#you made jenga into a tense game that reminds me of the vine where they did that with fucking uno

[arthurtristankingsmen]

Dramatic Jenga

@barmecideblu submitted:

For Chess Anon (wonk)

I told my friend Abt the dramatic Jenga bit and she, stubbornly, stayed up until 4 am writing this…fantastic piece of literature.

The Fatal Move: a dramatic tale of love, murder, and Jenga

Beverly’s leather boots clapped against the rickety sun-bleached deck. She reached for the door knob. It was still warm to the touch from the suns grasp. The rusty knob felt rough though turned like new and a forceful shove knocked the birch door ajar. 

Pushing through, her focusing eyes brought a dusty room into existence. It was here she was directed to. A dark brown briefcase was laided atop a small round victorian end table. The legs of the table were worn to the natural wood. 

Pulling out a chair in need of reupholstery she sat herself up to the table, dropping her bag, and then rotated the briefcase to face her. Her fingertips danced over the combination lock as if to jog her memory. She had subconsciously spoken the code not with her voice but her lips. Her hands quickly spun the dials, 4-8-6, disengaging the lock. The tight hinges proved little to no trouble as the briefcase was opened. Within the confines of its walls there were 54 rectangular blocks. Each block had been inscribed with the word “Jenga.” 

Beverly’s fate was seal from the moment she had stepped through that door. 

Five minutes passed and a long figure floated by the dust caked window and not even ten seconds later a man entered the room. The man, who seemed well kept, was holding an umbrella even though it was the driest day that summer had seen. Without a word he glided across the room to the chair opposite to that of Beverly’s. As he sat he leaned his umbrella up against the cracking wall and placed a small black box on the table. 

For a moment the two did nothing except examine each other. He brushed his hand against his freshly shaven face then coughed into his now closed fist. “Shall we begin” he said, shattering the silence and gesturing towards the briefcase. 

Beverly reached out and took the black box from the table stuffing it in her coat then returned her gaze to his “This is what we came here to do.” She began to remove the blocks from the case placing them in groups of three then stacking them in an alternating pattern. The empty briefcase was placed by her feet and so it began. 

Turn after turn they removed blocks from the tower that would be their salvation or doom. With each block they pulled from the tower’s hold, it swayed. It was entrancing: it’s moments like that of a metronome. It was getting to be nearly twice it’s original height when Beverly pinched a block on the left side of the fifth layer of the tower. She tugged on it quickly causing the tower to rotate 45 degrees and teeter before falling. An explosing of wooden blocks sprayed across the floor with a sharp smash. Beverly still clenching her unwisely chosen block when she slowly reached down to her bag. 

A smirk grew across the mans face but it was a victory celebrated too early. He felt himself coughing again. Like clockwork he raised a closed fist and coughed into it but this time there was blood. Startled yet dazed he looked down to see his grey sweater vest now ran red with blood. 

A low, malevolent chortle brought his attention back to Beverly who had just neatly returned her gun into her bag. The man let out another cough spitting blood over the table and tower ruins. Beverly, who was now walking for the door, turned back to face him “You had to have known you would get what was coming to you, Peter- after your poor little Valerie turned up all sawn to pieces in that ditch a ways off your compound.” 

With that she made her exit slamming the door and locking Peter in his soon to be suburbian tomb.

Authors note: See Blu you smelly turd burglar jUnGA CaN bE DRaMaTiC.

(Thanks, Rew. You’re a dear.)

[negasonicimagines]

Pretty Sure

request: from @xsophie-elisex​: “Also hi I love your fics! I was wondering wether I could request one? Maybe something along the lines of reader and Ellie are best friends and roommates (lots of vine references!:3) and slowly fall In love but it’s like the little things, eg : she brings flowers into the dorm and brings Ellie her favourite takeout or buys her eyeliner when it runs out. Just really domestic things. Basically pure concentrated fluff xox”

notes: This request is really cute! I tried my best to do it justice, but I’m not all that good at slow burn, I hope that a lot of the “slowly falling in love” was prior to the events of the fic. Check out freerice.com!!!! Feed people by answering simple questions! (The money is made off the ad revenue, I believe, so turn off your AdBlocker on the site!)

warnings: none!

Your room was always a refuge for Ellie. She’s glad you two are finally roommates, so that she never has to leave.

The fresh flowers, the sneaking into the other’s bed when one of you is having a hard time sleeping, the Vine and meme references… It’s the best.

Ellie does her homework, every now and then looking out at the courtyard. You’re picking flowers with Laura and teaching the girl how to make flower crowns. She catches on quickly, which makes Ellie feel a little dumb. You’d tried to teach her, too, but, despite her texting experience, her fingers just weren’t nimble enough.

