#it must be so much easier to live on my scraps? you're doing this on purpose. youre taking advantage. youre ungrateful.

[horce-divorce]

The people who survive homelessness are the ones who are aware of wider structures at play, and who don't merely blame themsleves for their circumstances.

No amount of trauma-informed therapy and social work, no amount of waitlisting, no amount of phone calls or begging politely or anything else will fundamentally change the root issue: I am too disabled to earn enough money to live.

I've been doing this for 10 years now. Basically all I've known my entire adult life is homelessness. I'm tired. I know I'm "doing everything right," inasmuch as I'm able to. I can't go back to work or i would, but everything else? I apply for help. I get on waitlists. (The average wait is 8-10 years. I've only just gotten on the waitlist, after all this time.) I've asked churches for money and resources. I freelance and I sell what I can whenever I can. I go to food pantries, I barely even eat. I learn how to fix things myself. I take good care of me, as much as I can.

I go only where I'm invited. I never ask directly for help; only give people the option to. I never ask for seconds. I make myself smaller and smaller each time. And I wait. And I wait and wait and wait, like such a Good Boy, but master never lets me back into the house.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Prey | Chapter Eleven

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): Murder, Cannibalism, Abuse

The static had become almost nothingness in the back of Alastor's mind. His headaches have disappeared. However, the remedy used to alleviate those symptoms is rather...gruesome.

Gruesome, and yet, he could not get enough. The thrill of hunting was nice, but the feast to be had after...it was exhilarating. Just like with his first kill, with every bite he took, it became easier. It became a need.

Alastor had never known hunger such as this. The smell of flesh, the feel of meat against his teeth, the taste of blood as it covered his tongue and down his throat. He had them raw a few times, before finally cooking them. The cravings only grew stronger after that.

With each hunt, Alastor prepared a new way to serve up the poor souls on a silver platter. As much as he loved venison, human flesh was a whole new delicacy, one he could not believe he lived his whole life without.

It was wrong, horrid, inhumane, sinful. But then again, so was the nights he'd spend hunting.

Alastor rarely ever experienced regret. Once when he was a child, he had stolen from a a candy shop. His mother gave him an earful when she found out. Then again when his mother died. He felt he never had enough time with her, never enough memories.

But when it came to finally ridding himself, his mother, and the rest of the world of his poor excuse of a father. He felt no sort of regret. Instead, he felt relief.

With his next kill, there was a brief moment of panic. But it overshadowed by the pure adrenaline. It was thrilling. He felt no regret.

However, if you were to ever catch wind of his hobbies and new dietary lifestyle...Well, the amount of regret and guilt he'd feel would certainly kill him. You were what kept what little sanity he had left. If you were to leave him, he'd loose himself completely.

He needed you, so badly, that sometimes it terrified him. How could one person make him feel on top of the world and yet so small? So fragile. He hated it, and he loved it, and despised himself.

But he loved you. Oh, how he loved you.

You could never know. Never. For as long as you and him live, you must never know.

He's had you in his life for so long, to suddenly loose you...He'd never be the same again.

"Ow!" 

"Sorry. But, this is kinda your own fault."

The little boy pouts and rolled his eyes at those words. He knew it was. You didn't have to keep reminding him. He glances down at the knee you were putting a bandage on, his frown deepened. 

"Don't look so sad." You say, moving your hands away. "Even though you got hurt, it was pretty cool of you." The boy looked up from his knee to you. "You think so?" He asked. 

"Yeah! It's too bad you slipped on those rocks, you almost caught that frog!" You tell him. "I couldn't do something like that. If I got my dress dirty, mama would kill me!" The boy's eyes widened slightly as he realized that he gained more than just a scrapped knee. 

His clothes were ruined with muddy water. 

"Ah darn. Ma's gonna be mad." He sighed. "Pa too..." Now it was your turn to frown. You stood up and offered your hand. "Let's go to my house. I bet mama would wash your clothes for you. That way, your folks won't be upset." 

The boy took your hand and stood as well. "You sure?" He asked. You nod your head and start to walk. The boy smiled and gripped your hand tighter. "Thanks Y/n. You're the best." 

"That's what friends are for Al!"

 When the two of you made it to your house, your mother gasped at the sight of your friend. "Goodness! Alastor, what happened to you?" She ushered the two of you inside and closed the door. Alastor looked bashful as he answered. "I fell trying to catch a frog."

Your mother sighed. "Your clothes...Clothing ain't cheap, honey." She says as she places her hands on her hips. "Not for folks with our status." With a shake of her head she starts for the laundry room. "Y/n, fetch one of your daddy's shirts please. Alastor, you come with me."

"Ok." You say, rushing to your parent's room. Alastor followed your mother, she let him undress in private. You joined your mother's side and handed her the shirt. She thanked you before knocking at the door.

"Alastor, hand me your clothes, and I'll give this shirt alright?" The shirt was much too big for him, of course. But it would keep him covered until his clothes were clean. 

Alastor did as he was told, and put on the shirt before stepping out of the room. Your mother walked in and began to wash his clothes. 

You couldn't help but giggle a bit at Alastor. He faced you with an annoyed look. "What's so funny?" He asked. "You look like you're wearing a dress." You tell him. 

"It's not a dress!" Alastor huffed. 

"What's this about a dress?" A deep masculine voice called from the living room. You turned, a big smile grew on your face. "Daddy!" You rush to the burly man.

Your father met you half way as he picked you up with a laugh. "Hello sugar! I see you have a friend over." His eyes fell to Alastor. "And I see he's taken a liking to my wardrobe." He chuckles.

Your mother walked out of the laundry room, she smiled upon seeing her husband. "You're home early." She says, joining his side, and kissing him on his cheek. Your father moves one hand to wrap around her waist, while the other held you.

"Finished up work early." Your father tells her. "Now, what on earth is happening here?"

"Alastor got his clothes dirty trying to catch a frog." You answer. "Ah, boys will be boys." Your father says, putting you down. He crouches on one knee to better face Alastor. "You'll grow into these clothes in no time, son. Let's hope your muscles grow in early, like mine did!" Your father laughs, as he flexes one arm.

Alastor couldn't help but laugh as well. Even as a boy, Alastor had been quite thin. He hoped deep down he'd get some muscle like your father has. That way he can protect his mama, and you, and your kind folks. Each of them had all been so kind to him. It's only right he keep them all safe.

"Yeah, I wanna have muscles too!" You say as you flex your tiny arms. Your father pats your head, slightly messing up your hair. "You'll be just as strong as your old man in no time, sugar." Your mother giggle. "Oh my, two muscle heads in one small house? You'll both drive me insane."

You father stood and lightly bumped your mother with his arm. "You love it, don't lie." Your mother playfully rolled her eyes. "Yes, I love it when my giant husband bumps into stuff around the house and breaks whatever's near by. You know how many vases I had to replace because of you?" 

"Only a couple, right?" Your father shrugs, making you laugh. "You're lucky you're so sweet, otherwise I wouldn't put up with you." Your mother says, patting your father's face gently. 

Alastor watched on with a grin, and yet, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. 

They really were nice folk.

"Oh, Al..." You sigh, as you dab the cotton ball at his cut cheek. "Why did you have to go and do that?" Alastor winced at the medicine stinging his cut. "Shouldn't it be obvious?" He muttered. "He wouldn't leave you alone."

"You didn't have to hit him." You lightly scold. "So what if he called me a crude name? He was walking away. Then you go on and punch him. Of course he was going to fight back, and look what's happen to you!" 

"You expect me to just let that idiot speak to you that way? Or anyone else?" Alastor asked. You move the cotton ball away and look him sternly in the eyes. "You are fifteen years old now, you're too old for that kind of nonsense! Picking fights like a child, and getting hurt because of it!" 

"He picked a fight when he wouldn't leave you be!" Alastor argued. "Besides, he was left way more hurt than I." 

"Alastor!" You say with a huff, then you took a breath to calm yourself. "I understand you just want to protect me. And I am grateful you have been. But, you don't need to be doing stuff like that. Especially if it will result in this. You know I hate seeing you hurt..." 

Alastor sighs, avoiding your gaze. "I know." He really does. He hated seeing you so upset whenever he'd come around with a new bruise, or busted lip, or bloodied nose, or whatever else his father decided would be a fitting punishment for him. He hated even more than you had to be the one to deal with it, when his mother was unable...

As Alastor entered his teenage years, he became more bold around his no-good father. He'd stand up for himself more, he'd defend his mother whenever he could, even if it would result in a painful reminder of how his father was the one in control. And a reminder of how weak Alastor truly was.

Even his mother, as frail and tiny as she was, is stronger than him. Not when it came to physical strength, but mental and will power. His mother could have left anytime she wanted.

Her poor excuse for a husband was not home twenty four-seven. If he was no working, he was out getting sloppy drunk with a couple of cheap floosies. 

