#and taught them shapes like they were fucking three years old

[hand-face-chan]

I'm only halfway though Hbomberguy's new video and I dont know if this is a universal experience but my main horrified takeaway from hbomb's plagiarism video so far is that one of my highschools TAUGHT AN ENTIRE CLASS OF 13 YEAR OLDS TO PLAGIARISE. LIKE, ON PURPOSE.

I ended up moving to a much better highschool, but my first highschool essentially taught us to "write" essays by reading what someone else had written and then write what they said again but putting it "into your own words". Which in practice was teaching us to change, for example, "the works of Shakespeare were regarded by many as the first popular art form" to "Shakespeare's plays have been said by some to be the first example of popular media". One teacher actually told us that the process of writing an essay was "saying what the people you've researched have said, in a way where it sounds like you said it".

Like. The tactics that actual plagiarists use to hide the fact that they were stealing. An actual teacher tried to teach me to do that.

#hbomberguy #im so glad i left that school early the next year. it definitely would have gotten worse. #i literally didnt learn what a bibliography was until grade 9 because of how shit my first highschool was. #at the same time if a student wrote a paper that was 'too good' even if it was orginal theyd accuse them of stealing without proof #like i wrote a completely original paper and got the note 'this is very good - did you write it all yourself?' #fuck you man. yes i did. despite you trying to teach me to do the opposite #they accused me of getting my parents to write it for me. i had to show them everything i researched and my dad lost it at them #this was also the same school where they took every kid with a disability out of maths regardless of if they were good at maths or not #and taught them shapes like they were fucking three years old #i remember hanging out in the maths with all the other autistic kids and prentending to have never seen a triangle before for a joke #and while thats really bad and abelist. the non-disabled kids were still being taught addition and division like they were 8 and not 12 #the whole thing was a massive fuck up shit fest. it took the year 7 maths teacher leaving for us to all get the same maths class #and we STILL werent being taught to an age appropriate level because we missed so much grade 7 maths it had to be caught up in grade 8 #i would burn it down but its not a highschool anymore lol

[eltube]

(new fic!) Evil-Adult-Anon

I wrote this fic as a gift for @kndrules’ birthday this year (Happy Birthday Jay!) and after he mentioned it offhand someone was interested in reading it—so I am posting it here for all to see!

It takes place in our adult AU, where—for reference—sector V members are about 35 years old. This fic doesn’t feature sector V, though; it stars Cree!! Who is in her forties, a Japanese history professor, and still coming to terms with her life after Father. (Father is recently in prison—basically, if you have any questions about the details of this timeline, feel free to ask about it.) It also features special guests (The) Steve and The Toilenator, though you may not recognize him at first.

Enjoy!

With every step she took into the hotel lobby, Cree gripped the shoulder strap of her canvas bag a little tighter. She had tried to dress casual, but put-together: one of her nicer cardigan sweaters, the pants she actually ironed, and her new shoes with the fancy broguing on the sides. Her locs were tied back in a small, loose bun behind her, and she figured that–at least if nobody zeroed in on the death grip of that one hand on her bag–she probably looked pretty composed from the outside. 

She needed the death grip though, because the farther away she got from her partner’s familiar car, the more she felt her bravado slipping away, already making a smaller woman under this big, domed ceiling. Steve had told her way too many times that she’s “got this,” working his clueless magic that once again made her enough of a fool to believe him. Now, the stronger illusion of her–the stranger who so confidently waved at Steve as he dropped her off, as if this was all her idea–was looking down at her real self with a mixture of smug superiority and pity. 

She ran her palm along the bag’s material as she walked on the lobby carpet, grounding herself (as she had been taught to call it) by feeling the bumps along the surface. She recognized and remembered the shapes of the file folders, overflowing with booklets of paper, packed inside. Cree had brought her students’ essays along with her, like she always did during exam seasons in case she had a few moments to catch up on marking them. 

In this case, bringing the student papers along had been a kind of silent, last-ditch prayer of desperation. Like, maybe this whole thing would actually be cancelled, right? Everyone would go home, not even knowing she had shown up, and she could sit peacefully alone on these pearly white couches until Steve’s band finished practicing, just reading first-year history students’ takes on bushido and cracking up without a care in the world. 

It wasn’t going to happen–but honestly, she just needed the fantasy to get her out the door. As the knots in her stomach were reminding her very loudly now, she really did not want to come.

Trying the grounding again, Cree focused on the surroundings of the hotel as she moved towards the conference room, reminding herself to “name three things” for each of her senses. She had resisted this strategy at first, how babyish it sounded. To her displeasure though, she had to admit that when she actually tried it eventually, the damn thing worked.

I hear…the front desk people typing. Luggage carts. A fountain.

I see…ugly wallpaper. Plants. A snack counter…huh, looks like they have ice cream. That logo is familiar. 

I smell…what do hotels smell like? The scent of blandness? Parfum du nothing? ‘Clean stank’? Sure, those count as three things.

I taste…DAMMIT! FUCK! SHIT!

A jolt of surprised rage yanked Cree out of the ritual. She strode directly into something blocking her path, priming her to explode at whoever put it there–and then, just as fast, a wave of hot embarrassment followed. She realized she had knocked her foot against a sign outside the conference room. It was, actually, the exact sign she was supposed to be looking out for.

 “SUPPORT GROUP HERE,”--the text on the cardboard seemed to be shouting out loud to mock her as it toppled over. Cree couldn’t help but project onto it like it was a person she hated, some shrill little kid maybe, pointing and going LOOK WHAT THIS WEIRD LADY DID for the whole hotel to hear. Scrambling to catch herself and prop the thing back up–make it be quiet–Cree looked around, praying that no one had seen her “calm” herself into a clumsy mess. Luckily, it seemed like it was a secret between her and the security cameras at most.

“So much for mindfulness,” she muttered to herself, silently cursing her therapist. That lady was definitely going to hear about the mess she caused with her advice next week. On the bright side, though, all the potential awkwardness Cree felt around walking into this conference room seemed tamer in comparison, now. She let out a long-suffering breath, reasoning that she had come this far, and put on a brave face as she crossed the threshold.

—

The room was set up just the way Cree had imagined it–she couldn’t tell if she found this funny or downright irritating, the cliche of the scene. The circle of folding chairs, the table of cheap coffee, the name tags…it all felt like the setup of a joke at her expense, and when she found herself taking a sharpie and actually writing Cree on one–eugh—that was the punchline. 

A nametag, as if these people didn’t know exactly who she was. Even if she had changed her hair or her mannerisms much in the last 15 or so years, she was, she noted bitterly, the only Black woman in the room, so she would always be unmistakable. 

At least no one’s staring at me. At least not until my back is turned. 

The cheap label stuck to the right side of her sweater, she kept her hand on her bag as she sat slowly down in one of the chairs. It was stiff, but she took some small pride in having good posture. Others in the room, many of whom she was surprised not to recognize–shouldn’t I know everybody here?--were all milling around and making small talk, like friends. They smiled at each other, touched shoulders, laughed; they probably came here dutifully every second week while she was hiding at home.

People started to take their seats around her, and Cree tried to block the lonely resentment building in her gut from showing on her face. As the meeting started and the scattered conversations died down, she closed her eyes and conjured up her confident self from the car again, a witch conjuring ghosts of the past. She would need magic not to screw this up.

Directly across from her, one middle-aged man stayed standing with his hands folded; he, she assumed, was the group leader she talked to on the phone. 

“Welcome, everybody,” he said, and his familiar voice confirmed Cree’s guess. “Now that everyone’s sitting, we can start.”

The man, tall and Latino with greying hair and broad arms, had already introduced himself to Cree last week as Paolo. He was friendly enough, and thoughtful enough with his direct invitation to attend the meeting, that she tragically couldn’t refuse it anymore without looking like a complete jerk. And as always seemed to be the case with these people, he said he knew who she was, but she never remembered meeting him–and again, she wondered if this tendency to erase people’s names and faces from her memory made her arrogant. 

She tried to console herself with the fact that, at least in this case, there were reasons Paolo might have been forgettable; ice cream men were always wearing those stupid hats anyway, and they all looked the same in uniform. It’s not like she was hanging out with them back in the day—they were never even invited to those Anti-Kid Bingo Nights. 

Ugh, she had almost forgotten how much she hated those.

“First of all,” Paolo continued, with the attention of the room bringing Cree back. “Thanks to everyone again who brought food. Feel free to say something about your recipe when we do the circle…if it’s not a family secret!”

There were good-hearted chuckles scattered around Cree where the older members sat, the kind she hears from the tenured professors pushing 70 at work. When she’s not scared of getting a day older, part of Cree looks forward to getting to an age where unfunny jokes make her laugh like that.

