#It didn't have to be this way and I'm pissed off

[frogsandfries]

AAVE used to bother me. Just bother me, not piss me off, not make me like, wanna kill or anything. Just, why can't they use the language 'properly'.

The woman who raised me was the most racist person I think I've ever met (why no, I have never been to the US south).

But it's funny, because in school, I loved studying the US public school version of how English came to be. We didn't really know about proto-Indoeuropean at the time, but we knew about the influence of ancient Greek and German on the English language. Being a big reader and writer, I was obsessed with using the language "correctly".

I stopped writing for a long time because of reasons, and I was able to step back and really appreciate the value of literacy but also appreciate that there is no Proper English. The thing we skipped over in high school English and language arts classes is that contemporary English is not the same language it was when it first recognizably departed from vulgar Latin and German. It's not the same language as it was before its brushes with French and surely the Celtic language group.

It's okay for spoken language to be different from written language (but it's still "could/should/would HAVE" NOT "c/s/w OF"; pronounce it however you like, but understand grammatically what you're saying if you caption your own videos).

Furthermore, while I'm up here on my soap box, I wish my English teachers would have talked about creoles and pidgins as they are: There's nothing wrong with creoles and pidgins. It is human nature to want to communicate and connect and language is an integral part of that connection. But perhaps telling us that using the language in a non-standard way would have required a whole separate class for like, English theory. It definitely would've had more kids complaining "why do I even need to know the rules if they're all bullshit anyway". Me loudest of all.

Since stepping away from my childhood creative writing practice, I've gotten to participate more in the verbal use of language, and my visual arts studies definitely contributed to the way I see English--a centuries old creole, a language that has always been absorbing and adapting the languages it encounters. The reason I mention my visual arts background is, you know that picture of the vase but it's also two faces? Being strong in written English was me focusing so hard on the vase, I thought people talking about two faces were like, morally decrepit. Slang comes and goes, but the classical core of the language is definitely always there. Definitely. Always.

The internet has been a fascinating component to add to the mix of the English language (being not fluent in any other languages, I cannot and would not speak to the internet's impact on, say, ASL, US Spanish, or French, the only three languages that I'm familiar enough with to try to use on another human). Most of the evolution of the English language has typically come from teenaged girls, if my information is correct. Definitely, unquestionably teenagers. And in the last few years, we see every several weeks, a new slang word--yeet, bussin, ATE (whatever the hell that is)--enters the greater lexicon (we need to be able to communicate with these damn sacrilegious teens somehow!). The world moves so fast for these teenagers, today's 'ate' is literally yesterday's 'crunk'. It's 'cringe', if you will, by the time the adults get ahold of it. We do kind of need to hold onto some kind of core skeleton of the English language so that the oldest and most out of touch of us can still communicate with the linguistically hippest of us. In this regard, at least understanding the 'traditional' use and structure of the language since the shift from Middle English, and not necessarily being versed in prepositions versus passive language, is going to be important when trying to communicate from one group (let's say teens) to another group (let's say Louisiana creole).

And sometimes, the slang the adults get ahold of sticks--in contemporary history 'dude', 'whatever' as a one-word sentence, and 'my bad', are some examples. It's hard to tell which of 2025's slang words will have engraved itself so hard into the fabric of the English language that we're still using it in 2050, but even the words that are here today cringe in five minutes will leave their invisible mark on the ever continuing evolution of the English language.

Umm, anyway, sorry. I got a little eager to celebrate the English language as it actually is, not as it is in classic literature.

Even the teenage, rebellious use of the language (what even the fuck is skibidi??), while it bothers me because these days, it's less about differentiating yourself from boring grown-ups and I'm pretty sure, from a non-linguist perspective, just using language in as incomprehensible manner as possible as a bit. I respect the desecration of the English language; I'm quite confident that's what most of my peers wished they could do in high school English classes when we were learning about dumb, useless shit like superlative conjugates and coagulative transitives or whatever the fuck (for such a strong writer with an easily identifiable written voice in high school, I failed high school grammar. I found it incomprehensible and useless; I already had a powerful grasp of the way to use the English language, out loud and on paper. I didn't need to explain to anybody why you order adjectives the way you do; you just do).

See that, right there? I just did it. I just admitted that I don't find any use for the jargon of the "laws" of the English language. Because language is just a tool for communicating. As long as I can speak to you and you have even generally a vague idea of what I want (like my problem with 'ate' isn't *rolls my eyes* kids these days; my problem is, what is the etymology?? Why are you using that word like thhhaaaatttttttt *tries to shake an answer out of you*), I care less every day how anyone uses the language (except for c/sh/would OF vs HAVE I will bite you).

Now, (okay, sorry to carry on like this) as a creative writer, I am a straight-laced Dr Jekyll. Written language isn't about immediate communication. As far as I'm concerned, written language should be comprehensible between yourself and generations that don't exist yet. A dime novel may be meant to be read and thrown away, but even fifty years later, I should be able to pick up your cheap shitty writing and be able to read it and understand it. As far as I'm concerned, writing should not be littered with the slang of the moment. Like I said, today's 'skibidi' is tomorrow's 'jive turkey'. No, I did not make that up. I actually can't find one singular definition for jive turkey; it looks like there were at least three accepted ways to use it. I think it makes my point for me. If I write that John is a jive turkey, is he out of touch, is he unreliable or exaggerating, or is he being a showy dancer?

In my opinion, if you are educated enough to write essays, blogs, or more, you are educated enough to write in a way that will be comprehended by future generations of people who use your dialect. If that's Australian English (no shade, but you Aussies must know you use English differently from USians), if that's AAVE, if that's Louisiana creole, if that's US English, whatever.

In my opinion, the reason one makes the effort to write words (which is a different level from a Facebook or Twitter post or just making a phone call or sending a text), in a blog that will be gone in five years, in a cheap notebook that maybe you'll throw away, a nice journal that your great, great grand-daughter will find one day, or in that book that you self-published, is to preserve your words, your thoughts, in a way that will outlast 'apple butter' (smooth talk) and 'duck butt' (think Elvis' hair).

Plus, words on paper just should be beautiful. Imo.

not only are there no bad languages there are also no bad or annoying dialects

[circe69]

"had to get it in, couldn't wait around!" - s.r. x reader

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ who is it? simon "ghost" riley x you

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ what is it? enemies always fuck better, right? you hate him, or so you thought...

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cws: unprotected p in v, angry simon turned soft, huge d!ck, knife play kinda? ass play, heavy make out. word count: 2.4k

<3

"what the fuck was that about?"

you stomped into an empty, abandoned conference room and stood at the end of a long table, with one masked man sitting at the other end. your arms crossed themselves across your chest, and you popped a hip out to the side as you waited for his answer.

simon motherfucking riley was your arch nemesis. someone you didn't trust, never agreed with, and certainly never wanted to work with. but the world isn't fair. it keeps spinning even when you despise someone, and captain price couldn't care less about your feelings towards simon when it came to the thousands of lives you were saving every mission.

usually, if you're in a group, you don't dare speak to simon this way. you only nod your head at his commands and walk away, hoping that he's receiving the millions of telepathic "fuck you's" you put out somewhere into the universe. but now, you're alone, and there is no better time than the present to tell your lieutenant off.

"if you need to blow some steam, i suggest going for a few boxing rounds w' soap. he's always looking for-" he paused whatever ministrations he was writing on a file and looked up at you slowly, "an easy opponent."

you huff and smirk out of pure anger as you briskly round the table, making your way over to him. "I'm not here to fucking play around, lieutenant, I'm here to let you know I'm pissed because you gave everybody else an assignment overseas next month except for me." you paused and let his eyes meet yours as your strong volume turned into a whisper. "I've worked just as hard, if not fucking harder than the rest of these task force fuckers, and we both know I'd be a good shot out there."

when it comes to you giving your superior a piece of your mind, simon usually submits completely. he never fires back, to everyone else's surprise, and he always allows you to use him, so to speak, to yell at him and get everything out of your system before entering the world again.

but not today.

simon slowly stood up from his chair, keeping eye contact with you as he expanded to almost double your size in every factor possible.

the seconds felt like years as his eyes bore down into yours. your heart rate was doubling every time one of you blinked, and you had to tense every single muscle in your body just to remain stagnant in position. the silence was deafening, and as the seconds passed, you remembered everything you've seen this man do, every corpse he's thrown to the side like a piece of garbage in his way, every knife rusted and wasted because it's been buried deep in the jaw of his enemies, and the eyes that have seen all of this from the first person perspective, are staring right into your-

SLAM.

simons hand comes down onto the wooden table with the force of 10 men, it sounds like, and you couldn't do anything but jump. you flinch. you fucking flinch and it feels like you're waving a white flag.

His gloved fingers reach out to your chin and tug you by the jaw, forcing your face inches away from his, "I have fuckin' had it with your attitude. you can act like a bitch all you fucking want to price, to gaz, and I sure as fuck don't care about how you treat soap. but to me," he squeezes your chin to reinstate your obedience before drifting his hand to rest on your neck, "to me, you either respect me or don't say shit at all. so get used to swallowing your words around here from now on, cause there won't be anywhere else for them to fucking go but down your own throat."

coincidentally, you do swallow. hard and slow, and simons eyes watch and feel your neck bobbing as you begin to shake just slightly under his pressure. as he squeezes, a small squeak releases itself from your lips and you mentally kick yourself for it, knowing that's just what he wants. because once you let yourself go to the stormy waters that is simon riley, you'll never be the same again. he'll make sure of it.

"you say yes sir." his low voice whispered into the empty room, your face somewhere even closer than before, every minute that passes you move an inch. you still can't open your mouth, you're suffering from shell shock and there's no mercy to be found in the eyes of your shooter.

simon pulls out a blade from his thigh holster and presses it to your side, "say. it. now." he yells even louder. you feel the sharp sting of the metal start to break through the cotton of your shirt and tease your skin. a tear breaks free from your eyes, and you are completely gone. you're done for. absolutely dead in every sense but the physical.

"yes sir." you whisper, finally freeing yourself from some kind of paralysis. you feel the blade crash onto the table, as well as the sweet release of your neck from his hand. an extra wave of oxygen that you didn't know you were missing flowed though you in small gasps.

simon said nothing as he walked straight past you, out of the door, slamming it behind him. he left you, his knife, and a part of your soul, there in that room.

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

it had been a few days since simon had blown any ounce of relationship between the two of you into ash and dust, and you can't tell if the looks simon gives you now are filled with rage or just empty. empty meanings, empty promises, because he just doesn't care. but ever since he's made it clear with you that he is not to be messed with, you've unfortunately want him more.

simon riley is a fucking apex predator, and in the past, you've just been standing there, petting him, taunting him, and expecting nothing to happen. well now, you not only expect it, you fucking want it. you dream about all the things he could do to you. but all the things he hasn't said just prove that he couldn't care less.

that night, the only news channel your small tv offers called for rain, a lot of it, mixed with thunderstorms and lightning. as you dry your hair off with a towel, you walk to your window and look outside. your stomach churns at the sight of the angry clouds heading your way. you absolutely despise thunderstorms, and you prefer for a long night because there is no way you would be getting any sleep.