Ellie looks back down to her poem, regretting deciding to take the poetry elective her school offers. Now, instead of writing whenever and whatever she wants, she has to fulfill prompts. This time, she has to write a poem about what love means to her. But… Ellie just isn’t really a “love” person, pushing away 99% of warm, fuzzy feelings like that. The only person outside of her close family she can confidently say she loves is you, and even that’s platonic… At least, she’s pretty sure it is. Platonic means friends, and you and Ellie are friends. At least, she’s pretty sure you are.

She looks up again after brainstorming a little more, taking notes on her paper. The poem wasn’t due for about a week, but she’d wanted to get it done sooner, so she wouldn’t have to do it later.

You’re no longer visible, at least through the window. Ellie sighs, not quite sure why that’s so disappointing. She looks down to her notebook, trying to think on her poem more.

You enter, jolting her from her thoughts.

“I brought us some more flowers!” you announce sweetly, going on to identify them: “Wild violets, purple deadnettle, and these little blue flowers that the internet keeps trying to tell me are forget-me-nots, but I don’t think they are.”

“Alright.” Ellie decides to scribble something about that down. She loves flowers, not that she’d tell you or anyone else that. They’re good for symbolism, and pretty to boot. You grin, and Ellie thinks: ‘She’s my favorite flower.’ And then: ‘Wait, what the fuck does that even mean?’ She writes it down, anyway, because she’s pretty sure it’ll help her later on.

Ellie’s phone buzzes, and you sit on her bed while she sits at her desk, chair turned to face you.

“Fuck, they’re having burgers again. Piotr texted me.”

“I know. I’ve got a pizza order already set on the Domino’s app. Just gotta wait ‘til we’re hungry,” you inform her with a smile that she’s pretty sure shouldn’t make her heart stop the way it does. Sometimes you’re just so pretty. ‘All the time she’s just so pretty,’ Ellie corrects herself, practically hearing you say “Oh, only sometimes?” You’re like cotton candy, she can’t help but smile.

“Not that I don’t love to see you smile, but it’s just pizza,” you chuckle, smiling back at her warmly. Suddenly flustered, she looks away, smile falling. “Sorry.”

“Uh, no, don’t be, I just suddenly thought about how people can donate to Notre Dame but not Flint, Michigan,” Ellie fibs, but then she really thinks about it, and she’s sure her expression darkens further with anger.

“Right? It’s such bullshit,” you agree. “It’s a fucking building, nobody even died. You hungry? We could eat  and go on freerice.com or kissanime or something.”

“Why pirate an anime? I have Netflix and Hulu.”

“Because fuck capitalism, Ellie. Duh,” you explain.

She almost says it without thinking, which makes her realize she’s pretty sure thought it all this time without thinking. ‘I love you so much,’ she realizes. ‘More than anything.’

“Or we could watch cat videos… You still seem a little tense.”

“Cat videos sound nice,” she agrees. “And I could definitely go for some food.”

“Cool, I’ll order.” You do, tapping around on your phone.

“Thanks, how much do I owe you?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You tell her, no malice to your tone at all. “It’s not a pizza just for you, I’m eating it too and I’d be a gluttonous dickbag if I didn’t share.”

“Gluttonous, huh? Maybe I should use that one in my poem,” Ellie teases you, pushing the disgustingly sweet thought of being in love with you out of her mind, deciding to deal with it another day, maybe not even at all. After all, your friendship meant so much to her. She was pretty sure you wouldn’t abandon her for her feelings, but she didn’t want things to be awkward, even for a little while.

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “Isn’t the assignment, like, love or whatever? Though, I guess love can be selfish...”

“No. No deep conversations. My brain already hurts from trying to force words onto the page. Love’s bogus, and-” ‘And I hate the way you looked at me when you said that.’ “And I wanna eat too much pizza and go into a food coma, not examine the intricacies of intimacy with a dork who’s never even been on a date.”

“Hey, neither have you!” You playfully retort. Your phone dings. “Oop, it’s on it’s way.”

“Nice,” Ellie says. Usually silence between you two wasn’t awkward, but this time it is. Like there’s a conversation that’s supposed to be happening but isn’t. Ellie’s pretty sure she hates this feeling. “So, uh, how was your day?”

“Oh, it was good. Is. You?”

“Mine’s alright.”

“Good,” you tell her. The two of you gaze at each other wordlessly for what must have been a long time, because when your phone dings again, it’s to inform you of the pizza’s arrival at the school. You quickly dash downstairs, casting away thoughts of just how beautifully Ellie’s dark eyes glittered in any lighting, and pick up the pizza. You sneak it upstairs, closing your dorm door behind you.

“Fuck, that smells good,” she comments, and you move her notebook and whatnot from the desk to set down the pizza.

“Ooh, who’s she?” You ask, glancing at a page in her open notebook.

“She?” Ellie wonders, already having forgotten what she jotted down about you.

