the ground by grabbing at the bottoms of their thighs before kneeling over them, wrenching their wrists in their grip and pressing their hands to the ground on either their head.

It’s the definition of being best buds. Truly.

For the first time, you manage to get the better of him. You’re pressed beneath his weight, breathing heavy and rapidly tiring, and you wave the white flag of surrender.

Just when Steve's letting you up and swiping a hand through his mussed hair, you force him onto his back and straddle his waist — like he always did to you — and giggle with mirth at the idea of finally beating him.

He doesn’t find a similar enthusiasm in it, though. His tune changes almost immediately.

You beam down at him, the words of a taunt on the tip of your tongue, and you notice how his cheeks flare pink. His honey-colored eyes widen and his mouth falls softly agape. He glows red in embarrassment and you think he’s just upset that he lost, but he sounds like he’s panicking. The words rush out of his mouth — “Alright, shit, fine— you win, sunshine. Get off, alright? Off, off, off.” 

His hand swats at the side of your knee to hurry you off him.

“Alright, jeez!” you concede with the roll of your eyes, halfway annoyed that he just can’t let you win anything. “You don’t have to be such a sore loser about it, Harrington—”

You understand his haste in that moment, when you feel him brush your inner thigh. Like, all of him — as in, the boner trapped in the sweatpants he’s wearing, all rock hard and raging in its cotton confines.

Suddenly, you’re just as bashful and panicked as he is. 

Your eyes lock at the rock hard realization but neither of you can think of anything to say.

Do you apologize? Do you act like you didn’t feel anything? Do you trust your voice to make a stupid joke so you can move on and forget any of this ever happened? You’re not quite sure.

And in the five-second silence, Steve just wants to die. Internally, he’s praying for a strike of lightning to take him out on the spot because he’s never been more embarrassed in his life.

He’s certain that he’s grossed you out, or worse, made you irreversibly uncomfortable.

In the mess of thoughts running through his head, he tries to rush out some apology that might soothe the awkward air. Your laughter does all the work for him before he can.

It bubbles like sunshine from your mouth, filling the silence and allowing Steve to breathe again. He finds himself chuckling under his breath with you, though he’s still red-faced about it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep laughing, sunshine,” he chides with the roll of his eyes, though a smile hints at the edges of his mouth. He rises on his elbows to look at you. “What was I supposed to do? Your tits were in my face and your ass was on my dick— sorry for being human!”

“Sorry, alright? I’m sorry,” you manage through hearty giggles. You settle finally at his side and look over at him, still grinning. “Want me to leave so you can… take care of it or whatever?”

He knows you’re joking but he shakes his head anyway. “Nah, it’ll go away. Let’s just… finish this stupid movie.”

“Stupid movie? You picked it!”

“Yeah, so I could see Kelly Lebrock in a bikini!” he argues back, more thankful for the familiar bickering than he ever thought he’d be. “But you made me miss it!”

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Watch it, sunshine,” he grumbles, half-heatedly. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I think you’re the one who needs to worry about finishing, Harrington,” you joke and giggle when he shoves you.

You would’ve helped him, if he wanted you to. You know it’s uncomfortable and that it’s partially your fault. You also know that all of those are just excuses to cover up the fact that you’ve always wondered what his cock looks like.

He’d need only ask you, but you know that he won’t.

Even if he did like you in that way, it’d just make things all complicated. And that was totally the opposite of the effortless relationship you’ve developed with him. The kind of effortless where he can be rock hard next to you, and you’ve both decided to just move on from it.

Steve, meanwhile, spends the rest of the movie not watching a single damn minute of it. He’s too busy trying to calm himself down like a teenage boy and figuring out he can get you on top of him again without being too obvious about the whole thing.

He decides he might just start swallowing his pride and let you win sometimes.

[writerjayne]

When the first bottle appeared, Stiles almost didn't notice. He was grabbing his backpack and running out the door of the loft, shouting his goodbyes to an amused Derek and Peter, who didn't bother to remind him he didn't need to shout. It wasn't until Stiles was halfway home that it occurred to him that werewolves can't get drunk. But Peter is weird, maybe he just likes the flavor and happened to leave it at Derek's place. Odd but quickly forgotten. 