"fuck." you whisper to yourself as it starts to drizzle.

you try to ignore it as you kick off your slippers and get under your soft covers, pulling your duvet all the way up to your ears to try to mute the sound. it was now raining harder, and occasional sparks of electricity lit up your room from the sky, so you tossed and turn all night until you finally fell asleep.

it wasn't until hours later that a large boom of thunder shook you awake. you sat up immediately in a panic, gasping for air and looking around you as if you were expecting anything, something to explain the sound. tears started rolling down your face not only in fear, but in frustration also. you were so upset and so tired. you needed something, someone. just to tell you it was going to be okay. you slipped out of bed with a shaky hand clutching a necklace around your neck as you opened the door of your room and walked out.

the cold air of the hallway caused your skin to raise up into goosebumps and your nipples to pebble through your thin tank top, and even as you crossed your arms over yourself, it wasn't enough.

you headed straight for a door right down the hall. one with a name on the wood that you never thought you would go to in need in a million years. but you didn't know what to do.

your small knuckles rapped on the door, right underneath a nameplate.

simon "ghost" riley

you hear heavy footsteps and several locks unfastening before the door swings open.

a maskless man appears, with no shirt, and a large hand rubbing the side of his face. he was no doubt asleep before this. his eyes squinted as he leaned against the doorframe, trying to adjust to the light. your jaw hung slightly agape at the sight of him, so human. so disgustingly human who's done such non-humane things.

his eyes swept over your face as he noticed the tear stained cheeks, reddened from lack of sleep and continued down your body, down your full teardrop breasts, across your bare stomach, your sweatpants that hung loosely off your hips, and no words were spoken as he grabbed you by both forearms and drug you inside his room.

you gasped as he moved you backwards towards his bed, his much larger and comfier bed, and you no longer had any reason to stop him as he drug you under the covers with him. you couldn't believe him as he snuck in close to you, silently, as if it were normal.

it wasn’t until you felt an arm come up to rest upon your hip, and the floodgates opened. you couldn’t stop tears from rolling down your eyes. you were so confused, so scared, so fucking tired. small whimpers and gasps of breath continued.

“shhh.” came from simon’s mouth as he pulled you closer and softly squeezed your hip.

“you hate me” you whispered back, sobbing louder.

“hm-mm, no.”

“yes, you fucking hate me and you’ve just pulled me into your bed,” you start whining louder as your hands reach up to cover your face.

simon’s eyes slowly opened to look into yours before swatting your ass ,”quit crying n' go to sleep.”

you only responded with smaller, shorter intakes of breath and sniffles.

“y’hear me?” he patted your ass where he had slapped it before.

you nodded and whispered, “yes sir.”

a growl tore threw simon’s mouth as he looked up at the bedroom ceiling before throwing his forearm over his eyes, “fuckin’ hell.”

this time it’s you who reaches out, as you place a small palm on his bicep. he flinches at the touch before sighing,

“c’mere puppy.”

you slowly crawl on top of simon, placing both hands on his arms before allowing your head to fall between his neck and shoulder. a warmth slithered through you as you relaxed into him, and as his hand slowly caressed and squeezed the fat of your ass, the warmth exceeded just below your navel.

you made the mistake of squirming, and he noticed.

he clicked his tongue against his teeth while pulling you closer, “stay still.”

“i-i’m trying to get comfortable-"

"well stop." he interrupted, "just relax."

the wind outside howled, as simon's breath and yours intertwined through the space between you. and just like the storms outside, simon was the most unexpected thing to ever exist. he was trying hard to not scare you off, to be gentle, even though every thing in him contradicts that. but you know better. you know that he is gentle somewhere behind that mask.

you squirmed again, "simon I just don't know what to do." you leaned up to look at him. and there it was, the look that he only gave you, the small and desperate iris' just begging for some kind of affection. even without much light, you could still see him grasping at the frays for you. seconds of intense eye contact went by for simon broke the silence,

"just kiss m'then."

you gasped, sitting back a centimeter, but then nodded. and leaned into his touch. into him.

the kiss was soft and delicate, your lips and his just barely overlapping as you took in his woodsy smell, pine and maple, but that was all it took to pull a groan from simon.

more, more, is all he thought as he grabbed you by the hips and prodded his tongue against your lips. you smiled at the action, and without hesitation, opened up for him completely.

it was nothing but violent, raw, and urgent, the way simon kissed you. you moaned into his mouth as he smacked the fat of your ass, "all it took," he mumbled, "all it took was a little tongue for you to shut the fuck up."

you whined at the loss of contact as simon struggled to pull your pants down, but it disintegrated as he swiped a finger between your thighs, "fuck." simon whispered at the wetness pooling from your sex. "how many times have I yelled at you and gotten you wet?" he said, as he flipped you both around so you were now in your back, head smushing the soft pillow.

you groaned as he discarded his sweatpants and boxers, leaving his cock to spring out against his stomach. "how many times, baby?" he asked again, "you think about me hurting you when you play with this pretty pussy?" his index reached out to circle your clit a few times.

you couldn't help it, your body was betraying you in real time as your walls fluttered around nothing. "yes, yes I think about it, I think about you all the time simon." your babbles spilled out of you like water, and simon was lapping it up.

he chuckled, "don't even n'to prep you, you're a fuckin' faucet, sweetheart." his lengthy cock, with precut oozing out of the tip, was begging to be inside you, begging to fill you up. as he grabbed his length and positioned himself to your weeping hole, he looked you in the eyes, "y'want this?"

your eyes met his and for a second, you felt some sort of fire igniting deep within you, why was he even asking? why did it feel like the monster he is was softening for you?

you grabbed his hip and thrusted yourself, notching the tip of him inside your walls. "yes, I fucking want this, simon."

he chuckled as he watched him disappear inside you, inch by inch, every fucking centimeter felt like a year lived without you. he needed to make up for it, because the one woman that he couldn't stand just happened to be the woman he couldn't live without.

[star4daisy]

12/02 despise | 13/02 always - 1200 words - @rosekillermicrofic

"Sometimes I really despise you," Evan's voice has no inflection.

It doesn't take away the sting.

Barty laughs anyway, swallowing down his hurt. "Come on, baby. Tell me something I don't know."

"You look ridiculous when you're trying to pretend you don't care."

"I don't care," Barty raises his chin in challenge, feeling smaller now that Evan is scolding him. Barty had felt so powerful when he'd stabbed the man.

Evan studies him for so long that Barty starts to squirm. He can't be still for too long, especially not when he feels Evan's cold stare warming his skin and urging him to step closer, to melt into him.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Barty scoffs. "I don't need to."

"You just ruined my only chance of seeing her again."

Fury rises inside of him again, so swiftly that Barty can't stop himself from bursting. "Well, that motherfucker shouldn't have thought he could be all over you just because you needed his help."

"I was dealing with it," Evan doesn't look like he cares about what happened and it pisses Barty off so much he wants to shake him.

"Were you? Because from where I was standing you were letting him—"

"I wasn't gonna let him do shit." Evan interrupts, his voice raising to the bait. "As soon as I got the information I was cutting his fingers off, but I fucking needed that, Barty. You can't always make decisions for me."

Barty scoffs in disbelief. "That's not what this is about."

"Is it not?" Evan challenges, narrowing his eyes. "Because from where I'm standing you just took away my only chance of getting the only thing I wanted."

Barty feels at a loss, his mouth so dry he fears he might dry-heave. The only thing I wanted. "You couldn't expect me to stand by and watch him—."

"I didn't even want you to be here."

Barty stumbles back. "What?"

"I told you not to come," Evan advances, giving in to his anger. "Why can't you ever listen?"

Understanding finally dawns on him. "Did you know this was going to happen?" Barty frowns. "Is that why you asked me not to come?"

"Barty." Evan backpedals, a warning in his voice that Barty does not want to hear.

"You did," Barty says in disbelief, laughing wetly. "Oh, I'm so stupid. I wanted to help you, you know," his voice betrays how hurt he feels. Barty hates it. Wants to claw his throat out. "You were so excited about getting the first lead into where she is and I wanted... I wanted to be here for you because I always want to be at your side, but you—" Barty chokes, folding in on himself. He's going to be sick.

"Barty—" Evan tries, taking a step closer and raising a hand like he's trying to soothe a scared animal.

"You'd have let him do anything he wanted, wouldn't you? To get what you wanted." Barty realises.

"Not anything," Evan's tone is careful.

Barty can't believe he's listening to this.

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Did you just expect me to be fine with him touching you? With him kissing you?"

"He didn't kiss me."

"But he would've tried."

"You don't know that."

"And you would've let him." Barty accuses.

Evan doesn't say anything.

That's enough of an answer.

Barty feels his eyes flooding with tears he refuses to shed, his body trembling in anger. "I can't do this."

"Barty." It's the first time Evan has ever sounded scared. "This isn't how things were supposed to go down, okay? I'm not saying I'm not pissed over losing my first chance at some real information, but—"

Barty laughs with no humour. "I can't believe you think that's the problem here."

"I lost my sister, Barty. I need to find her." Barty understands that. There's little he wouldn't do to help him, but Pandora isn't here. Barty is. "We can talk about this later. When you're clear-headed."

"There's nothing to talk about, Evan. You would have cheated on me just to get a fucking piece of paper."

"I would never cheat on you."

"Are you daft? What do you think letting another man kiss you means?"

"It wouldn't have meant anything. If it was the only way I was getting what I wanted then why does it matter?"

"Why does it matter? Why the fuck does it matter?" Barty laughs and then he laughs some more. It's the only thing stopping him from bursting into tears. He desperately tries to cling to his rightful anger. He can't even look at him.

"Barty."

He doesn't know how many times Evan calls his name before he can finally look up. He'd been so scared to look at Evan and see no emotion on his face. See that what everyone had been warning him about was true. That Evan doesn't care. Not nearly as much as Barty does.

Except, there's finally a crack on Evan's facade and Barty can finally breathe. He cares. He cares. He cares.

"You know I love you."

A tear falls.

For the first time, Barty doesn't try to claw it off his face.

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"So do you," Evan reminds him firmly. "What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to swoon and thank you for defending my honour?" He scoffs. "I can take care of myself. I don't need you to defend me."

All Barty hears is I don't need you. I don't need you.

"You have certainly made that clear."

"But I want you." Sometimes, it's scary how well Evan can read his mind. "There's a difference."

Barty isn't sure there is. "Not enough."

"But it is, though." Evan insists. "I've never wanted anything as much as I want you."

Barty deflates. "Maybe it's not enough for me."

Evan's expression falls so fast that it gives Barty whiplash. "What do you mean by that?"

"I need you to need me back," Barty has never sounded so small in his life. It's pathetic.

"That's not healthy," Evan points out.

Barty can't believe this is what concerns him. "I never claimed to be."

"Baby," Evan tries again.

"Don't," he takes another step back. "Don't pull that on me."

"I won't do it again, okay?" Evan backtracks completely. "It won't happen again."

Barty wants those words to fix everything so badly, but it doesn't erase the hurt. The knowledge in the back of his mind that he knows Evan would do anything to get what he wants. It's what he's always done. And Barty has always admired that so much in him. His ruthlessness. How it calls out to Barty's own rage. How it makes them fit so well together. Now, he's not sure it does.

Barty would also go to any length to get what he wants, but never if it would damage Evan. Not if it would jeopardise what they have. Had. Because Evan has always been what Barty cares about the most.

He feels like he's been stabbed when he realises that the feeling is not mutual. Barty's an open wound. Gushing around all his hurt. He would've rather it be his blood.

(shout out to @ecstarry who read/edited this after i wrote it on a whirlwind <3)

[deerlysacred]

🥘 . . . taming a bear, { soldier boy x witch fem!reader } | playing house

𐂂 𝄢 { butcher left you to take care of this famous supe soldier boy for the weekend. }

𖣂 𝄢 fluff, first chapter of the ‘playing house’ series. not sure how much chapters it'll have, planning on 3 for now.

‼️ 𝄢 i do not own the boys or any of its characters; all rights belong to their respective creators. this is purely a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit.

The safe house wasn't much to look at. A shitty little apartment in the middle of nowhere, with peeling wallpaper and a draft that whistled through the cracks in the windows. Butcher and the others had left hours ago, and now it was just you and Soldier Boy.

While they were out playing detective, you were tasked with making sure Soldier Boy —Ben— didn't do something stupid, like get himself killed before the job was done or accidentally vaporize an entire city block in a fit of PTSD. Babysitting duty, basically. Butcher had even been patronizing enough to say, "Keep 'im happy. Maybe cook 'im a meal or somethin'." As if you weren't already the unofficial den mother of this ragtag mess of a team.

So. Cooking it was.

You figured stew would be easy enough. One pot. Minimal effort. Warm, fulling, impossible to fuck up. All you had to do was get through the next weekend without pissing off the most volatile superhuman in history or dying from secondhand smoke inhalation.