She only stayed with him because at first, it was nice, for a while. He showed her what she thought was love, provided for her, kept her warm at night and put food on the table. But only got worse over time. Then, she got pregnant. Only more of a reason to stay. At first, she was bitter at the idea. 

She would be stuck with a man who treated her so poorly, with a baby, who would surely receive the same treatment. This baby did not deserve that. She hated that it would be brought into such a cruel home.

She considered sending it away once it was born. But when she gave birth to that baby, when she saw his face, she was filled with nothing but love for him.

That was her baby, her baby boy. Even if he was brought into that terrible home, she would make sure he was loved. If by no one else, than her. She would love and keep her baby boy safe until the day she died. 

Sure, when Alastor was old enough, she could have left right then. He was old enough to take care of himself, her work was done, she could leave. But she didn't. No matter how old Alastor grew, he would always be her baby boy. And she could never leave her baby. 

She had suffered so many times at the hand of that man, all for the sake of her baby. Alastor always admired her for that. She put up with so much, and still, she kept a smile on her face. If that wasn't strength, then what was? 

Even knowing that, Alastor would throw himself in harms way for her every time. If only he were stronger, Alastor would finally get rid of his father once and for all. 

But he was too weak. The bruises and scars on his body were proof enough. 

It's just a shame his mother and now you had to see it. 

"I'm sorry, Y/n." Alastor mutters. He would have promised to stop. To keep his mouth shut, to try and please his father somehow, to avoid his wrath. To ignore anyone who dared to threaten your well being. 

But he could not. He would not. And he never will. 

You had been a beacon of light in Alastor's dark world. When his brightest light was extinguished by the hands of fate, you were there to guide him through the void that swallowed him whole. Alastor had lost himself the day his mother died. He felt as if he would never be the same again. 

And yet, you were there to reel him back from the void. You would not let Alastor go, you would not let him suffer through this loss alone. 

If not for you, Alastor wouldn't know what might have become of him. He wasn't entirely sure if he would have continued on living. What reason was there to? He was alone. Or would have been, had you not been there. 

You knew you would never leave Alastor, he was your closest and most dearest friend after all. But you made a vow that day, that no matter how bad things got, you'd be there by Alastor's side. You'd never leave him all alone. 

But who's to say how well that vow would hold up, if you were to ever discover what Alastor did in the shadows? 

If Alastor could help it, you would never have to know. And what you did not know, could not hurt you...

Tags-

@martinys-world

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@catticora

[thefloatingstone]

After looking into the writers predicament and how it all led to the strike it made me realize that perhaps one of the reasons for the decline in quality media is becuase writers have been given less and less incentives to create good content, do you have any thoughts?

I don't think it would be exactly incentive. I would think in a certain amount of cases it would be down more to demotivation. Generally, writers for film and TV and such genuinely WANT to make a good story and, much like fanfic writers and fanartists, will do their best for very little thanks simply because it's what they DO. But not ever show or movie is going to be a passion project, in fact most of them won't. And if you're working for Disney especially, who owns 38% of all film (not counting TV and other media) so you most likely WILL end up wroking for Disney, you are going to have a TON of studio meddling on every level of writing.

As I mentioned in the other post, Mr Rick And Morty (sorry I don't know his name and I'm too lazy to check) wrote the story for the Dr Strange and the Multiverse of madness at LEAST twice when the movie's FIRST story and script was scrapped by a previous writer. The first script he wrote was heavily rewritten and changed and reworked by the studio. and then the studio just THREW OUT that script and he had write a brand NEW script 2 weeks before shooting started using all the props, sets, outfits and CG segments they had already made. And the thing is this is now STANDARD PRACTICE in working on a big budget Disney film.

Part of the reason the Barbie movie is written as well as it is, is because Mattel were almost completely hands off with the film's writing. (the only changes I heard about was them censoring one Barbie saying the word "Motherfucker" which they censored in the film by putting a Mattel sticker over her mouth) and various other things like the removal of a narration in one scene and one or two jokes were cut. You know! NORMAL screenwriting practices!

But Disney is so paranoid and controlling with literally everything they put out it is a death sentence for any kind of creativity. Even ignoring the fact that they hire brand new writers who they can control and push around easier, I imagine even if you were NOT a new writer just happy for a big break, it must be extremely demotivating to try and write a good story when you know Disney is just gonna shred it to ribbons.

This is absolutely not the ONLY reason of course. Velma's writing is so godawful because people who had only worked in live action cable comedy thought they could do the exact same thing for an animated show and it would work without knowing anything about the medium they were working in because they were arrogant, lacked restraint, and had gotten where they were thanks to being friends with the right people. HGS is so badly written because Raye Rodriquez had shopped around his story idea to EVERYONE and got rejected by all of them until Crunchyroll needed fodder to justify opening up its own studio to create "originals". Many times modern cartoons are badly written because the actual people writing the show are animators who haven't had any formal training or education in creative writing.

There are a thousand and one reasons for WHY something ends up badly written. But as for why we have gotten SO MUCH that is badly written recently I would chalk up to studio execs and the business side of Hollywood choking the creativity out of the writing process in an attempt to maximize profits in the short term.

That's an EXTREME simplification but that would be my opinion. Hell the only reason AI writing is even a conversation regarding film and TV is because it's the kind of thing these studio execs are SALIVATING over the thought of. A writer they have 100% control over that they don't have to pay and don't have to deal with all that "creative vision" or "artistic expression" bullshit which they don't like because it represents risk to sure fire income.

because most Studio Execs are businessmen who have no concept of creativity whatsoever, have no idea what being creative even means, and yet they think because they know how to make money in a corporate sense, they know how to monetise creativity to maximum efficiency.

It's like a fisherman getting rid of all the fish in the sea because they're getting in the way of him monetising the ocean.

Anyway this ask is a mess because this is a complex issue I am trying to express a simplified opinion on. But I hope you get what I mean.

[novankenn]

One & 1/2 Heroes : "Now What?"

“That just doesn’t make sense. It’s like… like a plot from bad fanfiction. It can’t…”

“What’s fanfiction?”

“Seriously? You don’t know what fanfiction is? Where have you been living? Under a rock?”

“Trapped in a crystal prison for who knows how long. Remember?”

“Ah, yeah. Right. Well, we’re not fused.”

“Okay, then, if you're so smart… what happened?”

“I have a concussion. I’m unconscious right now, and this is all some strang… OW!” Jaune yelped when his right hand pinched his right cheek. “What the hell was that for!”

“Yep, totally unconscious and dreaming.”

Jaune crossed his arms over his chest, and then paused. Slowly he looked down. He squinted one eye closed as if trying to figure something out. Something that wasn’t obvious to his eyes, due to his now extremely baggy “Pumpkin Pete” Collector’s hoodie.

“Jaune?”

Jaune uncrossed his arms, and grabbed the front of his chest. His vivid blues eyes shot wide open. Removing his hands as if he had just burned them, he reached up and grabbed the collar of his hoodie, pulling it away from his body, so he could look straight down to his chest. Releasing his hold on his hoodie Jaune looked up, his face ghostly pale.

“Jaune?”

“Boobs…”

“Excuse me? Did you just say boobs?”

“I have boobs… I have… I need to sit down.” Jaune didn’t do much other than collapse ass first to the rocky ground, and sit there limply, a faraway glassy look taking over his eyes.

“I don’t get it? I’m a girl, so of course I have breasts… Jaune? Are you okay?”

“I’m scared… really scared right now.” Jaune muttered.

“Scared about what?”

“What if it’s gone?” Jaune whimpered…

“What if what is gone?”

“IT! What if IT is gone!” Jaune started to sniffle, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I’m still not following. What are you talking about?”

Without answering, Shantae, Jaune reached down and cupped his groin. Instantly, the tears began to roll down his cheeks, as he started to sob uncontrollably. Going limp, Jaune collapsed to his side and fainted.

“Jaune?” Shantae shouted, “Jaune!”

He didn’t respond and just lay on his side like a boned fish. Shantae focused, she knew she could control the body they shared, so she made him move. It was much easier that when he was fully conscious, and soon she was on her feet and looking about the cave.

“I have no idea what’s got you so bent out of shape, but if you’re going to be useless, then I might as well see where we are, and figure out what to do.” Looking about, she noticed that the space they were in was rather dingy and dark, so she extended an arm above her head. “Let’s see if I can lighten up the area.”

A flame sprung to life in her hand, casting flickering shadows all about her. Shantae looked about, the place was rather average. Though she could make out evidence of possible ruins, or at least square stone blocks that could not be natural, though the scraps of what looked like broken pottery was also telling her that this place wasn’t totally natural.

“Okay. Jaune said he fell, so there must be… there it is.” Shantae smiled as she found the hole Jaune must have come through. It was a good fifteen feet or so above her. “I think, if my magic is working, that maybe my transformation dances would also… I hope.”