“Now, we’ll start with me like always. We don’t have too many new folks here today,”--and Cree felt his lack of eye contact with her here was deliberate–”but it’s always good to introduce ourselves just in case. So, hi everyone. My name’s Paolo–feel free to share just your first name, or your last too, whatever’s comfortable–and, well, when I’m not running this group, I’m the Ohio regional representative of Tasty Taste. It’s been really rewarding for me to help build the new face of the company, and, hey…I’m sure it’s also rewarding for us that I’m able to offer free ice cream to everyone here.” 

There was a murmur of chuckles from the group again, and Cree remembered the stand she had passed on the way in, the shape and colours of the logo all clicking into place. The new face of the company. So the stand used to belong to…hell, maybe the whole hotel used to be his. Suddenly she felt a pang of nausea, like the chair she was sitting on might be coated in poisonous slime.

Paolo went on. “I’ll pass the intros around the circle now, and feel free to share anything about yourself. It can be a fact about you related to the group or not! Then we’ll go into a theme for this week’s discussion. Lou, you’re on my right–why don’t you go ahead?”

Paolo sat down, and the man next to him looked up and smiled at the group shyly. He was white and semi-elderly, with a belly but stringy, gangly limbs, and he sported a decidedly balding head of thin blonde hair. Cree didn’t recognize this guy, either, and assumed he was another ice cream man. How common was it, she wondered, for men like Paolo to still be working at Tasty Taste now?

“Hi, I’m Lou,” the new man said, and something about his voice sounded instantly familiar. “I brought some quiche today, but it is a bit of a family secret with my husband and me…” He grinned. “Um, I work as a [gastrointestinal specialist] now, but for a long time I guess people probably just knew me as a guy who walked around wearing a goofy costume…a guy who no one liked.”

With that bit of context, in his timid voice, it dawned on her. Holy shit. Her mouth fell open, shocked by how bizarrely normal he seemed across from her now. That’s the Toilenator.

Nobody noticed her gaping expression while Lou continued, now so clearly resembling a time-lapsed version of the villain, like a parody act that walked offstage. “It’s been great for me to get to know people through this group,” he smiled, “And I’m glad more people are coming every time. Sigmund doesn’t come with me since it’s not his experience, but he says he can really tell it makes a difference and he’s grateful to all of you.”

Lou sat back in his chair and the group clapped, something that Cree gathered was customary during this “introductions” phase. She awkwardly raised her hands and clapped once, feeling distinctly stupid, like she was at show-and-tell or something. How long has the Toilenator been married? 

More than that—though she realized how cruel it was, while he was being vulnerable—Cree was embarrassed to think she had any common issues with the Toilenator. 

As the next few people introduced themselves, their words blurred into nonsense and this parallel between them horrified her more and more. She was suddenly haunted by a mirror image of herself, wearing an oversized toilet seat around her head, getting bullied by people—who were, by all accounts, total freaks themselves—is that the kind of company she was seeking solace in? 

More people spoke, mostly ice cream men, or B-list villains, or some guy who watered the lawn at the mansion. Ignoring them, she wondered if the Toilenator had any of the same messed up problems as her—maybe he even went to the same therapists about it. Maybe right after Cree left those offices, all woe-is-me, this old guy walked in after her, clearly doing so much better about it since he can be at home making quiche all day. As if all of this couldn’t be more humiliating, now the Toilenator was beating her at therapy! 

“…would like to share something?”

Cree looked up as she noticed the room was staring at her, expectant. It was silent now, no one else sharing, meaning it must have been her turn to speak. She stupidly opened and closed her mouth and sat up straighter, running her hand along her canvas bag nervously again.

”I, uh.”

Paolo was looking over and smiling patiently, and the patience of it sort of made it worse.

”Sorry. I’m…I didn’t bring anything. Didn’t know it was a potluck. I um…well, you all know who I am. I’m Cree. You know me whether you met me back then or not. Everyone keeps telling me to come to one of these things, but I never felt like I…I dunno, deserved it. But now I’m here, so I guess I have to catch everyone up.” 

Once the first words were out of her mouth, it became a kind of compulsion to speak, which in a way was a mercy. She caught faces with eyes burning into her, but fought the urge to try and read their thoughts.

”So, I was Father’s apprentice. For…10 years? Something like that.” 

Speaking his name made it real. She might as well jump right into it. 

”I guess, you know…I realized in my mid-20s, that after everything I worked for, I wanted out. It wasn’t worth it, and he never intended to give me any of the power he promised. I guess a lot of you worked for him for money, but he never even paid me. Then I realized it was his future or mine—he didn’t want me going to school, didn’t want me doing anything that took me farther away, and I guess…something in me sensed it would only get worse. I took a chance, I left, I cut contact and left for college and didn’t look back. I was scared he’d come after me but lo and behold the case against him came together just in time. And it’s only with him in prison that I feel like I can say anything without putting everyone I know in danger, so I’m not used to…saying anything. But I’m trying to start.”

 The room was listening intently, with a kind of respect that she only got in a really good lecture—the kind she never expected and worried she couldn’t rise to. She kept talking anyway, facts spilling out of her that she was always worried would explode if exposed to the air.

”I had some distance from everything, and I compartmentalized everything from back then until I graduated, but…you know, I still live with all the shit I did, while I worked for him, while I was trying to prove that I could be him someday. What I did to kids, to my own kid sister…and I went to him, right? And I did it year after year, and I convinced myself they deserved it. I didn’t think it was right to call myself a victim, because of that. Sometimes I felt I should have been sentenced with him. But becoming…”

 She took a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of the listening silence. “…becoming a teacher, when I’m working with my students…they’re all adults, right, but even then, I keep thinking…the power I have over them scares me. When I think about doing to them what he did, I feel sick, and it just makes me realize…damn, it was wrong when it happened to me, too. I was like that back then, just…young, and powerless, and wanting to impress someone who could move me up. No matter what it took, right? And he knew that. Even the guilt I’m feeling now, it…he made me feel it on purpose. And it worked.”

Cree had her eyes trained on the floor now, on a space between her shoes, and she was afraid to look up after saying what she knew was far too much. These people connected to her by Father’s common thread of abuse—she didn’t know if their pity or their total apathy to her pain would be more devastating. Whatever reaction there would be, it was the one she was afraid of—it was the escaping of the story, the reveal to the world, that hurt her every time. 

—

Cree felt her arm quickly shoot up to her face to wipe at a hot tear escaping. She and Steve had joked on the way over about how her crying was an inevitability, that it was just about how many fugitive tears she let get away. She thought she had prepared for it then, but she never could.

”Cree,” Paolo said in the silence, his voice sounding even-toned and not so sympathetic as to taunt her. “We are all so glad that you came to a meeting. And though it may not be at all close to what you’ve experienced in its intensity, I think you’ve put words to a dynamic that many of us in this group felt in our work lives for a long time.”

Cree bit down on her cheeks and braved glancing up again, seeing that several people were nodding respectfully, including Lou, who had an indisputably kind smile on his face. She wanted to mock it, but it was too genuine for that.

The woman sitting beside Cree wordlessly handed her a tissue and a glass of water, which she sheepishly accepted. When Paolo continued he addressed the entire group, taking attention away from her, helping her come back from where she had gone.

”Many people have said in group before,” Paolo said, gesturing to the circle, “that we have feelings of guilt, like you described. That we feel we can’t be considered Father’s victims, because we weren’t children when he hurt us, or because he didn’t hit us physically, or because we only suffered abuse in the workplace and not interpersonally.” There were more nods around him. 

“It comes up quite often, too, that members of the group are ourselves perpetrators—we hurt children on his payroll, and so we had no right to speak. And it’s true that many of us are guilty of things that we very well may not be forgiven for.” Paolo shrugged. “I’ve spoken to some people, former Kids Next Door operatives, who I hurt while I was an ice cream man. I want nothing more than to reconcile with them, but some of them—rightfully, I think—don’t speak to any of us. There’s a reason this group is for people who worked for Father. We all feel this tension. But it is powerful to break the cycle.”

Cree smiled, finding Paolo’s speech corny, but in a way that released some tension in her. The Toilenator—Lou, Cree reminded herself—was standing up and passing a dish around, apparently sensing an opportunity to relax everyone further. A thin elderly man looked over as he took a piece of quiche, adding his input:

“I had hoped I would see you at a meeting soon, Ms. Lincoln,” he said, and she immediately recognized his voice as the butler, Wintergreen’s. He broke into a smile at the way her eyes must have widened. “Yes, it’s been many years—and I often wondered if you were well, after you disappeared.” His face grew serious again, and he added: “I saw a lot of things back then that, if I could go back, I would not have allowed, or so I tell myself. There are people I would have protected. If I had been a better man…well. The point is to be a better man, now. Though a very old one, certainly.”

