#comedians punching down

[christinareedy-love]

What happens when comedians punch down on trans, gay, & handicap people...

Turns out they're not that funny. 🚫

They identify as Not Funny, respect their pronouns.

[captain-nohbo]

Just because I can't stop thinking about it

I hc that both the Masked Fools give up a part of their identity once they start following Aha

Basically joining the Fools means "becoming one of Aha's many masks". I think Aha is the kind of Aeon to not be above taking on the role a character to have fun especially since he's pretend to be Akivili before. So Basically possession is on the table

[magentagalaxies]

i really want to start making a table collecting statistics on the audience demographics i'll perform my aubrey material for (like what generation most of the audience is, whether i'm performing in a predominantly queer space, etc.) and how well the jokes land bc like. i need to collect more data points before i can properly present my findings but the results so far have been fascinating

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Need award shows to start having hosts whose style of comedy is punching up and not down.

[foreverfalling21]

I truly just do not understand what it takes to hate a whole group of people for made up reasons. Like my brain cannot comprehend the vitriol and maliciousness that people hold for other people who are *checks notes* not at all that different from you. How do you become a person who can hate an unknown human being simply because they practice a different religion or because they choose to live their own life the way they want? How do you become someone who is so angry and upset and not at all concerned with the goings on of your own life that you can just get up on stage/write a book/sing a song/hold a rally specifically to punch down on people who don't perfectly match with your own ideals and beliefs?

Not only are they so preoccupied with these perceived threats, but they're lazy about it! They don't read articles or do their own research or idk TALK to people who may be different from them. They are spoonfed bullshit lies by people in the very positions that they SAY they are critical of and yet just believe shit without any critical thought process happening.

I feel like every time I go anywhere, be it online or irl, I am plagued by the news that yet another person opened their unkind, uneducated mouth and spewed such utter horrible, vile things about people that they don't even know! And I'm sick of it! I thought we all learned the Golden Rule! If you don't have anything nice to say? Don't say anything at all.

[12amsongs]

I don’t make as many people laugh like I used to.

[shayneysides]

I legit forgot how handsome Marcello is but seeing him in HD like short king can get it 🥵

He had such a great episode too and basically acted as co-host for a lot of it which is impressive for a featured player. I think he’s really proven himself as a cast member and will defs be promoted next year.

no truly i'm usually a longfellow kinda guy but marcello was so <333 this episode i'm losing my mind.

and YES i'm so glad he got so many major roles this episode. he absolutely deserves it. I actually saw him live pretty recently- he opened for michael che and colin jost at their live show, and he easily got the biggest laughs of the night and outshined them both. che made a joke about how in five years he'd be opening for marcello, and that really feels true- i think he's going to be a star. and the fact that he seems to be becoming a fan favorite cast member definitely helps

[wilwheaton]

In a new interview with the New Yorker ahead of his 70th birthday on Monday, the comedian explained his theory about why there’s no “funny stuff” to watch on TV anymore. “Nothing really affects comedy,” he said, “People always need it. They need it so badly and they don’t get it.” Instead of getting sitcoms like M*A*S*H, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and All in the Family, audiences miss out, he said, as a “result of the extreme left and P.C. crap, and people worrying so much about offending other people.” [...] A look back at some of his earlier comments on a similar subject adds some context, if not clarity. In 2015, Seinfeld sat down for an episode of The Herd with Colin Cowherd podcast, where he explained his aversion to performing stand-up on college campuses. “I don’t play colleges, but I hear a lot of people tell me, ‘Don't go near colleges. They’re so PC,’” he said on the show. After giving an example of his teenage daughter using the word “sexist,” he concluded that young people “just want to use these words: ‘That’s racist’; 'That’s sexist’; ‘That’s prejudice.’ They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Jerry Seinfeld Draws Right-Wing Praise for Comments on ‘Extreme Left’

This is such a bummer. Tell me you’re a privileged, entitled, myopic Boomer without telling me you’re a privileged, entitled, myopic Boomer.

It’s interesting to me that he says these legendary sit-coms, none of which were cruel, punching down, or hurtful, but were actually satirizing power, celebrating women, changing societal norms through representation, and using comedy to do it all, wouldn’t exist if “the extreme left” had anything to do with it.

Umm. Who does he think created these shows? And is he really that ignorant? Has this guy never read a single interview with Norman Lear? Or literally anyone in the cast of Mary Tyler Moore? I mean. Come on, man!

Teenagers and college students don’t know what they’re talking about when they tell a privileged, entitled, multimillionaire Boomer that his “jokes” can be hurtful, and maybe he could use his tremendous talent to do comedy that is just as funny without being hurtful. Okay. Got it. Keep saying that, and see how far it gets you, buddy.

Hey, Jerry Seinfeld: when blue checks on Twitter are celebrating you being a dick, it’s not because you’re so funny and such a brilliant comic; it’s because they love how you’re validating what garbage they are. You can’t see that, or don’t care, and that’s such a huge bummer.

[thegnomelord]

With all these M!reader courting (and practically rizzing up everyone) in their own hybrid way, imagine poor Ghost, he's like toothless, doesn't know how tf to court someone of say, even his own species because he was once human

And with that rant about all the absurd ways of courting, what would he call as his own?

Would he give gifts like Gaz and Price? A piece to remember them by?

I doubt he'd be the physical type like cuddly ol soap who loves to scent,

He's practically a shadow (literally and figuratively) and I feel like the best he can do is stare and slowly blink like a cat (and let's be honest most of the time we don't see his eye) so he might even just act like a stalker and watch from afar, not much of a scent even on him if he's near, even when in the midst of battle

So what can he do then? I feel like going to Price is his best bet and when he tries to scent something like Soap it smells like nothing

I feel like he'd beat himself up on it

(Also fucking love your courting works, I've been eating that shit up its become a hyperfixation)

- ☕️ Anon

I reckon that staring would be less of a wraith thing and more of a Simon thing. Because like, wraiths don't reproduce, they're made not born. So poor Simon just has to try to use the knowledge he had before he died.