Extinguishing the flame, she set about trying to decide what to do about all the clothes and gear that lay scattered about her feet. While she wanted to just leave it all, she had a feeling, especially when he eyes fell upon the sword and shield… that Jaune would be really heart-broken if they were left behind.

(==-- Table of Contents --==)

[hermesserpent-stuff]

HI spoilers for the future of stolen heir. i neeedded to write the toothless meets hiccup scene with all the little changes that occur cause this is an au lol.

Hiccup freezes in his tree as he hears a loud crash. There should not be loud crashes on their island that he was not part of. His eyes sweep the tree tops and sees them tremble to the south against the blowing of the wind. Something big. Had Dagur heard? Debatable. Dagur had taken up a hobby of cave exploring that took him both underwater and deep into the heart of their island. Now more than ever with both of them growing bored from avoiding the market for the last month since the- 

Hiccup shushes his brain. He needs to investigate. He hurries off to look for the source, soon coming across broken branches and disturbed roots. He sees blood scrapped across a tree. But the sound of footsteps makes him duck down. Multiple footsteps. There should never be multiple footsteps on their island, since it should be just his brother and he. 

He silently stares out at the passing men. Those emblems were not of the Acumens. He bites his lip and then trails them. He recalls the oath to his brother. Death to all who ventured into their land. He hated the idea of killing anyone, but the threat of Berk finding out his home island or enemies finding their home island through word of mouth terrifies him. They had not talked about what to do if/when the Acumens, or more specifically the Grimborns. Hiccup had not taken as much offense as Dagur had but… he follows his brother. And his brother had wanted to put a large pause on that particular alliance for now. 

The hunters, who he knows are of the Spiteful Scufflers tribe, follow the broken branches with increasing noises of excitement. Hiccup finds his stomach filling with bile, brain clawing at him about the last time he had been alone around members of this tribe. He then comes up with an idea and dashes ahead. He covers up the trail and alters it. Maybe he can avoid bloodshed if he can make it look like their prey escaped. He scoots up trees and marks them up with blood and broken branches, looping back around to the shore. He then hides in the underbrush nearby and hears the steps approaching. 

The hunters curse and spit and howl. 

“The Night Fury got away! DAMMIT!”

Hiccup finds his breath stalling.

“I thought I saw you hit it chief.”

One of the men offers up.

“I hit it! It must have escaped the bola. Stupid of us to trust anything made by the  Bloodwrathers.”

Hiccup feels a flash of offense but keeps silent. The men get on the boat and sail off in the direction that they thought the Nightfury went. And Hiccup scrambles back to the original path of breakage. A Nightfury!! On their island?! The child of lightning and death, that spat a type of blue flame from on high that exploded the ground. He is terrified. He cannot let such a creature live and prowl on their island. He pulls his knife from his belt to rest in his palm that is coated in what he knows now is dragon’s blood. 

He finds the downed dragon lying deathly still, perhaps killed by the fall. Hiccup flinches down and ducks down with a hiss. He recognizes the bola as one that he had designed specifically for shooting higher and faster. He steps forward hesitantly when he sees no movement from the creature. Terror slowly starts to fade. Perhaps it is already dead. The knife stays clutched in is left hand tightly as he pokes the beast with his metal foot. The dragon shifts and huffs out a breath and he flinches back, crashing into a tree with a gasp of fear. He sees arrows buried in its hide. Oh… those look… Acumen. They must have been stolen or bought from the Dragon Hunters. So dragon root. Which either needed treatment or had to be slept off. But it would mean it would be easier to stab it. He finds himself starting to babble 

“You're a threat. I can't let you hurt my brother. I can protect him. I can protect him!”

His voice gets louder as he tries to overcome his nerves. The dragon’s eyes open and Hiccup finds himself looking into one of them. Green like his. Green like his brother’s. It looks so scared. So so scared. Scared like Hiccup was when he woke alone. Scared like Dagur had been when Hiccup was being threatened. 

He raises the knife, hands shaking violently.

A hopeless fear that makes Hiccup squeeze his eyes shut in an attempt to shake off his hesitation. The dragon makes no noise. No threat, no plea. The eye had such intelligence in it and yet there was no noise. 

He looks into its eye again. And this time it is the dragon that closes its eyes, clearly resigned to its fate. Hiccup hates that. 

He cannot do this. He cannot kill the beast that was kin with those that had ruined his ex-village and snapped away his leg. He is reminded of the fear he had seen in the eyes of the monstrous nightmare and he looks back over the dragon. It is bleeding too much, the blood on his hands is evidence of this.

“I did this.”

He whimpers, looking at the bola that he knows was shot out of a weapon he made. He had made a creature feel his fear and he finds himself crumpling. He takes a few steps back. But he cannot leave the Nightfury like this. He takes a step forward and then another. And then he falls to his knees to start cutting the ropes, murmuring words to the beast as he works.

“I'm cutting the ropes. Please don't murder me to death while I'm cutting the ropes.”

The ropes start snapping as he cuts. 

And then the dragon is free!

Then the dragon rolls over and tackles him to the ground, pinning him with its weight as its wings flare out behind it. Hiccup gasps, trying to stay in the moment as his mind claws at him with memories of other times when he had been pinned. The dragon roars into his face and Hiccup whimpers and then sobs. The noise seems to startle the dragon. The wings fall down and the dragon closes his maw. A muzzle presses closer to Hiccup’s face and the nostrils flair as the dragon sniffs. Hiccup feels no air getting to his lungs and his mind is swirling. 

The dragon gives a shaky huff, pupils shifting wildly as dragon root buries into the dragon's veins. The Night Fury sniffs at his leg as Hiccup starts forcing himself to gasp through his racing heartbeat. The beast sniffs his hands and hair gives a soft warble and steps back. Hiccup shivers and whimpers as tears drip down his face. The dragon takes another shaky step back as the dizzying effects of dragon root start to flare. 

Hiccup slowly sits up and then blacks out from the lack of air and panic. He wakes up moments later to the dragon stumbling about and crashing into trees. Hiccup cannot leave him out in the open like this. His brother is far less hesitant than him. 

[bungoustraypups]

tl;dr: you have a good point here, but the reply is also correct and the response is unnecessarily dismissive. anything that tries to compare the training wild animals in captivity do for zoological reasons (or otherwise) to the training domestic animals who frequently interact with lots of humans on a daily basis, some of whom they may never have met before, is going to fall extremely flat and i'm unsure why you seem to think that reblog was somehow silly when it's... common sense

so this response feels... incredibly disingenous. bc the reblog has a HUGE point that's failing to be noticed here.

i agree, a lot of the behavioral tools we use on our pets is 100% unnecessary and sometimes harmful. if you declaw your cat, and you know what declawing actually is? you're going to see me in your house and it won't be a friendly visit.

but there are things that domesticated animals who are frequently around humans simply cannot be allowed to do. there are times where they must have their behavior corrected and addressed appropriately and with compassion, but sometimes this includes being what you might call "unkind"

i have grown up with mostly cats and dogs my whole life, i'm almost 26 now (in september i will be). you cannot allow a dog to simply wander off as it chooses or decide when it wants to listen to you. you cannot allow a cat to choose not to use a litterbox in your home. you cannot allow a cat or dog or any pet to wander about the counters where humans eat because they are gross and carry diseases on them which can severely harm and kill us at any age, and some which carry more risk when the person is very young or old or disabled/ill or pregnant etc etc

we had to train our pit/lab mix, pascal, not to jump on people because i live with two elderly people. if she jumps on them, there is a HUGE chance they could be severely injured, or possibly even killed. she'd also no doubt get put down if she so much as snapped her jaws in the air at a small child with an overprotective parent who thinks pit bulls are murder machines. but even if she wasn't a pit mix, you cannot allow a dog who lives in close proximity with humans to exhibit behaviors that are dangerous to humans

note for the following: pascal was not an intentional acquisiton, i found her running around abandoned in a parking lot and my grandpa fell in love with her, my plan was to foster and rehome but given how attached he got and how attached she also got to him, that plan was understandably scrapped

i can promise you the responder is not saying they don't use a leash when walking their dog. but, probably like the responder, i had to train pascal not to run out of the door when it was opened. some folks can have their housemates hold their at-present untrained dog when they go out of the door, but i didn't have this luxury as my housemates are, as mentioned above, elderly. i can't have pascal leashed 24/7 indoors or outdoors, that's not practical nor is it fair to her and can also cause issues with understanding what the leash means ("time to go outside" "why am i wearing it inside then?" yknow). i had to train her to not do that

pascal's recall, admittedly, is still kinda terrible. her housetraining is too, but both of those are for reasons outside of our control. and both can be fixed with time, and will be once life isn't trying to kill all of us constantly

nobody's saying to be cruel to or abuse animals in the name of training them. there's plenty of nice, compassionate, kind ways to train all manners of animals. it's not a bad thing to ask yourself if your animal really needs something just bc society says so, too! there's a lot of stuff they don't need to be made to do or given or trained to do etc etc that a lot of owners think they do