That old refrain of laughter, of middle-aged amusement at a tired joke, bubbled up and helped eat away at the nerves of the moment. Cree’s smirk was one of genuine mirth, this time. Her mind swirled with possibilities of what Wintergreen had been doing, feeling, all this time. Here was someone who served Father tea, who made the delightful children sandwiches for lunch. She had never even thought he had a conscience. But in its way, that must weigh on him, too.

Maybe she wasn’t—in every way—alone.

”I became a teacher after I left the business, too,” one ice cream man added, holding a hand under his quiche to catch the crumbs. “And I think what you said about teaching—seeing yourself in your students, and everything—well, that was a really good point. My students are adult learners, and in a new country, so sometimes when I see them lacking confidence, I remember how I felt when I messed up at work and Father exploded at me…you know, it takes me right back there. I’m not an angry guy, and I try to make class fun, but I just think…what if? What if that’s me one day? Sometimes I even have to leave the class because it messes me up. But, I don’t know if this is true for you…it makes it feel more rewarding to do it the right way. To be patient and not like some tyrant. I keep reminding myself that’s not who I am, because I get to decide.”

”I feel the same way about my patients,” Lou beamed, sitting back down now that the quiche tray was empty. “I love reassuring them, especially about things that are embarrassing, like stomach issues can be.” He shrugged. “Humiliation was a common theme in the ways all the villains targeted me, but it doesn’t have the same power anymore.”

”Damn, everyone sure moved up!” Cree thought aloud, laughing in spite of herself. “I guess the job market can’t be that bad, huh?”

”Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Paolo laughed back. “After all, this group is my big career move, and they pay me in quiche!”

The response to this quip was uproarious, so disproportionately so that Cree found herself earnestly cackling along. As the evening wound down, the relief of introducing herself gave way to a rush of endorphins, powering her forward. 

She had conversations with people her teen self would have never spoken to—wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting in a circle with. That old outline of herself would have called this group a joke, a bunch of expired villains sitting in a circle like a kindergarten class, a cautionary tale about what happens when you let yourself go soft. 

She would have laughed about that with her teen ninja friends and then gone home alone, tried to sleep with the pit in her gut, knowing that she’d have to meet him tomorrow, to give her report, to get her orders. In the back of her mind, Cree thought to herself how much she would have wanted to hold that lonely girl. How much she wished she could call her up and invite her here herself.

—

By the time Cree met the car in the parking lot, she had four phone numbers tucked in her pocket, scrawled on hotel stationary in shaky hands by people who swore they had gotten the hand of technology enough to stay in touch. She often told people she’d call them or text them, fully intending to throw their cards in the trash the second she left—she didn’t intend that, this time. Though she guessed that time would always tell.

Steve unlatched the door handle and grinned at her from the front seat, a fry from the fast food place nearby hanging out of his mouth. “What’sh up?” He said, lips full, and then swallowed quickly to free up his speech. “Band practice was awesome today, you’re gonna love the new album.”

Cree climbed in, slung her bag over her shoulder and onto the floor in front of her. She realized how heavy it was, what she had been carrying all day.

“I’ll judge that when I hear it,” Cree grinned back. “Did you get me a burger?”

“‘Course.” Steve shook the paper bag beside him. “Your go-to after a rough day. I’m guessing you need it, huh? Tell me about everything that sucked on the way home, I’m all ears.”

“Actually,” Cree looked out the window, watching the hotel start to roll past as the car moved. She smiled again despite herself. “I was gonna say you can have it. The eating’s pretty good at these things. And man, you won’t believe who made the food.”

#Knd #My writing #i don’t know if that’s the fic tag i decided on i will update this later #Cree lincoln #the toilenator

[bahja-blix]

Oliver the Deaf/Mute imp kid controversy

During my break from most platforms due to family issues and me not wanting to indulge myself on most platforms for peace and quiet I pondered something during that time. I wanted to do something fun Regarding lil Oliver who Finally has a name after all the backlash Viv got for NOT naming her Deaf or possibly Mute character...

I wanted to try to crack exactly what Fizz and Oliver said and how accurate it is which will require me to also learn more along the way and it's thanks to the fact that I actually have an official Sign language Dictionary that has real pictures that teaches a reader how to Sign when speaking with your hands, what to Sign, and much more. The book itself was given to me as a gift from a licensed Sign Language and Deaf speaking and assisting teacher who was awesome to talk to. She specializes with Special Needs and other forms of Disabilities in her class such as Autism, ADHD, (Both in which I have but were diagnosed many years apart) or other Disabilities on the spectrum or differing conditions. And I've kept it since then.

This is Oliver, Olive or Ollie for short. Say Hi :D

He uses Sign Language to speak and is possibly both Deaf and Mute however I'm going off research regarding his condition/disability.

Here is the book from front to back ^^

As I read and look around at the endless adventure of learning a new Language and cracking what the show Signed it will also further my development of more accurately developing my own characters that are either Mute, Deaf, Or both. Some of them are main characters and either speak fluent Sign Language along with another Language taught via writing which is hard work but can be achieved over time. Some don't speak another language. Some of them are secondary, supporting etc. there's Always a role for them. Kuma is one of them, She's a main character of a series I'm working on. I'll show her later once she's finished in design. She is Both Deaf and Mute and uses a hearing aid to help hear from her Left Ear. She mainly speaks fluent Sign Language via hands or writes what she says. She's fluent in Japanese writing all in which took her years to learn by special teachers. She's treated as a person from thick and thin. Unlike how Viv treats her characters. Kuma originally comes from Tokyo Japan but moved internationally to California for college.

If you have any questions regarding my journey please don't hesitate to ask ❤️🙏

EDIT: I absolutely despise how Vivziepop writes her characters when it comes to "Trying" to represent something. That's why I was inspired to write this! That's why wanted to step in and be entirely goal oriented when representing stuff you can't do Viv. Viv sucks at representation in every way shape and form. From writing harmful stereotypes of All kinds, to misrepresenting the LGBT plus community I've been in for almost a decade, SA, SHrsd, Domestic Abuse victims (I hate to dig up a huge part of my past however... I fall into all those three categories too... Bcus my biological dad... Did unspeakable things to me...), to the way she writes her women vs guy characters in a non equalized way, the way she writes about drug abuse or alcoholics, and not give two shits about their development to the way she literally didn't give a shit about Oliver AND misrepresents the Disabled community that I'm ALSO in and left Oliver nameless UNTIL her audience CALLED HER OUT for that like... What the hell went through your head when you sat at the round table of yours with your team you call "Geniuses" like... Deaf Imp Child????? DEAF FUCKING IMP CHILD???? LoooooL! Stop trying Viv it's over! Your own political party doesn't like your ass no more neither wether traditionalized old school Dems like me or Modernized Americanized Dems. Everyone who saw through your bullshit regardless of who they are or where they lean don't want your shit anymore because you failed everyone around you multiple times for YEARS. I've found out So MANY things about you mate. I actually looked up to you... Lots of us did... And you only get worse from here. Your audience ain't the bigot unless they actively boot lick and kiss your ass. Valid criticism wether Harsh or Not is NOT "hate" lmao 🤣 love how thats your favorite go to word. Maybe come up with something original to call your audience you sack of poorly packaged horse shit, mmk! (Pilot Angel Dust reference btw if you get it)

Off topic but Viv really went Too far >:(

#helluva boss #helluvaboss #helluva #anti vivziepop #vivziepop #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop helluva boss #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #Deafpride #Deaf culture #Sign Language #American Sign Language #Deaf #Mute #Mute character #Hard of Hearing #Disabilities #helluva spoilers #helluva boss critique #helluva boss season 2 #helluva boss s2 #helluva boss fizzarolli #helluva boss asmodeus #fizzarolli #helluva boss mammon #vivziepop critical #vivienne medrano #vivzmind #Kuma Lalisa

[decadesfinds]

A realism tip and slight tangent for your 1890s-1950s sim homes!

When placing a sewing machine, pair it with a rocking chair.

Rocking chairs (usually without arms!) were used to help keep rhythm with the manual treadle pedal of the sewing machine, which required you to move it back and forth with your feet in order to keep the machine running smoothly. A rocker was the ultimate tool for this, because it also helped a tailor or wife to not hunch over, as you can't rock that way. It saved your back, and your shoulders, from aches and pains. Some people even used them when longform typing became more common and the angle of the fountain pen was no longer a going concern. (I own three Chinese fountain pens. They're actually quite nice to use, but you're fucked if you're on an angle.)