CW:NSFW subbot ghost, topdom reader, rough and quick

He likes you.

Just like he's a Riley, just like the sky is blue, his affection for you is one of the few truths of the world he doesn't question. Only problem — he doesn't know how to tell you. You're not human and neither is he, not anymore, but he's woefully unprepared when it comes to you, doesn't know if he's supposed to go about it as a wraith or as a man.

He tries; Simon's phone is full of open tabs containing every piece of information about your species, trying to find grains of truth in the contradicting mess of words. He's memorized how you like your morning coffee down to the last flake of sugar, watching your face carefully when you trudge to the communal kitchen to find your mug steaming and everything laid out near it. He knows your schedule inside out, always a few minutes earlier in the gym when you come in, offering to spot you, his dark eyes roaming over your sweat covered skin. His gaze is always flickering to you, regardless of what you're doing or where you are — watching, guarding, making sure the world doesn't take away that spark like it did with Simon Riley.

But you fail to notice it, him. Or maybe you do but don't care. Don't see him as anything but your teammate, like you should, like he should. God, what is he even doing trying to fucking woo you like some lovestruck Victorian gent. . .

Simon feels like banging his head against the wall.

Maybe then something in his imperceptibly rotten skull will come loose, tumble around in what's left of his brain like a snowball rolling down a hill to form an avalanche, or at least a vestige of a good thought; an idea, something he could use to get out of this rut.

He doesn't go to Price for advice. The old dragon finds him, knows him long enough to figure out when Simon's up to his throat in shite. Price sits down next to him as they watch you and Gaz spar, "Alright, spit it out." Price hums as he lights his cigar.

Simon's lips form a thin line beneath his mask, his fingers gripping the meat of his arm to keep his form stable. His eyes don't stray from you, cataloging every trail of sweat as it rolls down your skin, watching your muscles flex beneath your skin as you throw a punch, making a mental note to show you the mistakes you make in private and—

His shoulders fall, "'m fucked." The words escape him like he'd been punched in the gut.

Price gives him the side eye, looking him up and down. "Doesn't look like you enjoyed it."

"Hah." Simon says in a dry tone. "Always a comedian captain."

Price chuckles, wing spreading out to bump against his shoulder. "Jokes aside," he lets out a small puff of smoke, "You could just tell 'im."

Simon's eyes narrow, "What, not going to suggest I go find some obscure shite ta gift him?" If he could find some concrete information about your species courting habits he would have done so by now, would have happily torn up Heaven and Hell looking for whatever would make you look at him the same way Price looks at Kyle.

"No," Price rolls his eyes, standing up and stretching. "Just go talk to 'im you bloody muppet, going to creep him out if you keep staring like that." He nods his head towards you.

Simon's head is a dark sea of thoughts as he spars with you, tries to make it seem like nothing's wrong but you catch on quick; he's distracted, falling for moves he'd once chastised you for pulling, the edges of his form crackling like the static of a tv, shadowy smoke rising from his blackened arms as he throws a punch that goes wide.

He grunts as you knock him to the ground, your hands on his shoulders to pin him down. "You alright?" You ask, your brows furrowed. "You're not fighting like you usually do."

You can barely see his dark eyes narrow, his body still beneath yours. "I'm fine." He growls out, tries to ignore how the warmth of your body against his makes him feel, nibbling on his nerves like a craving for a drug he can't have.

"Uhuh," You hum, a little confused why he's letting you pin him down so long. "Come on Ghost, you're not getting soft on me are you?" With a huff you attempt to pull away, knowing you couldn't force words out of his mouth.

The sudden lack of your warmth is what forces his body to move before his mind does, shadows shooting out to grab you before congealing back into his arm, pulling you down so his lips can crash on yours.

You grunt into his mouth from the surprise, your eyes wide with surprise. Simon's frozen heart cracks just a bit when you don't respond, only to melt when you finally kiss him back. Your lips feel like heaven against his, Simon's eyes shutting and long tongue slipping into your mouth.

You choke a bit, pulling back to catch your breath, your eyes widening as Simon's long tongue slips back into his mouth. "Fucking hell Simon." You pant,

"Got a whole bag of tricks." Simon says, his throat dry. "I-" He begins to say, thoughts running on how to tell you he wants you but no words coming out, something clogging his throat like molasses.

"Yeah," You grin, the lights overhead casting a halo around your head. "I know." Tipping your head down you catch his lips again, your kiss deep and rough, Simon's teeth digging into your lip until it bleeds, your sharp fangs nipping his tongue, blood mixing in your mouths, arousal starting to course through your veins.

Simon's hands grope your ass, pulling your crotch down on his so your cocks can rub together. Simon greedily swallows your groan, his arms starting to fizzle, shadowy smoke wrapping around you to keep you close as his hand sneaks down to undo your belts, fishing out your cocks.

"Christ," You groan and pant into his mouth, grabbing hold of both of your cocks and rocking your hips into his, pleasure buzzing up your spine.

"Don't bring 'im in here." Simon growls and throws an arm around your neck, demanding your attention with a kiss, longue tongue pushing half way down your throat and hips bucking up to rub his cock against yours. "Just us here."

You moan against his lips and fuck, if that isn't the prettiest sound he's ever heard, his mind clouding over with pleasure and before either one of you knows it Simon's cumming, pulling you down with him, your combined cum painting both of your stomachs.

It takes a few moments for Simon to catch his breath, his pupils blows wide as he stares up at you. "Shite." He breathes out, boneless beneath you.

You grin, "You can say that again." and you lean down to kiss him again.

[heavilysaltedbagel]

What a way to show off everyone's strengths as comedians and writers, too. Brennan, Katie, and Raph have distinct voices in their work that are largely informed and made unique by their own personalities. This makes them ideal first tier Bingo subjects/victims, due to their voices being distinct and distinctly different from one another.

(I wrote a way more thorough analysis of the structure and cast choices made for this episode. Whoops. More under the cut.)