most ppl who declaw their cats do so for convenience, for example, and bc they don't understand that there's cheaper, easier, and much less torturous ways of preventing scratching your furniture than literally removing their first joint of their toe, which most of them don't know is what declawing entails, and apparently most vets who practice declawing don't freely give this information. unless it's a medical necessity as determined by a vet, i don't think declawing, cropping, or docking of animals should ever be done, period. cosmetic changes to animals are ridiculous and the only ones i think are okay sometimes are silly harmless ones like when i put my old cat mischief in a raven costume for halloween, or sometimes when people paint their dog's fur with non-toxic dog-safe paint or whatever, not permanent changes that serve no purpose other than for our eyes to look at

an orca is not the same as a domestic animal. i shouldn't have to tell you this but apparently i do, given the response. orcas in captivity (who, btw, shouldn't be in captivity at all given we don't know how to properly care for them and i cannot think of a single organization with them right now in the world who is truly invested in learning how to do that bc we all know seaworld ain't shit and the others internationally aren't much better from what i've scoped out, i could be wrong and things mighta changed but yk) can be allowed to do things that simply cannot be allowed in a domestic cat or dog or livestock animal etc for the simple reason of you will never need to hire someone to look after your pet orca while you're on vacation, but you might need to for your pet or your farm etc etc, and your animal should know how to behave so as to not make their life a living hell

using spray bottles on a cat isn't evil or cruel also, lmao. it's not a tool that should be used excessively, but when you have little assholes who are too young to know why they should care about not chasing each other onto the tv stand with the $400+ television we can't afford to replace, sometimes you gotta whip it out before disaster happens. my older kitties understand what "no" and "get down" mean, but the five young boys playing tag frequently have yet to learn this - or, at least, have yet to understand that when daddy says "no" or "get down" he means do it now - given they're all about eight months and younger and basically entering teenage years, so they get the bottle sometimes. at worst, it disgruntles and mildly bothers them for a maximum of five minutes before they forget about it and do something else. it also teaches them to be more cautious around the television (i'm serious, i've seen the behavioral change, it just takes a while and isn't all at once), and they need to jump down and/or stop what they're doing when i reach for a bottle-shaped object. half the time i don't even need to use it, they just stop and that's all i need them to do, they don't need to get down as long as they're not at risk of property destruction

also the only reason that happens with cetaceans in captivity is, ironically, because of what you said: you literally cannot force them to do it, at least not without risking major harm to yourself. otherwise people would do it. you can't pick up an orca and put it in a carrier to take it to the vet. you can, however, do this with a cat, and you should, because cats are - gasp - more at risk of developing injuries and diseases due to their prevalence and environment and proximity to humans and therefore need to go more often, and also so they can get yearly vaccines they need to prevent disease spread etc

animals often have to be forced into doing what's best for them because it's impossible to explain it to them. i'm sure my boys would love being able to run free through the front yard off-leash! however i'm also sure they'd hate getting hit by a car or eaten by an unruly dog or carried off by a hawk or killed by another cat -insert all the ways feral cats die here- so on and so forth. but since they're cats and i can't explain this to them, that means i have to be the meanie who blocks them from running out the front door with my foot for two seconds when i bring the groceries in, and they'll act like miette about it for a bit ("you KICK chungus like the football?!") before forgetting it ever happened. the tradeoff here, of course, is that they remain safe and i don't have to face the trauma of losing one of my babies in a preventable accident or occurrence because they ran outside into the road and were killed in a split second

there are reasons why we don't treat pets like we do zoo animals, and not all of them are terrible

Learning anything about marine mammal training will make you re-evaluate so much of your relationship with your own pets. There is so much force involved in the way we handle domestic animals. Most of it isn’t even intentional, it just stems from impatience. I’m guilty of it myself!

But with the exception of certain veterinary settings where the animal’s health is the immediate priority, why is it so important to us that animals do exactly what we want exactly when we want it? Why do we have to invent all these tools and contraptions to force them to behave?

When a whale swam away from a session, that was that. The trainer just waited for them to decide to come back. If they flat out refused to participate in behaviors, they still got their allotment of fish. Nothing bad happened. Not even when 20-30 people were assembled for a procedure, and the whale chose not to enter the medical pool. No big deal. Their choice and comfort were prioritized over human convenience.

It’s almost shocking to return to domestic animal medicine afterwards and watch owners use shock collars and chokers and whips to control their animals. It’s no wonder that positive reinforcement was pioneered by marine mammal trainers. When you literally can’t force an animal to do what you want, it changes your entire perspective.

I want to see that mindset extended to our domestic animals.

[alwaysinlimbo]

Body Image

-----If you're not a fan of discussing body issues than i urge you not to proceed and I am sending you love-------

A journal prompt for tonight

How have the media and societal standards affected your body image?

Back in 12th grade, there was a girl in my writing class that was taking a survey: "Have you ever felt self-conscious due to social media?" I said no. I lied.

Social media has been one of my favorite things, but has also been the bane of my existence. On one hand, I see it as a scrap book for my life, where I can share things with my friends and pretend I'm pretty cool for a little while. I enjoy sharing. Sometimes oversharing. I take it that stems from childhood trauma too, as most things seem to.

As of right now, I currently have instagram and tik tok off my phone. for one, cause I am in my senior year of college studying STEM and need to focus on finals, but also because I found myself in the never ending loop of comparison again.

I often see people online, and even knowing full well that social media is completely fake, I still compare and compare and beat myself up over stupid things. It's a dumb thing really, looking at a place full of filters and perfectly chosen photos and thinking "wow I must be a real wreck huh." simply untrue.

I deal with chronic bloating, and because of this over the past year and a half, have become very self conscious in my day to day life. My most recurring thought is "what if someone thinks I'm pregnant???" I have spent so much time pondering why that's my first thought and why I am so scared of people's perception of me (something I cannot control might I add). I've come to realize that I find myself doing that at times, looking at another woman and having that thought. But then I thought to myself, where did I get that from??? Well, I've chalked it up to social media. How many times do you see a celebrity post a photo where maybe her tummy isn't perfectly flat, and suddenly, the comments are flooded with pregnancy skeptics.

It's terrible. If people would stop commenting on other peoples bodies I think the world would be an easier place to live in. But either way, whether you like it or not, seeing repeated comments like that, you end up being conditioned into having those thoughts yourself. I once read somewhere years ago that your first thought is what you've been conditioned to think, and it's really your second thought that matters.

Social media now has also been overtaken by trends upon micro-trends upon consumerism galore. A terrible cycle really. Every week it seems there's a new buzzword for a new micro-trend, and then Shein picks it up and adds loads of clothes under that buzzword, and then millions of trend followers run after and spend all their money on those clothes, only to follow the next micro-trend a week later.

I found myself falling into this cycle I wont lie. I will always say that I hate trends, I've never been someone that NEEDS to follow trends. If a trend happens to be something I like, then I'll be on board and if not, I'll just keep doing my thing. But the problem is that with the rise of tik tok came the rise of these aesthetics and names, and then these tik tokers who make these aesthetics their entire personalities. And when you see someone have millions of people love them for sticking to one aesthetic, you get stressed and start telling yourself that you have to stick to one aesthetic or you'll be a poser, or people will stop liking you.

It's simply not true, it's a poison that the internet has fed us, and I'm convinced they've done it as a way to make fast fashion companies richer, but that's a story for another day.

What I want to say now is that it's all complete bullshit (I hope I'm allowed to swear on here still, I haven't been on tumblr in ages so if not tumblr i'm sorry). We are human beings, and human beings are complex creatures with complex brains. We weren't built to only like one specific thing. We were made to be curious, and continue to expand ourselves and our interests. We are not an "aesthetic."

I have spent many wasted hours and days sitting and pondering my entire existence because I don't fit into a box. I'm cottage-core, but I'm also goth, but I'm also punk, but also I'm goblin-core, and I'm also 2000s twee, but I'm also a 70s rocker, but also an antique 20s girl, but don't forget that I'm 90s grunge, oh and trust me, I'm also midwestern Americana and southern gothic. Read that sentence over again if you couldn't figure out whats wrong with it. and again and again and again until you get it.

WE. ARE NOT. AN AESTHETIC.

You are allowed to dress however you want. There are no rules. These "rules" that seem to be unspoken but very loud, they're completely fake. Made up by mouths that could not process the information their eyes received correctly.

We are so complex, and that complexity creates such beauty. It's quite cliche but when you really think about it, it holds: If we were all exactly the same the world would be a horribly boring place.