Simple.

Except Ben was watching you. Very closely.

Not in the way most men did— sly glances, stolen looks when they thought you wouldn't notice. No, his stare was direct and sharp. It was the kind of look that made you hyper-aware of every movement, of the slow stir of the spoon in your hand, of the subtle hitch in your breath.

Ignore him. He's like an old cat— if you acknowledge him, he'll just do it more.

He was sprawled on the couch, beer dangling lazily between his fingers, the flickering TV screen casting sharp shadows over his face. Even like this —half-drunk and half-bored— he had a presence that was impossible to ignore. Broad shoulders slouched, thick arms corded with muscle resting over the couch. His long legs were spread wide, the denim of his jeans stretching over thick thighs. "What the hell are you even makin' over there?" His gruff voice cut through the quiet, laced with skepticism. "Smells weird."

You glanced over your shoulder for a second, catching him scrunching his nose like a spoiled golden retriever. "It's stew." you said, giving the pot another slow stir.

Ben snorted, bringing the beer to his lips, his throat bobbing with each slow swallow. "Christ. What, Butcher put you up to this? Thought you were my fuckin' babysitter, not my goddamn housewife."

Heat crept up your neck at that, but you ignored it, choosing instead to focus on chopping up some carrots. "Yeah, well, I figured if I let you fend for yourself, you'd either burn this place down trying to use the microwave or get scammed into buying twenty-dollar fast food. So here we are."

"Dont need a goddamn caretaker too. I'm a grown man." he muttered into his beer, but there was something almost amused in his tone. Maybe even… appreciative? You weren't sure. His default setting was 'grumpy' so it was hard to tell.

You scrapped the chopped vegetables into the pot, watching as they disappear beneath the simmering broth. The aroma was actually kind of nice, despite what Ben said.

For a while, there was only the sound of bubbling stew and whatever car chase was happening on TV. Then, Ben spoke up again.

"Didn't know witches cooked." His voice was a low drawl, rough around the edges like he smoked a thousand cigarettes (which, let's be real, he probably had).

"What, you think I survive on eye of newt and bat wings?"

He shrugged, took another swig of his beer, and gestured vaguely at you with the bottle. "Dunno. Figured you just… I dunno, chant some shit and make food appear. Like poof— supper's on the table."

You rolled your eyes. "That's not how magic works."

"Then what's the point?"

Your grip tightened slightly on the spoon. "Oh, I don't know, maybe I like doing things with my hands."

You realized your mistake the second his lips quirked up into a shameless grin.

"Yeah? Bet you do."

You groaned, immediately regretting everything. Maybe if I just jumped out the window— no, bad plan, third floor. Maybe—

Ben chuckled, low and satisfied with himself, as he settled deeper into the couch. "What's in it anyway? Gotta admit it's starting to smell… decent."

You grinned, dropping some salt in with a flick of your fingers. "Beef, potatoes, carrots, some herbs— basic stuff."

He raised an eyebrow. "You do all this by yourself?"

You blinked, a little thrown by the question. "Uh�� yeah?"

"Huh." He took another sip of his beer, gaze sliding over you in a way that feels almost calculating. "You'd make a good housewife."

You froze mid-stir, processing that absolute relic of a statement. Then, slowly, you turned to him, wooden spoon still in hand. "Excuse me?"

He smirked, completely unrepentant. "You heard me."

Your fingers tightened around the spoon. "I'll have you know I am not housewife material."

Ben scoffed. "Bullshit. You cook, you clean—"

"I don't clean for you—"

"—you do all that magic hocus-pocus shit, probably got some potion that makes a man sleep like a baby. Bet you'd keep a husband real happy." He leaned forward, propping an elbow on the coffee table, the grin on his face wicked. "Ever think about settling down, sweetheart?"

Your eye twitched. "Yeah. Every day. With arsenic."

Ben barked out a laugh, a real one, amused. "Shit, you got some bite to you, huh?"

You sighed, turning back to the stew before you say something that gets you vaporized. "I don't know what kind of women you were around back in the day, but I'm not some 1950s housewife."

"No shit, women these days got more bark than they used to."

You tossed a disbelieving glance his way. "Gee, I wonder why."

Ben shrugged like it was all the same to him. "Not complaining. I like a girl with some fight in her."

For some reason, that made your stomach do something weird. Not good weird, but… weird. You busied yourself with the stew. "You're impossible."

"I'm a fucking delight."

"Sure."

Silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional pop of the stew as it simmers. Ben watched you for a while, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. Then, surprisingly, he asked: "How'd you learn?"

You blinked. "Learn what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely to the stove, to you, to the whole cooking situation. "Somebody teach you?"

You hesitated, caught off guard by the genuine curiosity. "Yeah… my mom."

Ben hummed, gaze drifting slightly. "That right?"

"Yeah." You stirred absently, the memory coming back to you. "She used to say that food is one of the simplest ways to care for someone. That a good meal can fix a lot of things."

Ben took that in, quiet for a beat. Then—

"That's some sappy shit."

You sighed. "Of course that's what you take from it."

He smirked. "Hey, you wanna cook for me, I'm not gonna complain. Just sayin' —a blowjob does the same thing and takes half the effort."

WHAT THE—

Your hand twitched violently, almost sending the spoon flying. Ben just laughed at your shock. You didn't throw the spoon at Ben's stupid face, but God, the temptation was there. Instead, you took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. The stew was done. It smelled rich and hearty, the kind of meal that sticks to your ribs. You grabbed two bowls, ladled some in, and set them on the table, sliding one towards Ben with a little more force than necessary.

"There. Eat."

Ben eyed the bowl, then you, smirking like he could hear every profanity currently screaming in your brain. "Didn't even spit in it. How sweet."

"Yet." you muttered under your breath as you sat across from him.

Ben picked up the spoon, scooping up a chunk of beef and potato. He gave it a cautious sniff —because apparently, despite surviving years of eating God-knows-what, he suddenly didn't trust food— before taking a bite.

His chewing slowed.

You watched him carefully. "Well?"

He didn't answer right away, just chewed, swallowed, and went in for another bite. Then another. His brow furrowed slightly, like was confused. "…Huh."

You raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

Ben pointed his spoon at you. "This is actually pretty fuckin' good."

You snorted. "Wow, thanks. High praise from a guy who probably ate paint as a child."

Ben grinned. "And look how I turned out."

"Oh yeah. Perfect specimen." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help feeling a little pleased as he kept eating. Soldier Boy, the walking nuclear warhead, was sitting in front of you, wolfing down your cooking like it was the best thing he had in decades.

He gestured at the bowl. "So, this, uh… this is normal now?"

You tilted your head. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Like… people don't eat TV dinners and spam anymore?"

"Okay, first of all, people still eat that stuff. But yeah, home-cooked meals are still a thing. Not everyone survives on frozen shit."

Ben grunted. "Didn't have time to cook back in the day. Always off doin' supe shit. When I was home, I had a hire girl do it."

You gave him a dry look. "Of course you did."

He smirked. "What? S'how it was. You'd have fit right in back then."

You scoffed. "Yeah, except I wouldn't have been cooking for you."

Ben chuckled, shaking his head as he dug back into the stew. For a while, there was just the sound of eating— the quiet clink of spoons against bowls. It was oddly… peaceful.

Then, naturally, Ben ruined it.

"So, what's the deal with you and Butcher?"

You paused mid-bite, blinking at him. "What?"

Ben gestured vaguely. "You two got a thing or somethin'?"

You nearly choked on your food. "What—God, no!"

Ben smirked, clearly entertained by your horror. "That a little too much mustache for ya?" Caressing his beard.

You shuddered dramatically. "Ew. Please. I don't need that image in my head while I'm eating."

"Figured. Butcher doesn't seem like the type to go for weird little witch girls."

You narrowed your eyes. "Weird little witch girls? I'm gonna hex you."

Ben laughed, deep and throaty, one hand drumming against the coffee table. "So if it ain't Butcher, you got someone else?"

You frowned. "Why do you care?"

He shrugged, popping another bite into his mouth. "Just makin' conversation."

You studied him for a moment, then sighed, stabbing at your stew. "No. No one."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "What, a cute thing like you, no boyfriend?"

Your face heated slightly, but you rolled your eyes. "Oh, please. I don't have time for that. I've got more important things to worry about than—" You waved your spoon vaguely. "—dating."

Ben hummed, considering you. "That's a damn shame."

You cleared your throat. "Why? You wanna sign up?"

"Depends. Do I get more stew out of it?"

You scoff. "Oh, that's what you're after. The food."

"Hey, I ain't gonna lie to you, sweetheart. You cook like this, a man starts thinkin' long term."

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly sprained something. When you were done, you stood up. "I'm gonna go wash my hands." Ben just grunted in acknowledgment.

You headed to the dingy little bathroom, shaking your head as the faucet rattled before spitting out a weak stream of warm water. Just as you were drying your hands with a towel, you heard it—

Ben's voice, raised and pissed.

Your stomach dropped.

Oh, God. Nononononononono…

You barely dried your hands before rushing out of the bathroom, half-expecting to find him punching holes in the walls or squaring up against some poor delivery guy. Instead, you skidded to a stop in the middle of the living room and found him standing there, broad-shouldered and brimming with barely restrained fury, gripping your phone in one massive hand like he was debating whether to crush it.

"You answered my phone?!" you yelled.

Ben turned his head, green eyes blazing, irritation sharp in the hard set of his jaw. "You didn't answer it," he shot back. "Thought it was somethin' important! Instead, some dickhead named Greg starts yappin' in my ear about 'overdue payments' and 'interest rates'— what the hell kinda scam you wrapped up in?"

Your eyes widened. "Wait— you talked to the bank man?"

Ben crossed his arms, his expression pure fury. "Damn right I did."

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "Oh my god. What did you say?"

"I told 'im to go fuck himself, that's what I said! Told 'im he's a snake oil peddler and if he wants his money so bad, he can come down here and fight me for it like a man."

Your jaw dropped. "BEN."

"What?"

"That was my credit card company! I owe them money!"

Ben blinked, his green eyes zoning out for a second. "…So?"

"So, now they probably think I'm trying to threaten them instead of paying them!"

Ben scoffed, waving a hand. "Good. Maybe they'll stop calling, then. Bunch of bloodsuckers, the lot of 'em."

You groaned again, stomping over and snatching your phone from his grip. "Unbelievable. You threatened my bank!"

Ben smirked, utterly unrepentant, his lips quirking like this was the most fun he had in weeks. "Ain't my fault they folded like wet paper. Bunch of pussies."

"You told Greg to fight you over my credit card bill!"

His smirk widened, slow and wolfish, dimples cutting deep into his bearded cheeks. "Hell yeah, I did. Told 'im I'd meet him anywhere, anytime. Guy backed off real quick."

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and horrified.

"Y'know what?" You inhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned away. "I'm just gonna pretend this didn't happen." With that, you flopped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and covering your face with it, muffling a scream.

You were never letting him near your phone again.

Later that evening, after the dishes had been washed (mostly by you, with Ben half-assedly drying them and complaining the whole time), you made coffee. Because let's be honest, after that absolute disaster Ben caused, you needed caffeine. Badly. You brewed it. Strong, dark, and just slightly sweet.

Ben eyed the two steaming mugs as you set them on the table. "You drink coffee at night?"

You shrugged. "Why not?"

He scoffed, grabbing his. "No wonder you're so high-strung."

You shot him a flat look. You wanted to say 'Says the guy who's been vibrating with unresolved rage since 1984.' but you bit your tongue. Knowing which lines to not cross.

Ben took a sip, his expression barely changed, but the way his shoulders loosened just slightly told you that he approved.

You curled up on the couch, hands wrapped around your mug. "So… now that we're stuck together for the weekend, what do you usually do to pass the time? Besides smoking, drinking, and picking fights with my credit card company?"

Ben smirked over the rim of his mug. "That about covers it, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes. "Figures."