At the Second level, we have Rekha, Trapp, and Lily. Unlike the first three, these three are all excellent at stepping back and prompting others. Brennan points out the Trapp is an excellent straight man. On Dirty Laundry, Lily consistently will listen and wait to send out little jabs that cut through the bits to keep things fresh. Rekha is a quick thinker and will oftentimes make a joke about how proud she is of a dumb joke, thereby simultaneously making a joke and joking about the joke. It's great.

Tier one Bingo players all have a tendency to commit and commit hard to what they do and say, to their own characters and schemes, whereas tier 2 takes one step back and will often times react to either their own jokes or take a broader look at what others have said. They are, to me, the clearest candidates for the jester in the king's court. Additionally, they all clearly have a fiendish streak that made them (a) perfect candidates to torture the first three and (b) ideal Bingo subjects/victims for the third tier of Bingo players.

At the Third tier, Jess, Tao, and Carolyn do not typically take on front-and-center stage characters. Tao I would categorize as a gracious dork. On Game Changer, he plays up his 'weaknesses' for laughs, or (in the case of Secret Samta) takes advantage of his weaknesses in order to pull the rug out from under everyone. I could say the same for Jess, which you can see clearly in the very first episode of game changer. Jess is also able to do and say otherwise embarrassing things with complete confidence. Carolyn is the only person on the third tier who I haven't seen very much of, but she's hot and funny so what else do you need?

Anyways, the third tier folk are all so incredibly deliberate about their choices and what they do and say. They take a look at all of the dominoes before deciding where exactly it is best to knock them down. This makes them well suited for their roles as prompters for what is presumed to be REAL LIFE. (i.e. the second tier are not aware that they are just as subject to Sam's mind games and the first tier. Their prompts all have to seem natural). Jess, Tao, and Carolyn are fantastically well suited to this. They are all willing to put themselves and others through awkward situations that are adjacent to real life scenarios, all for the bit. And they do it spectacularly.

In this way, not only is the show structured with tier one as set up, tier two as build up, and tier three as punch line, but also each cast of comedians within each tier is perfectly suited for that structure of joke. Brennan, Katie, and Raph are excellent at committing hard to a scenario (the set up). Trapp, Reha, and Lily are fantastic at building up tension and fleshing out that scenario (the build up). And Jess, Tao, and Carolyn were brilliant at subverting in the third act (the punchline).

I'd also like to point out that there's a relationship here with increasing material at each tier as well. All the first tier has to work with is the bingo game and what Sam gives them as prompts and encouragement. They fill in the rest with their character. The second tier thinks they have all of the material and therefore dismiss otherwise strange circumstances (Rekha on the apple box, the um actually box, Lily putting her foot up on the table). The third tier actually does have all of the material, and that material includes their own bingo games, everything that tier 2 is doing, and everything that tier 2 is reacting to on the game changer set.

Anyways, whoops wrote an essay.

TLDR: Gamechanger Bingo does an awesome job at showing off everyone's different skills in comedy. It's excellent. I love it.

[shares-a-vest]

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 2: Banter, Joking, Fun

wc: 650 | Rated: T | cw: None

Tags: Dad-Jokes, Steddie Dads, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson

‘Eddie Munson vs. Multi-Generational Penguin Jokes’

Eddie hums with relief as he pulls the lever on Steve’s recliner and eases himself back. A sense of relief washes over him, the pain in his lower back finally alleviating as he stretches out as far as the chair can go.

“Yes,” he hisses, closing his eyes as he palms around the side table for the latest copy of People, and readies himself for a quiet afternoon of reading.

Joanie is playing in her room and Steve is... well...

Doing something that doesn’t require hogging the squishy comfort of the recliner and allows Eddie the privacy of perusing a gossip rag free from teasing barbs.

He locates the magazine and opens his eyes, flicking to a story about Bruce Springsteen’s handsomeness and tight jeans. If he holds the magazine up to cover his face completely, he might even stay camouflaged enough that even the cats won’t bother him.

Eddie side-eyes the fridge, regretting not indulging in a cold one when his magazine knock-knocks towards him, the punched paper crinkling and warping despite his hands stiffening (and cramping) with a steel-like grip in a feeble attempt to save The Boss’s face.

He straightens up at a snail’s pace – enough to peer over the top of his magazine without completely giving up his comfort.

And sure enough, the magazine-crinkling, interrupting culprit is Joanie, smiling all too sweet in her sunshine yellow summer jumpsuit.

“Can I help you?” he asks, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Joanie tilts her head to the side, her sweet smile curling into something mischievous, her eyes glistening in a way that leaves Eddie shuddering at the thought he is in fact, looking in the goddamn mirror.

“Can I tell you a joke?” she says more than asks as she clasps her hands behind her back and rocks on her bare heels.

Her cheeks flush and yep – Eddie thinks he might know where this is going...

He leans on his elbow and cranes his neck to listen out for the person who surely put Joanie up to this, all the while keeping a close watch on his daughter. His eyes narrow as he catches a whispered chiding being directed at one of the cats, followed up with a shuffling that sure as hell sounds like Steve’s old man slippers scuffing on the floorboards.

“Fine,” he replies, settling back down to turn his full attention to the resident comedian, adding a huff for good measure.

Joanie grins, too pleased with herself and Eddie gulps. He won’t be able to keep up this uninterested ruse much longer if the little bean before him is going to continue looking that adorable.

“Ummm… Where do… penguins…” she begins, tearing her big eyes away as she musters up everything she can to recall the joke, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she recites, “Where do penguins go to the movies?”

Eddie tosses the magazine aside to free himself up enough to fold his arms, desperate to stifle a whimper as he pea-brain takes him back to exactly where he had heard this one before.

“Wouldn’t have a clue,” he blurts out, lying.

“The dive-in!” Joanie beams, jumping with her arms wide open at the punchline.

She chuckles away through a toothy grin that quickly fades into a frown.

“Who told ya that one?” Eddie asks, knowing the answer.