The reason this went away was electric sewing machines and the slow death of home economics and home skills like sewing your own clothing. Prosperity and mass production was nothing new - many eras throughout history often didn't bother making their own clothing, including Colonial America - as they were able to just go to the shop and buy something new after being fitted for it and commissioning a tailor. There were also off-the-shelf options. These came back after WW2 and all but wiped out the culture of home-sewing that had been cultivated between the turn of the century and the two wars. It was often that you could even get together with others you knew and collaborate on a piece, especially if skills overlapped, to make it quickly. Such occasions slowly became "sewing circles" and would spin off into other hobbies.

Sewing machine owners were almost always women or girls (as the past would define it. AFABs, basically.) The machines were even sized for smaller hands, which was a stereotype about women's bodies for a long time. Though men could sew, it was often seen as something only men who were "infirm" or "invalid" (injured or disabled) could do, as a way to pass the time when unable to leave the home or place of care. Hand-sewing was seen as manlier, as it was much easier to do in the middle of a logging camp or out herding sheep across the plains. (I personally picked it up due to being raised into a very, very conservative church that taught all the prepper essentials. I'm obviously no longer a part of that place and would burn it to the ground if I could, but hey, free life skills.)

With the can-do, make-do spirit that pervaded the first half of the 20th century, many women found themselves in charge of making their entire family's clothing, curtains, and household items such as linens, as a cost-saving measure or out of a specific need.

For an IRL example, my previous home that I lived in for 11 years had hand-sewn, hand-tailored curtains from the early 60s almost certainly done on an old treadle machine (if you sew, you can tell). They were beautiful, so we kept them... and also, well, free curtains for weird-shaped windows. Have you SEEN the price of a set of nice curtains? Holy crap.

#resources #resource #1890s #1900s #1910s #1920s #1930s #1940s #1950s

[rageprufrock]

If you are still taking asks: What are your thoughts on Prapai?

P.s. I have been following you since your Inception days I believe. I just love the way you write. Your turn of phrase staggers me! Keep it up!

Prapai makes zero sense as a human being and I'm obsessed with him. If we take his behavior at face value, then he is actually a golden retriever of a human being, but that also ignores the reality of the implicit behavior prior to the beginning of our deeper narrative association of him? By the time we get into shit in episode 8 of LITA, we see Pai has a hot shit racer who sleeps around but then gets his world rocked by Sky and undergoes a total personal transformation. He's so cute and devoted! He delivers food! He loves Sky completely! It's all so tender and romantic!

ONLY IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT:

Pai is also a 25 year old fuckboy whose leisure activity is to engage in one of the most deadly sports in the world in an illegal racing circuit run by the fucking Thai mafia, and he knows Sky's abusive shitbag of an ex socially!! He might not LIKE them, but he's not shunning them socially, either. Like imagine if you're dating someone, and you go to a party with them and you find out your partner hangs out socially with Ben Shapiro. Does that not say 1 million things about your partner, even if they aren't besties with Ben Shapiro? Wouldn't you be gearing up for a deep night of soulful introspection about this person? A pro and con list that has to take into account if that dick is bomb enough to negotiate on whether or not he continues to hang out with the type of people who hangs out with fucking Ben Shapiro?

One of the most interesting elements of the series for me was when Sky was shutting Pai down hard post party in episode 12, when we saw Pai really, really angry. He's actually fucking scary when he's pissed! His entire house is tiptoeing around him, and he's just staring at his cell phone like a whole psycho and then he busts out THREE DIFFERENT MOBILE PHONES to call Sky--are those his phones?? When he was stalking Sky pre-dating, he was just changing his sim cards. Where did these fucking mobiles come from? Did he just steal them from other people in his house? What the fuck!

Also the fact that I have to clarify about the pre-dating stalking, not the post-dating stalking, is a problem! It's fiction so whatever, but were anyone in reality to engage in his behavior in the early days of his and Sky's interaction--that includes everything from the night they fucking met to the pervert rough breathing phone calls when he's probably doing bumps of coke and lifting in his gym at home--it would be like a fucking fire sale at the red flag outlet store.

So this is a guy whose anger is cold and calculated and terrifying, has no qualms with engaging in recreational or less recreational stalking behavior, used to and comfortable wielding power, clearly has a very elastic sense of morality, and no normal human calibration for fear of death. He also has the relentless confidence of both social privilege and generational wealth, and it is heavily implied in the series that he gets the Thai mafia to kill his boyfriend's ex. This guy is 100 percent a sophisticated sociopath whose upbringing and socialization has taught him how to mask flawlessly, and who has identified Sky as one of the 10 people he gives a fuck about on the whole planet.

I want to be super clear: all of this makes Prapai impossibly attractive to me and I'm obsessed with him. Pai triggers in me the same instinctive yearning that I feel when I spot a pack of Marlboro Reds or see a tumbler of bourbon. To leverage terminology the tumblr youth have taught me, Prapai is blorbo-shaped, to me, and has never done anything wrong, ever, in his entire life.

#ask meme

[astronicht]

whumptober day 6: made to watch

Wild Magic series (Tortall) | Numair/OMC/ OFC, Numair & Daine | 1.8k, rated E

CW: dubcon, drugged sex, mind-sharing/reading, no one is having a good time. Not underage, technically, but if you’re unsure give it a skip.

“i’ll cannibalize an old unfinished oneshot” i said. “this will not be a deeply frustrating writing experience” i said. whatever whatever posting amnesty is the POINT.

The guilt after Carthak was palpable, so Daine assumed that there would be a quiet year or so before anyone asked Numair to do his job again.

Instead, everyone stepped gently around her, but within a month were sheepishly handing Numair new orders. The king’s men looked surprised when Daine came along and stood in the corner of three different antechambers in which Numair was given his orders, but no one dared order her out. She wondered if she should just never explain that the necromancy had run its course.

“You hate political meetings,” Onua said, one evening when Daine was late for dinner after the second meeting. Dinner with Onua was paprika stew and the cartwheel shaped rolls they baked in Corus and stewed sour cherries baked in thin dough, taken from the mess hall. They took it all outside, through three different gates in curtain walls, and ate on a blanket. Daine spit a cherry stone into the pony field.

“I’m just there for him,” Daine tried to explain.

Onua got it more than most, but— “Saving Arram from himself?” she laughed, leaning on Diane’s shoulder affectionately.

No, saving him from them, Daine thought, watching the blue and lilac sunset. From all of us. “People need him a lot,” she settled on. “I’m just there to remind them to only need him a little.”

Onua had laughed.

Numair just looked confused and resigned when Jonathan’s men questioned her presence to him. “What?” He’d say, “Veralidaine? Oh, she decides.”

The bags under his eyes were bruised. In a cold hallway hung with tapestries, he said, “Of course you can always stay home, or here, or at the Swoop.” Daine nodded. She had stayed home once, in the tower. “But I don’t know where they think you go when I’m busy. A cabinet?”

Daine laughed, and when he laughed in return his tired face lit up.

Eventually, she thought, you’re supposed to get big enough that no one can touch you. Even the pressure of war is supposed to stop every few generations, isn’t it? And if you live in the lucky town there’s some time of peace that gets a name in old books. But failing that, you’re supposed to get big enough.

She was sixteen. Numair was twenty-four.

*

Daine first met Numair when he was an injured bird. He really was a bird that day. When another sorcerer makes a bird it’s an illusion, but when Numair makes a bird he does it with his body, like Daine would.

She stares at him, laying too still on the ship’s bed which was tucked into the wall like all the beds were in the village growing up. Yes, he is breathing. The air is bad and stale.

Sometimes Numair can’t help himself, she’s learned, in the way you learn someone’s weird habits for cracking eggs, or how to tell that they’re putting off washing their hair or answering a letter. He never spills his magic, but he spills his mind everywhere.

“Stop blaming my mind,” Numair whispers suddenly from the bed. “You just read it. I taught you to read so you read it.”

Daine stares levelly at him. If this is all, she doesn’t know why the Lioness thought Daine needed to be kept from a little madness. None of them had even been in that room, had they? But Daine had.

“Why did you have to see it?” Numair mutters through a clenched jaw, like he heard her think it.

He looks like a great black egret dying on a beach. His ribcage rises and falls in huge breaths. His hair is curled in cold sweat.

Buri didn’t think he’d even let Daine past the door to the stateroom. He’s awake enough to have whims. He’ll let Alanna see to him at dawn and dusk but he will not let her stay long.

“Fucking Arram,” is all the Lioness says about it. Annoyed but not shocked. She turns Daine away the first time she comes by. The second, it’s just Buri guarding the door. Daine is never going to stare the Lioness down; she might stare Buri down, though. The older she gets, the more aware she is that she and Buri are very different people cut from very similar cloth.

