best newest model

fundeadasylum  asked:

These soft paperhat things are just what I needed this morning. Bless. Imagine BH replaces Flug's old tools with new ones, always the newest and best models. He never give any indication that it's him doing it but Flug knows it is. BH hauls Flug to bed when the doc falls asleep in the labs. Despite the softness he secretly extends to Flug, he genuinely has a hard time expressing it verbally so most of the time he just ends up leaning on Flug and telling Flug he's done a good job.


i feel like flug would also be very awkward n nervous n super shaky or overly chatty/rambles when he gets excited

im sure he was the first one to accidentally blurt out ‘I love you’

bookcoversproject  asked:

good morning, have we talked about what eliot spends his money on? because so far all I can think of are (a) a fucking absurd and totally pitch-perfect car, (b) probably knives, and (c) carnivorous mail-order plants. dude probably wasn't hurting before they made $3.5M each—is it just in a bank somewhere? i mean, some of it's probably really really well hidden in distributed locations and some is buried in a box in the woods in montana, but he must have spent SOME, he isn't parker

omg, okay, this is possibly my favorite question anyone has ever asked me, because it has led me to the glowing, glorious realization of the answer. but before i get to said answer, we must, first, discuss the cars. because you see: john rogers’ blog, which i continue to read sometimes even though i disagree with a good 75% of what he says, states that eliot COLLECTS CARS, which i choose to believe because i am so absurdly delighted by it. i am so absurdly delighted by the idea that eliot spencer is not only a car buff but a car COLLECTOR and, of all the cars in his collection, chooses most often to see and be seen in his bright orange dodge charger with the blue stripes down the middle. like. l i k e. what must the rest of the collection look like? is the orange one his favorite because it’s the ugliest or does he actively collect ugly cars the way that he collects ugly clothes? is there somewhere a warehouse full of like. pt cruisers with flames on the side??? those cars that look like toasters? or are they all muscle cars in the most eye-searing paint jobs possible? is he in it for horsepower or speed or SHEER UNATTRACTIVENESS or like, the middle of the venn diagram of all three? eliot spencer u beautiful weirdo you are so fucking weird, you act like hardison and parker are weird but honest to god you are yourself the king of weird island. HE COLLECTS CARS AND HE CHOOSES TO DRIVE THE ORANGE AND BLUE CHARGER. i just. i can’t. at all.

okay. having said all that, my beautiful realization is this: aside from the cars, in many ways eliot spencer’s spending habits are all but indistinguishable from those of your average middle-aged, upper-middle class mom.


the thing about it is that eliot hates williams sonoma. he really does. on principle, he hates them. he hates what they’ve done to average american home cook and he hates how they’ve put smaller local shops out of business (eliot believes very deeply, as we know from the canon, in shopping local). he hates that they create tools that ABSOLUTELY NO PERSON NEEDS, like this fucking avacado cuber, and then charge $17.95 for the pleasure of pointlessly owning one. he hates the whole aesthetic of the place, which suggests that if people just buy one of their products they’ll suddenly be deposited into ina garten’s life in the hamptons, instead of the low lighting of their own apartment, probably feeling like a shithead for spending a hundred dollars on goddamn colanders. he hates that everything they sell that’s actually useful and necessary for a kitchen can be found cheaper and better at restaurant supply stores, or better yet, made by actual craftsmen. he hates them. he hates them! he hates them.

and yet, somehow – like highway blindness; like those times sophie used to brainwash him – invariably, a few times a year, eliot blinks and finds himself standing at the checkout counter of a williams sonoma with his arms full of items. it’s like they have some kind of hold over his very soul. it’s like he made some sort of bargain with the devil that he doesn’t remember, and its consequence was his damn addiction to damn williams damn sonoma.

“what is this?” parker says, jerking eliot out of his reverie in one of their dallas locations. they’re hanging around for a few days after wrapping up a job, just in case the client ends up needing any further assistance; parker and hardison wanted to go to some video game store and there it was, across the street: his nemesis, williams sonoma. eliot doesn’t even remember coming in here, much less hardison and parker following him in – he likes to think that he still retains at least enough of his sense of self-preservation that he would have stopped them, kept them from witnessing this particular source of shame. and yet: here he is. here they are. there’s a basket of monogrammed kitchen towels in his hands and he doesn’t know how it got there.