Steve first told him this joke years ago, back in Hawkins when they first started kinda-sorta-not not dating and they went to the drive-in two towns over. Back when Eddie realised the Harrington Charm also involved many lame jokes that worked a little too well on him.

“No one,” she shrugs, turning to the hall.

They both look up to find Steve poking his head out from Joanie’s room.

“He didn’t laugh!” Joanie all but screams.

“What!” Steve replies in disbelief, stepping out into the open, “But that one’s a classic.”

[haikyu-mp4]

This time I'm asking for Fukunaga with Illusion. One of my favorite songs.

Now playing... Illusion

word count; 1011 – f!reader, for my 1D x Haikyu event

Going to a comedy show wasn’t necessarily within your idea of a perfect date, but going there with your actual date would have at least made it okay. Instead, you’re sitting alone in the audience, waiting for the comedian to come on stage any minute with an empty seat beside you. With your boyfriend’s track record, you should have known this would be no different.

You tried to enjoy the experience as the show started. However, no matter how funny this Fukunaga was, your bad mood was so evident on your face. Now and then, he’d get a laugh out of you, but you were on high alert when he started an advice session.

Some people asked him to interpret their dreams, while others asked him if their lactose intolerance was worth giving up chocolate milk. As he moved to your side of the stands, the way he looked at you twice gave you a brief warning before he spoke directly to you through the microphone. It didn’t register as a double take in your mind, but that’s probably because it wasn’t the first time he noticed you that night.

“What’s got such a beautiful girl hanging her head over here?” Fukunaga asked, tilting his ear towards you to ensure he could hear your answer.

You cleared your throat, looking to the side and seeing that most of the crowd were looking at you, expectantly. “I uh- I was going on a date with my boyfriend.”

Fukunaga bent down to jump off the small stage and walk over to you, but his eyes were locked on the empty seat beside you, and he held out his hand as if for a handshake. “I’ve never seen such realistic ghosting, man. Good job!” he joked, suddenly coming to a stop and looking at you when no one grabbed his hand. “He’s not very polite.”

You chuckled under your breath, somewhat bitterly. “He didn’t come.”

“Leave him! Dump him!!” came from the crowd, several women stepping up to have your back. Fukunaga’s reaction resembled a scared cat for a second before he laughed and waved his free hand as he walked back on stage.

“Hey, I’m the one giving advice!” he scolded jokingly before looking at you. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “My instinct is saying you should dump him and leave him.“ Some people laughed as he seemed to have taken their advice for his own.

You looked down, twiddling your thumbs. “He’s not that bad.”

“Exactly what every woman wants, I’ve heard.” Fukunaga pretended to twirl some hair around his finger and turned to the rest of the audience. “He should be tall, aaand not that bad!” Everyone laughed and you couldn’t help but join them. “Forget bad boys or nice guys, not that bad is all the rage.”

From there, another comment from the audience made the show keep flowing, and you could finally breathe a little. You looked at Fukunaga just a bit more starry-eyed now, actually managing to enjoy his jokes because a group of strangers had very clearly supported you in your case.

And it might have been your imagination, just an illusion when you felt like he glanced at you more often when saying his punch lines. It made you smile a little brighter, and laugh a little louder.

Then, all too soon, the show was over. The stage lights dimmed and the harsh reality of the ceiling lights woke you up from your delusions. You had let him use you for a good joke, and then you actually imagined anything he said was anything more than jokes. Illusions presented to the audience to enchant them.

When you walked outside, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Not only had your stomach fluttered with butterflies because of a man you didn’t know, but you had also not realised that if your boyfriend wasn’t answering his phone, he also wouldn’t come to pick you up.

Glancing at the clock, you also concluded that there wouldn’t be another bus until at least an hour from now, and started your long walk home. “Wait up!”

You automatically did, looking to the side where the comedian from the show slowed to match your pace. “Hi,” you greeted, a bit cautious as you glanced around to make sure you could see some other people.

“Hey,” he replied, tucking his hands in his pocket, a slight reassurance of his innocent intentions.

“You’re hilarious, I enjoyed your show,” you said, smiling at him in a way that made his neck flush.

“Thank you, I’m happy to hear.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to seem creepy approaching you like this, but I really meant it. About your boyfriend.”

You turned a bit to look over your shoulder, wondering if the audience were all walking behind you, suspenseful as they waited for the joke. “I assumed that was just for the show.”

“The jokes were, sure,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “But that doesn’t make the advice any less real. You’re way too pretty to go on dates without a date.”

That did make you laugh a little again. You almost couldn’t believe you had done that. “My relationship is the biggest joke I have,” you said, happy when he seemed to enjoy your humour. “I suppose you can’t be my date for your next show?” You pursed your lips the second you said it, wondering how that could slip from your lips so easily.

To your relief, he laughed. “The date would have to be before or after, hypothetically. But I promise I’ll show up,” he said and your laughs mixed into the excitement of something better.

Now the red flush spread to his ears and temples, while sneaking something out of his pocket. He handed you a little card, four of hearts, with his name and number scribbled on it.

“Let me know that you get home safe, will you?”

You read his name off the card and smiled softly. “Okay, Shohei.”

dearest @cottonlemonade and her brilliant mind helped me with this idea<3

masterlist

[darlingdarkly]

New Year, New You

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

just over 4k words

tw: dark fic, dark content, dubcon, obsessive behavior, E rated, 18+, mature themes

Part 1, 2, of 3? 4? 5? (More parts planned)

You had lucked out at the office white elephant party this year. You drew the shortest straw, which normally was a bad omen, but in this particular situation meant you got to pick the last gift, or steal the gift of your choice, assuming it hadn’t been stolen twice already and when it finally came down to the last present and you ripped open the wrapping on a candle scented as something called “Caramel Cashmere” you knew you’d be taking your pick of the lot.

