#as you can guess i'm not particularly difficult and i'm willing to give a chance to any genre so don't let that block you

[lolacouldnotcareless]

Tagged by this sweet @isthisatlantis, thank you dear 🧡🎶

Rule: you can only repeat one artist and only one time, so we can all kind of spread new music to the people we tag. Try to listen to at least one of the songs people rec here.

1) one song you loved the first time you listened to and never got tired of?

warmth - bastille (orchestral version)

2) one song you cry every time you listen or makes you emotional?

love of my life - queen. it’s ridiculous. i still get teary, and there’s still, you know, something blocked in my throat when i sing it for goddamn’s sake. i’m not even in love (to my knowledge, which doesn’t say much), never have felt as strongly romantically speaking for someone else. and here i am, tears streaming down my face, feeling as if i had been broken in so many tiny pieces. that’s why i’d like to slow-dance in the arms of my partner (who hasn’t made theirself known to me yET) (what do you mean i have to be social pls don’t) on that song. (yes i’m single and all i want is to be held and to hold someone in my arms and just be at peace with each other. damn i feel pitiful. you know i half regret writing this bc it’s so close to my heart but if i erased everything now i’d feel strangely dishonnest so can we ignore this and go to the next song thanks)

3) one song that always makes you happy/smile?

hope world - j-hope. i tried but i literally couldn’t think rn of any other song that, despite the smile, didn’t make me go ouch at the same time, as in this example: 曲尽陈情 / qu jin chen qing - xiao zhan.

4) one song that you would dedicate to your best friend and/or your family?

maisie peters - take care of yourself (acoustic version). 

5) one song with a production (the sounds, the beat, the mood) you love?

the night before - hooverphonic

6) one song with perfect, amazing, outstanding lyrics?

l’assasymphonie - mozart l’opéra rock. listen. i’m not a fan of how french generally sounds when sung. but. those lyrics. not only they’re actually well-written, they actually sound good. i once spent a whole evening/night analysing the structure and sounds of the lyrics as one does, just to understand why it sounded so good to my ears. and there are so many songs that i love the lyrics from, that i think they are outstanding in their meaning and construction, but few things can top a french song with well-written, well-structured lyrics that are a real pleasure to listen to. (bts absolutely can but i need them elsewhere) well all of that to say that it’s nice to have good lyrics but they need to sound beautiful too lol. i’m sorry for rambling so much on that matter. it’s just the literature student who has two classes dealing with poetry this semester jumping out. if you need a translation hmu lol

7) one song that you would recommend to anyone?

lullaby for a cat - epik high (unedited version)

8) one song you don’t understand why you like so much but you do anyway?

fire - wang yibo. i don’t understand. still the first song i listen to while house cleaning or some shit. still singing it at the top of my lungs. still don’t understand why i like it so much, he has better songs. still.

9) one song that you think people in general wouldn’t like but you do?

marieke - jacques brel (the version entirely in dutch). once upon a time i knew it all by heart. now i’m afraid that my very small graps of dutch language has desintegrated itself because i literally haven’t used it for the last 6 years.

10) one song people normally like and you don’t like or hate?

señorita - camila cabello & shawn mendes. tbh idk if people really liked this song but i used to hear it everywhere and absolutely hated it. i don’t like anything about it. it’s visceral. can’t explain.

11) one song you would call a masterpiece?

spring day - bts. this song has everything. it’s been years and still. it still makes me emotional, i can still feel the longing, the lyrics are nothing but perfection, it’s one of the songs i sometimes sing the melody to myself without noticing when i’m simply happy. i cry, i smile. it’s so calming in a way, like a balm on a injury, on a scar. and i love the melody so much.

12) one song you recently (last 30 days max) discovered and really liked it?

迎刃 toward the blade - zhou shen. absolutely love his voice.

13) one song you listen to to get pumped like you wanna tear down the fucking government or something?

thnks fr th mmrs - fall out boy.

i tag: @sarebellion, @ivy-lavender, @theadventuresofadreamer, @rasgullaa, @ephemeralsolitude, @nurnocheinkeks, @jiminielatte, @everythiiingoes, @shadowhunterboysya, @tardis--dreams, @vtae-hyungs, @imspartawssem, @lenaferever

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 10

WC: 1633

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: anxiety, angst, brief fears of infidelity, discussions of childbearing and marriage/gender roles, psych theories, some manipulation, age difference, brief mention of domestic violence (there is none)

A/N: If you have any questions regarding the tags for this chapter and want to ask me about it before reading please do so! The chapter is not necessarily dark but I understand that some may want me to give a more detailed warning/context. I want all my readers to be as comfortable as possible 💙

🧠

It started out small. He would bring up Dr. Stratton during conversation more and more often. Three times now he had been late to office hours, causing you to have to wait outside his room, nervously checking the time. But it’s nothing, you continue to remind yourself. They’re just good friends that haven’t seen each other in years. And you trust them both.

When another Friday night passed with Laszlo skipping drinks in favor of meeting with Karen, you decided to stay in as well. It had been a month since they reacquainted with one another. In those weeks you had seen less of him outside work. Your sex life was stagnating too, much to your annoyance. He had even canceled at the absolute last minute on a dinner date. Naturally, you had begun to feel a twinge of jealousy at his lack of attention. He kept saying it was work related. Nevertheless, the sullen temperament you'd adopted went unnoticed by the doctor. You felt foolish; you weren’t so needy that you had to make a big deal about it. So you said nothing on the issue.

You sat on the old couch in your apartment. Bitsy was getting ready to go out with Lucius for date night. Picking at your fingers, you decide to ask your roommate for advice. “Hey Bits?”

“Yeah?” she called from her bedroom.

“Can I ask you a question about Lucius?” you start.

“Sure, what’s up?”

You pause as you think of how to word your thoughts. “Do you ever, like, get jealous? When he hangs out with other girls I mean.” Her head pops out of the door frame as she finishes fastening her earring, eyebrows raised in question. “It’s just that Laszlo has been spending a lot of time with Dr. Stratton now that she’s back in town. I trust them and everything, but I’m starting to feel a bit left behind I guess…” you trail off.

“Oh honey, that's normal.” She waves a hand through the air as she speaks. “There’s this girl at the lab that Lucius works with and for the first month I was convinced she was trying to steal him away from me. Turns out she just wanted Marcus, his brother!” Bitsy lets out a cackle.

“Right…” you pick at the skin around your fingernails. “I just feel silly about it. I’m sure I’m overreacting to the whole thing, though. Laszlo would never do anything, and I don’t think Dr. Stratton would either,” you remind yourself outloud. "There's just this thing John said to me about them having a past and I can't get it out of my head."