“it’s a fucking stupid useless insane thing nobody needs, why the fuck would anyone buy a mortar and pestle made out of salt,” eliot thinks, but what eliot says, god help him, is, “it’s ours now, that’s what.”

“hey look!” hardison calls, “it’s a cutting board i can hack,” and even that – even that – eliot buys.


a truly, truly absurd amount of money is the amount of money eliot spends on hair care products. more money than any person should spend on hair care products. more money than any five people should spend on hair care products, especially since (as febricant and i joke about all the time; this thought, like, tbh, most of my leverage thoughts, is as much, OR MORE, febricant’s as it is mine) eliot is otherwise the type of guy who like, washes his entire body up to and including his face with the same bar of dial yellow soap. (“you wash your FACE with the same soap as your BUTT??” demanded hardison, aghast, the first time he witnessed eliot screwing his eyes shut and scrubbing the yellow bar across his forehead and cheeks. “oh my god, eliot. were you raised by WOLVES?”)

but hair care; forget it. that boy takes his hair care SERIOUSLY. he replaces his blow drier with the newest and best models at every new innovation; he owns three different flat irons at any given time, the use of which he rotates based on a complicated equation of how much heat he’s put on his hair this week, the weather forecast, and the types of products he’s used that day. he has rinse-out conditioners and leave-in conditioners and he uses a different shampoo every time he washes his hair – in theory these too are in rotation but in practice he has so many different kinds of shampoo that a rotation, in the traditional sense, would be impossible. he has argan oil and macadamia nut spray-in volumizer and every kind of brush imaginable. he cuts his own hair (evidence: the rundown job, DEAR GOD), mostly because he would never ever let another person that near his neck with a pair of scissors, and so he has that crap too – hair-cutting scissors, yeah, but also the assorted clips and smocks and shit that come with it. he has highlighting kits, because you better believe those aren’t natural. he has more than one of those fancy fabric shower caps, as well as a whole drawer of the plastic ones he always makes sure to take from hotels.

and the thing is that it’s not about looking ~stylish, or, come to that, even good – hell, half the time his hair is unwashed and greasy as fuck, or curled up all to hell from moisture, and he just throws it under a hat and could give a shit. truth is, when he started growing it out it was just to cultivate a new look, confuse anyone who might be after him, but maintaining it, keeping it soft and flat – or at least as flat as possible in wet/humid climates – it got to be kind of…. well, shit. he got to liking it, that’s all. taking an hour or so of his time, every few days, and devoting it to nothing but taking care of part of himself. that’s the long and short of it. it’s not something he likes to look at too hard.

in any case, it takes him a long time after he makes it official with parker and hardison to let parker see the whole ritual of it, and even longer before he lets hardison. even though hardison is the one, of the three of them, who spends the most time and effort on his physical appearance – even though parker’s hair is the way that it is naturally, and she only bothers to tease it into anything approaching a style if it’s for an alias, part of a con – eliot himself had to shake off enough of the hard-coded masculinity shit that he’s a little afraid hardison might… not judge him, exactly, because hardison wouldn’t, but say something. make a joke. eliot’s weirdly bothered by the idea; it feels like something he could lose, the pleasure he takes in it, to something as small as a quip that cuts a little deeper than hardison meant it to. eliot’s not sure it’s worth the risk.

when eliot finally gets over himself, though – the first time hardison comes in to the living room to find eliot on the couch, parker with her feet in his lap for a foot massage, eliot’s hair twisted up onto the top of his head and pinned with a clip, something wet and white (a conditioning treatment) streaked through it – he feels pretty stupid about worrying. hardison raises his eyebrows for a second, but then he flops down next to eliot on the couch and throws an arm around his shoulder, dips his head down to nose at the side of eliot’s neck and breathe deep. “mmm,” hardison says, “whatever this shit is, it smells awesome. why don’t you smell like this all the time, man? hey, can i borrow it and put it in lucille? lucille needs this, okay, she needs it to live.”