You surveyed the circle with sharp eyes. Two mugs, a blanket with a kitten surrounded by pink feathers emblazoned on it, a sample tray of exotic meat sausages, a gift basket from Sephora, An assortment of flavored Schnapps nip bottles with a set of shot glasses, a pair of AirPod pros (that had already been stolen twice and were thus, out of the game), two tickets to see some standup comedian named Roy Ramheart at the Holiday Inn over the weekend and lastly a two week trial to the brand new bougie gym that opened up downtown.

You turned slowly in the middle of the circle, shitty candle in hand, eyeing each person and their presents one by one. Sharon was shaking the blanket with the feathers and kitten on it, trying to entice you with it. Mark, the gym rat, was trying to hide the two week gym trial under his crossed arms. Maureen was already unpacking the Airpods and changing the heads to one’s that would be most comfortable to her ears, everyone else looked beyond bored. You did one more rotation before stopping in front of Mark who let out an irritated huff as you held out the large beige candle to him. He snatched the candle from your hand and reluctantly held out the gym brochure.

You grabbed it and opened it, leafing through it as the rest of the office stood and began to chatter about their new gifts with heated exchange, there’d be secret swaps later no doubt. Someone turned the music back up and the circle slowly broke and dispersed into a half drunk crowd of sloppy dancing and idle chatter.

Mark came up to you, obviously upset with your steal of the gym trial. “You could’ve had the Sephora gift basket. Maybe you’d get laid a little more if you indulged in some makeup.” You looked up at him, a winning smirk on your face, unfazed by his nasty jest and looked back down at the flashy brochure. Your office bestie Nancy came over and Mark strode away, annoyed at losing out to you and failing to get under your skin.

“What was that about?” You looked up at her and rolled your eyes as she stared after him. “Sore loser.” She eyed the brochure in your hands. “I see you got Mrs. Magna’s gym trial.” You smiled and popped the trial in your purse. “So it was hers, I had a feeling.” She handed you a little red cup full of spiked punch. “Got it in the mail yesterday, she’s already gotten four of them and I was about to throw it out with the rest of the junk but then I remembered she still needed something for the white elephant thing so I saved it back, good thing too, the other option was a airmall catalog from her last business trip.”

You rolled your eyes, your boss had always been contemptuous at best, and if she held the whole of the office at foot level she held your best friend Nancy, her secretary, in the dirt. You had spent countless hours after work, drinks in hand listening to her vent about being Mrs. Magna’s doormat for forty hours a week.

You sucked down the last of the punch in your cup and regarded the hazy swirling quality the room had taken, it was time to go home. “I’m headed home, Nance. You wanna catch a ride with me?” She looked down at her feet, a look you’ve seen all too often, one that meant she’d be taking it face first again. “Gotta stay and clean up. She’s got an early board meeting in the morning and they’re having it here, so I’ve got to have this place spotless by 6:15.”

“God, does that woman ever give you a break?” She pulled you in for a hug and took your empty cup from your hands, replacing it with your purse. “Get home safe, and text me when you get there, yeah?” You smiled and nodded before turning for the door, pulling out your phone and opening up Uber.”

When you were home and locked up tight you texted Nancy, brushed your teeth and fell into bed, letting the buzz carry you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning, sour taste in your mouth and head throbbing dully. You slowly lurched from the nest of your bed and shambled into the bathroom, wincing at the brightness of the lights as you flicked them on and breathing out shakily as you shut them off again. With the little corner window casting gentle waxy rays into the space you turned on the shower and set about brushing your teeth. Bad taste gone, you climbed under the flow of steamy hot water and let the force of it all wash away your grogginess and began to feel just a bit better.

When you were out and dressed you made a light breakfast and pulled your white elephant gift from your purse. The front showed the shiny new building and the fancy letters at the top read “Baliquinox”. The brochure outlined the extent of the trial, all amenities available for the duration of the trial, including but not limited to the scheduled hot yoga, cycling and something called gravity assisted pilates. The gym also advertised a sauna, a full length Olympic sized pool, an in-house smoothie “artist”, as well as massage therapists and personal trainers on staff.

On the back of the brochure various payment plans were listed for membership packages, starting in the thousands, you immediately flipped the brochure back over to the front, two weeks was all you had, but you were going to make the most of it. If you could come up with a routine that you could do at home then you could give up the luxurities that came with the cushy admission price.

A week later you found yourself in front of the glitzy building, gym bag in hand as you stared at the shiny made up people behind the gleaming doors. Walking into the bustle of people you are met with a long white desk, there’s two people behind the counter, a fit beautiful woman and strong chiseled man, both already occupied with customers. But while the actual humans are occupied there is a row of kiosks set up with a sign above them that claims they can help you.

You walk up to one hesitantly and find that it’s actually a really simple process, you scan the barcode on the back of your brochure, type in some preliminary basic information, your name, address, email and phone number, and your free two week trial has begun. The machine spits out a laminated wristband at you. You tear it at the dotted lines, place it around your wrist and now you’re good to go. The machine wishes you a very productive workout and sends you on your way.

You walk further into the building, following a colored line on the floor that claims it will take you to the locker room. As you follow the line your eyes scan your surroundings, to your left are three glass rooms. One is currently occupied by a spin class, the next some sort of dance exercise class, the thumpy music felt through the floor in your feet but unheard to you outside of the walls, the last was a hot yoga class, you could tell by the mats on the floor and the condensation on the glass but as you were watching the instructor pressed a button on the tablet she was holding and the glass grayed out before your eyes, concealing the room from view.

You passed a room which you guessed held the pool, the sounds of echoing splashes crashed against the walls. Finally you could see the locker rooms before you, a door split off into men’s and women’s, keeping to the right you found yourself in an expansive room filled wall to wall with lockers. You came up to one with a green light on the front and pulled on the door, it opened freely and you began to change. When you had on your workout clothes you put the bag inside and shut the door, as you stepped away the light changed from green to red, signifying it had locked and you left the locker room.