“Flowers are good for symbolism. She’s my favorite flower,” you say in a hyper-feminine tone, teasing her. She’s pretty sure she’s gonna die if she looks at that adorably smirking face of yours any longer.

“Um- Well, um…” She can feel her face getting red, and that embarrasses her even more. “No one, okay?!”

You flinch away from her before stepping back a bit. Scared. She scared you.

“I- I’m sorry. I just… I like someone, okay? And I don’t like people. So, it’s weird and new and I don’t like it, but at the same time I do.”

“Aw, Ellie, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You-” she starts, thinking maybe, just maybe, you weren’t oblivious to her feelings, and that maybe you even shared them but wanted to give her time to figure it out.

“I could’ve given you advice or something! Even if I haven’t been on dates, I had a couple girlfriends in, like, middle school! And I still get crushes! I like someone, too.”

“Really?” Ellie wonders. She’s glad she somehow managed to mask her disappointment. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Who’s your crush? Maybe I can help!” You excitedly respond, and while Ellie’s glad that the awkward silence is over, she’s not quite sure she’s ready to play this game of conversational Jenga with you.  

“Well, I don’t really have a chance, so there’s no way you can,” Ellie admits, and you pout.

“Come on, El. You’re cute, smart, creative… I’m sure any sapphic sweetheart you’re into that has half a brain wouldn’t pass you up,” You tell her.

“Trust me, she would,” your crush disagrees.

“Well, then I guess she doesn’t have half a brain,” you joke, smiling a little and hoping she doesn’t see the sadness in it. “That, or…” You gasp with a falsey scandalized look in your eye and a mischievous smile on your parted lips. “Does Ellie Phimister have a crush on a straight girl?”

“No, no! She’s not straight, I skipped that phase. I just- I don’t know. I don’t think I’m her type.”

“Why?” You wonder. Maybe through this questioning you could figure out the girl and play matchmaker a little. After all, at least one of you deserved to be happy. Ellie tells you everything, you’re one of the few people she vents to and the only one who lives at Xavier’s. So, if she had a crush on you like the one you had on her, you’re pretty sure she’d totally tell you, even if she thought you wouldn’t like her back, because you’re her safe space.

“I think she likes, or, y’know, at least deserves a nice girl. Or girls. Not sure where she stands on that.”

“You’re plenty nice, don’t be ridiculous,” you argue.

“Well, then, I think she’s into more feminine girls.”

“Ellie, I’m not trying to invalidate you or anything, but you’re not exactly the least feminine person on the planet. Even if this mystery girl is into super feminine girls, I doubt she wouldn’t make an exception for you, you’re still pretty and comfortable being called pretty,” you remind her.

“That’s true, but- But-” She’s running out of reasons for you not to like her. Maybe you do like her, or are at least open to the possibility of liking her? “Well, she- She’s really awesome, and special, okay? I don’t deserve her.”

“I bet she’s great,” you say, suddenly sounding dejected. Had you realized she was talking about you? “But you do deserve to be happy, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Ellie replies.

“For what?” You wonder, eyebrows furrowed. You’re suddenly looking at her like she’s crazy.

“I- I don’t know. You sounded sad,” Ellie fibs. “I- I thought you figured out who I was talking about.”

“Why would that make me sad?” You ask her, sounding a bit defensive.

“Um, uh… Listen, Y/N, I’m pretty sure things are gonna be awkward for a while after I say this, but I only fully realized it, like, half an hour ago, and it’s already eating me up inside. I’m pretty sure I love you. Like, love-love you. We’ve been friends for ages, so I get if you don’t wanna ruin the friendship, but I’d really appreciate it if you gave me just a chance to be with you. I promise I won’t hold it against you if you’re not interested, but-”

“I didn’t tell you about my crush because you’re my crush,” you blurt, cutting her off. “Sorry, I was trying to wait, but it’s been eating me up inside since we first met, so I think I’m allowed to interrupt you, just this once.”

“More than allowed,” Ellie agrees. “Um… So, uh… What do we do now?”

“I- I guess what we always do? But with kissing and stuff? The pizza’s getting cold, we can discuss the specifics while we eat and if you want that can count as our first date,” You suggest, saying the last part rather quickly, and Ellie nods. “Am I, uh… Am I really your favorite flower? And what does that mean?”

“Flowers, y’know, they’re pretty... Smell nice... Special... Inspiring… Plus, you’re always bringing flowers in, so…” Ellie, a bit embarrassed but finding herself less angry and more flustered now that the truth is out, mumbles.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” you tell her, and she smiles softly, the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen her wear.

“I’m pretty sure this is the happiest I’ve ever been,” she responds, echoing your phrasing.

“Well, I’m pretty sure this pizza is delicious,” you continue the pattern, taking a bite.

“And I’m pretty sure I’m still gonna fail that poetry assignment,” Ellie chuckles.

I’m pretty sure this fic is over.