“Don’t be offended if he yells you out,” Buri says.

Numair says, a strange slurring voice, “It’s fine. It’s fine. She knows everything.”

Buri blinks, goes annoyed and stiff.

“She’s sixteen,” Buri hisses, leaning around the doorway.

“She went in my silly little head,” slurs Numair.

“No, you went in mine,” Daine says, stepping inside. It’s true: the year they first met he went in her head and put a little ring in it. She’s seen blown glass now, and carved rock crystal jugs that Numair keeps at home in the tower. Something like that sits in the throat of her mind, keeping magic and soul from going mad together. He doesn’t have one, does he? Definitely not.

“You went in mine first,” Numair says, finicky and semantic the way he gets, even like this, slurring his words. “You were definitely too young for that.”

Buri slams the door. She does not know Daine was in the room for it either.

Daine is not particularly afraid of Numair in a wild mood. She is afraid of Numair dying — or is she? In the face of Numair dying she would be — has been — something beyond that. Preemptively angry.

This is not Numair dying. No one’s life is going to be materially changed by yesterday or tomorrow.

Numair goes quiet. Daine is not in his silly little head, because that’s not how her magic works. If he were a bird right now, she sure fucking would be. She’d yell some sense into him, or maybe just yell at everyone but him. Enough of the not-dying; he cannot do it the way birds do, where they just sit down on the ground and it seems like within hours they are nearly nothing, a little twisted flesh but mostly hollow bone and hollow feather.

“Yes you are in my mind,” Numair slurs. Daine looks around for the pitcher of water. It is tucked in the small basin in the corner, maybe to prevent it from tipping over when the ship rocks under them. “You just think you’re not.”

“Are you talking to me?” Daine asks, peevishly. She does spill a little water by yanking the jug out of the basin too fast.

“No, sweetheart,” Numair says softly. Her chest slams; she whips around to face him. He still is on the bed. His expression is strange. “I was just speaking to Daine.”

Daine is silent. Maybe for too long; as heartbeats pass, he begins to look almost frightened.

“I’ll stop, I’ll stop if it upsets you, of course,” he says. His voice still sounds so soft. Obliging. A little higher pitched.

With a shock she realizes it is not just his tone that is different; he is speaking Thak. Daine does not understand Thak. But he said — that she was in his head. Could she then hear the meaning, before he speaks?

“I’m only a little angry,” Daine says, because that stretches the truth, but there is no point in lying. “Mostly that you dosed yourself and won’t tell them.”

Numair throws his head back on the pillows and laughs. The action is weak and jerky but it still surprises her, like something jumped out at her.

“It’s always frightening when you speak like that, darling,” he says, charming and smiling and half-dead under his own sweat. A little of his hair is tangled around his neck, like a noose. His eyes seem too young. His mouth seems too soft. Not soft like youth recalled, not soft like he once looked like this, but like this was a way he once acted. Soft and a little coquettish, a little naive: purposefully, with direction. Someone once liked him this way.

Numair whispers, one of his hands twitching across the sheets as if he wants to reach out but is unsure of his welcome. “She’s not in my head, really.”

For a moment, Daine really is outside his head, knocked out briefly by the shock of it: there, just now, she could tell he was lying. Or that he thought he was lying.

Daine sets the jug down on the stateroom floor. It might spill more, it might not. She approaches the bed where Numair watches her with wide black eyes. His gaze fixes blearily on the hand she stretches out towards him. His own hands flex again on the sheets. He holds his breath and stays very still and placid while she untucks the strand of hair from around his sweating neck. The curls spring limply against her hand, bed-frizzed and thick.

She feels his mind shift like feeling a horse grow restless between your legs; she stops touching his hair quickly.

“I didn’t know you were in that room,” he whispers suddenly.

“I know,” Daine says, not touching him.

“Why were you hiding? I never would have—“

“Why are you dosing yourself to have sex,” Daine says.

He does not flush. He never speaks about sex in her presence, but he is not bashful about it. Both of them started young, Daine suspects, but has never verified. And she was a midwife’s daughter. Sex is not strange. This was not, however, something Daine would call—

“Stop,” Numair says weakly.

Fine, whatever he wants.

***

Daine had been a little adder, coiled on a mat in her room. Kitten was tucked in to sleep in Numair’s guest quarters next door. Kitten would enjoy a bed for herself; Numair had not dressed like he intended to come back early from the banquet, or at all.

Sometimes on missions for the crown Numair spent nights away like this. Sometimes, on other missions, he spent time as a bird. Not often, but not never. When he was gone at night Daine listened for birds, just to be safe. She thought for a moment that she heard him anyway: man-shaped and something like man-minded. As close as Numair ever got.

But that was not possible, because wild magic was for one thing, and everyone knew it. It was for talking to things you were not, until you became them.

Numair then stumbled through the door with their hosts, a duke and a duchess. At first Daine thought Numair was very drunk, but then Numair was remembering his own sleight of hand to dose his wine glass, tired down to his bones, needing something to help him along. His theory was that either his wine had already been dosed, or something in the wine they served had interacted with the drug.

Daine was frozen on the rug. The duchess had to help Numair onto the bed. It had seemed to take a very long time for him to come, even with the drug and the duchess on top of him, the duke in front.

They had left him strewn on the bed, cold, numb-mouthed.

She had slithered over, a little rasp of noise on the mat.

He startled so badly that his hands shook for a full minute. “Ah. You were there?” he said. Daine, a little brown adder, could not say anything. But it was enough; he knew she had seen it. And only then did his hands come up in front of his face as if to stop something happening, though it was already done.

It was almost a relief for both of them when he was suddenly, violently sick. Then it just felt like one of those horrible nights when you made a mistake and everything is awful you want to go home.

*

He had still been drugged and hallucinating three hours later, so Daine had bundled him and Kitten and their bags downstairs to the working courtyard of the ducal palace, where deliveries were already arriving in the slick gray down. It took an unattended cart and a whisper in the ear of the severe mare who drove the cart, and they left it all behind, swift as an adder should have bit.

A few people were still feeling guilty about Carthak, though obviously nowhere near guilty enough. Partly as a consequence of this, the Lioness was waiting two towns down the valley in case of trouble. They had been on a boat upriver before the sun had had much of a chance to warm the air.

Daine sat on the edge of the sickbed, far from the tangled sheets around Numair’s body. He watched her, eyes bleary on the shape of her. Under them the boat rocked gently on its way up the riverbed.

#fucking free me #whumptober ‘23 #my fic

[druidgroves]

friendship + loss for feron!

oc asks: relationships edition thank u sm !!! got a lil angsty in here >:3

Friendship: What's your OC like as a friend? How are they at making new friends? What are the most important friendships in your OC's life?

Up until meeting the rest of the tadfools, Feron had.......no friends. Or she thought she did. Sal's hometown was the village of Hill's Edge, once a thriving city near the Reaching Woods where she was held captive by Margaery. It used to boast at least 10,000 people during its busiest times, but with the goblins and gnolls and the hag within the woods drove many away. By the time Feron moved in with Salus, there was less than a quarter population left and most were kind of fond of Feron! A minor part of her backstory involved her running an apothecary, so my thoughts are that Sal opened the business in his retirement and his treks into the woods were to look for wild grown spell components and healing herbs. Feron helped him run it after a while and a lot of their regulars thought she was quiet but helpful and she was convinced they hated her (since for years she had been one of the causes behind the village's declining population; one of her duties was luring people into Margaery's territory after all).

It's very much a goob "they all hated me" while everyone is smiling & waving at him from Meet The Robinson's lmao. There's definitely someone in Hill's Edge who assumed they were friends and Feron had no idea, like Katniss with Madge in THG. She also managed to have a few short-lived flings somehow, but they always fizzled out quickly, either because Feron didn't live up to the mystique they had of her in their heads, or because Feron thought they were getting annoying.

Upon meeting the rest of the brain bug gang, Feron knew she had to either make it or break it since the survival of the entire group depended on them working together towards finding a cure for the worm. Meaning they were stuck together and she couldn't afford to spend however long painfully in awkward, silent agony with the others. So she does her best. Remembers the manners Salus taught her during her rehabilitation period and tries. In the end, she realizes she really had nothing to worry about: her friends were just as strange and fucked up as she was when they first met.

Loss: Is there anyone important to your OC who has passed away? How did they handle the loss?

Salus died of possibly the best thing anyone in a fantasy setting can die of: old age. Even being an adventurer in his youth couldn't take him down, so he lived his full half-elven life span (and nearly beat it by a year; Feron had hoped they could celebrate his 151st birthday before he passed but were shy about three months before he did). He was as spry as ever towards the end, always telling Feron he didn't need help getting around the house or lifting things but always ended up letting her help anyways. They still ran the apothecary together, though Sal would always leave after lunch to go take a nap lol. Then Feron would come home for dinner and they'd read together then go to bed. They had a routine together! So when Salus didn't wake her up one morning for another day at the apothecary, the whole thing really took a lot out of her.