You found the open gym space by following a different line on the floor. The room was split up into sections, one for machines, one for free weights, and one for cardio. Meandering into the cardio section you found a row of Peloton treadmills that stretched the length of the wall while the other side were full with cycle machines. You opted for a run to start with. There were a couple treadmills in use at the front but the ones in back were empty. You picked one by the far wall, stepping up onto it and putting your headphones in. You looked up at yourself in the mirror lined wall, taking in a deep breath before finding a song and picking a speed.

Head down and focused you let your footfalls come to the forefront of your mind, the only thing that mattered, soon the room around you faded and became unimportant. You had just broken out a sweat, head lifting and eyes opening to meet the mirrors of your own on the wall, but that wasn’t all.

Standing behind you, eyes connected with yours was a ruggedly handsome man, he stood behind you a few feet back from the treadmill and when you caught him staring he didn’t look away ashamed, just held your gaze with shockingly pale blue eyes. He wore black athletic shorts and a white shirt with the gym's name across his chest, he definitely worked here, personal trainer maybe, judging by his ripped physique. His lips turned up in a smirk and it was you who finally broke the locked gaze.

You looked down at your phone, shuffled through a few songs before checking the mirror again, he was still there. You were about to turn and speak to him when he turned on foot and headed out of the cardio section and out of sight. You stopped the machine and took a moment to take in your surroundings. There were a few more patrons in the cardio section of the gym but they didn’t seem to notice this interaction between you and the handsome stranger at all and there didn’t seem to be some kind of maintenance going on or equipment around you that was needed, warranting the long stare you’d received from the employee.

You turned back to your machine and after looking once more over your shoulder for any other disturbance you resumed your workout, picking up the pace and settling into a jog. It wasn’t five minutes later that the man was back, this time though he was strolling the area and looking, quite obviously, anywhere but you. You felt heat rising in your cheeks and somehow more exposed than before, you almost regretted this isolated treadmill towards the back of the room.

He had passed the other patrons at this point, there was no reason for him to walk back this way any further other than to speak to you. Still you felt compelled to keep your head down, like somehow you weren’t supposed to be here. He stopped behind you once more and the hair on the back of your neck pricked to points. As you made up the courage to confront him he took the first step, walking up to the side of your machine and tapping the handle arm.

Pulling one earbud out you turned the machine down to a walk, a little annoyed at the interruption but compliant and friendly as you could be. “Yes?” He flashed you a smile and gods was he handsome, tan skin, nice white teeth, he looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine, absolutely a personal trainer, but what did he want with you?

“Hi, m’name’s Johnny. I’m a personal trainer, dinnae think I’ve seen you around before.” His voice is gruff and that accent, Scottish? Maybe. Delicious whatever it is. “I’m new, first day.” He rocked back on his heels slightly, smile never faltering. “Ahh, I see. Ken I’d never seen ye before, would’ve remembered such a pretty face.” Charming as well, you couldn’t help but avert your gaze for a moment, the intensity of his presence a little faltering. When you speak your voice is a bit higher pitched than you’d wish and he knows he’s flustered you just a little.

“Yeah. Yeah, just umm.. just started my workout actually. Didn’t get very far.” You turn to go back to the machine but he reaches out and grabs your wrist and it stops you, your eyes flick back to his baby blues. “Have ye set your goals?” One eyebrow shoots up. “My goals?” That dazzling smile is back, it’s bright, nearly blinding. “Yer workout goals, cannae start yer workout without yer goals, hen. Gotta ken where yer at and where yer goin’.”

You consider this for a moment, a little off guard before stuttering forth an answer. “I’d like to work on my cardio.” It’s a simple enough answer, and seems stupid considering that’s what you were doing before he interrupted you and you thought maybe it was enough for him to leave you be, as handsome as he was you wanted to be polite but you also wanted to get back to it.

“That’s a good start bonnie. But we need to know where yer at still. Follow me.” And then he turns away, obviously expecting you to follow him. You stop the machine and stand idly for a moment, unsure what you’ll do, you probably could just go back to walking and that’d be the end of it, and maybe that’s what you should do, but you think it’d be rude, he was being nice so far and maybe he could help you set some real goals to accomplish, he is after all a personal trainer. It would be stupid to pass up his professional help. You climb off the treadmill and walk towards him, speed walking a little to catch up.

He carts you through the gym, and it feels like you’ve walked the whole length of the building, passed through a few sets of double doors, long since stopped seeing any patrons actually exercising. Now you feel like you’re in the back rooms of the gym, maybe where you’re not supposed to be. But you still follow him, keeping track of where you’ve been and how to get out if you have to, you know, just in case.

He finally opens the door to a room and pushes you in, it’s small but furnished. A single ancient treadmill pushed into one of the corners, a few scales against the far wall, charts explaining how to find your BMI and the nutrition pyramid are tacked to the wall. He shuts the door and the room takes on a warm and stuffy quality.

He starts by measuring your height. There’s a laminated ruler all the way up one wall and he pushes you up against it, kicking your feet until your heels touch the wall. You feel the strength in his hands as they bracket your hips, controlling you with just the minute movements of his wrists, caging you closer to take “the most accurate” measurements.

His breath is in your face, warm and minty as he places a finger at the tippy top of your head to pinpoint your height. You would think he’d have some sort of chart or goal sheet to jot these numbers down but he’s typing them into his phone instead, after all everything was online these days.

When he had your height he motioned for you to step on the scale, something you were a bit hesitant to do. “Don’t be fashed, bonnie. S’all part of the process.” You step up on the scale and after he takes a careful moment to be sure it’s settled he records your weight. You think it all might be over and you can go back to your workout when he says “Open.” You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded and he waits patiently for you to comply.

“Open?” He grips you by the chin gently and taps his thumb against your lower lip, and your breath hitches at the gentle but intrusive gesture. “Open up.” You slowly part your lips and he smiles, his pretty blue eyes staring at your lips and you’re beyond flustered, thighs shifting uncomfortably. “Wider.” You do as he says, not sure how any of this is necessary but too far gone to stop now. “Good girl.”