“It's not silly.” Bitsy had moved further into the bedroom, causing her voice to be slightly muffled. “But if it bothers you that much, talk to him about it. He’s a psychologist, it’s kinda his job to understand emotions and things like this. And if he loves you like you say he does then he’ll put a bit more effort into giving you his attention.”

You marinate on what she’s told you. Bitsy is right, if it bothers you that much then you need to bring it up with him. Be an adult, use communication, and all that. “Why’re you always right and level-headed about everything?”

“Someone’s gotta be, with a hot head like you,” she snarks. Her phone buzzes letting her know her date is downstairs. With a squeeze on the shoulder she bids you goodbye, telling you to let her know if you need anything.

_

The atmosphere in Dr. Stratton’s office felt off. What was usually so open and warm had felt forced and awkward. You were still ignoring the guilt of your jealousy at the doctor. She wasn’t as talkative today, unlike usual. Instead, it was strictly business. You chalked it up to her having an off day.

The two of you discussed in more depth the fetishes and kinks from the list you had compiled. Unfortunately, due to spending less time with your boyfriend the last few weeks you hadn’t had much of an opportunity to try any of the new tricks you were learning about. Therefore, you had little to really talk about in that regard. You found that you didn’t particularly mind, as you were feeling less inclined to want to share about your love life due to your envy towards the woman in question.

Dr. Stratton quietly gathered together her notes from the session and placed them into the folder. You were about to ask if she needed anything else from you when her lips parted before closing again. She leaned forward on her desk towards you. Her fingers steepled under her chin.

She licks her lips. “There is something I wish to discuss with you unrelated to the study.”

You didn’t like where this was going. Dread pooled in your gut at the concerned look on her face. “O-okay.”

“Now I want you to understand that I only bring this up out of concern for your wellbeing and emotional health. But some of the things you have told me over the course of this study have me worried.”

What on earth could you have said that would cause this sort of reaction from her? She was the most calm and collected person you had ever known. To have her speaking out made your heart race in your chest.

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before opening her mouth again. “In truth I worry about your current relationship. I fear that-”

Brows furrowing, your mind goes to the worst conclusion. You blurt out “what? No! He doesn’t hurt me or anything, I don’t know what would have given you that impression but I- ”

The doctor reaches out with her hand to settle on your forearm. “My dear take a breath, I meant no such thing.”

You take a deep inhale to compose yourself. “Then what are you talking about?”

“Speaking as your friend, and as an alienist, I fear that this boyfriend is potentially using you for your youth,” she begins the tale she concocted, unbeknownst to you. “In my experience as a psychologist, the young women such as yourself that I encounter with significantly older male companions find themselves locked into the relationship. Typically, it is from dependence on money at first. Over time, the male pressures the woman to be compliant in things like marriage and childbearing. I understand how difficult it is for a woman as driven as you to balance your aspirations with relationships and domestic matters. Do you want children?”

Her statement and question take you back. Confusion is written all over your face. Marriage? Children? Neither you nor Laszlo had ever brought up either subject. You didn’t even know if it was something he was interested in. “Wait what? I'm not sure I follow…”

“Men around his age go through an identity crisis in which they begin to become aware of their mortality. A change in priorities. The most common desire is to procreate, to start a family in which to pass on their wisdom is strongest here. Are you prepared to give him children soon? Of course there is nothing wrong with wanting to be a mother, it is a very noble role. Yet you do not strike me as someone ready for such a large step.”

You can barely form a coherent thought at her onslaught. The whole conversation was so out of the blue that you felt incredibly lost. Did you want children? Did he want children? Now? You wrap your arms around your torso to stave off the uncertainty and anxiety you feel creeping in. No words come to your defense at her interrogation. You are speechless, jaw dropped.

She stands and crosses the room, placing her cool hands on your cheeks. “My dear you are still a child yourself. This is something you need to consider. To… consider the possibility that you can’t give him what he needs. That he may need someone closer to his age with the same priorities, someone more willing to give in to his needs now. I don’t think you’re ready for that. I’ve seen the cost that these girls face. And the societal pressures and judgement you would face being with someone so much older? I think it could throw you into a state similar to after your friend passed. I wouldn’t want to see you in that position again. I want you to have your freedom."

Dr. Stratton looks up at the clock suddenly; “oh! My, I’m going to be late for a meeting, you’ll have to go. I don’t believe we need any more sessions for the study, but I will let you know if anything changes.”

You are too in shock trying to process everything she said to you as she ushers you out of the door with a “think about what I said, dear.” The door shuts behind you.

Karen sat with a huff. She felt a tad guilty for what she had said to you. She had no idea if Laszlo wanted marriage or children, he hadn’t when they were first together. But times change. She hoped that by using the angle of kids and identity crises that she could subtly plant a seed of doubt in your mind. Strike quickly and overwhelmingly, plant the doubt that you weren’t right for him, then push you out before you have the chance to seek answers or reassurance from her. It seemed you bought her false concern as actual worry. You were a great girl. But you were just that - a girl. You couldn’t give Laszlo what he needed, not like she could.

Now she simply had to wait and let your mind eat away at itself, leaving him for the taking.

Tag list

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[sondepoch]

Of Flying Spatulas and Cakes Unbaked (Solomon x Reader)

You're not the best at cooking, though you're willing to try. And then there's Solomon, who seems to be pretty decent on his own, though entirely unwilling to put in more effort than necessary. So when you two have to work together to produce some human dishes for Diavolo's retreat, it's feels fitting that you collide in what can only be described as a chaotic tale of flying spatulas and cakes unbaked.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

You made toast once.

And if burned coffee counts, that's another 'dish' you've 'cooked.'

But you have a feeling neither of those are answers that Barbatos is looking for, so when he asks you what meals you've prepared in the past, you simply respond: "Nothing, basically."

He flashes you an incredulous look, a disbelieving stare heavy with the implication that you're not telling him the truth to get out of work, but there's nothing else you can say.

It's true.

"Hey, it's not my fault," You grumble, crossing your arms. You don't miss Solomon's amused laughter next to you. "Lucifer never told me I'd be cooking a meal for you guys during this retreat."

Barbatos sighs, shaking his head. He instructs Solomon to watch over you very carefully before agreeing to leave the two of you alone. "I'll check in on both of you later. Try not to burn anything."