For a while, silence settled. Not awkward, not tense. Just… quiet. The only sounds were the occasional clink of a mug against the table, the low hum of the fridge, and the faint noise of a distant car passing outside.

Then Ben spoke.

"You really think a meal can fix shit?"

You blinked, turning to him. "Huh?"

"That thing you said earlier. About food fixin' things." He didn't look at you, just stared at his coffee. "That just some witchy sentimental crap or do you actually believe it?"

You hesitated, then answered honestly. "I think… it's not about the food itself. It's about what it represents. Taking care of someone. Letting them know they're not alone." You traced the rim of your mug. "Even if it's just for one meal. It's a moment outside of everything else— outside of all the chaos. A moment where you sit down, you eat, and you know, for just a little while, that you're okay. That someone thought enough of you to keep you warm, to make sure you had something real in front of you. Then adding another meal, another evening onto it. Then another, then another… Building something safe and sound with a person."

Ben was quiet. His fingers tapped against his mug in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Then—

"…No one ever did that for me."

Your chest tightened. You turned to him fully, but his expression was unreadable, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something distant.

"…Not even your team?" you asked softly.

Ben huffed a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. Those assholes? They couldn't wait to get rid of me."

You frowned. "Payback."

Ben's grip tightened around his mug. "Yeah. Bunch of goddamn backstabbers. Lied to my fuckin' face. My own team— people I trusted."

The weight in his voice made something twist in your gut. Crimson Countess was already dead. You didn't ask for details— if Ben had killed her, you doubted there was much left to find. But the others… they were still out there. Still breathing. They lived freely while Soldier Boy was trapped in there for years. You did know his reasons to want revenge. Or at least, you had an idea. The experiments, the isolation, the years of being kept in a frozen hellhole with nothing but agony and rage to keep him company.

"…That's why you want revenge."

His eyes flicked to you.

You didn't look away. "I understand that. I may not be in your shoes but I can't even guess how much I would want to get revenge if I was."

Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. "They don't get to walk free after what they did." His jaw clenched. "They don't get to live their goddamn lives while I spent forty years rotting in a cage."

You swallowed. You could hear it in his voice, that deep, burning rage. But beneath it, buried under layers of anger and bravado— you could hear the hurt.

You hesitated, then—

"…What if it doesn't make you feel better?"

Ben's brows furrowed. "What?"

You held your coffee a little tighter. "What if you get your revenge, but it doesn't change anything? What if it doesn't make the pain go away?"

Ben stared at you.

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.

Then, he scoffed, shaking his head. "Christ. You always this fuckin' sentimental?"

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Just something to think about."

Ben didn't respond right away. He just took another slow sip of his coffee, his gaze distant, like he was turning your words over in his head.

For once, he had nothing smart-assed to say. And for some reason, that unsettled you more than anything else.

You pushed yourself up with a yawn, your eyelids getting heavier. "Alright. I'm calling it. I need sleep."

"Tch. Lightweights, all of you."

You ignored that. "There's a room for you down the hall. I set up the bed earlier."

That got his attention. He turned, giving you a slow once-over, before smirking. "That right? Real cozy set-up we got here. What, you tucking me in too, sweetheart?"

Your eye twitched. "No. But I will hex you into insomnia if you keep pushing it."

Ben chuckled, low and amused, but thankfully he didn't tease further. He stretched— an obnoxiously big stretch, broad chest rising, arms flexing, before he finally stood with a groan. "Fine, fine. Since you're gettin' all cranky."

You rolled your eyes, already padding toward the bedrooms. The safe house was small, so it wasn't much of a walk. Just two rooms, side by side, with a narrow hallway between them. You stopped in front of your door, reaching for the knob, when you heard Ben behind you.

"This one mine?" He nudged the door beside yours with his boot.

"Yeah." You stifled another yawn. "There should be clean blankets in there."

Ben huffed. "You really went all out, huh?"

You glanced over your shoulder. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a tired yet amused look.

You shrugged. "Just figured you'd rather not sleep on a couch that smells like stale beer and mix of suspicious liquids."

Ben snorted. "Sweetheart, I spent years sleeping in a fuckin' icebox. I ain't picky."

There was something about the way he said it— too casual, too offhand— that made your chest tighten a little.

You hesitated. There was a beat of quiet, only the faint hum of the old heater filling the space between you. You shifted on your feet. "…Well. If you need anything, just—" You gestured vaguely towards the wall between your rooms. "Bang or… whatever."

Ben's lips quirked. "That an invitation?"

Your fingers tightened around the doorknob, nails pressing into the cool metal. The way he looked at you now —hooded gaze, mouth curled just enough to be tempting— it sent something warm curling in your gut, heat prickling at your neck.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, gripping the door handle. "Goodnight, Ben."

"Night, witchy."

You groaned, stepping into your room and shutting the door with a click. But as you laid back down, the sounds of the apartment settling around you, the knowledge that he was right there, just on the other side of the wall, was… strangely comforting. You didn't want to think further why you felt that…

[yesornopolls]

Hey, this is sorta time-sensitive, can I get some opinions?

So my (19M) brother is dating a (17F) girl, they're both in college. Please keep in mind that my brother turned 19 literally last week and she'll turn 18 tomorrow, so by no stretch of anyone's imagination is this actually pedophilia.

However, the height difference is a little ridiculous. He's 6'6" and she's 5'2". My very puritan aunt is wholeheartedly convinced this makes him a "pedophile adjacent". Everyone has told her this in an insane opinion and to keep it to herself, but today at lunch she outright accused my brother of "raping that little toddler girl". As you can imagine, neither my brother nor his girlfriend appreciated this.

There was a brief argument and I said that this was weird, telling my aunt that she was being no different from those people claiming interracial dating is wrong. This made her SO mad, and she went off about how interracial lovers have been oppressed, but tall men dating short women have never been oppressed.

Now, this is true, obviously, but also not my point. After a solid 5-10 minutes of her lecturing me on interracial issues, I got pissy bc me and my brother are mixed and she's just white, so why was she acting like I needed her to tell me what fucking racism is a mostly-white country?

I snapped that she was acting just like her toxic ex-husband, who is rather infamous for yelling at a wheelchair-bound woman for blocking the way, then saying it was ableist to challenge him because he's got anxiety.

This REALLY pissed my aunt off and we were unceremoniously thrown out. After three days, she was apparently still upset, so I messaged her word for word,

"Hey. I'm sorry if what I said about you acting like your ex last week confused you, I didn't mean to imply that you're as abusive as he was."

She was happy at first, but then quickly realised I hadn't actually taken back what I'd said. Almost everyone in my family exc. my brother is urging us to to both take everything back and wipe the slate clean. My girlfriend is telling me that if I give them an inch, they'll take a mile.

So... Should I take back what I said? Please include a results button in case anyone was struggling to understand, I have a bit of a hard time with English.

[thatoneautisticshark]

Would you consider writing about hybrid Ghoap? Wolf hybrid Simon "Ghost" Riley who has always considered the 141 his pack but is still fairly solitary and dog hybrid John "Soap" MacTavish who also gets the pack instincts but in a more domesticated dog-ish way who somehow managed to get close to Ghost is on my mind more often then I'd like to admit. Lots of wagging tails. I've never sent an ask before but you seemed sad with how few you had :)

Ghost, safe to say, was pissed. The higher ups decided they needed a new team member into their pack, but they were totally fine.

Not only that, he was a canine hybrid?

They had a wolf in the group already, adding a second canine hybrid, that they had never met to the pack meant almost certain fights, and dominance issues.

At the very least the new Hybrid was only a sergeant. So even if he was a cocky bastard trying to be the dominant dog, Ghost still out ranked him.

Although Gaz was excited, he at least understood Ghost's annoyance. The time they had tried to add in another harpy did not go well.The fights that had started were viscous, the new one didn't want to accept that Gaz would not bow to him, and it ended with the new harpy downright trying to fuck up Gaz’s wings with fire, just so he could have the dominant position.

Price was the only one without an issue. Lynx were rare in the military, and usually Reacted more with an automatic bond, then fighting.

But Price understood Ghost's reluctance, and promised he'd deal with the brat if he caused issues.

And so here he stood, with his pack on the tarmac, waiting for the new mutt to arrive. Gaz had dropped his wing over the wolfs shoulder in a little show of comfort that Ghost appreciated.

The truck finally pulled up, containing the new team member. Out hopped a pup with a stupid mohawk? At the very least he wasn't a wolf, and didn't smell of cocky young dog.

The young one, Soap, walked over, his tail lazily wagging. “Heya! I'm John Mactavish, callsign soap. Hybrid of German Shepherd and a retriever.”

Price stepped forward first, introducing himself. “Captain John Price, lynx hybrid. Good to have you on the team.” He introduced, shaking the dogs hand.

Soap nodded “Good to meet you sir.”

At the very least he seemed to have manners, Ghost mused. He wasn't immediately trying to challenge the captain.

Gaz stepped forward, introducing himself as well. Although Ghost could see the tension, he was worried about how the pup would react to Ghost. “Hey mate. Sergeant Kyle Garrick, call sign Gaz. Harpy hybrid. Nice to meet you.”

Soaps' tail was wagging, making him look like an excited pup as he responded. “Nice to meet you too! I like your wings, they look cool.”

Well he was either good at flattery, or very sweet and excited. He moved Infront of Ghost, who was still glaring.

Instead of any kind of challenge like Ghost was tensed for, Soap showed submission. Bowing his head slightly, ears moving back, and tail dipping. Ghost blinked at him for a second, not expecting him to immediately acknowledge Ghost as the wolf in charge. It took him a second to right his brain, before speaking “Lieutenant Simon riley, Ghost. Wolf hybrid.”

The dog kept his head slightly bowed “Nice to meet you”

By the time a few weeks had gone by, Ghost was amazed there had not been an issue. Soap was talented, that was sure, a good shot, skilled fighter and amazing with bombs.

Him and Gaz had struck it off well, already being close friends, and he got along with Price.

He was quickly becoming a part of the pack, and Ghost, surprisingly, didn't resent it.

Soap was always respectful, and still showing signs of submission with Ghost, however ever did seem to seek him out.

Whenever Ghost spoke to him, his tail would be wagging slightly. And despite himself, Ghost found himself enjoying the company of the new pup.

Almost always sitting by him in the mess, working well in tandem, and thinking of him as part of the pack.

So naturally when management decided 3 months after Soap had joined that, no he didn't fit, they had a better placement.

Soap wasn't happy. He thought he'd been bonding well, but he supposed not. He was a bit hurt; none of the team had just told him, rather than getting him moved.

He wasn't expecting when the general brought it up in a briefing that he would be being removed, Gaz to jump to his feet, wings fluffed up in anger demanding why the fuck they were moving soap.

Prince sprung up, ears against his skull in anger “Why are you moving him? He fits in perfectly well?” His voice was laced with anger and growl.

The general stammered slightly “I well.. you guys already have a canine so it'll cause arguments with Ghost” He tried, before being cut off by a deep growl from Ghost.

Ghost stood up, grabbing Soap and pulling him protectively behind himself. “Don't you fucking dare.” He spat “Johnny is part of our pack. I will rip out your fucking windpipe if you try.”

The general froze.. “Uhm.. change of plans, soap is a permanent member.” He quickly stammered.

Ghost gave a huff, nuzzling Soaps, who looked dumbfounded, head.

That was really the jumping point for the close bond. Pretty soon, if one was seen the other wasn't far. After long missions in the heli, they'd be sitting against one another, tails wagging as they nuzzled eachother.

[rarepairdumpster]

Viktor Doll AU

Inspired by THIS ART

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Canon Divergence, Dub Consent (over being made into a doll), First Meeting Bickering, Jinx being Jinx

Viktor Doll AU, but it backfires because Silco survives the shooting and sees what the fucked up Piltovan scientist did to one of Zaun's own. Silco liberating the doll because he won't have the memory of another one of his people defiled and tarnished by a Piltovan.

And the doll is a doll.