He rocks your head from side to side, thoroughly examining your mouth, you feel his thumb apply pressure to your plush lower lip, drawing it down and you feel the saliva in your mouth gathering uncontrollably. The weight of it dips and you're backing away so as to not drool on his hand, your lower lip plopping back in place, but not before a drop of it collects on his thumb.

He looks you, unabashedly in the eye as he lifts his thumb to his lips and pushes the digit with your drool on it into his mouth. Your eyes are as big as saucers but without skipping a beat, and without recording any kind of data on that last test? Measurement? Examination of your mouth, he moves you over onto the treadmill and starts it up. He starts at a low speed and as the tread begins to move under your feet you have no choice but to move along with it.

It’s a walk, no sweat and you look over to see him watching your hips, his eyes flick up to yours and he leans forward and ups the speed. Now you’re at a light jog and you can no longer watch him directly. You hear him walking around the treadmill, alternating between being directly behind you and off to your side. He ups the speed again until you’re full on running, arms pumping as you try to keep up with the tread, you’re breathing quite heavily, chest heaving with each breath.

He turns it up again, just a notch but it’s past your limit and you’re struggling to keep up now, the heels of your feet nearly dangling over the end of the tread, you speak in between breaths, telling him you can’t keep up, it’s too fast. “Just a little more, hen. Keep goin’.” He’s behind you, you hope he’ll catch you if you come flying off the end, and just when you thought you would he comes up and hits the emergency stop and you feel the tread’s speed dwindle beneath your feet. When it stops you stand there, heart beating triple time in your chest, your arms gripping the arm rest until he comes up and makes you place them interlaced behind your head.

He says nothing while you recover, just plugs more data into his phone and when you’re better he looks up at you with cold assessing eyes, the baby blues icing over and chilling you. But then that smile resurfaces and they melt into pools of tropical blue and he speaks.

“Alright, lass. I'll do it.” And he just stands there not explaining until you ask. “Do what?” He laughs and it’s a gorgeous sound that still manages to unnerve you. “I’ll be your personal trainer.” You have a lot of questions and are about to voice them when he pulls you out of the room and has you following him again, talking the whole while.

“We’re gonna stretch your goals a bit. “Working on your cardio” isn’t exactly gonna cut it. We will work on your cardio, because trust me lass, it needs work.” You’re slightly offended at this, but he pushes right on through without soothing it. “But we are gonna get you in shape together. Dinnae worry, Johnny’s got a whole plan mapped out for ye already.” He takes you into a little cove by the front where a bunch of people are seated and drinking smoothies. This must be the smoothie artist you read about in the brochure. He walks up to the counter, bypassing the line and orders something you can hear from the table you sat down at. He’s handed two drinks and brings them over.

Handing one to you he sits across from you and when you don’t try it right off he sets authoritative eyes on you and deadpans in a no nonsense tone. “Drink.” You bring the straw to your lips and suck, which seems to please him and the fruit mixture that floats to your tongue is sweet and refreshing. “Now I want ye to do some homework for me when ye get home tonight. Two… nah. Make it three sets of sit-ups, two sets of toe touches and ten lunges.” You look at him and know that now is the time to tell him, you guess he just didn’t know or didn’t think to ask. “Johnny.” He looks up at you, eyes alight with excitement. “Yes, hen.”

“I’m only gonna be here for two weeks. I’m doing the free trial thing.” He keeps on staring like what you’ve said hasn’t registered and after a moment he adds. “And?” You thought it was clear but it seems you’ll have to go further. “I’m not sure I’ll be committing to coming back.” This is a lie. You know you can’t afford a membership and after your two weeks are up you simply couldn’t keep coming. But this seems to not matter in the slightest as he replies. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, yeah? Til’ then three sets of sit ups, two sets of toe touches and ten lunges.”

You don’t know what to say so you just nod and he smiles and despite yourself you feel almost relieved to see it. “Good. Come in tomorrow at three and we’ll get started on yer first real workout.”

“But I don’t get off work til 4.” He smiles and knocks once on the table with his knuckles. “4:30 it is then. Don’t be late.” With that he stands and walks away, leaving you with a half finished smoothie and conflicting emotions.

Later that night after you found yourself compelled to at least finish the “homework” he’d assigned and after you’d repacked your gym bag with fresh clothes and climbed into bed, the image of him pushing his thumb into his mouth filled your head until you burned in bed like a torch. His pale blue eyes, dark hair, tan skin, all very conventionally attractive aspects of his features but there was more, a more secretive darker part of you that was drawn to the way he picked you out. Took notice of you immediately and coerced you into training under him, even after he knew you might not commit.

The burn of it became too much and you grabbed for the vibrator in your nightstand, coming at the thought of those strong arms hooked around your thighs and those pale blue eyes peering up at you from the junction of your thighs. At 4:30 the next day you found yourself in front of Baliquinox, gym bag in hand and nervous.

[mint-ty]

Jere is actually an amazing stand-up comedian. He does one thing that so many actual stand-up comedians can't do - he never punches down 💚

(yes I'm still thinking about that vintage kä article)

[mazey-phaedra-enjoyer]

I've been thinking about FHJY recently and one thing I can't stop coming back to is how the bad kids (and kinda the intrepid heroes) haven't processed that they're not low status anymore. It's a bit like Zelda said in c2 to Gorgug where she is frustrated with him because he hasn't processed that he's extremely popular and is still stuck in the "backpack kid" mindset and can't understand how some of the stuff he does makes her feel insecure. The party as a collective hasn't moved past this self perception of being the "plucky loser freshman fighting back against the school!" not realizing that they're now not only extremely popular and influential both in and out of school, but are also upperclassmen.

Partly it's because it's a show made by comedians and will always have a comedic undertone in some respects but in freshman year when they were making jabs at people like ragh and penelope they were very low social status freshman and it was very much a punching up type deal. It's like in the MisMag holiday special where the magical misfits go really hard on Axelby thinking of him as part of the messed up wizarding world and end up just being unnecessarily cruel to him and feel bad about it. When they have that mentality of being kinda snarky to everyone they're sometimes just being bullies. During junior year they still think they're always punching up and don't realize they're now just punching down.