Feron took a long time to grieve. The apothecary was closed for years. For a while she abandoned the house and went back to the woods, killing goblins and gnolls and anything that got in her way. She spent a lot of time in wild shape again, but this time by choice. It was her way of avoiding her emotions. After a particularly close call with a human hunter some decades later, she thought it time to be a person again, and went back to the house to try and get her life together.

She spent a while getting the house together again, then had another mini meltdown when she found out the apothecary had been foreclosed on. While cleaning up the house, she found the courage to go through Salus' old things and came across information on a relationship between him and one of his old adventuring companions. He'd once had a romantic entanglement with the party's gnomish cleric, Calyn Springweave, and it had ended poorly (but not so poorly that she didn't answer his letters when he summoned the party to take down Margaery). Feron thought she had the right to know of his passing and felt that Sal would've wanted her to know anyways. So she managed to track Calyn down to Baldur's Gate and was attempting to find her there when the nautiloid swooped in and got her.

#ch: feron reachwood #asks #feypacts #i'm tweaking the finer details of her backstory as i go so if things i've said before don't match up that's why lol #constantly evolving constantly changing #death tw #just in case ! #q.

[spectresbase]

Star Wars Day Shorts

Just a couple of quick smutty stories I threw together in celebration of Star Wars Day!

Ahsoka’s Instruction

There had been many things a Jedi was not permitted to do. Things Ashoka was certain had made sense when they were first codified, but that like all things about the old Jedi Order, had become outdated and restrictive, so set in tradition that their purpose and nuance had faded into memory. Memory that she felt certain not even Master Yoda could've called forth at will. Now the old Order was gone, and a new one was being built from the ground up. An Order Ahsoka was helping to shape. 

The first of those pesky prohibitions to go? The ban on relationships. Connection wasn’t the weakness the old Order had thought it was. Oh, it could certainly open an unwary Jedi to the darkside. She knew that better than most. But it also gave a Jedi a reason to care. A reason to engage with the galaxy on an individual level instead of simply in the abstract. Relationships are what had saved Ahsoka when the Order fell. They were what had sustained her through the long dark. And if Luke was to be believed, they were ultimately what had killed the Emperor.

Also, it just felt GOOD! Pulling her hips up off Luke’s, Ashoka spun around on the bed, shuffling backwards before dropping into a squat atop his face. His tongue slid inside her without hesitation, swirling through the mess he’d made of her with his usual attentiveness. She let him eat her for a few moments, his tongue a soft pleasure after the hardness of his cock. It washed over her, smoothing out the jagged aftershocks of climax. Still savoring that softness, she leaned forward, her own mouth opening to wrap around the slowly softening head of his cock. She didn’t want to let him get too soft after all. He tasted like both of them, the saltiness of his cum bringing out the tartness of her own juices. The combination nearly made her drool. Running her tongue around his head, she cleaned off every drop before pushing deeper in the steady bobbing motion Bo had taught her years ago. 

The shift in her position changed his focus as well. No longer able to get his tongue as deep, he switched to licking her entire pussy, starting at her clit and running his flattened tongue up between her folds. She purred around his cock, rolling her own hips minutely, riding his tongue in a purely instinctive reaction to prolong the sensation. Reaching up, Luke got a grip on her ass, fingers dimpling the orange skin as he kneaded it, not trying to control her pace, simply enjoying the feel of her. Ahsoka’s own fingers also joined the activity, wrapping around the base of Luke’s quickly rehardening cock, stroking up to meet her lips then moving back down. She could’ve let them simply go on like that if she’d been trying to cool them down. But she wasn’t. Tomorrow she’d have to blast off this rock, leaving Luke for a while to continue setting up his new Jedi Academy while she tracked down yet another lead on the whereabouts of Grand Admiral Thrawn. Cooling down wasn’t in the cards. 

So instead of tightening her lips around his head and sucking hard in the way she knew he liked, Ashoka instead lifted her hips off his face, squirmed around once more on the bed, and settled herself atop his dick. It was time for round three.

Mandalorian Celebrations

Mandalorians fucked with the same intensity they fought with. While Bo-Katan had known a few who were tender and sensual, they’d been the exception, not the rule. She was alright with that. 

Held down by the hand in her hair, face pressed into the rough fabric of her sleeping pad, Bo threw her ass back against Djarin, growling and snarling as he fucked her. All around them, the surviving members of the culvert and the Nite Owls were doing the same, celebrating their victory over Gideon and their reconquest of Mandalor. Just what they’d do with the planet was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight they drank and they feasted and they fucked.

Turning her head to the side, Bo watched Koska getting face fucked. Hands held up over her head, wrists wrapped in grappling line, the dark skinned Nite Owl was a mess of spit and cum, but was grinning nonetheless. Head bobbing back and forth, she took everything the soldier standing over her could give her, and demanded even more.

A ways to the left of her, the Armorer hadn't bothered removing any of her armor, simply strapping on mechanical cock she now drove into one of the survivors they’d found still living on the surface, her booted foot on the back of his head. Even as Bo watched, cum spurted from the man’s cock, joining two drying lines already painted across his chest and dripping into a puddle beneath him. The Armorer barely even slowed down. 

Returning her attention to Djarin, Bo felt him tensing behind her, his fingerings tightening even harder in her hair. He was close. Good. She’d wanted him to cum first. All she needed to do was hold on a few more strokes and she’d prove to herself something she’d wondered ever since they’d first teamed up to capture that Gozanti on Trask. His growl filtered by his helmet’s speakers, he slammed into her one last time, pushing as deep as he could before unloading. She took the hot rush with a gasp and a groan, hips rolling but not retreating from it. The rush ended and he started to withdraw. She wasn’t having any of that. Twisting beneath him, she brought a knee up and kicked his leg out from under him, sending him toppling to the side. He started to right himself quickly, but not quickly enough. She was on him in a flash, shoving his legs back and squatting atop his cock, pinning him beneath her. He’d gotten his, now she was gonna get hers. This was the way.

#smut #not sfw #written smut #adult fanfiction #star wars #Ahsoka x Luke #bo katan x din #may the 4th be with you

[disasterghaster]

There was a time where I had very few skills.

Or, I guess, more accurately, I had very few skills related to what I do now.

I was a field worker when I first was put to work after sale. I was too difficult for house work. I still remember some of what it takes to plant corn and soybeans and rice. More so, I remember how to place the seeds and sprouts and how to pick them at harvest quickly.

I remember how to haul objects with the least amount of damage to my spine and knees. How to stack bales and bags of grain onto a cart the most efficiently. I can feel it in my muscles like a memory whenever I think of it. Even though my memories are less than sharp in those years.

Eventually, I stopped being rebellious. I don’t know if it was the constant oppressive overbearance of the people that drove us masses in the field, the constant exhaustion, starvation, or time that diluted my spirit. I just know one day I stopped biting and kicking.

I don’t even remember how long it took.

Then one day I lost myself to a rage that gripped me out of the blue. I remembered a body trying to crush onto mine with breath both hot and sour on the back of my neck. I went absolutely feral.

It didn’t matter very much in getting the heap of stinking meat off me, but I do remember that afterward when their breathing was fainter next to me–I tore with my teeth at the flesh of their throat until I could crunch into bone.

I never forgot that sensation. Not even the lashing whip on my back could stop me from remembering. Remembering how to bite.

No one appreciated my redisovery, either.

I was punished thoroughly and worked hard until I could be made a profit by sale to the next owner.

My next owner did very little about my teeth. Other than implement a muzzle through which I could slot my food through and breathe freely, but couldn’t get my teeth onto anyone. And put me to hard labor. It was strange how he balanced food and hard work. I had never eaten so well with meaty and doughy things. I nearly didn’t mind the hauling of heavy stones and pulling of carts.

I didn’t understand until one day, they put me in a room with three others and a man started telling us how to use carved wooden weapons. First against air. Then against each other. It baffeled the fuck out of me. All I had ever been given were tools with dull edges. Things I could certainly bludgeon a person to death with, but would not be able to do it quickly enough to not be caught in the act. So I only tried once.

Now I was given something shaped like a straight sword and taught how to use it. I took some sort of pride in this. This was training only given to freepeople’s children, I thought. I struggled at this and sometimes lost the extra rations that were our motivations, but I liked this much better than the fields and much better than the prospect of being in a house.

Some point, the muzzle came off. I could properly wash my face and move my jaw around fully. I didn’t need to bite, I felt, so I didn’t.