Stiles noticed the second bottle weeks later. The loft was finally finished being renovated and there were two bottles on some shelves that Derek had installed behind the kitchen island. The first bottle was still there, the second beside it but again Stiles didn't have time to ask. He was too busy trying to convince Erica to team up with him so they could take over the monopoly board. 

By the third bottle Stiles was not the only one noticing. Isaac had asked and gotten a shrug. Erica had inspected the bottles and confirmed they were human alcohol so there was no way Derek was getting drunk. Boyd pointed out that Derek wasn't drinking them anyway, all of the bottles were sealed. The pack continued to puzzle over the bottles together, while a very amused Peter refused to contribute and Derek refused to answer questions. 

Bottles four, five and six were added without any answers. There was no pattern to when they arrived, no pattern to the brands or sizes, even the shapes of the bottles were different. Most of the pack had given up, more interested in the other changes in the loft (new furniture, with lots of pillows and flannel blankets, a chess set on the table, the shelves full of books both old and new, and the smaller shelf full of movies) but Stiles was aware of every new bottle. 

It was after bottle eight that Stiles finally cracked and asked. 

"What's the deal with the whiskey?" 

Derek looked up from his book to study Stiles, who was studying the shelves of alcohol. It was just the two of them today, Stiles doing some kind of research while Derek simply enjoyed the younger man's presence. 

"I don't know what you mean," Derek said mildly, dropping his eyes to his book when Stiles turned back towards him. 

"Oh, come on, Derek. You don't drink! I mean, you can if you want, but it won't do anything and not a single bottle has been opened. So what's up?" 

"It's nothing," Derek sighed, and if Stiles didn't know the werewolf, he would have thought nothing more. 

But Stiles did know Derek and unless he was very mistaken Derek was blushing! It was faint but Derek's cheeks were pinkening as were the tip of his ears. 

"It's something," Stiles slowly smiled. "You just wont to tell me!" Stiles shifted how he was sitting, scooting closer to Derek. "C'mon Der, what is it?" 

Stiles leaned in and Derek closed his eyes taking a breath. 

"It's...." Derek said more but it was mumbled and Stiles wasn't sure what it was. 

"What?" Stiles asked again, leaving even closer. 

"It's the color of your eyes. The whiskey." Derek finally blurted, his cheeks warm and pink. 

"Huh?" Stiles mouth fell open as he sat stunned. 

"Well almost. None of them are quite right but whenever I see amber whiskey I think of your eyes and I always end up buying a bottle," Derek kept his eyes on his lap as he explained. 

"My eyes," Stiles repeated. 

"Yeah," Derek glanced up. "In the sunlight your eyes aren't just brown, theyre like warm amber whiskey." 

"So you bought eight bottles??" Stiles almost shrieked, his brain finally catching up with what was happening. "Because it reminded you of my eyes?! Alcohol is expensive!" 

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," Derek looked away, his shoulders dropping in defeat. "It's so weird and probably creepy. I'm sorry I'll take them down tonight-" 

"Derek!" Stiles interrupted and Derek looked up startled. Stiles was smiling and before Derek could realize it was happening Stiles was kissing him. 

It was warm and Stiles smelled amazing. Derek had initially froze but he quickly melted into the kiss, pulling Stiles closer. One of Stiles' hands rested on Derek's chest but the other slid up to cradle the back of Derek's head, fingers threading through the werewolf's hair. After pulling Stiles against him Derek's hands had slid down to rest on Stiles' hips. 

When Stiles pulled back, he stayed close, studying Derek's face, a faint smile on his lips. 

"So... Not weird then?" Derek asked a little sheepishly. 

"Oh totally weird dude but also probably the most romantic this anyone has ever done for me," Stiles grinned as Derek rolled his eyes. 

"We just kissed and you're calling me dude?" Derek complaint lightly and Stiles laughed, his eyes crinkling. 

"Seems like it, Sourwolf." 

Still laughing Stiles leaned in to kiss Derek again and Derek was more than happy to let him.

~This was inspired by a line from the song 'Heather on the Hill' by Nathan Evans: "She's as warm as amber whiskey"