While it's been programmed with a facsimile of Viktor's personality, it doesn't understand the concept of captivity and liberation.

It's a shell of who Viktor was, with none of the ambitions that Viktor had.

Jayce quickly gets bored because he didn't realize that what he really loved about Viktor was his personality and ambition.

Regularly leaves the doll to be on its own while he's working.

The other Zaunites that worked in the lab, look at Jayce like he's the worst kind of monster, and they all quit over what he's done to Viktor's memory 

And that pisses him off.

Jayce sees it as him trying to preserve Viktor. Those Zaunite scumbags just don't get it.

But whatever. He hadn't wanted to hire them anyway.

He only did it because Viktor had made such a fuss.

When Viktor doll asks where the other scientists are and Jayce says they're gone, Viktor just responds with a calm smile and a tip of his head. "I'm sure it's for the best."

None of the anger that should have been there or demands to know why.

And Jayce goes off to be by himself and punches a hole in the wall.

Viktor-doll's existence however sparks a whole new level of interest among hextech sponsors though.

And Jayce soon starts receiving requests for more dolls.

Including some for the same model and Jayce shuts those down immediately

Silco sends Jinx to liberate the doll and steal the related research as a sign that he still trusts her implicitly, even after the shooting, and Jinx is anxious about fucking up, but that memory of realizing that she'd shot her dad by accident keeps her stable somehow, in a way that accidentally killing Vander and the others hadn't. 

Jinx is the one that one that fixes Viktor's programming, makes him more like himself.

And then she sets fire to the research because that shit's fucked up.

Jinx pulls what she can from the journals she found in the lab. She also broke into his old room to find his personal journals.

Jayce was too focused on just having Viktor back to even consider what makes Viktor him.

Newly reprogrammed Viktor-doll looking down at his metal hands and sounds so lost and confused as he says "What....what happened to me?" 

He still has a memory recall of his time with Jayce, after being activated, but it feels distant. Strange. Like a hazy dream.

And Jinx pushes her goggles up on her forehead and answers cheerfully, "I fixed you, silly."

Viktor looks down and covers his crotch up even though there's nothing there. 

"Some clothes or a sheet would be nice"

Silco's coat is there.

Jinx hadn't thought to ask for it.

But he'd thought to leave it.

And Jinx hands it to Viktor,

Viktor wraps it around his waist and attempts to stand, but he has trouble with his right leg. (He discussed it in his journals and so the program implemented it)

Viktor looks down at his leg.

Frowns.

Viktor looks around Jinx's work space, notices the outrageous colour schemes, and feels a jolt of recognition.

"You! You robbed from me!"

Jinx curses. "Shit I thought I took that part out of the feed"

Viktor scowls, starts looking for his cane automatically, but it isn't there. 

because the cane was buried with the real Viktor

"I need to go home," Viktor blurts. "I need to find Jayce."

"Oh, you don't want that guy," Jinx huffs, nose scrunching. "He's a freak. He's the one that did this."

Jinx gestures to pretty much all of him.

Viktor finally takes the time to look at himself and notices the hexgem enclosed in the center of his chest.

Oh, Jayce what have you done

He turns back to Jinx. "You fixed me as you say? Do you have notes?"

Jinx shoves a disorganized pile of papers at him scribbled with a mix of crayon, marker, and colored pencil.

Viktor looks so....disgruntled about what was used to write the notes, Jinx almost starts laughing.

"Silco has your journals" Jinx pouts a little, using air quotes to emphasize. "Said you wouldn't 'appreciate' my 'creative additions'."

Viktor hums and glances at her.

"He might be right. You're a genius, but our aims are polar opposites."

"HAH!" Jinx shouted, jumping from her chair. "You called me a genius! No take-backsiessss~"

She pressed a button on her desk that made an alarm noise. The label above had a stylized "S" and several hearts around it. Viktor assumed it must be a way for her to contact Silco.

Silco arrives almost in a hurry, coming down the steps and crossing the narrow "bridge" into the lab.

"Ah, you're awake," Silco says, running a hand though his hair as he gets closer. "Viktor, correct?" He holds out his other hand in greeting, a little startled at the strong grip from the automaton.

Strong and warm.

The Arcane's power is literally thrumming through him.

"I suppose that is the closest to who or what I am," Viktor explains.

"I am sorry we never met earlier," Silco says. "I always admired your work."

"So, you had her steal from me," Viktor muses, "instead of approaching me for a discussion. Interesting method for demonstrating admiration." 

Silco shoots a look at Jinx.

"No. She broke into the lab on her own the first time. But I am the one who sent her to rescue you."

"Also bold of you to assume that your partner," Silco spat the word like a bad taste, "would even allow me to have an audience with you."

Viktor opens his mouth to defend Jayce reflexively, but falters. Remembers the bridge. The barricade. Being locked out of Piltover and having to wait to have his identity "confirmed" by Councilman Talis. How Jayce had dehumanised and vilified Zaunites to his face.

Looks down at is hand.

At what Jayce did to him.

Viktor pulls his hand back and remembers the coat around his waist. "Does this rescue happen to include clothing?"

"Of course." Silco heads back in the direction he'd come from and beckons "We take care of our own. Come and we'll get you sorted."

Viktor went to take a step forward but collapsed against the railing. 

"Ah, a cane too, if possible," Viktor added, annoyed.

Silco looks at Jinx, clearly annoyed and expectant. 

Jinx huffs and rolls her eyes before hopping up onto the work-table. 

"The journals said his leg was fucked, so I worked that into the programming. You said to put him back the way he was!"

Arch + Woods

(A/N: Don't forget to vote in our Valentine's poll if you haven't yet!)

[mybelovedsylus]

For the Zayne girlies on my poll ♡

First off, thank you to the crazy amount of responses on my poll! Second, I really hope this doesn't disappoint you all. This is almost 2.5k words- Zayne has been keeping track of your cycle and therefore has to have you in his office while you're ovulating - for the best chance of breeding ofc. Do with that what you will. Those are your warnings. I just know that while Zayne is like the perfect man to bring home to mom, he's absolutely a menace in the bedroom (lowkey confirmed by the valentine banner) I'm still newer to lads so if it's ooc I'm sorry I'm still reading through the stories.

I of course, didn't edit this, one day I will - when I can get back into my account on the computer because me and tumblr on the ipad do not get along. Today is not that day. Anywaaaaaays, 18+ no minors please and enjoy

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Zayne's gaze snaps up from his laptop screen, and he briefly checks to make sure there's not a dent in the wall as the framed awards and his diplomas rattle on the wall. He knocks a few files over as he stands hastily and rushes over to you, smoothing down your wind swept hair and running his fingers over your flushed cheeks. He may also subtly shift them to take your pulse, but only because the way your chest is heaving can't be healthy. You clear your throat and raise an eyebrow as his eyes flicker from your chest to meet your eyes. 

"You sent 911, and you're just in here doing paperwork?" you ask out of breath, and the flush in your cheeks is reheating as you start to get pissed off. "Zayne,  I was in the middle of a debreif, what the fuck are you thinking?"

His hand reaches around you to push the door closed, which in turns means he's encroaching on your space. Your head is tilted up to look at him, and the anger dissipates as soon as you recognize a hungry look in his eyes. You gulp as you hear the click of the lock echo across the small clinical space. What is happening?

"I sent 911 because I have surgery in 30 minutes," he says in his usual matter-of-fact tone that makes you want to shake your head, as if there's some literal fog that can be cleared. It doesn't work though, you're still not connecting the dots, and honestly it short circuits as he places both palms flat against the door on either side of your head, effectively caging you against it. 

"I can see the gears in your head spinning, love. We have 45 minutes for me to fuck you," your breath catches in your throat and you're wondering if you've flat lined. No matter how many times you see this side of Zayne it still short circuits your brain. "After all, based on my tracking, you're ovulating today - so it's the perfect time."

His nose drags down the column of your throat and he works on sucking and biting the skin of your neck as your brain tries to desperately catch up. However, instead you throw your head back with a deep moan, to which Zayne reprimands you and captures your lips with his, plunging his tongue in your mouth. He tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away from you, eliciting a small whimper.

"Don't forget, we are in my office, and those noises are just for me,” he all but growls at me, and I can feel how wet my underwear is from just these few moments. Goodness, you love the contrast of who he is in private compared to the version of himself he gives to the world. 

“Wait - how do you know I’m ovulating?” You ask pushing on his chest as if the space will provide you reprieve to think for a second. He easily crowds right back into said space, molding his body to yours as he pushes you against the door. 

“You send me to pick up tampons, and two weeks later you jump me the second I walk in the door, it doesn’t take a doctor to figure that out, love,” He says tilting your head up so he has easier access to your lips. Before you can think his hands are running up your legs and you gasp as he presses on the seam of your jeans putting pressure right on your throbbing clit. “Definitely ovulating,” he smirks. 

“Shut up,” you gasp into his mouth, tangling your hands in his hair and standing on the tips of your toes to get a better angle. With the precision you only get from dating a surgeon, every button of your top is undone in seconds and with a simple flick of one hand at your back, your bra joins it. He wastes no time in bending to suck on your nipple as his hand drifts to the buttons of your pants, undoing them and the zipper, and pushing them over your hips. Before you know it you’re completely nude as he stands fully clothed, doctor coat included before you.

He simply smirks, dragging you to the couch where he seats you on the arm rest, back to the rest of the couch so he has plenty of room in front of you. 

“How many times do we think I can make you finish before they page me,” He asks, although it seems rhetorical as he passes you his glasses and sinks to his knees while throwing your right leg over his shoulder. You open your mouth to answer, but the words die on your tongue as you feel him use his evol to blow icy air over your slick folds. You drop his glasses onto the cushion, moving to put your hand over your mouth to try and smother the cry as his tongue finally hits you. He drags it flat over your folds, gathering your wetness, before working overtime to flick your clit in a way that has you wondering if he’s going to beat his record for bringing you to orgasm. You are certain he is when you feel his fingers probing at your entrance, working two in and opening you up. The sound of his fingers working through your increasing wetness is obscene, the squelching sound working in tandem with your strained breaths through your nose. When the fingers he has inside you curl upwards as he gives your clit a gentle bite, you don’t even have time to warn him as the wave rushes up on you and your vision blacks for a second. 

“That’s one,” he tells you with a cocky grin, his chin still wet as he stands back to his full height. His eyes glaze a bit as he watches you tremble and shake through the aftershocks. He undoes his zipper, pushing his slacks and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free. It’s clear he’s pent up from the angry flush of red it has compared to normal. 

“You’re really going to keep the coat on?” You ask him with a raised brow. He seems to really weigh the options with a shrug.

“It’s fine, I have to scrub in for surgery so it’s not like a sanitation thing to worry about right now.”

He pulls you up, before spinning you around and pushing you over the armrest, face landing on the cushion. He groans at the sight, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness before notching at your entrance and slowly working his length inside. Your fingers grasp for purchase in the fabric of the sofa and you gasp as he finally seats himself inside you. He doesn’t give you the usual time to adjust though, rather pulls back so only the head remains inside and then he pumps forward in a smooth deep stroke. He sets a steady pace for the onslaught, and at this point you’re sure that your moaning, his grunting and the sound of skin slapping will let all of his coworkers know exactly what is going on in here. 

“You’re going to look so good stuffed full with my cum, and then bursting with our child,” he folds himself over you, whispering the dirty words right into your ear and sending a shiver up your spine from the sensation of his breath on your overheated skin. 

He works both his hands around your body, one to rub tight circles on your clit, the other alternating between tweaking both nipples. 

“Zayne, I- fuck - I’m close.”

“I can tell, you’re squeezing me so tightly. Your cunt knows exactly where I need to be, I should just live in here, keep you here in my office whenever I need to take a break,” he mutters each phrase with a deep thrust for emphasis as he sets a quicker pace. At this point he’s basically fucking you into the couch and all you can do is try to hold on. The sensations quickly become overwhelming and when he bites down on the back of your shoulder, you’re coming with a gush. He lets out a guttural moan, working you through the crest, still firmly seated within you. 