“steal my conditioner and die,” eliot says, and presses his thumb a little harder than he means to into parker’s foot for emphasis. she moans, which is pretty distracting, and eliot ends up leaving the conditioner in too long and looking like he walked through an oil-slick the next day, but it’s worth it (especially when hardison starts finding increasingly flimsy excuses to pull him close, breathe deep).


in one of the early episodes, eliot says he grows all his own food and makes the time to do so by only sleeping 90 minutes a day; i think both of those things are scurrilous lies, but, like most scurrilous lies, have within them a grain of truth. the sleep thing, of course, speaks to persistent insomnia issues which have no bearing on this particular post, but as for the food thing, while i think the idea that eliot grows all of his own food is ridiculous crap, i do absolutely believe that he has a plot in a community garden under an assumed name, and probably like, one of those window box herb gardens in every one of his windows. i bet when they move to portland he is privately THRILLED to discover the intensity of the local farming movement; in boston he had to content himself to a teeny tiny little fenced-off plot set in concrete next to a bunch of other teeny tiny little fenced-off plots, mostly populated by little old ladies growing flowers; it was barely enough to be worth the time he took to maintain it, and the alias that went with it. but in portland he gets a whole section of open field, and most of the other people who plant there are decent, salt-of-the-earth types – yeah, a few of them are awful hipsters, but they easily identify themselves with their plaid and their fixed-gear bikes, so it’s easy enough for eliot to avoid them.

hardison has absolutely no interest in the gardening thing when he finds out about it – “call me when it’s food,” he says, “actually, no, wait, call me when it’s that chocolate chip zucchini bread you made last year, that shit was DELICIOUS” – but parker asks a bunch of questions about whether his plants do things, and what the garden is like, and doesn’t he ever get bored just… digging or whatever? and it takes eliot a round or two of these questions before he realizes that she’s doing that thing she almost never does, where she’s a little shy about wanting to ask for something and so talks around and around it. when he does work it out, he sighs and says a not-actually-all-that-sorry mental goodbye to his solo gardening time, and asks parker if she wants to come with him to the garden store.

and look, eliot spends so much money at the garden store that EVERYONE THERE KNOWS ELIOT BY NAME, even though, okay, it’s the name of his alias, which is joshua. still, they know him and keep things aside for him that they think he’ll like, and all the people who work there (mostly women, a few men) think of him as a terrible flirt, because joshua-eliot’s-garderner-alias has always been a terrible flirt, because hey, eliot enjoys that even though he’s very embarrassing at it every single time. parker thinks the gardening supply store is going to be boring at first, but it’s pretty fun to watch eliot be somebody else, especially somebody else that he decided to be for no reason other than that it pleased him to do so; then she finds the section with the hand-held cultivators and starts running around with a few of them in each hand, yelling “RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH” and terrifying passing shoppers (but deeply entertaining their children, who follow her like a tiny army). eliot would make excuses for her, but joshua-eliot’s-garderner-alias is a very low-key kind of guy, so he just rolls his eyes and is kind of like, “family, what can you do?” he buys her two of the cultivators (“two, parker”) and some pumpkin seeds because she’s really into the idea of growing her own halloween, and a gardening tool belt because – not that he intends on sharing this with her – she looks so fucking cute in it, and takes her out to his garden.

and it’s weird, because even though she pokes at all the plants and demands explanations for them, and sprays him with the hose a lot (usually right in his face), and at one point gathers up a bunch of dirt in a bucket and then dumps it over his head, cackling, before she scurries away; even though she steals a veggie or a flower from every plant in everyone else’s garden and hides them on or about his person; even though he has to explain to her like five times that no, parker, weeds can’t be allowed to flourish, and no, parker, i don’t care that you like how they’re spiky – even though she’s so very parker about it all, after the first time it’s hard to imagine how or why he ever did it without her. she likes digging and turning over the soil and can’t be trusted not to go overboard with the pruning shears, which is an oddly good incentive to make eliot use them, something he used to hate; they work silently sometimes and laughing about nothing other times, and either way it’s more fun, a lot more fun, than he used to have alone. at least once (and usually more than once) in a given visit parker will find a bug that’s not good for the plants – a katydid or a praying mantis or a spider who’s built its web somewhere inconvenient – and pick it up between her cupped palms, carry it off to the treeline where she can release it safely, cooing to it about how it’s a menace and she’s making it homeless as a punishment. eliot kind of wants to follow her when she does that, pull her into the trees and kiss her a minute or two, for being so odd, for showing her softness in such strange places, for being so unapologetically herself. he does it sometimes, too, even though more than once she drops the bug down his shirt for his trouble (though only, he’s noticed, the ones she knows won’t bite).

he could swear the food he grows with her tastes better, too, than the stuff he grew by himself. he knows it’s crazy, but there you go.