I hope this gave some solace to anyone who stumbled across it. I know it certainly quieted my mind in the way I needed it to today. If you're hear, thank you for taking the time to listen to what I had to say, and I hope if you related, your days get easier and your heart feels less heavy. Much love <3

[adleryoung]

"Not a chance," I snarled. Engaging in venery with a Sisterhood Floozy would be like walking into a trap! If I was going to prevail, I had to fight her on MY terms. "You barged in, attacked my student, put a knife to my throat, mocked and berated me, threatened to turn me into a mindless puppet, and now you intend to blackmail me into having venery with you? Have you no shame? Don't bother answering; I know you don't. And the very fact that you are trying to give yourself a high seat of power in my future government shows that despite your words, my plan does have a good chance of succeeding!"

"With my help, it certainly would," Lana quipped smugly.

"You would be my loyal Prime Minister, eh?" I sneered. "The same way you were loyal to Estmere? I haven't forgotten that the Sisterhood MURDERED MY BROTHER."

"I heard that YOU killed him," Lana stated drily. "Nobody else seems to know that Estmere died of his own folly. He chose to sit on the Coronation Throne despite being told not to. Anyway, you should understand full well why he had to die. Even if he could have been convinced to abdicate the throne peacefully, there can be no loose ends. Not only was he a terrible Emperor, he was just a terrible person in general."

"He was a cool dude," I insisted angrily.

"Whatever," Lana sighed. "It's a bit late to start caring about him now. And yes, by the way, I am blackmailing you. I need to make sure that you fulfill your destiny. Even if you can do it without the Sisterhood, I still intend to benefit. Think about it: I could just beat you unconscious and take what I need, but where's the fun in that? Plus, it would spoil your looks and that would be a tragedy since your looks are all you have going for you."

"That's ironic coming from you," I scoffed.

"You're interrupting again," Lana scolded. "Since you're such a big grown-up prince now who's learned to care about other people, maybe you would be more inclined to take my offer if I tied you up and stepped out to have a word with that stupid rabbit I left drooling in the clearing. She will still be there. I know how to handle the time-slips. Perhaps I could slit her throat or break her neck. But you know what? After all of your whining, I think I'm in the mood to carry her out in the woods, hide her in a place she'll never be found, and break all her limbs so she slowly dies of agonizing starvation."

"Don't you dare!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, you don't like that? Maybe then you should shut up and take what I'm offering you. Or perhaps I need to pay your little skunk femme a visit. The Sisterhood has been planning this for longer than you can comprehend. We have too much invested to let you screw it up. The only reason you were born is because the Sisterhood willed it. You BELONG to the Sisterhood, and the Sisterhood knows well enough to leave no loose ends. That lowfolk femme is a loose end. What was her name? Vernier? It's a pity; she could have lived out her life in peace, but you made her into a loose end which somebody - probably me - will have to deal with. I could just garrote her and be done with it, but that wouldn't be very satisfying. Maybe I'll ruin her reputation and have her driven out of town. She does seem to have an unlucky streak, which will make this much easier to pull off. Just imagine her dying in an alleyway somewhere in a puddle of her own tears while cursing your name. Before the end comes she'll have to lower herself to doing shadow puppets for a scrap of food…"

At that point I must have had a brief flash of Irenaeid Battle Fury, because I don't remember lunging at Lana and grabbing her. The next thing I knew, I had her in a headlock through the stair railing and was twisting one of her arms behind her back.

"ENOUGH, FLOOZY," I growled. I was still furious but somehow aware of what I was doing. "I HAVE BORNE ALL THE ABUSE I WILL TAKE FROM YOU."

"There's the old Irenaeus fighting spirit," Lana chuckled. "That's what I was hoping to see. Adler, buddy, baby, ol' prince, ol' pal, Your Highness, you and me, we're going places. Keep your mojo and share it with me. You'll be Emperor and I'll be your right-hand ewe."

"YOU WOULD BETRAY THE SISTERHOOD?" I demanded.

"Well, sort of," she wheezed. "Not so tight on the windpipe! We have contingency plans to cover just about every possibility. I'll just have to explain it to them. I might wait until after we succeed and you are on the throne; that will certainly strengthen my case. But in the meantime you can consider me your henchfemme. It's customary in these situations to seal the deal with a bit of venery -"

"FOUL FLOOZY, EVER FULL OF TRICKS AND DECEIT," I declared as I apported one of Burnside's blades from the heap where I had tossed them on the porch overhead. "WHERE WILL YOUR POWER BE IF YOU ARE NO LONGER BEAUTIFUL?"

[mio-parasite]

Lovely - M!Robot (Zach) X GN!Human Render

Warning: mention of physical and emotional abuse.

I'm sorry for the bad spelling and bad English

◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ 

The great technological breakthrough had brought great things to make people's lives simpler, including a robot known as l1f3 that would allow you to be a beloved of the house flawless. Trouble finding a good babysitter? No problem, l1f3 can take care of your children without worry. Is your husband or wife cheating on you with the housekeeper? Say no more, l1f3 is the perfect machine for making household things. Don't worry about your partner, l1f3 just obeying a single word that you, our great buyer, will have the privilege to program before turning it on. Take it now!! It will change your life forever.

More than 10 years have passed since the day this announcement was published; L1f3 was already in its latest version. It was the most sought-after robot since it went on the market, its main characteristics had evolved to make it a total slave of the human being. On the other hand, you didn't have an l1f3 in your possession, not precisely because you didn't have enough money to buy one, but because you preferred to do things at home the traditional way, with your own hands. Many of your co-workers knew about this and on more than one occasion they came to offer you their l1f3 at a very low price, since several of them were going to buy the new version that would come out.

Come on friends is the best offer nor will black Friday give you an offer as it is. - said his co-worker.

Tom I already told you I like to do things on my own, when I'm an old man of 89 years I'll think about getting one - you answered although deep down it was just a lie - maybe you'll only get some old people's home - well, until tomorrow Tom.

Until tomorrow. - I answer his companion almost reluctantly.

You left your work building to go to the corner parking lot. It was kind of sad that your work building didn't have a parking lot of its own but you couldn't ask much of a building that's more than 70 years old.

When you got to the parking lot you passed by the guard who as always was sleeping, you took a slight sigh to go under the fence and finally get to your car but something caught your attention a young man who was lying on the driver's door of your car.

Hey, are you okay? - you approached quickly, he seemed to be sleeping maybe he jumped glasses and was going to get into his car that was next to yours but his body can't stand the amount of alcohol was a good theory not the first time you run into a drunk in the parking lot - friend wake up I must go home.

When you put your hand on his shoulder, a strange sensation of something wet made you jump out of fright. When you turned on the light you realized that that liquid in your hand was blue but the sensation was not like paint much less it had smell it was strange that thing that was blue in your hand didn't seem you had seen it before.

You pointed your flashlight at the young man who was sitting with his back against the door of your car. Poor robot maybe they assaulted him or he was also one of those extremist groups that are finding that robots are living with humans. Well whatever the case you could not leave it thrown there is also so far do not think that there is a mechanic available also its owner may be looking for it would be good to look for the owner, but one of your friends explained that if you enter the official site of the company l1f3 and put the first four digits of the barcode that is in the back of the neck of the robot you can find its owner with his contact number in case you lost the robot.

That was quite timely but that time with your friend they put Numbers up out of sheer boredom finding the large number of people who owned one in their home even if it was low resources is surprising that much of society is dependent on these robots but there is no more time to digress you have to act the robot is in a bad situation. You approached her slowly to move her neck very carefully but when you gave her a little push to separate her head from the door your wrist was grabbed very tightly.

What do you think you're doing!? - said the robot with anger in his eyes.

"I just want to help," you answer somewhat scared. "it was all so sudden."

Lie - exclaimed the robot- you just want to disarm me and sell my parts as scrap.

It's not true - you answered somewhat altered it seemed that his grip was stronger, it was hurting you. - my pity, let me go. please

The robot gave you a last look at Stan before releasing you definitely, you weighed your wrist and then turned your gaze to the robot that was still sitting seemed so upset but also hurt not only in appearance but also emotionally.

You can really believe me or not but I won't hurt you, I just want to help you - you told the robot as you raised your hands in a signal that you had nothing planned to attack it.

Why? - answered the robot.

What? - you looked at him confused.

Because you want to help me, not since I am just an old-fashioned tin because not selling my parts or sending me to the nearest dump is not easier that I say - I bitterly laugh - there are thousands as I am easy to replace get a new one.

Hey don't say that - the robot looks at you mockingly - I know it sounds stupid but I don't think it's replaceable - sure your owner misses you.

So my owner - he laughed again with bitterness - he was the one who did this to me you know - he said pointing to his wound on his face - he already has two other new models I was only adorning for the bizarre wishes of his eldest daughter where I was his feet, a parparry table and... And... - the robot made a big pause while he clenched his fist - then I got tired of that deal and wanted to run away but my owner wouldn't let me shoot myself so I wouldn't run away but didn't let me not this time so despite that I just ran, ran and ran without looking back until I couldn't stand it anymore I came to hide here after you appeared.

Oh wow - you were really surprised poor robot deserves to be free - thank you for sharing this with me.