"What an ass," You tell Solomon when Barbatos is safely out of sight. He's a supernatural demon, so there's still a pretty good chance that he heard you anyway, but you can't really bring yourself to care right now.

"Aw, don't be upset just because he's better at cooking human food than you, a human, are." Solomon flashes you a knowing smirk, and it really takes every ounce of self-control for you to ignore him and begin flipping through a cookbook. There has to be something in here that you can make, right?

You flip to a page about pasta, figuring that it looks simple enough. Step one: Bring a pot of water to a boil. Step two: Add pasta. Step three: Add salt. Step four: Stir until the pasta has reached a state of—holdup, what the fuck does al dente mean?

You curse inwardly, wishing that Lucifer hadn't confiscated your phone when you entered the Devildom. Your D.D.D works fine when it comes to anything related to demons, but all information about the human world is encrypted with a special password that he never shared with you.

Tossing a glance back at Solomon, you bite your lip at the sight.

The sorcerer is leaning back, one leg propped up on the kitchen wall, scrolling through his phone, while his spare hand is held forward in a casting pose. It glows a light purple, and his magic brings the kitchen to life, pots flying around and knives chopping onions, all without the mage having to do a thing.

Stupid magic, you think. How is it fair that he's managed to tap into his magical strength when you can't even cast a spell? You think back to Asmodeus's words from yesterday. Asmo said that I have so much magical potential, too.

"Jealous?" Solomon asks with his usual aggravating smirk. You hadn't even noticed when he'd put his phone away.

"Of course not!" You cross your arms and glance at the page in your cookbook. You might not know what al dente means, but you can boil water.

"Well, good. Human food is meant to be prepared the human way, not the demon way." Solomon walks forward and glances at the page you're looking at. "Pasta? Well, those demon brothers will probably love what you cook regardless of how basic it is."

You flash an angry scowl his way and ignore him, pulling out a pot and filling it with water. You fiddle with the stove, not quite sure what heat setting to set it to. How long is this supposed to take? You furrow your eyebrows and try to remember something from your fifth-grade Home-Ec class, but your memory fails you. Ugh, guess I'll have to sit here and watch the whole time.

It's only while you're glaring at the lack of bubbles in the water that you recall Solomon's words.

"Wait, what do you mean?" You ask, turning to him. "Human food can only be prepared in the human way?"

"You mean you didn't notice?" Solomon puts down his phone, which he had taken back out after your initial reluctance to talk with him. He seems almost surprised that you're even asking him this question, but he opts not to comment on it. Good choice.

"Demons prepare their food differently from humans. Angels, too. For demons, the quality of their food comes from the quality of the ingredients. If you noticed, Barbatos took nearly two hours preparing the ingredients to their optimal stage...but when it came to the cooking, he just cast a spell and let that do the work."

You let out a small "oh" at Solomon's words. That makes sense, you suppose. "What about in the Celestial Realm, then?"

"Heh, for angels, it's all about the purity of your intentions. When Luke was cooking, he spent most of the time getting ready and stabilizing his mental state. Once he was spiritually balanced, his magic did the rest."

"And us?"

"Well, you know the drill. For humans—the normal ones, who don't know magic, that is—our only choice is to do it the hard way. A great chef will be able to produce excellent results even with average ingredients and a tainted soul. It's all about technique." The mage glances at you, giving you another amused smirk. "Something you clearly lack."

Yep. There it is.

There's the Solomon you know.

"Shut up," You grumble, taking out your frustration on the long strands of pasta as you shake them into a bowl. Your curiosity finally overrides your pride, though, and you turn to him with another question. "So then why are you using magic to do everything? Isn't that not the human way?"

"My food will taste like shit." Solomon smiles. "But that's their problem."

"Barbatos will be furious if he finds out," You warn with a smile, smacking him with a spatula that was flying around in the air. But you have to confess, the idea of pissing Barbatos off is pretty appealing. And if Solomon is the one doing the pissing off, that's even better!

But then the strangest thing happens.

The spatula smacks you back.

You flinch, mouth wide open in shock.

"D-d-did that actually just happen?" You murmur in disbelief, eyes locked on the plastic green-and-white utensil as it flies over to a pan to mix some vegetables.

"Yes. Yes, it did." Solomon stifles his laughter.

"Oh that's it, this spatula is going down." You stomp forward, reaching your arm out. You'll snap it in half, use another knife to chop it into tiny little bits, fry said tiny little bits into some god awful dish, and then you'll serve it to a demon with a flame specialty—so that the plastic in the spatula can spend the rest of its miserable life eternally locked in the fiery and churning depths of a demon's stomach.

Or at least, that's what you would do if not for Solomon holding you back.

"Let me go!" You screech, still reaching for the spatula. "I'm going to kill it! I'm going to make it regret its entire existence!"

Solomon sighs, lifting you up by the waist with both hands. In a single fluid motion, he has you facing your pot of water—now boiling—once more. "Geez, of course the spatula will respond like that. It's being controlled by magic. It has a mind of its own."

"Fine," You pout, tossing in handfuls of pasta. It's all a ruse though. The second Solomon leaves the kitchen, that spatula really will get to experience its own special circle of hell. You'll make sure of it. "So, what? If your food tastes inedible and my food is being prepared by me of all people, what will everyone eat tonight?"

Solomon put a finger to his chin, thinking for a second. "I doubt Barbatos will leave us to do everything. You saw that look on his face, he'll be back here any minute to take control. Knowing him, he'll probably be a better chef than you. Not that that's a particularly impressive feat."

"Shut up! At least I'm trying, unlike you. I'd like to see you make anything better with your bare hands, instead of relying on stupid magic spells."

"Is that a challenge?" Solomon asks with a grin. "If so, I accept." He strolls to the other end of the kitchen and begins preparing god knows what, and you can't help but remember that he's not just an all-powerful mage with 72 pacts; he'd also lived as a normal human. And despite his youthful appearance, he's probably been alive considerably longer than you.

Maybe challenging him isn't the best idea?

You bite your lip, staring at the pasta as it swirls around in the water. You poke it with a ladle, wondering if it's reached a state of al dente or not, before sighing and deciding to wing it. If the pasta is a little on the softer side, that won't hurt anyone, right? Yeah, you think. If anyone questions it, I'll just say that this is how we eat it in the human world.

From there on, you find that cooking is less difficult than you'd made it out to be in your head. The hardest part is when you work on the sauce, because you have to remember to keep mixing it so that the bottom doesn't curdle—whatever that means—but otherwise, making the dish goes by with fairly little problems. In fact, when the pasta and sauce are mixed together and placed on a big plate, the dish actually looks appetizing.