Hoseok Scenario: Velocity.

Request: Can I get a sceanio where jhope sell  cars for a living and while working he meet a girl who a model who parent dont like him because they met him when they were buying a car .

Genre: Drama / Romance

Usually, things with Hoseok were easy. It was easy to meet him, it was easy to laugh along to his good humor, it was easy to speak to him without feeling ignored or taken for predictable, it was easy to like him and it was even easier to fall in love with him.

The only exception to that general rule was that whenever Hoseok came into the equation, your parents seemed about to have a heart attack or to pop a vein in an outburst of rage.

Either way, the speech your father was giving you about the downsides of having a “friend” like him was almost memorized by you already so you didn’t care to pay that much attention, your eyes drifted to the window, ignoring your mother’s reproving stare and thought about him, about the boyfriend you were head over heels for and whom your parents were far from approving.

Hoseok was everything you liked, everything you’d ever thought of searching in a boy. From the way he treated you to his personality, his personal goals and his way to see life. Every single thing of his being attracted you to him until you were falling into his orbit without plans to leave.

You wondered why was it so hard for your parents to see the same thing you saw in him, to admire his hardworking self, to like the way he was so respectful, to open their eyes and see how much he cared about you. But no, life wasn’t as simple, they couldn’t see past his job and “social position” as they liked to say. It was nonsense to you, a thing that didn’t really define Hoseok.

The clock hit ten pm and you smiled internally, reminding yourself to keep a straight face. Your father had finally stopped his heated speech, so you looked up at him with practiced apologetic eyes. –Can I go to my room now? –

He nodded and you made your way to your room with quick steps. By the moment you reached it the smile was fully showing on your lips. You locked your door and opened your closet to change your clothes, getting into a pair of denim shorts, an oversized black t-shirt, flat ankle boots and finally slipping Hoseok’s jacket over your shoulders. You smiled at your reflection, spraying a little perfume along your neck and pulling your hair up into a ponytail. Hoseok should be waiting for you already at the back street of your house, and you didn’t like to keep your boyfriend waiting.

Keep reading

How I can be an evil bitch and caused $10000 worth of damage to my ex boyfriends car

So before escorting and sugaring I was a nerdy little high school girl. Not particularly pretty or anything, my glo up happened AFTER graduation. I was very book smart but not street smart.

I had a 26 year old Russian boyfriend. Had the accent and everything. Nobody knew about it. Not even my close friends. I had a job and a car so I felt like a “big girl”, He thought I was fucking only him. And I was at first until he got crazy. He was possessive and needy and always thought I was cheating even when I wasn’t. I slowly realized hey “I just graduated high school…this guy is 26…something’s weird here” so I dumped him. Told him he was too childish (lived with his mom, threw bitch fits if I didn’t text him right away, was cheap af) for someone so old. Then he went on a rant and told me I was never good enough for him anyways, that I would never be mature. That I was dumb and stupid. A couple days later he called me in a frantic “baby I’m so sorry please talk to me. I need you” so I went to his house to give him one more chance.

I was very serious and explained what he needed to work on if he wanted me back. He got offended all over again and blew up. Then tried to force himself on to me sexually.

He pinned my down. He wiped his semen on my face. He called me his little whore.

he molested me for exactly 4 minutes before I screamed so loud he got scared.

I got even louder and his mom was sleeping like 10 ft away. I told him he would never see me again and I started throwing his shit around. I broke so many things. He got red af. He was coming after me to hit me, but I looked him in his fucking eye and said “lay another fucking finger on me and I will kill you. I’m not joking. I will bash your fucking skull in. I wont even blink while your blood and brains get smeared all over this fucking house. I dare you” so he stopped raising his hand. I swear on my life y'all I would’ve really fuckin killed him. He knew it. Something really takes over you when you’re ready to kill for your own life.

Anyways I never spoke to him again.
But I had a plan. I was getting revenge.

He had a brand new Mercedes Benz. This is partially the reason why he was narcissistic. And broke. It was the best and newest model. All the bells and whistles. From the headlights to the interior to the tail. It talked and shit guys. He was obsessed with it. He cried if it had even a fingerprint on it

I waited 3 months so I wouldn’t be an immediate suspect. He was a douche, in those 3 months he would’ve easily had and pissed off at least 2 other girlfriends.