I didn’t notice that I forgot to bite. Again.

One day, I was given different training. Training for my legs and my reflexes. I was already quicker than the others, but they frequently beat me in tests like wrestling or boxing. My footwork was honed. Everything hurt in brand new ways. Brand new places. 

I won more extra rations than I did before. Not all of them, but more.

I felt strong.

Never came to me that I should use that strength to free myself. I guess I got used to being what I was. Because the alternative was risky and I did not know how to get away from my situation. All doors seemed to be closed. Any that would open likely held viciousness that I had known many times before.

So I focused on what I was being taught.

 Then, all of the sudden, I was put in better clothes and armor and given a real weapon. I even had a halfway decent pile of straw with a rough linen fabric over it.

My first weapon was crude and certainly old. The leather strips on the handle were dark and worn smooth. The pummel was dented out of a round ball shape and the hilt was crooked, but the blade was good looking. I didn’t even mind the nicks and scratches.

It wasn’t mine, exactly, but it felt like mine. Just like the bedding felt like mine and the chain mail I wore felt like mine.

I also grew fearful.

I knew of Pits where slaves were tossed against each other and scrabbled for their lives until they died–freepeople ecstatic to see it.

I was much relieved when I was put in a dreaded house!

I was all awkward limbs despite the honed muscles. Tall though with dark hair and dark eyes. I suppose I cut an intimidating figure at that age. Which, I also continue to guess, made me good to guard a girl about my age. A freegirl born of a family rich enough to buy an unruly slave on half-coin and train them up to fight to keep her safe.

The family had threel sons which seemed to become the charges of the others I had been trained up with.

This role was not the most exciting, all be told. There is a lot of boredom and sore feet and being quiet and standing still and watching everything. When we started this, we spent all day with our charges and at night we were pulled away to learn more.

More was not about weapons. It was about reading people’s faces, their clenched fists, and tight eye corners. I seemed particularly good at this compared to the other boys. I always seemed to know when something or someone was behind me. Over all, it felt natural. Like an extension of something I already knew how to do.

The girl, I will admit, was pretty. I didn’t mind watching her. Sometimes she would even speak to me and that was refreshing since all conversations were usually short and limited in my life to this point. I didn’t know how to advise her on what dress went with what ribbons or jewelry, but I was able to say I liked this more over that and that seemed to be enough for her to moss ball her own opinions further enough to settle on her own choices.

Sometimes she just told me about what her after-tutor work was. Usually things I didn’t understand. I couldn’t read or do more than finger maths, but she was doing a lot more and I didn’t mind listening. Once in a while adding an emphatic insult to bolster one she said about her tutors when no one else could hear either of us and she’d burst into giggles, relax, and go back to her papers and books.

I liked when she read books out loud. I never knew if it was to me or for her own benefit, but I learned some things about history and classical stories this way. I couldn’t manage to remember all of them. However, it was more than I knew before and that was enough for me.

One day, she went out into town on her own. Which meant I got to go with. She had been given some allowance money and she intended to see about the shops. When she did this, I stayed near enough to make myself known and keep myself on the edges of her vision at all times. Otherwise, I stayed as absently present to the freepeople around me as a chair or a potted plant. A potted plant that always had a hand on dented pummel of a sword. No less a potted plant. Something that was a given, but paid little attention to.

Except when someone was a thief.

#drabble #cw #mobile )) (( work #i promise to get back to the original drabbles #but im letting my brain wander just for the sake of writing something up at all lmao ))

[artemisocs]

Can you share anymore about Danielle? I really like her and the premise. Also pretty fond of Hopper pairings too.

Can I? Babe there is literally nothing I ever want to do more than gush about dani!! For a bit of context (that feels super important to me but probably isn’t actually!), I developed everything about her while visiting the town that I grew up in and was super fucked up about community and extended found families and the homes you can always go back to and it really shaped the way that I developed Dani’s relationships, both with individual people and with the entire Hawkins community!

So, Danielle Carter. She goes pretty exclusively by Dani and Carter, but Will and Jonathan also call her Dan. She’s around four years older than Jonathan, grew up in a small house with controlling but emotionally absent parents, and has been babysitting since she was eleven years old. She’s babysat for all of the Party (as well as Nancy and Jonathan when they were younger), and was especially present in the Byers’ lives after Joyce left Lonnie.

When she was in her senior year of high school, she had a boyfriend and thought that they were in love. After a lot of pressure about how if she loved him, she’d sleep with him, Dani lost her virginity, only to be dumped the next day. A few months later she found out that she was pregnant, and her parents kicked her out. She’s stubborn and determined to still graduate but she also needs money, so she gets a job at the station as the overnight secretary. Do they strictly need one, in a quiet town like Hawkins? Not at all, but Flo has a soft spot for her and bullies Hopper into hiring her anyway. They really do love her there, she’s charming and sassy and cares so much and remembers everything about everyone, and it takes about two shifts before she has them all wrapped around her finger without realizing it.

They throw her a graduation party and show up to cheer for her at her graduation, and when she gives birth, Flo arranges a town drive at the station for shit like diapers and formula and wipes for her, it only lasted for 2 days while she was in the hospital (bc they wanted to surprise her) but they overflowed three boxes

She’s also extremely close with a few of the Hawkins moms, notably the Party moms but especially Karen and Joyce.

They all recommend her to friends needing a babysitter, but with Joyce and Claudia also being single moms she always insisted she’d do it for free, just give her dinner and a couch to crash on, but they’d always slip money into her bag anyways because they understand what she’s going through the best

Karen regularly offers to look after her daughter (Melissa Joyce Carter) overnight so that Dani can work and/or sleep, although Hopper lets her (and actually offered) keep a crib in the station too so that Melissa can sleep while Dani works.

Claudia Henderson always cooks a lot of food, even though it’s just she and Dustin, specifically so that she can drop off entire weeks worth of meals for Dani. Dani refuses to ever charge her when she babysits Dustin but she always finds money tucked into strange pockets of her bag, and anytime she babysits at night, Claudia insists that she and Mellie sleep on the couch instead of going back to her lonely little trailer.

Joyce is Dani’s mom, in every way that could possibly matter. Dani has known Joyce since she was eleven years old and first started babysitting, and Joyce was very much the primary adult in her life. She taught her to drive when Dani was fifteen, and a few years later, when Joyce is picking up as many extra shifts as humanly possible and can’t do it herself, Dani goes on to teach Jonathan.

Now, Dani continues to babysit Will when both Jonathan and Joyce are working, but usually Dani is over just because they’re her family and Joyce is always insisting that she comes for dinner and stays overnight and she really is just the eldest Byers child. She named her daughter after Joyce and after season 3 she moves to California with them.

She takes her first ever PTO at the station when Will goes missing so that she can be there for Joyce and Jonathan, being the first person to actually believe Joyce about everything but also being there to help Jonathan through everything – his own emotions and all of the logistics that he has to deal with.

(and then a bunch of officers tell hopper that she can have as much of their pto as she needs too and hopper is like "she's already getting as much as she needs and don't tell her but i'm not counting any of it")

The thing is, a lot of what Joyce is saying sounds absolutely insane. Will is in the walls taking to her through the lights? Like, what the fuck? Obviously Joyce is right because she’s always right, but we the GA can see why that sounds unbelievable. But the thing is, Dani trusts Joyce so fucking much. Dani trusts Joyce more than anyone else in the entire world. So if Joyce says that Will is talking through the lights, then Will is talking through the fucking lights.

(This picture right here sums up the difference between Dani’s relationships with Joyce and her bio mom better than anything that I could ever right, so I’ll leave you with a side note that Dani and Joyce have a standing coffee date every Monday morning before the boys finish school)

Now!!! That was a really long tangent about her relationship with Joyce, so now let’s go back to everything else.

Her daughter’s name is Melissa Joyce Carter, obviously named after Joyce Byers, and Dani calls her Mellie. Hopper calls her Missy, and is actually so incredibly sweet with her. There’s a lot of angst in that because of Hopper having lost his own daughter, but despite being all gruff and bad with emotions, he’s actually phenomenal with her.

I have this one scene in mind where, back before Dani actually has a place to live, she’s pretty much just crashing with different people every night throughout her pregnancy and in the early months of Mellie’s life, she’s staying at Hopper’s trailer. It’s about two am, Mellie is screaming and has been all night, and Dani just starts sobbing. She’s exhausted, she’s stressed, she just can’t fucking do this anymore. And Hopper just quietly takes Mellie, says “get some sleep, Carter, I’ve got her,” and gently shoves her down until she’s lying down. (She’s taking Hopper’s bed and he’s sleeping on the couch and he tucks the blanket around her)

And then as she’s falling asleep she can hear Hopper in the other room going “You need to settle down and let your momma get some sleep, little Missy, she works so hard to take care of you”

Also please know that watching Hopper being so wonderful with Mellie is absolutely what made Dani fall for him

and also also, please know that it'll be a super angsty slowburn full of Hopper hating himself for developing feelings for her but dear god they love each other so much and I love them so much and they're such a wonderful little family and El gets a half-mom-half-big-sister in Dani and a baby sister in Mellie!