"I'm impressed," Solomon mutters when he sees you taking a picture of it for Devilgram. "But my cake will be better."

"Cake?" Your ears perk up at the word. It's been so long since you've had even a slice of human dessert. Lucifer had bought you a small poundcake for some demon holiday, but you'd offered a piece to Beelzebub and Mammon and before you knew it the entire thing was gone without you having taken a single bite.

"Yup," Solomon says, sprinkling flour into the batter. He mixes it slowly and thoroughly, but you can tell that the texture is still a little off. "Ugh, hand me that spoon, will you?"

You glance around and pick up the biggest spoon you can find, assuming that this is the one he's talking about. But when you go to hand it to Solomon, he gives you a strange look.

"MC, this is a measuring cup."

Oh.

The sorcerer sighs, stretching his arm out. You see the telltale purple light radiate off his arm as he quite literally summons the desired spoon to his side, only for you to yank it out of his hands. "Nope. Nu-uh. No can do, sir. This is a human cake we're preparing, so we are going to be doing this the human way."

You pinch a small clump of flour on your hand and spritz it in Solomon's face as a mock punishment for using magic, instantly reverting to helping him mix the batter. Or—again—that's what you would do if not for Solomon obstructing you.

"Hey!" You shriek in protest when he throws a handful of flour on your face in retaliation. "Oh, it's on."

You grab a tube of frosting that Solomon had filled, probably to decorate the cake with, and smear the pink on his chin, laughing when you realize how much it looks like a little beard.

"What's wrong?" You ask victoriously when he sees himself on the reflection of a metal bowl. "Don't like facial hair?"

"Oh, you don't know what you just got yourself into," Solomon mutters with a scowl, pinning both your arms at your side in a hug-like hold from behind while smearing chocolate fondue on your cheeks. As if that isn't enough, he sprinkles flour over your head, letting it fall and stick to the frosting, teasing you by saying it's "like snow."

"Snow, my ass." You struggle free of his grip and sprint to the small station you'd been working at to cook your pasta. Your eyes scan over the countertop before you find what you're looking for. Perfect! You grab the opened carton, turning around throwing the remnants of heavy cream on the boy following you. The look of sheer horror on Solomon's face as the droplets of white splatter over his black shirt makes it so worth it. "Now your shirt matches your hair!" You exclaim, clapping your hands optimistically.

But whatever eagerness you're feeling is squashed by Solomon's low growl as he uses his magic to transport the entire bag of flour into his hands. "No," You murmur, eyes wide with horror. "No, no, no. Solomon, don't—"

But he moves before you can get your next word out, dumping the whole thing on your head. That's right. The whole. Fucking. Bag.

For a second, you're paralyzed in shock. Even your vision seems a little whiter at the edges, particles of flour dusting your eyelashes delicately. Only Solomon's amused laughter is enough to stir you back into action, and once you start moving, nothing can stop you. "You. Asshole! I. Liked. This. Shirt!" You scramble to where he'd left a carton of eggs, throwing one at him in between every word. Most of them miss your target, but two land on him, the first making a satisfying smack as it breaks on his shoulder and the second one cracking right over his forehead, the yolk running into his hair. You'd been aiming for his face, but seeing the white locks twist into yellow is almost better.

"My hair!" Solomon exclaims in utter disbelief, shocked that you went that far. While he stands gaping, though, you've already found your next target: a plastic bottle full of whipped cream. You press down on the head experimentally, squealing in delight when a perfect swirl blossoms on your fingertips. You lick it, savoring the sweetness, before turning to Solomon. "No, MC." He puts up two hands protectively, as if you'll assault him at any given minute. "Don't do it. We can talk about this, nice and slow."

You pause for a second and give the sorcerer a moment of peace, to rejoice and maybe think that you're not going to rub whipped cream all over his face.

And then you pounce.

In a second, he's on the ground, under you, arms pinned to the floor by your legs as they straddle his upper body. He wriggles under your grasp, writhing desperately as the whipped cream approaches his face until the fluffy white substance has all but exploded over his face, hair, neck, and shirt.

You laugh.

But your mirth is short-lived. Solomon stares at you, jaw dropped in disbelief until you shake the bottle, upset to find that you've actually emptied its entire contents on him. And once shock is no longer holding the boy down, he taps into the demonlike strength he's developed in his many years in the Devildom, lurching forward in an instant.

"You—you—" Your words come out in stutters, forced into an unmoving stupor when you realize what Solomon just did. "You bastard!"

"Not so fun when you're on the bottom, is it?" Solomon smirks, no longer at your mercy. The jerk flipped you! "Unless you prefer it that way?" You force your gaze away from his at the innuendo, suddenly remembering that he spends as much time with Asmodeus as you do. Your cheeks burn, feeling hotter than hell itself, as you realize what a compromised position you're in.

"Aw, is little MC embarrassed?" Solomon continues his teasing, and you pick up a clump of flour remaining on the floor from when Solomon literally poured the entire bag's contents over your head, and throw it in his face. The mage temporarily flinches, but he doesn't give you any chance to escape, taking a moment to wipe his face clean of the everything you'd thrown at him over the course of this mini food-fight.

He glances at the ungodly clump of sweetness in his hands.

"No," You murmur when a devilish smile blooms on his face. You bring up your arms to push his chest away as he leans closer, but Solomon grabs the two hands troubling him and pins them above your head. "Stop! Solomon, don't do it!" But your pleas go unheard and in the end, it's your desperate thrashing that saves you, most of the sugary mix being smeared on your neck and jaw instead of your face.

"Asshole," You seethe when he's done.

"Aw, but you look so cute like this." Your eyes widen at the words, and you can instantly feel the heat on your cheeks intensifying. "So cute when you're all flustered."

"Sh-shut up! I'm not!" You turn your head away from Solomon. For the first time, you're thankful for the chocolate fondue that covers your cheeks. If he were to know just how abashed his actions are making you, there's not a single doubt in your mind that it would simply be used as further ammunition to tease you with.

"You're not?" Solomon mutters, that aggravating smirk still on his face. He leans forward, bowing his head down low until his white locks tickle your forehead. "How about now?"

"N-no," You mumble and look away. You're no Lucifer, but you want to keep at least a little of your pride. But it seems that Solomon takes your words as a challenge, and within seconds he's dipped his head even lower and his lips are on yours—sweet, covered in frosting, and soft.

You gasp at the contact, not expecting this of all things...but it's strangely pleasant. And a quiet voice at the back of your mind tells you not to pull away.