I went to his job. Found his car. He always parks at the tippy top of parking garages in the far corner so nothing happens to his precious baby.

AND I FUCKED THAT SHIT UP. Basically imagine Carrie underwoods song.

I wore all black and a baseball cap. I stabbed his car. Not keyed. Stabbed. Every car door was worth at least $700 each. All over the sides, stabbed. Stuck bologna to his car. Bologna ruins paint btw. And it was hot so that shit COOKED. I put my workout gloves on and punched/kicked out his lights. Goodbye side mirrors. Then, I went straight freaky and used a hanger to break in. My cousin is that guy you call when you lock your keys inside so I knew how to do it smoove. I cut open his seats like a woman in need of an emergency c section.
I took white liquid eyeliner and wrote on his front on back windshield “I’m a man whore”. I put nuggets of my dog’s shit in secret places in his car.under the seats. In cup holders. In the place you put sunglasses. Yeah I went full on bitch mode.

Then I left.
I heard from acquaintances he tried to call the cops but they just laughed at him. I wasn’t caught on camera cause the car was parked in a corner (in the blind spot of the camera) and I drove up there using a car that wasn’t mine. I waited an hour inside the car after I did what I did to avoid a car being seen immediately leaving not 20 minutes after it had just parked. He had so much damage it was at least $9500 worth.
I had to try not to laugh.

To this day nobody suspects me.
If you think what I did was wrong, have a guy molest you and assault you and think he’s gonna get away with it. see how quick you turn Kill Bill.
I’m not sorry.

justice was served cold as my heart. If a guy you know is deserving of this hmu I will help you. My resume is the story above lmao (Auugghh feels so good to finally tell someone after all this time!!!)
You Be My Detonator

Weapon had spent the night in the city, finding a nice rooftop during the day to sleep on out of the cities eyes. It kind of made him feel like a super hero, thinking of all those comics he read at Rainyday, the ones he wanted to share with Symptom. And he would, as soon as he got Symptom out he would show him all his comics and never again take for granted a moment of his, of their, free time. “Free.” He sighed the words like they were the air itself, breathing back in the tainted city air as he walked by one of the checkpoints into the inner city. It was dark now but there were still six guards posted at the large gate and no one was being let in unless they scanned their badge and then underwent a pat down search. He would have to get a hold of a clearance level badge and create a diversion out in the street so that he could slip by without a pat down and face check.

He walked on down the street, heading for the bright lights that must have been the Neon Ghetto, nothing else so artificial and depressing could shin like that. Pretty soon his white suit was glowing green and pink and yellow from the blazing neon lights, advertising the best and newest models of porn droids and a new kind of pill that made the orgasm ten times better. BETTER! BETTER! BETTER! The words were like thorns digging in his brain. There were tons of people out on the streets and Weapon adjusted his white hood and clear plastic mask. There were a great deal of white Dracs on patrol too. Too many. So Weapon started taking corners and walking through the alleys. A couple of slum boys tried to get at him but he shut them down quickly with a couple of throat punches, he didn’t want to make a scene.  

He had finally found an empty ally way where he hoped to stop and take a few notes. He started looking through his side bag and missed the door opening a few yards before him. A Draculoid staggered out and immediately called out to Weapon. “Stop right there citizen! Let me see your badge.” Weapon froze and restrained a growl. “Just heading home.” He looked for an escape but there was none, so he just kept walking. “Doesn’t matter, I gave you an order. Show your badge.” Weapon kept his face down though he was getting closer to the man. “Don’t got it. Just don’t worry about it, it would be the best for both of us.” “Excuse me? Do you know who I am?” Weapon was close enough now, he looked up and grinned at the startled face the man gave to his see his own face distorted by the clear mask, “I do, but bet you don’t know meeee.” He charged the man and grabbed him by his collar, bringing him up in the air and back down with deafening strength. The skull cracked and Weapon reached for the man’s radio to smash it just the same. But before he could move out the door opened again and another white suited man stepped out, spitting his drink out in surprise. Weapon pulled a blade from his belt and tossed it into the man’s throat. But his hand had already gotten to touch the radio. Weapon was running, a siren sounded off and he could hear the thrumming of helicopter blades. “Fuck!” He kept on running, he had to find a place to hide. He turned his head and could see the spotlight against the neon buildings. Something caught his foot and he went sprawling, “FUCK!!!”