Yes - a little laugh of tiredness came out of the lips of that robot - honestly it was rare for me to think that only the information came out. - the robot replied.

Let me take you to my house tomorrow we'll go with a mechanic and you'll go do whatever you want outside - you tell the robot you think it really deserves something better.

Wait what!? - the robot was really surprised by your proposal - because you would do that for me we hardly know each other.

"That's true," you replied, "but it's not good to leave you here either."

I smiled at him, the robot didn't have many options to go with you even if it's quite a lie what you say doesn't matter anymore after all the robot already knows that its fate will be destruction so shit matters.

"Okay, I'll go with you," says the robot as he gets out of the ground.

You couldn't help but give that machine a slight smile.

By the way, what's your name? - you ask him while driving your vehicle.

There was no immediate response just when you left the parking lot to reach a traffic light.

"I have no name," he says as he looks out the window, "it's not something we're made to carry names.

But what do you say!? - surprised - well if you're thinking of leaving your life behind it would be good to give yourself a name.

The robot takes his eyes out of the window to stare with confused faces.

You deserve a name - not just calling yourself for who you are - you are entitled to a name - you answer.

Right you say - the robot seems to look away again at the sale - you're ridiculous you knew.

What about William or jack? , alex is also a good name, there's also brendon, Cody, tayler, josh - you say random name hoping your companion will say something.

Are you serious? - I ask the robot in confusion.

Oh you prefer more foreign names you could be Francisco, akira, Bruno - you keep suggesting names the rest of the way.

Enough is enough... Zacharie - I answer zacharie while you smile.

Zacharie if it suits you I could also tell you zach for short - you answer him with joy.

At last they reach their destination their beautiful home, look at zach a little worried about his condition.

Zach I hope to help you and that you can be free, maybe can not promise me that everything will go well 100% but I will. - zach will just seem more confused but deep down his metallic self wants to have some confidence in you.

[kiiiiiim]

I don't know you but I saw your post about coming out to your friend. I think that is so amazing. I'm so glad that you have her and you can breathe a little easier.

I wanted to give you some words though they are fleeting and ethereal. Words cannot wipe your tears. They cannot hold you. They cannot stroke your hair lovingly. They cannot protect you from the hurt of others. They cannot do many things and yet it is all I can give.

Though I do not know you I send you my love.

Let my words envelope your mind like the hug my arms cannot give. Let my words sing in your mind, in your heart, when your tears run hot and ceaseless down your lovely face. Let my words be the counter, the balm, to every downtrodden utterance that passes from the lips of others.

I have hope...

I have hope for you.

For you...

It is my gift, from one stranger to another, though it is a paltry one.

I have hope that the hardships that are happening in your life are temporary.

I have hope that you will find that new therapist. The new place to live. The passion to play your instrument.

I have hope that you will be able to surround yourself with people like your friend who will love you for you.

I have so much hope for you, my stranger, my friend.

Remember.

Remember to lean on your friend when you feel overwhelmed. Remember to eat. To drink. To love. And allow yourself to be loved in return.

Remember that you are valued. Cherished.

You are needed.

The next words I take from a favorite movie of mine and if you know it already then perhaps we are not such strangers to each other after all.

"I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one. An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us... I do not know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope the world turns and things get better..."

It's a rather sad end for the person who wrote this but still I find hope in it.

You have your inch.

And no one can take it from you. As you fight your good fight day by day I know you will gather another. Clawing and scrapping. Fighting for what you deserve. Losing and gaining inches. But you will always have that one.

The one that can never be taken.

And so you will collect your inch from every hardship. From every battle won.

And another.

And another.

Until one day you will reflect that you no longer have a handful inches. But feet. Yards.

Miles.

Even now it sounds to me that you have gained an inch by telling your friend. You gained another from her acceptance and love.

Inches count.

You count.

With love,

Your Stranger, your friend

I can't even begin to describe what this means to me but it involves a lot of feelings and I'm eternally grateful for you, anon. This is quite possibly the most beautiful ask I've ever gotten and I will treasure it always.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

DON'T SHIT WHERE YOU EAT.

Marcus Álvarez x Reader

Anon asked: Hey, could you do a imagine with Alvarez, in which he's at the scrap yard of Santo Padre with the reader (his s/o) but Angel does not know it and so he flirt with her like all day and Bishop and maybe Taza and Hank tries to make him stop before Marcus notice it?

Word Count: 1.8k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits to: @bai-feng-jiu

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“Don' move”. A male voice tenses your whole body, being leaned above the trunk of your car while you're holding a box of beers. Looking at him sideways, a long forefinger goes to your shoulder feeling a light itching. “A ladybug!”

“Oh, sweet Jesus Christ!” Your heart is about to stop, leaving the box down back to place a hand on your chest spitting a sight. 

“Mayans' waitress?” 

“Seems like, just fo' today”.

“That's sad”. He pretends to looks like, supporting his body against your car, before offering you a huge hand filled by golden rings. “Angel”.

“(Y/N)”. Narrowing it, you smirk at the mexican slightly.

“Should we tell him?” Taza rest his forearms on the white wooden railing, turning his face to El Pacificador.

“Maybe he needs a lesson”. The man pursing his lips, raised both eyebrows. The Vice imitates his gesture. Looks like it's going to be a very fun night.

“You have to be fucking kidding me”. Bishop snorts going downstairs, moving fast his legs to your position and placing a hand on your lower back. “Álvarez is asking for you, querida”.

“Good, amma' take thos—”.

“I got it. Go with him”. The president pushes you softly, with one of these smiles he always has ready for you, since the day you met.

Nodding and clapping on air, you turn your feet above the gravel floor after looking to both men, putting your hands inside the pocket of your shorts walking towards the clubhouse.

“Little trouble is back at home”. Che says leaning close to you, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead before Tranq kisses your cheek. 

“Happy to see you here”. The other man says, before continuing with your steps.

“Respect that girl, or you're gonna deserve to be dead”.

“Calm down, prez, I jus' was trying to help'er”.

“You're not gonna try to help her by putting your cock into her legs, you hear me, ah?”

“Jeez, man!”

“You won't be able to complain when Álvarez tears your tongue out”. The mexican says poking his chest with a forefinger. “She's off-limits”.

Sticking your head out the glass colorful door of the Templo you find your husband sitting inside, on the last chair at the table with a thoughtful look. His dark orbs are above the cigar consuming itself resting in the ashtray, not noticing that you're there, immersed in his own things. You know how much he misses the club, even if he doesn't talk about it as you would like. Running the door by the rail until is full closed, you walk towards him. His gaze traveling to yours, smirking at the mexican while he pulls back the chair giving you some space. Sitting on his lap with your hands supported half on yours, and half against his abdomen, your fingers play with the fabric of his shirt. The first time you kissed him, Marcus was sitting on that same chair, long time ago. And at least, he's not wearing one of those suits he uses working with Galindo, or probably you couldn't control yourself.

“Do you think I took the right decision?” Setting apart a soft and shiny bristle of your hair, his hands go down to your waist.

“It doesn't matter if it was the right or not. You can be a Mayan again, whenever you want it”.

“I can't ride my bike like I used to, cariño”.

“Then, I'll be your driver”. 

He chuckles nodding, before resting his forehead on your chest closing his eyes. Sometimes he has his doubts about joining Galindo's Cartel, without caring about the good jack and the stability his new job gives him now. But you will always be by his side, supporting his back.

“Charters are coming, I have to go back”. You say softly letting your fingers tour his nap.

“Okay, mi amor”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

The crowded yard is flooded by latin music when the night has fallen down, and the delicious smell of barbecue running through the environment. Your hands moving fast above all the beers on the bar, using the opener to take off the bottle caps, while other girls bring them to the guys. You're not sure about what they're celebrating, being the first time you're at one of the famous Mayans' parties, but you're having so much fun.

“Hey, you, mister ladybug!”

Angel turns towards you, directing his steps to the bar placed in a corner of the yard. A smile getting draw on his lips, walking like he's dancing his hips.

“Is everything okay with your leg?” You ask with a laughter on your throat.

“What a sense of humor!” He cheers lifting up his beer on air. “What ya' need, sweetheart?”

“Ice. You know where it is?”

“Yea', com'on”.

Stepping out of the bar as soon as other girl comes to save your place, the man puts an arm on your shoulders guiding you to the metallic warehouse, next to the club. Supporting you the door after turning on the light, both come inside to the big fridge. Opening it to grab some bags.

“Wait, I got it”. 

Angel leans above the fridge to help you out, invading without asking your personal space. He smirks at you holding the bags you took.

“So, what'bout ya'?”

“Hm…?”

“How I didn' see you before around? To work here ya' must have friends at hell”.

“I'm family”. You just say, putting some more bags on his arms.

“Álvarez and Bishop's?”

“Yea'”. You nod closing the fridge.

“Well, I would be glad to see ya' often”.