But then Solomon leans his head back up and his smile is even more exasperating, so before he can get a single teasing word out you pull your head off the ground and capture his lips once more, leaning back when his mouth curves into a smile. You can't suppress a small grin from forming on your own lips when Solomon's grip around your wrists loosens, still leaving a hand to cage over them but bringing another frosting-covered one to slide into your hair. It makes for a nice pillow between you and the ground.

Your smile widens when you feel Solomon's daring tongue dart at your lips, a flirtatious summon for more. More of the moment, more of this, more of you. And suddenly, it doesn't even matter that the two of you are covered in the ingredients of the cake that will now go unbaked. Because Solomon's lips are on yours and you're both breathless and it's hot and sweet and it feels invigorating.

There's not a doubt in your mind that the two of you would enjoy the moment far more—you eventually do, in the privacy of closed doors—if not for Barbatos's sudden appearance in the doorway.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The demon's gaze doesn't land on you immediately, much to your chagrin. His olive eyes first scan over the kitchen countertop, the ripped-open flour bag, the spilled carton of heavy cream, half-empty tubes of frosting, and the hideous mess of food that covers nearly every inch of the floor. He glances nervously at the oven, which is still on but thankfully devoid of any burning food that might ruin the dinner.

And it's only then that his stare fixates on the two of you: frozen mid-makeout, covered in frosting, whipped cream, and flour. You tense under Solomon, feeling his muscles stiffen in turn, both your eyes locked onto the demon in front of you.

"...I suppose you'll want me to believe that this is part of the cooking process?"

MASTERLIST

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: This was inspired by the fact that Solomon's smile in the game always looked more like a devilish smirk~ I feel like he'd be such a brat x3 one of my all-time favs tho

Comment & Like

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[professor-vanad]

Alright, I've made you a guide for having the old guy over. Its relatively lengthy though so I've posted it too my blog under the title "old man porygon care guide" with some pokemon and porygon tags if you need to search for it. So check that out and save it to your blog for later.

As for your question, I did get in contact with silphco when I was doing my whole tedious detective work adventure (and Gordon is asking I let you know that he's making fun of me for "asking silphco" ending up being like step 14 in my figure out porygons past and why he's acting like an old man research quest despite it being the most obvious first step to take)

But they were less than helpful, saying how a lot of the stuff surrounding porygon and how to make them are some sort of company secret not available to the public.

(And from the way you're talking, it sounds like they might not be being completely transparent with researchers either so oof.)

And when I talked about stuff like health concerns for old dude, I couldn't seem to get anyone to even consider them being a beta porygon at all, instead only working under the assumption that he's another failed modders attempt at a porygon evolution like the original context of the dubious disk.

Even after I went through all that effort of tracking down machines able to read information stored in pokeballs that typically isn't displayed publicly when viewing them in a pc, but is instead usually used by law enforcement for returning lost pokemon, which put his first date of capture a good time before porygon were released to the public.

So it would be a heck of a task to pull off a bootleg of something that wasn't publicly available yet.

And I was able to track down and talk too previous owners dating back too 19 years ago, and none of them were particularly tech savvy either.

So that still brought up some worrying stuff that if his weirdness is a mix of being really old AS WELL as from being modded, then he would have been living with the mods for a minimum of 19 years, and still wouldn't have made him NOT a pre-release beta porygon, which was a lingering issue with attempts to talk too silphco people and them not taking me seriously.

They also offered for me to send them the old guy to attempt to repair him, but pretty heavily implied I wouldn't be getting him back if I gave him up, presumably as a way of discouraging irresponsible modding of porygon.

So that's hella suspicious, and I'm not gonna be doing that.

As for proof of chansey eggs improving general porygon quality of life?

I literally only have the few years I've spent with old man porygon for reference, who's apparently super weird for a porygon anyway, so I'm probably the wrong person to figure out that sort of thing. I just know he became a lot less spacy and tired all the time when I switched him too eggs, and later too berrys/pokebeans that are still on the tree/vine once I was able to start growing those myself and the sanctuary pokemon were able to help themselves instead of me buying fruit from the market (though pretty sure that was more an improvement of getting them reasons to go outside on their own regularly instead of napping indoors. Since it wasn't as dramatic a change as the chansey eggs).

But when it comes to fixing him, I guess if it comes to it, and all that can really be done is essentially build a new porygon out of the corpse of the old one, well.... I'm usually all about pokemon being able to learn enough to make their own decisions, but I'm not quite sure that's a concept the old man would really be able to comprehend in his current state.

Regardless though, the obligation would still be to try and have him understand as much as he can and see what they want based on their options.

Although if they imply something like " I want to go home" don't be jumping to conclusions about them asking to die with dignity at home.

He is not very smart and is terrible at euphemisms, so chances are what he would actually mean is "I would rather do difficult thinking on my pillow in the living room at home".

Trust me, I've been burned by their thought process before.

Don't jump to conclusions that they have things figured out or that they understood you unless it's a very simple statement you can get immediate results from like saying "come here" or "do you want food option A or B".

And it wouldn't surprise me if what it took to actually get their consent to such a thing, would be to literally have you travel to the sanctuary and have you sit there with porygon in the houses living room, drawing on whiteboards and using videos and explaining it over and over in slightly different ways until it clicks with him and he gives a straight answer.

I mean I've gotten used to having to go out of my way to find ways to deal with his senility, but that would be a hell of a rigmarole to rope some stranger into.

Heck, I've already gone and frightened my employee Gordon about the possibility of a long and tedious porygon detective adventure part 2 just talking about this stuff.

That post was brilliant! Thank you. I may have a few follow-up questions down the line but this is a great start.

Woof. I... you know, I’ve had multiple run-ins with Silph that have left me uneasy. i can empathise with wanting to “crack-down” on modding for the Porygons’ sake, they’ve had people come to them to fix their lousy mods since the first generation. So, I mean it is a problem of sorts but not as widespread as that attitude would have you believe. Being that blatant is surprising. That’s not to say I don’t believe you, I absolutely do, but I’m surprised that they were that dismissive off the bat. I think you were right to trust your gut there.

There’s a lot about your case that isn’t adding up with what I know, which is only a problem because it’s likely we won’t have a previous case to work off of. 19 years and at least two trainers who, I’m guessing, didn’t really notice anything unusual about Old Dude apart from his size and catch record prior to Porygon’s official release is the most complete dead end I can think of. I reckon I’ll be able to find some information when I take a look at his programming. Though, that will depend on how willing he is to co-operate there.