I feel like it's especially prominent with their first interaction with Kipperlily. Obviously as outside viewers and the IH as players knowing this is a story and the tone of the scenes we can infer from context clues that with the narrative foils in the rat grinders being set up that Kipperlily is most likely an antagonist. In universe though, Kipperlily has done literally nothing to be mean or antagonistic towards them to their knowledge at that point and Kristen immediately says that her name sounds stupid and decides to run for class president out of spite purely because they decided she seems a little stuck up. They're still in the mindset of thinking they're like freshman being sassy to the popular senior but in reality they're just verbally berating another kid with basically no provocation other than KLCK just having a funny name and being kinda type A.

[navybrat817]

Still Get Jealous

Pairing: Rocker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't get jealous. Or does he? Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, possessive behavior, slight jealousy, swearing, talk of exhibitionism, Rocker!Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Fifth day of my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to White Wolf and Luna! Finally wrote something for them. Inspired by this ask here by the wonderful @beach-daydreaming . ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Bucky edit by the amazing Nix. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky isn’t a jealous man. He has no reason to be. Playing sold out shows, rocking out with his friends, and getting paid to have a good time? He's on top of the world.

Best of all, he has you.

If only the pricks around you would take a hint.

It made sense that other guys wanted you. The way you carried yourself with confidence and dressed like you were made for sin, you got attention everywhere you went. Just because he slid an arm around your waist and pulled you to his side when some guy hit on you didn’t mean he was possessive. If he dug his fingers in a little or pressed a kiss to your neck, it was a subtle way to make the asshole back off.

It was not because he was jealous.

“Marking your territory?” you always asked once they took a hint.

"If I wanted to do that, I'd put you on your knees and fuck you right here."

He never had to touch you to know that got you wet. The whole crew caught you two going at it more than once and you got off on it every time. His beautiful Luna had an exhibition streak as long as his. You loved showing everyone who you belonged to.

So was he possessive or jealous if he knew you were his?

"Will you ever make good on that promise?” you teased.

Bucky considered it after the latest show.

Downing a shot, he glared at Graham across the bar. He had no issues with the Nonsense Nation guitarist most days. The guy was quiet and usually kept to himself. He hardly ever cracked a smile.

So why was he huddled close to you and laughing?

And why were you laughing with him?

Since when is Graham a fucking comedian?

“Stop glaring,” Steve asked, trying to get Bucky’s attention.

“Why is she shoving her tits in his face?” he demanded to know.

You trying to get my attention, Luna? You fucking got it.

Steve handed another shot over, which he quickly downed. “She’s not putting her tits anywhere. You know she doesn’t want him.”

Bucky knew you weren’t into Graham, but he still questioned why you were leaning in closer. The bar wasn’t that loud. There was no reason to press up against him like that. You were practically in his lap at that point.

“Fuck this,” he muttered as he licked his lips and slammed the glass down on the counter.

“Fuck it,” Steve agreed, nodding over to you. “Go get your girl.”

My girl.

His best friend gave him shit about the two of you in the beginning because he refused to put a label on things. You were a good fuck. The best pussy he ever had. There was no reason to mess that up by calling you his girlfriend.

Somewhere along the way, it became more. You didn’t fuck any other guys and he didn’t pick up any other groupies. He liked talking to you when he wasn’t balls deep inside you. He loved making you laugh.

Which is probably why he wanted to punch Graham’s fucking face in.

You didn’t turn around as he came up behind you, but he heard your gasp when he pulled you back against his chest.

“What’s so funny, baby?” he whispered against your ear.

“Hey, Buck,” you said sweetly, pushing your hips back in a gentle grind. “Oh, nothing. Graham and I were talking about you, believe it or not.”

“Is that right?” Bucky asked, keeping his eyes on Graham as he tilted your head and moved his lips down to your jaw.

“We were,” the guitarist confirmed, taking a sip of his drink and seemingly not bothered at all by the display as he checked his phone. “I owe Jefferson a drink.”

“The fuck does that have to do with me?” he asked, grinding against you in return so you could feel him getting hard.

Wonder if I could get away with fucking you on the bar.

“Luns wondered how long it would take for you to come over and say something if I flirted with her. I thought it would take five minutes,” Graham said as he slid off his barstool. “Jefferson said two minutes.”

Should’ve fucking known you were playing games.

You let out a hum of pleasure when he slid his hand under the front of your top. “Then find the fucking Mad Hatter and get him a drink. Now,” he grumbled.

“Maybe I want him to stay,” you said in a sing-song voice before Bucky cupped your breast and squeezed. “Fine. Thanks for the laugh, Graham.”

“You two behave,” he smirked a little before he walked off.

“No promises,” you said even though the two of you were alone. Well, as alone as you could be in a bar. “Two minutes. I’m impressed, White Wolf.”

“You trying to make me jealous, Luna? Bad fucking girl,” he said, his thumb brushing along your nipple. "Should punish you for that."

"Is it a punishment if we both enjoy it?" you moaned, the globes of your ass pushing even harder against him. “You don’t need to be jealous, but I like it."

“Not jealous,” he mumbled as he buried his face in your neck. "Is he funnier than me?"

If he sounded vulnerable, you didn't call him out on it.

"No, he isn't," you answered, making him breathe a little easier. "And don't you dare ask if I think he'd fuck me better."

"No one can fuck you better than I can," he said, his confidence back in full swing. "But I think you need a reminder that you’re mine.”

You gasped when he pinched your nipple. “As much as I want you to fuck me on the bar, and you will do that one day, I think the bathroom stall will do just fine.”

He may have given Jefferson and Graham the finger when you dragged him away. He also may have admitted later while you slept that he was jealous. Only because you were the best fucking thing to ever happen to him and you could have anyone you wanted.

But you chose him.

And who would the White Wolf be without his Luna?

You gotta love him. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ KoFi