“No, you wouldn't”. Obispo is behind you cross-armed, talking firmly without hesitation. “Take the ice to the bar”.

The Mayan doesn't say anything else, passing by El Presidente's side and leaving you alone. Closing the door you raise both eyebrows. Bishop snorts clicking his tongue. He trusts you, of course, but he don't trust the other mexican.

“I can protect my ass without help”.

“I know, little trouble. But I don' need an internally fight for that pretty and beautiful ass”. He laugh surrounding your hips with an arm, accompanying you to your place.

“When you started to be that bored, ah?”

“I keep the good times here”. He answers pointing out one of his temples.

“Shit, you sound like my grandpa'!”

Walking close of your husband, he takes your hand living a smooth and gentle kiss on the back of it. Letting you go from his cousin, you lean towards him placing your lips on his forehead dearly, before following your way back to the bar continuing with your task. Angel is there making your job easier when placing the ice inside the freezer.

“Daddy protects ya' good”. He whispers looking at you for a second.

“Daddy?” You can't help but breaking in laughs, covering your mouth with a hand. “You think 'amma helpless baby girl?”

“I'm sure you can kick me, befo' I can figure it ou'”. 

“Yea', I'm sure you would like't”.

“Maybe”.

“Well, that's not gonna happen, but you can keep dreaming”. You joke on him, grabbing a bottle of water to drink from it.

“Primo”.

Bishop turns to the call, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand after sipping of his beer. Marcus raises his chin making a gesture to the bar. Taza and Tranq looks at it too. El Presidente rolls his eyes, listening your laughs and watching Angel trying to flirt with you, ignoring the warnings he made to him.

“I told Angel to keep his hands off”. He just say, pretending to get up. But Álvarez stops him by a hand on his chest.

“I know you told him twice. Third is on my own”. He replies pretty calm, scaring Obispo more than if he was angry.

“And sometimes dreams come true”. The Mayan says, resting his body against the freezer.

Shaking your head with a loud laughter, you turn to the fridges checking the beers, before raising your gaze to your husband coming closer. Gawking nailing your elbows on the wooden bar and supporting your chin on your palms, you show him a lovely smile. No matter how many years have passed, you fall more and more everyday for him. Biting your lower lip with your incisors, you lean forward just a little.

“May I help you, señor Álvarez?”

Angel has an eyebrow upped, looking at the scene from the background and maybe understanding Bishop's words.

“I need two beers and my wife”. He says crossing his hands over his abdomen, as soon as he stops his feet.

“Yes, sir”. You just say winking the right eye.

“Having fun, mijo?”

“Yea', Padrino. She is… She…”

“She's more polite than me”. Marcus interrupts him with a calm tone of voice, twisting his head slightly. “Don't shit where you eat, Angel. You're smarter than that”.

“Sounds like he has an option”. You say frowning, passing them away with the beers between your fingers, taking off the opener handling on your neck with the free one, and giving it to other waitress.

And Marcus knows now you feel annoyed because of his words. That's one of the reasons you have never wanted to attend a Mayans' party. They're always marking their own territory over other members, and you're not a piece of meat, nor a trophy, not a bundle of money. Your husband follows your steps to inside the clubhouse in complete silence, not noticing the members who step out of it to give you some intimacy. 

“You know what I meant”.

“Look, I don't need… two pitbulls growling before me. You should know me after nine years”.

“I do”.

“Really? So then, why was tha' fo'?”

“I'm sorry”.

“Yea', you better compensate me later, señor Álvarez”. Walking closer, you offer him one of the beer, but grabbing your wrist to push you into him.

“You know how much I love you, right?”

“Nah, tell me”. You joke on him, placing both hands crossed above his nap, leaving some ephemeral caresses on his head.

“I can't explain”.

Pressing his lips with yours closing the distance between your bodies, until your chest collides with his, Marcus wraps you between his arms. It's true you didn't fall in love at first sight, but you wouldn't change him for anyone. You still feeling the same tickles and the same sparkles in your stomach whenever he's near of you. And you spend every morning, at least five minutes, watching him sleep peacefully above your chest. That is your favorite moment of the day, feeling somewhat blessed since you can do it every single day.

“Com'ere, papi”. You mutter against his lips, guiding him blinded through the only hallway on your steps to the dorms. “Let's remember old times…”

[forkfridge91-blog]

How to Make Donuts From Scratch (Like You Know What You're Doing)

Doughnuts, for me, represent absolute perfection. Don’t get me wrong: Pie is my number one; cake is near the top of my list; and I’ve never met a cookie I didn’t like. But doughnuts…there isn’t much in this world that’s better than a good—no, a GREAT—doughnut. Sure, they can be doused in sugary glaze and topped generously with sprinkles, but the dough itself isn’t too sweet‚it’s just yeasty and light and fluffy and perfect. It’s the ideal canvas for endless variations to suit your whims. 

The real reason doughnuts are so wonderful to me is the connection they have to my past. My grandmother lived in a house built by my great-great-great grandparents: a real little house on the prairie in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. When my grandma was a kid, it was her grandma’s house; same for my dad; and luckily, for me too. Along with the wonderful history of the place itself, the house was home to a lot of our own food history. One day, my grandma pulled out a pretty little yellow tin recipe box. The paint was chipped, but it was lovely and chock-full of my great-great grandma’s recipes. This includes the tattered old card that contained the handwritten recipe for these doughnuts. When a recipe is good, it stands the test of time—and these doughnuts do just that. 

If you need more proof (or aren’t overly sentimental) of doughnuts’ greatness, there’s this: You’re allowed, even encouraged, to eat them for breakfast. Cake and cookies can’t really say that. So, let’s break it down, shall we? 

The History of Doughnuts

Time for a little doughnut history, y'all. The concept of the doughnut has origins in Dutch, Italian, French, and Russian baking—all cultures that mastered dough (especially of the sweet variety) and weren’t afraid of frying. Archeologists have even found fossilized bits of what appear to be pieces of fried dough across prehistoric Native American grounds.

But, much to our country’s pleasure, the doughnut is pretty much an American invention. The doughnut��made its way to the Big Apple in the mid-1600s by way of the Dutch settlers who called them "oily cakes." It was in the mid-19th century that the mother of a ship captain began making deep-fried dough flavored with nutmeg, cinnamon, and lemon rind. Frying trapped a lot of moisture inside the dough, making them taste relatively fresh (or at least, not horribly stale) even after days and weeks of storage. This savvy baker would stuff nuts in the center of the dough that might not fully cook in the fryer. And so she called them, quite literally, “doughnuts.”

From this time on, there was much heated debate about how doughnuts got the hole in the center. Some say it was a nod to the steering wheel of a ship, others say it was to avoid undercooking the center. Whatever the reason, doughnuts took off—cheap, fast, and easy to produce, they became a primary snack of American troops during the first World War. The hungry boys came home seeking more doughnuts, the first mechanized doughnut machine was built in 1920, and the rest, they say, is history. Doughnuts were prominent throughout the United States, and were so inexpensive to produce that they were a food of the everyman, an attainable treat even during times of poverty or hardship.

Now, the reason for this little history lesson is the name. “Doughnut” is the traditional name of these delicious treats. The word “donut” was coined when manufacturers began to try to market the food overseas—they thought a shorter word might be catchier and easier to remember for those who’d never seen it.

More: Doughnut-cha want more doughnut history? 

Types of Doughnuts

While I’m particularly fond of the classic yeasted doughnut (and that’s the recipe I’ve included here), there are many different types. 

Yeasted:

Yeast doughnuts are made from a lightly sweetened yeasted dough that is deep-fried. These doughnuts possess a tender exterior and a fluffy interior.

Twists consist of two pieces of yeasted doughnut dough twisted together prior to being fried and glazed. This is worth pointing out because it opens a whole host of fun shaping opportunities for yeasted dough (like my cinnamon roll doughnuts below).

Filled doughnuts are most commonly made from yeasted dough because it produces an airy interior which easily makes room for filling. This category includes jelly-filled Berliners, cream-filled or fruit-stuffed doughnuts, Boston Cream, and so on.  

Long Johns are a long, rectangular doughnut made from yeasted dough that often have a thicker schmear of glaze and/or a filling.

Cakey:

Cake doughnuts are made from a looser batter/dough that is leavened with chemical leavener (baking powder or baking soda). If the batter is loose, these doughnuts may need to be piped rather than cut. These doughnuts have a firmer exterior and a tighter crumb structure on the interior, and they can be baked instead of fried.

Crullers are piped doughnuts. While they’re most often thought of as ring-shaped, they can also be made into long rectangles. American crullers are generally made with cake doughnut batter. French crullers are made with pâte à choux dough.

Cider doughnuts are a type of cake doughnut made with apple cider and plenty of cinnamon. No fall would be complete without one. Or five.

Old-fashioned doughnuts are a type of cake doughnut that is piped or scooped, giving it an irregular shape and therefore, a crispier outer crust. 