Which brings me to the possible “fix”. Rest assured, I have no intention of doing anything that Old Dude is uncertain about or uncomfortable with. It’s still only a possibility rather than a certainty and if it came to it, I’d be able to give you both more detailed information. My warning was as much for you because I don’t doubt I’m going to need your help, especially when it comes to communication. Whatever it takes to help him understand, I’m happy to do it. The ‘rigmarole’ is part of the job. He’s no hassle. Even if he was, Arceus knows I have practice. Four of them.

[orenashii]

Author's Note

Now it's getting good.

Well, not for Jack.

Everything is terrible for Jack.

21 Credits

Chapter 3

or

"Maybe She Is"

They walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds were the light slapping of her flip flops on her heels and the quiet chirp of crickets. He notices her steps are slowing. Perhaps she's no longer angry? Maybe now's the right time to speak up.

"If I may, I am curious," he starts quietly, "about your studies."

She doesn't respond. He presses on.

"You said you are studying conservational sciences. But the major does not exist? What does that mean?"

Silence hangs in the air. He's not entirely surprised.

"It means," she finally speaks, "that I am technically majoring in independent studies."

His eyebrows lift. "Really? I heard only a small percentage of students are allowed such an opportunity." He smiles. "You must be quite bright."

"Bright?" she scoffs. "Who says things like that?"

"Sorry," he says, immediately shutting up.

She huffs. "You're right, though. Not about the whole 'bright' thing but... not many students get the chance to create their own major."

Her steps slow even more as she decides to offer clarification.

"It's basically a biology major with a focus on environmental studies. Bio, chem, physics, ecology, zoology. I'm even taking classes in computer science to see how technology can help with preservation."

She shrugs. "I've always loved forests. Nature, in general, I guess. I like animals. I just want to make sure natural habitats are still around, even as the world keeps... shrinking."

She can feel herself blush all of a sudden, thinking she's shared too much.

"That sounds... quite lovely," he says with with a genuine smile. "And quite difficult." This time he laughs. Her blush deepens. Time to change the subject.

"What are you studying? Did I ask you this already?"

"You did not."

Jack can practically hear the sound of her teeth grinding. "So then tell me." It's intimidating.

"Oh, sociology. Focusing on criminal justice and human services. I am also minoring in international relations. I haven't decided what I'll do with it yet. I wish to travel the world and help as many people as I can."

He shuts up again when he realizes he's bordering on rambling.

"Sounds perfect for you. Spread your popularity across the globe."

Now he's flushing. Ashi rolls her eyes. Who the hell was this guy?

He doesn't particularly like talking about himself but he's willing to try anything if it will keep their conversation going. "I also enjoy learning different languages. I believe bridging language barriers may help bring peace to this world." He rubs the back of his neck in slightly embarrassment, hoping he didn't sound completely pathetic. "Perhaps that is a fool's errand."

She puts her shoulders up to her ears and holds them there. "Eh, I don't think so." She lets her shoulders back down. "Seems we both wanna save the world, just in different ways."

Two shy smiles, two sets of eyes make contact. From then on, things got a bit easier.

They chat more, here and there. She tells him that she's a resident advisor at a freshman dorm which is why they were walking to the most eastern part of campus. She says she connects well with the other students. It surprises him, if he's being frank, that she could connect with freshman, the rowdiest group of them all, at least, he assumes, but not connect with students her own age. But, of course, this was if he were being frank. Which he isn't. He keeps his mouth shut.

It turns out, her studies keep her very busy. She rarely leaves her room, save for food, class, coffee, and the library. The rest of the time she's buried in her books. She doesn't have many friends. Any friends, actually. She doesn't want them.

He tells her a bit about himself, too, about how he'd transferred to this school after completing courses at a community school near his home. She seems shocked by that. How did he have so many goddamn friends after he's only been here a year? And as a part-time student, no less? Turns out, he lives in a townhouse a few blocks off campus. He has three roommates, all of them very outgoing. One of them is his best friend. She didn't catch his first name but she did catch the name 'Scotsman' and apparently everyone calls him that anyway so she doesn't care to ask for him to repeat himself.

They talk about their shared fondness for reading. She likes the classics but has a weakness for dystopian literature. He's partial to history and mythology. He reveals that he once considered pursuing a minor in Japanese literature.

"Ooh! Is that why you speak like a wise, old monk?"

"I wasn't aware that there was anything wrong with using proper vocabulary."

"I wasn't aware that there was anything blah blah— tbpth!" she mocks him loudly. She sticks her tongue out at him before bursting into laughter. "You're such a nerd!"

She can finally see her building from across the park. She kicks off her shoes and runs towards the grass, still laughing with glee. She drops her bag to the grass and jumps, performing an impressive cartwheel and landing with her hands held high in the air in triumph.

"Ha! Beat that, nerd."

He sighs, then grins. He rarely backs down from a challenge. He puts his hands up and quickly lifts his legs to bring himself into a handstand. He holds it for a few seconds, even walks a few steps with his hands, before gracefully lowering himself down.

Her lips form into an 'ooh' shape and gives him a modest golf clap.

"Alright, try this." She takes another running start before doing a perfect front hand spring. Well, perfect, until she lands on a wet patch of grass, causing her to slip and fall flat on her back.

He runs to her, worried that she may have hit her head on the ground. If she was hurt, she certainly doesn't show it. She's cracking up, running a hand through her hair and laughing, loud and clear, stomping her feet into the ground.

Something… flutters in his stomach right then. He tells himself it's probably just heartburn. From the beer. That he had none of.

He reaches out a hand to her and smiles when she takes it, still laughing. She brushes her clothes down and immediately stops laughing, like something has just occurred to her.

She angles her head around to look at her pants. "Aw, man, I love these jeans." She turns her back to him. "Do I have grass stains on my ass?"

He looks down with a flush. He's only looking at her butt for grass stains. For grass stains. He swears.

"I think you're... good."

"Good." She meanders over to her discarded shoes and bag and bends down to pick them up. But at the last second, instead of retrieving them, she plops to the ground with a huff.

"Are you okay?"

"I think," she says slowly. "I think doing front flips while drunk is not the smartest decision I've ever made."

"Do you think you may be ill?"

"No, no." She waves her hand dismissing his concern. "I don't throw up. Ever."

"Ever?"

"Ever. It's like a curse. I can feel as sick as can be, but never get a chance to let it out."

Jack frowns down at her, not expecting to hear something like that. Ashi looks up at him after a moment with an annoyed look.

"Don't read too much into that, got it? It just means I can't throw up."