“I think we have time for one more,” he states with a laugh, harder than ever inside you, while you feel practically boneless. “Gotta get you into a better position though, want to make sure we can get it all deep inside so it has the best chance of taking.” 

Holy fuck, okay. Next thing you know you’re whining about how empty you feel as he pulls out, only for him to reassure you it’s only for a second. Once he stands you up he finally shrugs off his coat, only to thread your arms through it, before he turns you around so you’re leaning on the very edge of the arm rest. 

“You’ve been dying to see me in the coat huh?” you ask suggestively, wiggling your eyebrows to tease him as you let the coat slip down your arms so it lays more like a shrug, keeping your naked form on full display. 

It’s then that you hear his phone go off at his desk and he spares it a glance for a second before he’s asking you to widen your legs as he steps in between them.

“Don’t you need to get that?”

“It’s Greyson, I told him to give me a two minute warning before the official page,” he tells you as he lines up and slides back in. He pulls you into a rough biting kiss as he sinks all the way to the hilt. This time, he’s a man on a mission, or maybe man possessed is a better description. You have your hand fisted in his shirt and his doctor coat between your teeth as he pounds into you like a machine. He’s battering your cervix on each downward stroke, and then pulling almost all the way out of you. 

“Wait, I need my glasses,” he gasps, halting all his movements and you can only respond with a desperate groan, letting your forehead rest on his chest. 

“Really? Now does not seem like the time for that,” you gasp but lean back, reaching until you find them crammed down in the cushion. You unfold them and place them on his nose, pushing them up until they sit in their usual place. 

“I want to see the mess I’m about to make of you,” is his simple answer, and he smiles devilishly at the clench of you around his shaft. Suddenly you found yourself wishing you ovulated a lot more often. You watch as he sucks two fingers into his mouth before using them to lavish your clit with attention once more. He’s using his evol to heighten it with the drastic contrast in tempature and you just know you’re a babbling mess as you climb closer and closer to your peak. 

“That’s it love, we’re going to come together, and you’re going to hold every last drop- right here,” he tells you, doubling down on his efforts. His free hand rests on your stomach and he lets out a deep moan when he realizes he can feel the press of himself at the deepest point. His brow is coated in sweat and the vein popping in his neck shows the strain as he relentlessly thrusts over and over. Your hands have moved to his back, holding onto him for dear life, probably still leaving marks down his back despite the fabric barrier. 

You can’t hold back any longer, hooking your legs around him as you cum, locking him to you. He groans, mouth meeting yours in a messy kiss as he pushes to get as deep in you as he can while he finds his own release. You can feel the added warmth as he paints your inside walls, and the clenching of you riding out your own orgasm serves to help milk him for everything he’s got. He shudders, pushing his weight against you, causing you to fall back on the couch, all the while he remains seated deep inside you. 

Your bubble is burst by the official page and you know you unconsciously grip him tighter before releasing him. He begrudgingly slips from you, but he angles you so that your hips are being held up by the arm rest, keeping your pelvis tilted. 

“You’re going to be a good girl, stay just like that so it all stays right where it needs to, up against your cervix, and if you can do that, when I get back from this quick surgery, I’m going to give you another load here and then we will go home where I will only give you breaks for sustenance,” he says darkly his eyes firmly fixated on what you’re sure is a mess. You can already feel his cum dripping from you to the sofa fabric below. What you are not prepared for is him scooping up some of what is leaking and pushing it back in with his fingers. His eyes flash for a second, but then the page goes off again and he sighs. He leans over you to give you a sweet kiss, and he pulls his doctor coat around you so that you aren’t completely exposed. 

“You sneak, you gave me the coat knowing you were going to leave me here like this?”

“Oh believe me, I’m going to dream of this picture for the rest of my life - I won’t be able to wear my coat without getting hard I don’t think,” he confirms as he tucks himself back in his pants and heads to the door straightening himself back into professional mode. He barely opens it to slip out, making sure that no passerbys can see into what’s his. 

“Remember - don’t move. I’ll know by how much you leak. And I plan to keep you stuffed to the brim or leaking for the rest of the weekend. I can’t wait to see you swollen with our child.”

[gravity-falls-fanatic89]

I had this cooking for a bit, based on another one I posted, and decided to break it into parts.

Stan Pines x Reader

Part 1/?

NSFW/MINORS DNI/18+

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

"Wow, dude, I've been Employee of the Month since I started here! You broke my streak!" Soos said gleefully. He was holding a camera from your boss, Mr Pines, brought out to celebrate the occasion. "Stan said to get your good side....Wait, do you have a bad side?"

You rubbed your fingers on your temple. Soos was honestly a very nice guy, but holy hell, not the sharpest tool in the shed. Breaking his streak didn't take much...So much, you don't even know how you earned it. You goofed off most of the time, dozed off at the counter, and sometimes forgot to flip the sign to "Open".

"Okay, I'm just going to ignore that...Can you just take the picture? I'd like to go on my lunch break," you said, feeling grouchy and hungry. You had a huge deli sub and an ice cold Pitt Cola waiting in the refrigerator, and you could almost taste both.

Click! Click! Click!

The camera went off at least a dozen times, and Soos was proud of himself, but you were pretty sure every single one was half assed looking. Oh well, that's Mr. Pines' problem, not yours.

You walked down to the makeshift break room that was actually Mr. Pines' kitchen. It was tiny, but cozy, if you could get past the smell of old guy, even older cigar smoke, and coffee. He was actually at the table with the paper in front of him, and just his fez poking out from the top. You opened the fridge, and immediately wanted to cry.

"Mr. Pines, my lunch is gone," you said in a short manner. "Have you seen it?"

He coughed, and shuffled the paper over to look at you. He had taken off his jacket and dress shirt, and pulled out his poker face, grinning at you. Seeing him in his tank top, with his thick, aged arms and chest hair peeking out made you blush a little until your stomach growled.

"Damn, I thought it was up for grabs," and he pulled your bag out from behind the paper, turning enough that he had his legs spread in his suit pants. Your eyes shifted from your bag with the sub, to the salami bulging in his lap. "Ya gonna take it or not?"

You snatched it up, and he chuckled, with deep smile lines and crow's feet sneaking out and showing his age. "Eat your lunch, Red. You're gettin' a little feisty, and need to calm down."

"Don't even start with me, Mr. Pines," you snapped. "This heat and forgetting to eat breakfast is already bad enough. I feel lightheaded as shit."

Mr. Pines eyebrow went up slightly. "Y'know, if ya didn't do your job so well, I'd fire ya....But no one else in town would take ya!" And he started howling. "I need to go freshen up for the next bunch of suckers comin'....Look alive, Red."

He walked out, and you flipped him the bird. What a dick...Ooooo, his di-. You shook your head, trying to shake the intrusive thought of him sitting there out of your head. He had to be at least a decade or so older than you...Why would he bother with a woman pushing 40?

Why am I even thinking this shit?

You shook your head again and ate, mentally preparing yourself for the latter half of the day, which went way faster, even in the brutal heat. Five o clock came, and you flip the sign to Closed, wiping the dripping sweat off your face. Mr. Pines came through the door, fully suited(in this heat!?), counting cash with his cane tucked under his arm, and his eye patch on.

"Dumb sons uh bitches...They eat this shit up! Ha!" he cackled, peering over at you melting at the counter. "Ya look like you're gonna melt over there, Red."

Why all old men feel compelled to call the red haired women Red was something that pissed you off to no end, but even you were too tired to fight much. "Aw, look at all that cash.. Maybe you could afford to get the air fixed finally."

"Don't start with me, punk," he said coolly. "I called earlier, and the local guy is booked for a month...And Soos, well, he's Soos."

Saying that actually made you crack up a little bit. Mr. Pines saw your grin, and....Blushed? You blinked, and he had pulled his cane out, propping your head up to him. "Mr. Pines, what are you doing?"

"Ya lifted your head up when I made that joke, then it looked like you were gonna faint," he said, his face at arms length, looking at you with dark brown eyes. "I don't need no damn injuries at work." He actually looked a little concerned, and furrowed his brow.

"Uh, listen Red...Here," and he handed you some cash from his stack. "I want ya to get a couple tank tops that ain't gonna make ya do that again. But bring a receipt for 'em. I ain't a charity." He cleared his throat, and began to walk away. "And start bringing water with ya...I ain't callin' an ambulance because ya can't remember to take care of yourself."

You looked at the wad, and realized he gave you at least $100, which is weird as hell. You couldn't typically pry anything like that from his cold, dead hands(he might even take it to the grave with him). "Thanks, Mr. P-," and you looked up, but he was already gone.

*************

The wad of cash was in your hands from that moment at the Shack, until you got home and laid in bed. Whether it was the heat, or the ways Mr. Pines was getting to your brain, you couldn't sleep. Him toying with you during the days was getting to you, and not in a way you expected.

He could be a total asshole for no good reason, and make pot shots at you. Then, you'd see him outside doting on his great niece, and nudging her twin brother along with his advice. Hell, he even spoke to Soos and Wendy like they were his kids. Sneaking around, he didn't know you knew this side of him, but it seemed like he was trying to warm to you too.

But...

He didn't have to look so concerned and tilt that 8 ball under your chin like that. It was pulling something out of you that you hadn't even thought of for a few years, and with menopause on your horizon....Arousal.

Thinking of him taking that cane, and tilting your head up again gave you chills. But this time, it was him, like he was in the kitchen, looking down at you, with a devilish grin, and his raspy voice reminding you he's the boss.

"Alright Red....Get them panties and bra off, and listen good: Ya ain't helping with the Shack today. No, ya got a much more "hands on" duty today. So, get on your knees, be a good girl, and suck my cock until I say we're done."

In the heat of the night, you hadn't realized your hands were grasping your pussy and nipples back and forth, radiating carnal need for him. You closed your eyes in embarrassment, but kept masturbating, playing out the porno in your head until you exploded.

Completely soaked, both inside and out, you laid on the bed, and all you could think was

"Shit, I'm losing my mind." And then slid off into sleep, and further wet dreams with Mr. Mystery.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Lesson Learned

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Alex x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: angst, language, children, married couple, teenager, yelling, family dispute/argument, underage drinking, smoking, sad ending (sorry),

𖤐Summary: Alex and Y/n wonder where they went wrong with their first born

————

————

"He's not home."

"Where the fuck is this kid, he's missed his curfew and he forgot to pick his sister up front school, where the fuck is he?" Alex was getting pissed off.

His oldest son Blake had left school half way through with his friends, his location is off, and he didn't pick up his little sister Maddie from school when it was over. Maddie had to take the public bus which was dangerous for a middle school girl, thank God she got home safely, but where the hell was Blake?

Blake has been going off the deep end for a few weeks almost months now.

Coming home late, leaving school early or half way through, and they all end up with the same situation.

'I left with Sean'

Sean was this new kid in Blake's school, and him and Blake have became almost inseparable and getting themselves into so much trouble.

Alex hates Sean and it was obvious too. Y/n didn't meet Sean, and couldn't give an opinion on him, but she does hate the fact that Blake turned from such a good kid to someone who's getting into trouble.

Maddie comes down the stairs with her phone in hand and handed it to Y/n showing her a post Blake had just made.

"Alex," Y/n calls to her husband. He turns and sees Blake at possibly Sean's house a bottle of vodka in his hands and screaming a song, Sean in the back with a joint in his mouth and a red solo cup.

Alex sees red and his blood is boiling.

"Alex? Honey?"

He doesn't say anything but gets his phone and calls the police.

-------------

Blake and Sean were just drinking and smoking, guess having a good time maybe, Sean's parents didn't care what he did in fact they were separated and Sean lived with his father who didn't care what he did while his mom never yelled or punished him as a kid, so she didn't care what he did.

There was a pounding knock on the door, making them both stop what they were doing, Sean puts his joint out and Blake hid the vodka under the bed.

"Hello, officer."

"Hello, is Blake Keller here?"