International contingent/other:

Don’t forget the street foods and snacks of the world. This includes bomboloni (often made with brioche dough) and zeppoles of Italy, Norway’s cardamom-scented smultringer, the jelly filled packzi of Poland, Spain’s churros, Israel's sufganiyot, Latin America’s sopapillas, Japan's sata andagi, east Africa's mandazi, China's you tiao, dozens of German variations, and the New Orleans classic, the beignet. 

In short, there’s a heck of a lot of doughnuts out there. Nowadays, the sky’s the limit. 

How to Make Yeast Doughnuts

The ingredient list for doughnuts is relatively small, but it’s important to understand the ingredients and how they are manipulated to create the end result. Flour provides structure—most recipes will veer towards all-purpose, though specialty recipes may call for cake flour or bread flour if a specific result is trying to be achieved (more tenderness and more structure, respectively). The liquid can simply be water, but it often includes some form of dairy—whether it’s milk, cream, sour cream, buttermilk, melted butter, or evaporated milk. These liquids help to tenderize the dough as well as provide richness. Yeasted doughnuts often contain very little (or even no) sugar inside the dough, while cake doughnuts often have a more significant amount. A leavener of some kind (whether yeast or chemical), and salt are also a must. Finally, any number of flavoring agents, from dried spices, citrus zest, fresh fruit, juices, cocoa, nuts, maple, etc. 

1. Mix Your Dough

Yeasted dough needs more intense mixing to build structure. Generally yeasted doughnut dough should be mixed on low speed until the dough comes together, then mixed on medium speed to strengthen gluten strands. The dough is not mixed as intensely as brioche—the whole process will take only a few minutes—but much like brioche dough, yeasted doughnut doughs can be quite sticky and can require oiled hands or a sprinkling of flour before handling. Cake doughnut batter, on the other hand, should be mixed minimally to ensure tenderness.

2. Let it Rise

This tidbit doesn’t apply to cake doughnut batters, but when yeast is involved, it’s really important to allow for enough rise time. Generally, this means 1 to 2 hours of bulk fermentation (letting the entire dough rise) and about 30 minutes after shaping. This gets to be a problem for impatient doughnut lovers (isn’t that all of us?). There is a solution. Instead of using warm water to mix the dough, use room temperature water and refrigerate the dough immediately after mixing. Under refrigeration, the dough continues to rise, just much more slowly. This means you can mix the dough up to 12 hours ahead, let it rise slowly overnight, and wake up ready to fry in the morning. 

3. Shape Gently

Doughnuts are rustic but it’s still important to keep shaping in mind because this is where they can go a bit awry. A doughnut cutter is great, but you can improvise if you don’t have one: For a long time, I used a circle cookie cutter and then the base of a large pastry tip. It’s important to make sure the hole itself is large enough—if it’s too small, it will “fill in” when the dough hits the fryer. I also like to cut square doughnuts (no scraps!), using just a pastry wheel—2 inches x 2 inches is a good base size (this same technique works for Long Johns).

When you transfer the dough to the oil, do so carefully: It’s easy to accidentally squish the hole shut or stretch the doughnut into an oblong shape. If the doughnut batter is to be piped, it can be piped directly into the hot oil. Since that can be pretty scary, piping onto squares of parchment can alleviate the fear. When you go to fry, the doughnut will release itself from the parchment, and you just have to remove the parchment from the oil with tongs.  

   4. Fry, Baby, Fry

Baked doughnuts are now officially a thing, but let’s be honest: Ain’t nothin’ like the real thing, baby. If you have one, use a deep-fry thermometer to test the oil and help regulate the temperature —around 350°F is best. If you don’t have one, do it the way my great-great grandma did: Throw a doughnut hole in and see if it sizzles and rises to the surface. If it does, you’re good to go.

Remember that if the oil is too hot, the doughnuts will brown too quickly and the center may remain raw. If the oil is too cold, the dough will absorb a large quantity of oil and be greasy upon cooling. The perfect doughnut will be evenly golden brown on both sides and pale in the center.

5. Drain, Drain, Drain

My favorite draining system for doughnuts is simple: several layers of absorbent paper towels on a baking sheet. When it gets too saturated, toss the top layers and reveal the fresh ones underneath. Some folks opt for a cooling rack set on top paper towels. Either way is fine, just make sure to use a spider or slotted spoon to remove the doughnuts to start the draining process off right. 

6. Roll or Glaze

This is where it gets fun: the finishing.

For powdered sugar, cinnamon sugar, or other sugared doughnuts, remove the doughnuts from the oil and drain as desired. After 30 seconds to 1 minute of cooling, toss the doughnuts in the sugar. If you wait for the doughnuts to cool for too long, the sugar won’t stick to the doughnuts. Also, remember that powdered sugar will eventually absorb into the doughnuts, so you’ll either need to toss them again or you should plan on serving them immediately.

For a thin, all over glaze (think classic glazed doughnuts), let the doughnuts cool for 3 to 4 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack. Pour the glaze evenly over, fully coating the doughnuts. Let set.

For a thicker glaze (think top of the doughnut only), let the doughnuts cool for 4 to 5 minutes, then dip the doughnuts in the glaze. The thinner the glaze, the more it will run (yum). The thicker the glaze, the more precise it will be. Apply any garnishes to the top of the glaze before it sets, which can take anywhere from 2 to 10 minutes depending on the glaze. 

Basic Yeast Doughnuts (with Many Variations)


Some finishing options: 

Powdered: Toss in powdered sugar or cinnamon sugar. 

Glazed: Mix 3/4 cup powdered sugar, 3 to 4 tablespoons heavy cream or milk (enough to make a runny glaze), and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla (optional). 

Chocolate-Glazed: Mix 3/4 cup powdered sugar, 2 tablespoons dark cocoa powder, and 4 to 5 tablespoons milk or cream. 

Chocolate-Coated: Dip doughnuts in tempered chocolate thinned with 1 to 2 tablespoons vegetable oil. 

Fruit-Glazed: Mix 1 cup powdered sugar and 1/4 cup fruit purée. 

Violet-Glazed: Mix 1 cup powdered sugar, 1/4 cup cream or milk, and 1 teaspoon violet extract. Garnish with candied violets. 

Pistachio: Glaze doughnuts with basic glaze, then press in chopped toasted pistachios. 

Coconut: Glaze with coconut glaze (1 cup powdered sugar, 1/4 cup coconut milk, and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla), and press in toasted coconut flakes. 

Black and White: Make a dark chocolate ganache with 1 cup chopped dark chocolate and 1/2 cup heavy cream. Make a white chocolate ganache with 1 cup chopped white chocolate with 1/4 cup heavy cream. Glaze half the doughnut with the chocolate glaze and half with the white glaze. 

Caramel-Glazed: Melt 1 cup of caramel candies with 1/3 cup heavy cream in the microwave in 10-second blasts until fully melted. Thin the glaze with additional milk or cream as needed to get a pourable glaze. 

Meyer Lemon: Mix 1 cup powdered sugar with the zest and juice of 1 Meyer lemon, then add enough milk to form a pourable glaze. 

Cinnamon Roll: Roll out the dough to 1/4-inch thick. Mix together 1 stick melted butter with 1 cup granulated sugar and 2 tablespoons ground cinnamon. Spread the mixture evenly all over the dough, then roll tightly into a cylinder. Cut into 1 inch-thick pieces, then fry until golden brown. Glaze with basic glaze.

7. Eat, Repeat—& Store (If You Must)

The best doughnuts are fresh doughnuts. If you've ever lived anywhere near a Krispy Kreme, you understand. When that magical light went on, it was absolutely worth it to pull over with a total screech to get at those piping hot doughnuts. But even at room temperature, doughnuts are best the same day. If you must, keep them in airtight containers overnight, and enjoy round two. 

Photo of apple cider doughnuts by Yossy Arefi; photo of chocolate doughnut holes by Samantha Seneviratne; all other photos by Alpha Smoot

Source: https://food52.com/blog/12413-everything-you-need-to-know-about-doughnuts

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SPREAD CH.1 - ARTIST SPOTLIGHT... SPOTLeyeT <3

Hi SPREAD listeners! For those of u that don't know, the SPREAD blog will feature a monthly Artist Spotlight, an interview I have with an up and coming artist featured in that month's playlist. A core value of SPREAD is sharing music that u may not have heard, hopefully increasing artists' exposure and fanbase. The SPF 30 featured artist, LeyeT, is a dear friend of mine, and I can't wait for u to get a closer look into her music and her artistry. HERE WE GO!

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LeyeT: Hi! I’m LeyeT, pronounced "light." (: I’m from Orange County, California – reside in LA, and LOVE all things music. I’ve been singing for as long as I can remember and songwriting since I first picked up the guitar about 12 years ago. I recently began my new artist project as LeyeT and released my first single on 2.28. Can’t wait to bring you more music in the coming months