"Right," he replies slowly.

She lets out a puff of air. "I'm tired."

He laughs. "I am impressed, that you can go from energetic to exhaustion so quickly." She sends him a half-hearted scowl. "I could," he asks slowly, "carry you?"

To his surprise, her eyes light up. "Is that a real offer?"

He turns and bends down on one knee, inviting her to climb aboard his back.

"I haven't been carried like this in forever!" She scrambles to stand and straddles her legs around him. She lets out a quiet 'wee!' as he stands to continue their walk. He finds it adorable.

"You know, when I left my room tonight, the last thing I expected was to be carried home on some cute guy's back."

He blushes, like the big dork he knows he is.

"You think I'm… cute?"

"Don't flatter yourself, nerd." He laughs at that.

"I believe it is you who is the nerd," he jokes. "You are the one that doesn't attend parties. You only study. That makes you far more of a nerd than I."

"Pff," she retorts smartly. "I am evolved."

He laughs again. "Very well."

She brushes his ponytail away to one shoulder. Her fingertips on his neck makes him involuntarily shudder. She doesn't notice. She's using his shoulder as a resting place for her chin and he could feel her breath on the back of his ear. He tries to ignore it.

He gets to her building and lightly jogs up the steps. Another girl is leaving the building and holds the front door open. She snickers at them both, no doubt one of Ashi's residents. That she's supposed to be advising.

"You get it, Ashi."

"Mm-mm. Nope." She extends a casual middle finger to the younger woman, which only makes said woman laugh harder. "Not like that."

Jack adjusts his grip on her legs. "Where are the stairs?"

She snorts. "You really want to carry me up eight flights of stairs?"

"Uh." Perhaps he did not think this through.

"I'm joking. I'm on the third floor. And there's an elevator around the corner, to the left." He feels her head loll to the side. "Stupid." He could feel her lips on his neck. It definitely makes him feel some kind of stupid.

He sets her down when he finally reaches her door. She finds her keys and quickly pulls them out and unlocks it. She flings the door open wide and steps inside dramatically.

"Well, this is me."

He's caught off guard when she pulls him by the front of his shirt and kisses him. In fact, he's frozen for a second. She had spent all night either telling him to leave her sight or insulting him. She'd even flipped off one of her students who thought this was exactly what they were coming here to do. His body jumps when she lifts a leg to kick her door closed.

He knows what to do in this situation. All he has to do is grab her shoulders and pull back. It's all part of the routine. She'll apologize, he'll reassure her. Water, lying on side, lights off, out the door. But he finds himself grabbing her waist. No, wait, this isn't right. His head is tilting and he's kissing her back and he's not sure why because this never happens. He never kisses them back.

She breaks apart with a breathy moan and pulls him backwards toward her bed. She kisses him again, deeper this time, and drags him down to her comforter. She's evidently stronger than she looks because he's lost his balance and is now on top of her, one hand on either side of her. She smirks up at him and undoes the first button of his shirt before he's scrambling away.

"No, no!" Her face immediately falls and he can tell she's upset but there's nothing he can do to fix this. He lead her on by kissing her back and it's all his fault.

He can see a conflict of emotions flicker across her face before she finally settles on one: emptiness. Her eyes are unfocused. She sitting up now but she's slightly slumped forward. She's mumbling to herself.

"This was dumb fucking idea."

He wants to tell her. That he would kiss her. If she were sober. Is that insulting? Would she even want him to do that if she were sober?

Unfortunately, tonight is not the night for answers.

"This is why I don't go to parties. This is why I don't talk to anyone."

He swallows hard. "You can talk to me."

Her eyes sharpen and focus on him. It's unnerving. She looks like she could strike at any moment.

"Fuck off," she says. "Go home."

He sighs. He knows he's lost this battle. He sees a nearly empty glass of water on the desk next to her bed and moves to grab it. He walks across the room into the bathroom and fills it up with water. He's stunned when he returns, she's shirtless, and struggling to remove her jeans. He clears his throat, loudly, and she doesn't even look up. Did she... forget? That he was here?

He puts up a hand to his eyes like a visor and redirects his gaze downward. He sets the glass on her desk and moves away. He peeks through his hand when he hears her movements cease. She's under her covers now, already on her side, completely passed out. He sighs and makes his way to the door.

He spares a final glance at her sleeping form and... has second thoughts.

He has an idea. It's a dumb idea. It's really, really dumb idea but he finds himself unable to talk himself out of it.

He wonders if she'll kill him for this.

Author's Note

Spoiler alert. She will, Jack. She will kill you for this.

So I basically have a dozen or so scenes written for this story, which is why updates are happening so quickly. As soon as I fashion these scenes into actual chapters, I'll post them. I'm still working on 'I Exist', among other things, but this is a really fun thing to write when I feel stuck.

Thank you all for your responses! Til next time! :D

[omglr]

kids need to figure this shit out

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like socialism, and feminism.

You: hi

Stranger: hey

Stranger: so when are you implementing socialism

You: it's an ongoing process

You: how's yours coming along?

Stranger: i’m not a socialist

You: oh dang

Stranger: yea

You: gave up to quick i suppose

Stranger: too*

Stranger: i guess

You: well, maybe try to work with some friends on it?

You: it's hard to do it on your own

Stranger: i’m more of a fascist type

Stranger: i kill and best of socialists

You: oh so you don't have any friends

Stranger: i do. only people who agree with me

You: pretty edgy dude

Stranger: not edgy at all

Stranger: did you ever hear about that antifa member that got shot?

Stranger: at the recent rally?

You: how old are you?

Stranger: 19

You: yikes

Stranger: okay

Stranger: hey we can still be friends as long as you don’t do stupid shit

You: so you have like no real life experience then

Stranger: no drugs or anything like that

You: no problems with employment?

Stranger: for me?

Stranger: no

You: no kids to feed?

Stranger: nope

You: no rent to pay?

Stranger: i do pay rent

Stranger: i live on my own

You: any problems with the landlords?

Stranger: nope

Stranger: just gotta pay your bills on time

Stranger: and keep the noise down

Stranger: simple

You: is there rent control in your city?

Stranger: no

Stranger: i negotiate on my own

You: any chance your landlords gonna raise the rent, double the rent?

Stranger: nope

Stranger: we have an agreement

You: like a lease?

Stranger: no, we have a fixed price

Stranger: it stays there no matter what

You: and you negotiated that on your own?