"Yes?"

Blake comes out of the room.

"That's me."

"You're under arrest for illegal underage drinking and smoking," he motions to his partner to put Sean in cuffs too, but Sean fought the officer and Blake was quickly getting escorted into the back of a cruiser.

His mind was racing, heart pounding and his world was in slow motion. What the hell will happen to him? Is he going to jail? What will his parents think? He disappointed them.

--------------

Alex and Y/n sat in the parking lot of their local police station, they had gotten a call a few minutes ago about having Blake in their custody.

"Alex, why would you do that?" Y/n asked, not upset with Alex but just wanted to know. Why get the police involve when Alex could have gone to Sean's house and get Blake himself.

"Because I want to show this punk a fucking lesson," Alex says, tapping his stirring wheel, looking very annoyed, his index finger joint in his mouth.

"Are we gonna go in and get him?"

"Not yet..." he says.

----------------

Blake sits in a cell with Sean, Sean wasn't taking this as seriously as Blake. Blake's leg was bouncing up and down nervous, Sean was picking fights with the passing officers.

He turns to Blake. "Bro, when we get out of here, I'm gonna go smoke a fat one, you want one?"

Since both boys were underage with something kind of minor, like the drinking and smoking, they were just being held till a parent comes and gets them.

Blake hasn't even made a call to either parent, he was still unaware the person who made the call was his own father.

"Hey, officer," Blake goes to the cell door and gets the attention of a female officer. He did ignore Sean's request to smoke a joint afterwards. She just turns and looks at him. "Can I make my phone call?" He asked.

She gets the keys and opens the cell letting Blake out to go use the phone. Blake looks at the phone, he taps the desk thinking who he'd call first. He starts putting in Y/n's number, she might not be too mad at him if he called his dad.

Y/n looks down at her phone and shows Alex, the station was calling again.

"Answer," he says.

"Hello?" She puts the phone on speaker, but Alex would keep quiet even though he wants to yell at Blake.

"Mom."

"Blake, honey, is everything okay?" She knows it's not.

"Nah mom...I...I was with Sean and police came to the house...we were both arrested for underage drinking and smoking...I'm at the police station...could...you come and get me...I don't...I don't want dad to know either."

Y/n looks at her husband who was trying to hold his anger in.

"I-I'll come and get you," she lied. She hangs up and looks at Alex.

"We give it a few minutes." he says.

--------------------

It's been 30 minutes since Blake's phone call, Blake was laying on the bench, knees to his stomach, he was tired, and ended up falling asleep, Sean still hasn't made his call, not knowing who to call.

"Blake Keller!" An officer yells at the cell, making Blake wake up. He sits up and looks at the officer and stood up walking to the cell door. "Your father is here."

Dammit

The door was opened and Blake followed the officer to the main entrance of the station, Blake sees a pissed off Alex, arms crossed over his chest.

"Dad-"

"Save it," Alex walks out first and Blake behind him, head down and once he opened the car door, he sees his mom in the passenger seat. He leaned back and the car ride was silent, so silent not even the radio was playing it was like a punishment.

Getting home Alex steps into the house first door shuts once Y/n was the last to enter the house.

"You are an idiot." Alex says.

"Alex!"

"He is Y/n, do not stand up for him!" He looks at Blake. "You are an idiot, you leave school half way through, you didn't pick up your little sister from school, you post, you drinking and smoking-which was even stupider because your sister saw it and let us know, I called the police to come and get you," Alex confesses.

"I wasn't smoking-"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER BLAKE!! YOU WERE STILL DRINKING UNDERAGE!!" Alex yells. "We gave you a car thinking you'd had some responsibility one of them being you pick up your sister from school, she took the public bus which is fucking dangerous, Blake, and you know that! I want your keys, your phone, laptop, video games and you are NOT ALLOWED to be even near Sean, the same vicinity as him, because you are fucking grounded-"

"Grounded!!"

"Yes, grounded till I fucking say so!" Alex storms up to Blake's room and Blake follows.

Y/n couldn't do anything, she could only watch and make sure Maddie wouldn't hear the yelling and harsh cursing from both Alex and Blake.

"I should just fucking destroy everything you own!" Alex threatens.

"Alex, please-"

"You're such an asshole!"

"Blake!"

Alex takes almost every electronic Blake owned and took it to his and Y/n's shared bedroom, putting it all in a box, tapping it up and shoving it into Alex's closet.

"Alex!"

"It's done Y/n," he says.

"I get that, but-"

"No buts, you are too easy on him."

Y/n just stays quiet. "I am not."

"You are...he called you because you know you wouldn't get mad at him, you're too easy on both of them-if this was Maddie, would you get mad or will you act how you're acting now?"

"I am mad, Alex! But I think what you are doing is unnecessary and harsh-"

"He's a teenager, he'll get over it and maybe it'll teach him a fucking lesson which is what I want happen, you do stupid shit, you'll end up in jail and you'll be punished."

"I'm sleeping in Maddie's room tonight," she says.

"Why?"

"Because I don't wanna talk right now," she takes one of her pillows and a soft blanket and heads to her daughters bedroom, Alex didn't stop her.

-------------

Y/n gently pushes the door and the little lamp next to Maddie's bed turned on. Y/n stops in her tracks and looks at Maddie.

"Mom? What are you doing?" She asked.

"Nothing, hon-"

"Did you and dad get into a fight?"

"Did you hear us?" Maddie just nods. "It was about your brother."

"I heard," Y/n comes to her daughter and Maddie moves over letting her mom get into her bed and get comfortable. "Is Blake grounded?"

"Yeah, yeah he is," Y/n says.

"For how long?"

"I'm not sure." Maddie just lays on her back and Y/n watches.

"Was it my fault?"

"Baby, why would it be your fault?" Y/n asked.

"Because I showed you where his location was."

"Baby, if anything you did the right thing."

"But I got Blake in trouble with dad."

"It's fine, baby. They'll be mad, like little boys and they'll get over it..."

"I don't know...dad seems kind of scary when he gets mad." And Alex almost never gets mad, maybe frustrated but not cussing in every sentance he says.

--------------------

Alex laid on his back in the empty bed, he was laying on Y/n's side, he just thinks about everything that just happened.

Was he a bad dad?

Where did he go wrong?

Did he do something wrong?

He rolls on his back and stares up at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

-----------------

The next morning Maddie and Y/n were up Y/n was fixing herself some coffee and Maddie was sitting on the couch watching something, Blake had came down with no word said to his mother or little sister.

He grabbed a pop tart and sat on the love seat leg propped up on the other, he reaches over and takes the remote and changed the channel.

"Hey!" Maddie says.

Blake was just giving attitude the entire time, he didn't speak to Y/n nor Maddie, even when Maddie was telling him to turn the channel back to what she was watching, he ignored her.

"Blake do you want breakfast?"

Nothing.

"Give me the remote," Maddie says.

Nothing.

Alex soon gets up not even looking at his son, his gaze was set on Y/n, going to her and kissing her nape.

"Can we talk?" He asked. She just gives a nod and follows him to their shared bedroom.

He shuts the door and sits on the bed, he moves Y/n to be in front of him, he placed his arms around her waist and burying his face into her stomach.

"I'm sorry..." He apologizes.

"For?"

"I'm sorry for being an asshole to you, saying to take it too easy on our kids, you're a good mom, the best wife and mother, I could ask for and for the kids, never forget that please," he says, looking up at her, his chin resting on her stomach.

"I forgive you..." she says, cupping his face and bring him up, so they could kiss.

Going downstairs, Maddie was trying to reach for the remote from Blake but he was just holding it out of her reach. Alex in the way of being able to take the remote snatches it from Blake and tosses it on the couch for Maddie.

"Don't be an ass," Alex says to Blake.

"Don't be a dick," Blake says.

"Blake, enough!" Y/n says, Y/n looks at Maddie who just learned the signal that once Y/n and Alex get serious to leave the room, which she does.

"You got in trouble, I know you're mad at us and everyone in the world right now, but please-"

"Please, what mom? I'm stuck in this house now, and my one friend is I think still sitting in the police station-"

"Your one friend? What about Mark, Tyler, Lucas, Chris, and Hunter? What about them? They are your friends, fucking Sean was using you, kid, you said yes to everything so fucking easily, you are smarter then this Blake. I don't understand how you thought you two were friends, he was using you!" Alex says.

"No he wasn't-"

"If he wasn't, why were you two in jail again? Oh right, underage drinking and smoking, because of him, just because his parents don't love him doesn't mean yours don't! Your mother begged me not to call the police on you, but for you to learn a lesson, it had to be fucking done, and I'm tired of this attitude bullshit, Blake...grow up!"

"I am grown!"

"Fighting words," Alex says, Blake stood up to Alex, but Alex was in the goddamn Military, you think he'd be afraid of his own kid? Chest to chest, spit for spat, Alex and Blake just kept yelling at each other. Y/n tried to pull both males from one another, but that was hard when Blake would press on.

"FUCK YOU!"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!" Alex yells, pointing to the door, it was silent, Y/n looked at her husband, tears welting in her eyes, she turns to Blake who didn't seem faze and felt like he knew this would happen, he doesn't say anything but goes upstairs.

Y/n looks up at her husband tears finally falling. "W-Why?"

"Honey..." he doesn't have anything to say and Y/n just goes upstairs to follow her son. Y/n was trying to take to Blake, but he was just packing and ignoring her.

"Blake please." Maddie hears from the walls her mother sounding hurt, distraught even. Maddie was crying to, she didn't want her brother to leave, but she couldn't argue back.

He pushes past his mom, no word exchanged but Y/n begging her son to stay and telling her husband to change his mind, but Alex just sat on the couch looking at the black screen TV, hands over his mouth and then the door slams shut from Blake.

"HOW COULD YOU!!?"

"..."

"ALEX!"

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

i remember when "i don't see color" was a stand-in "i will treat you as any other human being" until hysterical children decided that it means "i never heard of racism. ever. if you tell me about it, my brain will melt outta my nostrils."

Pretty much exactly this.

And this ask gives me a great reason to discuss it. I recently had to do, "racial awareness" training for my job. And listening to the instructor actually pissed me off.

Because it's the weasel words they use. They've swapped Equality and Equity as meanings. Because they are now trying to say Equality means everyone gets the same thing, which is never how I've seen it used. I've only ever seen Equity used that way to mean everyone ends up at the same place. In other words, "Forced Equal".

I've always known Equality to mean everyone has a fair shot. Not, "everyone gets the same thing". Where as Equity I've always known to mean forced to be equal. Equity in this meaning, often means taking away from others to force the equal, or to give more to others. Which is funny because they didn't really change the definition they just lied about the pretense. Because the instructor explicitly stated it's about, "being fair" and, "Not everyone starts in the same place and therefore have different needs". Which SOUNDS good on paper. Up until you realize that if you have a limited amount of food, and you give an obese people more than everyone else because they are, "still hungry" you'll likely not have enough for everyone.

And in doing this you're also saying other people DESERVE more choices or alternative choices. So we're going to give A-J vegetables because they are skinny and don't need much food, but this big guy, he's getting chicken because he "needs" it. This is how the racial training class went. In a nut shell. And when you use the ACLU as a source when they can't even be honest about left wing violence, I'm not going to take you seriously. Most people very much don't actually believe that racism is fake. They just believe the idea that the "Supply" side isn't as pervasive as these types think. Because racism and activism are too sides of a coin. If there aren't enough racists, the activists have nothing to fight.

It also pisses me off the idea that this instructor tried to tell us that white people can't suffer racism in the same way blacks can because blacks suffer "systemic" oppression because some people I'm the system are racist. Had I not been under the weather, and under orders from my boss to, "not go there", I'd have come forward with, "so you're telling me no one in the system can be racist towards whites at all" just to watch her squirm. Because the idea that a system is racist if SOME of the people in it are racist, also makes the metric the case if you agree people can be racist against white people, that they, under your own sentiment, can suffer from systemic racism. IE: Oppression.

Working circles around these people is easy if you can think critically at all. But she also stood in front of the class and said that Trump was trying to repeal civil rights law.......... And he's not. DEI is something he's trying to dismantle because it's a practice of discrimination. And she thinks it's definition is the much softer one. Hell, she thinks the BLM org are still good people rather than scam artists who've done nothing at all for black communities. While making themselves rich in the process.

It's also funny because she says stats show these classes work. Which is funny....... Because I've seen people express that studies show the opposite. That these classes actually make things worse and have opposite is the intended affect.

[diorsdahlia]

Strawberry Pranks

summary : luke castellan x demeter!reader, reader is easily annoyed, reader wants to be alone, luke thinks he can get reader's attention by being annoying, no mention of reader's gender or appearance. word count is 0.9k

a/n : i havent written fanfiction for ages😭 also never been good at titles. i hope this is good chat💔

It was yet another sunny day at Camp Half-Blood, the smell of strawberries and fresh air was refreshing as it filled your nose. You weren't the kind to wear wristwatches nor did you care enough to look at the Sun's shadow to tell the time. You ditched camp activities after breakfast and here you are, sitting on the forest floor with dirt-stained pants. Plus, you didn't really feel hungry so you couldn't have been gone for that long. Truthfully, you just felt completely overwhelmed and needed some time alone. Sure, you've been here for ages but it doesn't make it easy. Especially having to deal with your younger half-siblings constant questioning and rambles. It's not an exaggeration when you say you're not great with kids, or people really.

You were occupied with admiring a pretty rock you had found, amber coloured with streaks of dark brown. You didn't even hear the rustling and footsteps approaching, you only heard a voice snapping you out of your trance.

"They're looking for you, you know?" You turned around and was met with the figure of Luke Castellan, head counselor of the Hermes cabin, you can't really make out what expression he's putting on right now.

"Really?" You muttered, a hint of bitterness in your tone. How could you not be bitter? You thought hiding behind a tree definitely was a smart way to keep out of people's sight.

"And who are 'they', pray tell?" You turned your head to look at him. No doubt Silena or Beckendorf said something about not seeing you during training, or maybe he noticed your absence himself.

"Silena and Chris." He replied. Chris, huh. That's interesting. You nodded along silently, still fumbling with the rock with your fingers while he just stood there almost awkwardly.

The both of you weren't exactly friends, maybe acquaintances. You have had small talks with Luke but you wouldn't go out of your way to have a conversation with him. You were snapped out of your thoughts as he sat down next to you, keeping some distance between you two.

"Are you okay? You look..troubled." He turned around to look at you briefly, as if he could read your mind.

"I may look troubled but I am far from it." You replied, it was hard not to get a tad bit angry when your alone time was disturbed.

"Then what are you doing all the way out here?"

"Can't I just watch strawberries grow?" You were quick to reply, clicking your tongue after. You were slightly amused on how and why he hasn't told your attitude off yet, but you didn't question it outloud.

"Hilarious." Luke said sarcastically. "You know you're not fooling anyone, right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Castellan." You scoffed. What is it really a crime to want some time alone in this camp?

"Don't act dumb. You know what I'm talking about." He said bluntly, you could swear you heard him sigh after.

"Maybe I'm not acting." You stood up, pocketing the rock and brushing the dirt off of you.

"I just want to know if you're okay. Everyone is worried—" He couldn't finish his words as you interrupted him, sounding more pissed off than intended.

"Does everyone in this camp have attachment issues or something? I just wanted to have a breather and suddenly there's something wrong with me?" You ranted, exhaling in frustration. You know you shouldn't be taking it out on Luke, poor guy was just concerned, but he did mess with your alone time.

"Okay, I'm sorry if I was implying there was or is something wrong with you. You can't put all the fault on us, you've been gone all morning. What if something had happened to you out here?" He said, his apology sounded sincere and his tone was borderline bargaining.

You nodded, some of your frustration seeping away. You were about to apologize yourself until that stupid smirk was back on his face.

"You sure you're not going crazy with the strawberries out here?" He added teasingly.

What is wrong with him, seriously?

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, all sympathy for lashing out on him was thrown out of the window. "Yeah, real funny dude."

You stood up and started to walk away ,and to nobody's suprise, he followed suit.

"Stop following me, Castellan." You mumbled but he heard you, he just didn't care.

"Nuh uh." He chuckled, you didnt have to look at him to know he was still smirking smugly.

You really don't know what took over you, but you willed the vines nearby you to wrap themselves around his feet, and the vines did exactly just that. You turned around with your mouth slightly agape, you were just as shocked as he is! You had the choice of apologising and helping him get free, or running away and leaving him here, maybe even threaten him a little. When would you have the chance to humble Luke Castellan—the greatest swordsman in camp in a million bajillion years— other than now?

"Don't follow me." You said, hoping you sounded scary enough.

Evidently, he was speechless, looking at you and the vines. And you make a break for it.

"Real mature!" He called out to you, but you were too busy running away. Incase he somehow was able to cut through the vines easily. You couldn't help but laugh as you ran, stopping as you approach the cabins. You just trapped and threaten Luke Castellan in the woods, and damn did it feel good.

[starringmycoffee]

i didn't know there was a word for this, but it's something that's really gotten on my fucking nerves lately that i haven't been able to pin down. excuse my hyperempathy and cola-induced rant incoming. lots of swearing ahead. i am angry but not at manic, rather this specific issue. anyway, buckle up.

i have a bachelor's degree. that's great. that's fine. a big issue arises when my peers who also have bachelor's degrees treat those who don't as if they're lesser humans. it really became prevalent in my workplace lately. i am a manager at a bookstore/cafè. a not-insignificant amount of our employees are immigrants and high schoolers who don't yet have their diplomas. (i believe we have a couple of dropouts as well but that's not my business and i'm not gonna ask them because there's no point. they do their jobs just fine and they're good people, and that's all i as their supervisor can ask for.)

unfortunately, they are often treated like they're not worth listening to. literally at all. they are sometimes blown off by other management staff even though their ideas are genuinely very often some of the best when it comes to how we should do things or new ways to accomplish our tasks. they have to run it through me and i have to communicate it to other managers as if i came up with it for their ideas to even be heard sometimes and the only difference is that i happen to have a very expensive piece of paper with my name on it. (i guess also i'm their boss, but other employees who do have their diplomas/certifications/etc. do not have to use me as the store carrier pigeon, so my position really has nothing to do with it.) it's been pissing me off for months and i haven't been able to put a name to it beyond "prejudice with a dash of some other academia flavor of privileged asshattery".

a degree or diploma is great if you can afford it and higher ed is a good path for you. however, it's also just a piece of paper that has absolutely no bearing on your worth as a human being overall and i've been sick of people acting like this towards my staff. they're not any less capable than i am of having a good idea or valuable insight. they're not lesser humans whose every word should be ignored.

the same goes for children and how we as a collective society treat them. kids are brilliant and creative little people. just because they're small and less educated does not make them any less worthy of your attention and it certainly does not make them any less deserving of kindness and respect. what are we teaching people by being cruel to those who haven't had the opportunity to learn yet?

anyway. all this to provide an anecdote with a reiteration: it's such a prevalent issue! thank you for spreading the word (literally) because now i can call it out for exactly what it is.

Educationism

Here's a word I learned recently that I want to share with tumblr. Educationism is the word for discrimination against less educated and uneducated people as well as the biases that higher educated people have against less educated and uneducated people.

Educationism is something I have experienced for a long time (first as a SPED kid and then as a highschool dropout with no diploma or GED) but never had the words to talk about and that really frustrated me a lot.

Educationism is something I wish more people would talk about. It's something that comes up all the time even in casual conversation, and even moreso in more heavy or discourse-y conversations.

Often I even see people trying to be allies especially to queer or trans or intersex folk and they end up engaging heavily in educationism - which is really draining for me as a queer, trans, intersex person who is not formally educated. (For example - "I bet TERFs didn't even pass highschool biology", a statement which both fails to acknowledge and hold accountable that TERFs make an active choice to be bigoted and frames not passing a class in highschool as the reason why TERFs exist, which gets tiring very fast as someone who very much did not get good grades or pass classes in highschool and yet is very much not a TERF.)

Being less educated or uneducated is constantly used as an insult and education is used as a measure of how much worth a person has and how good of a person they are, I am constantly put down for not being formally educated. Being formally educated, especially on a college level, also provides value to one's words and thoughts - Nobody wants to hear what a highschool dropout has to say, because they assume we simply aren't worth speaking to or hearing out.

When others learn that I am not formally educated, immediately they assume that I am lesser of a person than them, that I am lazy or simply don't try hard enough to become formally educated, that my life does not matter as much or is not as good as theirs, and that I am not to be taken seriously.

Additionally, I don't think higher-educated people really realize how little rights you have when you are not formally educated. It doesn't matter how much I actually know in practice, how much I read and study, how much unpaid labor or volunteer work or community work I perform, because I do not have a highschool diploma or equivalent the amount of things that I am allowed to do is severely limited.

Many areas of life, including large ones like getting a job or going to college, are largely not accessible to me because I do not have a highschool diploma or equivalent.

I also have to deal with quite a massive amount of social stigma and discrimination, and it feels isolating to not see anybody in my communities talk about it, especially in communities which are otherwise very welcoming and accepting and anti- various forms of bigotry.

So, here's me putting myself out there a bit in hopes that educationism as a term might be picked up and passed around more and maybe others might discuss it and learn something about it.

[littlegreenwyvy]

As a close friend I've been staying with has just informed me about a positive test, I feel like now is as good a time as any to mention:

Don't forget that covid still exists and people are getting sick with it constantly, and if you don't take measures to prevent the spread (such as, just for example: wearing a mask, social distancing, and avoiding crowded areas EVEN IF YOU "DON'T FEEL SICK" (and ESPECIALLY if you do)) then I do partially blame you as part of the problem when people continue getting sick...!!! And I can't say for sure that I'll ever forgive you for it!! It is a BAD THING to not take these safety measures nowadays...! I want to think at least MOST of my friends take safety precautions as much as possible, but I feel like that's probably wishful thinking. I know I've had

I am so, so, so unbelievably fucking tired of people who act like covid doesn't exist anymore, going around and behaving as though being unsafe doesn't have anything to do with covid coming for their family and their friends and coworkers and community members. Like yeah, we SHOULDN'T have to wear a mask constantly, just for a quick trip out! We SHOULDN'T have to alter or change or completely cancel plans in order to eliminate risk...! I don't want to do those things either! I WANT to go out to the movies, and to parties, and to concerts, or even just to eat at a restaurant, or visit my friends. I WANT to be able to work an in person job without it being a direct THREAT to my life...!! And I want my friends to be able to live in the same comfort. I want everybody who's 'living their life' or whatever to not have that be a risk, either. I want to live my life too, but people who don't do their part are the reason that it's never safe enough for ME to do it, and the reason that I always have 3 or more friends who are sick at any given time.

[tackykachowch]

How it feels to not like timebomb after s2

[flying-cat]

people who undermine the importance of izuku and katsuki's relationship throughout bnha because of "annoying shippers" or because they just don't like katsuki are insane because their relationship is literally so? important??? to the entire story???? katsuki is the deuteragonist of bnha. he was one of the first characters to show up. he was the first other person to know about OFA. so much of the manga is spent showing his development. if you deny his character development and relationship development ("relationship" does not always mean romantic relationship) with izuku, you are quite literally denying a massive part of the series. the manga starts with them and ends with them. you're allowed to dislike him but if you dislike him so much that you, in turn, start hating how izuku is a "punching bag" or a "doormat" for the entire series because he doesn't stay angry and vengeful at people even though a massive part of his character is that he's compassionate and kind even to people who aren't to him or used to not be, and you seriously think that that makes him weak, and you just start to dislike the main two characters of the series, i think you should. idk. stop reading, probably. read the revenge fantasy shit that you obviously want to read. there are like seven million manhwa available to you where the character gets the revenge you so desperately want to see.