Stranger: yes

You: cool

Stranger: it’s not particularly difficult

Stranger: you just have to be likable and easy to get along with

Stranger: and actually state what you want and come to an agreement

You: cool, sounds like anarcho-socialism

Stranger: nope

Stranger: sounds like you don’t know anything

You: sure sure

You: the landlords aren't your parents are they?

Stranger: no

Stranger: are you larping?

You: ha

You: no just trying to get a sense of your lack of hardships

Stranger: ah right

You: how you feel about global warming?

Stranger: it’s real

Stranger: i believe it’s called climate change

You: sure

You: do you believe the stuff about needing to take dramatic action in the next 12 years?

Stranger: i believe that if all we have is 12 years, we’re fucked anyway so i wouldn’t care

Stranger: i’m not willing to drastically change the lives of everybody in this country, when the rest of the world wouldn’t go along with it

Stranger: that’s the ironic part

You: so you'ld rather spend the next few years larping nazism?

Stranger: i’m not a nazi but okay

You: killing brown people?

Stranger: i’m a fascist libertarian, which may sound like a contradiction but i make it work

You: i am picturing that old dude from fury road

Stranger: okay

You: cool look i guess

Stranger: plus if you or anybody thinks that what’s being proposed can actually be done in 12 years, you’re crazy

Stranger: it’s not possible

Stranger: literally

Stranger: and as i said, no other country would go along with it so it wouldn’t actually matter

You: canada would

Stranger: china doesn’t give a fuck, india doesn’t give a fuck, etc...

Stranger: what makes you think that

You: NDP has a good shot at the next election

Stranger: we’ll see

Stranger: and either way it’s not that simple. winning an election doesn’t ensure you get what you want

You: if they were working with someone who didn't have a goldfish brain and actually wanted to do something good, they could work together

Stranger: once again, winning an election doesn’t ensure you get what you want

You: sure, that's were direct action helps

Stranger: plus you don’t seem to understand how impossible what is being proposed is

Stranger: i would be interested in hearing the way you think the green new deal would go about being implemented

Stranger: if you’ve given it that much though

Stranger: thought*

You: i think it will be hard, and sure not everything will get done in the 12 years, but it's probably worth trying

Stranger: what kind of attitude is that?

You: the not letting us all die kind?

Stranger: it’s plain ignorance

Stranger: listen to yourself

Stranger: no other countries would be willing to undergo the radical changes that are being proposed

Stranger: simply based off of that, we will not be able to make a significant dent in the timeline

Stranger: it’s full blown stupidity

Stranger: plus if you think people are going to hand over their buildings to the government, you’re crazy

Stranger: this is actually something that could start a legitimate civil war

You: isn't that what you want?

Stranger: no

Stranger: why would i want that

Stranger: i’m a libertarian fundamentally

You: cause you said you wanted to kill people

Stranger: i’m fascistic in the sense that i will not allow people to impose their beliefs on me

Stranger: i have no problem fighting back with violence

Stranger: mercilessly

You: ok, but what would you be fighting for?

You: do you have any real capital?

Stranger: that’s not relevant, i will fight in principle

You: you rent your apartment?

You: where do you work?

Stranger: why would i tell you where i work

You: like in the abstract

Stranger: people like you seem to think that others are okay with allowing the government to take more control over them

Stranger: the government is inherently an oppressive body

You: that's where the democratic socialism comes in dude, it's people running the company, not bosses

Stranger: right and how do you propose we get to that point

Stranger: is love to hear this

You: unionize probably

Stranger: i’d*

Stranger: and what about when businesses owners refuse to give up their life’s work

You: i mean if you work for the mob and your job is busting up unions, then yeah, you might not want to unionize

You: but yeah, even then i'd probably suggest starting a union

You: when the boss doesn't want to give up their lifes work exploiting labour from their workers the workers strike

Stranger: and what makes you think that the vast majority of workers agree with your perspective? if you go on strike, the businesses will simply use cheaper labor (ie. illegal immigrants)

Stranger: there are 700 million people and you think that any significant amount agree with your idea that private businesses owners don’t have a right to decide how they run their companies?

Stranger: it’s a joke of an idea to begin with

You: i realize i'm talking to a teenager in a country that has been actively anti union for half a century

Stranger: sure insult my age, why don’t you talk about the points and try to make a valid argument

You: i am saying, spend a few more years getting exploited

Stranger: also your idea of exploitation is a joke. most people don’t view it as exploitation

Stranger: not only that, there will always be someone to take your place

You: and instead of thinking, fuck, i wanna kill poor people so bad, think, hey why am i not getting paid the ammount my labour is worth

Stranger: i don’t inherently want to kill people

Stranger: you’re making a straw man

Stranger: and burning it so that you don’t have to argue with me

You: i mean, you said it early in the chat

Stranger: i actually didn’t, that was hyperbole to show my dislike for socialism

Stranger: but i understand how it could be misconstrued

Stranger: so that’s fair

You: ok, well what i was saying is that you are a teenager in a country that is super anti-union, that has been brainwashing people to act against their own interest for a very long time

Stranger: and hey here’s an idea, instead of continuously working at minimum wage jobs where it is easy to be replaced, work at a job that you can’t be easily replaced with. thus you can ask for a wage and use your leverage

You: so like yeah, its gonna be hard to change minds

You: ha ha, what?

Stranger: the problem is that you feel entitled. you’re not entitled to someone else’s money. it’s an agreement that you have to come to with someone else

Stranger: if you don’t like the fact that you don’t get a raise, stop working in a line of work where you can be easily replaced

You: dude, you got it upside down

Stranger: no i don’t. i’ve argued with people like you many a time

Stranger: you’re all the same

Stranger: despite what you think

Stranger: because you all think highly of yourselves

Stranger: if decide to start a business and risk my economic well being, you are not entitled to an equal share of said business simply because you are employed by me

Stranger: i took the risk

You: but probably not

Stranger: and just for the record, i do believe the minimum wage should be raised

You: like, most business owners come from inherited wealth

Stranger: anywhere between $10-$12

Stranger: that’s not relevant, that’s just you showing your jealousy

Stranger: and that’s not true either

You: i think it is relevant

You: the financial risk of business owners who have inherited wealth is very minimal

Stranger: what evidence do you have that “most” businesses owners come from inhereted wealth

You: scratch the most

Stranger: my father was raised in cuba

You: do you think the Walton's of walmart deserve their money at this point?

Stranger: he came over and started a business with $0 of inherited wealth

Stranger: you are not entitled to an equal part of that business

Stranger: in any way

You: do you think walmart workers don't deserve a living wage?

Stranger has disconnected.