But even outside of those main people, I just feel a lot about this girl in a shitty situation, kicked out by her parents, and this small town that could have easily judged her and shunned and ostracized her but instead went no, she’s ours, and we’re going to take care of her

So... I definitely lost the plot like 200 times here, please forgive the stream of consciousness and tangents! Thank you so much for asking about her, I really truly love her so much and I'm so glad that you're interested in her 💙

(also... one last side note, my faceclaim for slightly-older Mellie is McKenna Grace!)

#chrissymunson #oc ask #oc: danielle carter #dani ask

[sab3rto0thed]

i’m angry at you because when i laid horizontally on the ground today and all of the blood rushed to my head i thought of you and the blood in your head. i thought of you and that infallible smile. i’m angry because when i laid on the ground at an angle, all of my energy spent like dollars, you didn’t lie next to me. you had all of my energy, and much like a temperature gauge, you were always adjusting. you weren’t there to make some comment that wasn’t funny, to make me smile despite it all. i’m angry because you weren’t there, and i hate that i was too shy to touch your hair when you were.

i’m angry because you left, because you left me here. you shoved a cloth into my mouth and buried me six feet deep, and you kept telling me with each shovelful that you would be back, that you would come find me, that i could come with you. and despite the dirt in my lungs and the grit in my eyes, i believed. and i don’t know why i was so surprised when you left without digging me up, but i’m angry about that, too.

i’m angry because you’re not here, because i loved you and i loved you and i loved you and i needed more people to know. i needed to climb my roof with you and cling to your hand and shout I LOVE YOU! but you would never climb my roof because you didn’t love me because i didn’t love you the way you wanted me to. and this is a very old story, but i didn’t want to tell it again.

i’m angry because of your blue shirts and blue jeans and blue shoulders and i’m angry because every time you breathe you lie, choking and strangling everyone around you as you die too because you are a serpent. i’m angry because i hate your smile, i hate your hands, i hate the shape of your collarbone. i’m angry because i kissed you, because you kissed me, because we kissed each other. i’m angry because fuck, i’m angry because why did you have to touch me like that. i’m angry because i hate your stupid fucking smile, and i hated that the one time you were weary and i was the one wanting to dance, you were still smiling. fuck you.

i’m angry because i am always violence, all snarling teeth and bloody knuckles and torn-open throats, and i’m angry because out of all of the people i’ve wanted to hurt, i never wanted to hurt you. i wanted to cup the back of your head in my hands, and i wanted to say please, i wanted to say take me away from here. i wanted you to say i believe you. i wanted to touch your bones. but i never wanted to hit you, to pull out your lungs and chew them up, and i hate that. i hate you for that. you were always in pain, and i never wanted to make it more.

i’m angry because like clockwork, we were over every three months and alive again the next. i’m angry because i miss your hands. i’m angry because i believed you because you taught me to act, you were the one to mix your words into my brain, and i’m angry because sometimes i don’t know if i’m acting because i am just a bunch of puzzle pieces and you are the remainder, the blot in the picture. i’m angry because i miss you and i hate that because i broke up with you again and again and again, but i forgot how hard it was to break up with someone when they never even told you that they loved you.

i’m angry because you didn’t even know what love was, because all you knew was from movies and scripts and i hate your girlfriends and your friends and your roommates. i’m angry because you’ve been gone for longer than three months, because you really left this time and i keep waiting to see you at the grocery store. i keep waiting for you to hold me even though when i lay down all i feel is your absence. i’m angry because i haven’t been angry until now, even though you’ve been gone for almost a year and i thought it would hurt less by now. i’m angry because i haven’t had time to be angry at you because i’ve had so many other things to be angry about, and i’m angry about being angry all of the time. and i’m angry at you, especially. i’m angry at you.

#poetry #anger #angry

[afracturedstory]

It’s been a long time since I visited these halls. I felt something deep inside me, calling out, to come back and write down my story. I’ve never been one for words, I’m a reader, not a writer - but I need to get some things out of my head and into the world. These feelings just won’t go away and I’m hoping that this will somehow fix something in me. I keep having these weird breakdowns. I don’t know what I’m doing, where I’m going. I have student debt and nothing to show for it. No career, no connections, no practical skills, no want, no desire, no motivation, no job, no money, no life. 

I don’t remember much of my childhood. I think my brain found one coping mechanism - repression - and it stuck with it. I remember bits and pieces when I hear other people mention certain things. They’ll talk about a time they walked to school, and I’ll remember the time I tried to do the same, at 5 years old, and my father rolled up beside me in the car, the most panicked I have ever seen on his somber face. He simply said “get in” and I did. I was so terribly confused. I was just walking to school. My older brother was allowed to walk to school alone and I wanted to as well. I knew the way, so I just put on my backpack, my shoes, and started walking to school. When we arrived back at home, the entire neighbourhood was out looking for me. Or at least it seemed that way. A few neighbours from across and down the street were outside, which I remember being quite odd. That many people were never outside at the same time. 

That is probably my most vivid memory, and one of the only, I have from being a child. Others are simply glimpses of a friend’s big, fluffy orange cat, eating cold KD with ketchup for lunch because I liked it that way, or watching a friend play Halo while her dad was out (I had no idea what Halo was at that time). I moved around so much that I think my brain repressed a lot of things. Not trauma, but traumatic for my innocent little mind. A lot went on in my early life that I could not comprehend at the time. And then, suddenly, I woke up. We moved to a new city, not for the first time, but for the first time to a new province. We didn’t know anybody. I started at a new school. I made a friend simply for being a “smart kid” and so my friend was the other “smart kid”. A year later, she introduced me to a girl who I believe, to this day, was my soulmate. Though she did not feel the same way about me. She was a free spirit, independent; the same things people told me I was, but we were far from the same. 

Looking back, she taught me everything I needed to know about the world. She took an innocent, scared child and made me into someone who understands mental illness, addiction, why people act the way they do, she taught me that I could do whatever I wanted, skip school, shoplift, tell people how I really felt about them (good or bad). It’s strange to have been so deeply influenced by a person who seemingly had no interest in me for the majority of the decade that we were friends. She absolutely broke my heart when she said that we had only really been friends for two or three years. And then cut further the more she told me what she thought of me. I already knew those things about myself, I didn’t need my soulmate telling me those things. I lashed out, as I do, and eventually, after months of telling her to fuck off with her drunken calls, I finally was rid of her. The girl who shaped the woman I am today. 

I’m not sure if this will turn into anything, or if it will just be ramblings from a heartbroken girl, but I’ll be using this space to share my memories, before, during, and after my time with my soulmate. Sometimes I’ll be angry, sometimes tired, sometimes sobbing as I write these words. Sometimes I’ll make no sense at all, and sometimes I’ll be searching for the sense in my experiences. Whatever happens, I hope that each time, I’ll feel a little better than before. 

#stories

[red-revival]

howdy hey!! tell me about ur ocs!!! thru a cursory tag i saw one emari and as such would like to hear about them but please use this as a soapbox to talk about any ocs!!

YESSSSSSSSSSS i am so happy rn ok so so

Emari is a ferrokinetic vigilante I play in a superhero game- specifically using the Mutants and Masterminds ttrpg system which is my favourite ever

Um so. Yallve seen the art. Big pretty man covered in spikes with 2 prosthetic limbs. Fun design fact- Emari’s leg has a heart design on the knee! The loss of his limbs was directly related to him becoming metahuman, so he knew right off the bat he would need to get them specially made to not be fucked up by magnets. So they were like fuck it if i gotta pay insane amounts of money for my limbs I’m making them cute. His hand has a heart shape on the back of it too <3

Hes a big sweetheart and very friendly and nice to the point where. The loner ace detective character one of my friends plays ended up into him, he’s befriended almost everyone hes met IC, and usually ends up friends with ppl after one rp scene together. Also usually when he has to fight people he treats their wounds after because he really doesnt like hurting people even when he has to

Fun facts: 1 He dropped out of hs because of a combination of chronic fatigue syndrome and depression and ended up in a band with his best friends. 2 their sister taught them to fight and their dad taught them first aid after they came out as trans. 3 he has nerves in his metal spikes. He can feel them

Other fun fact I LOVE telling so. A lot of people think Emari is a self-insert. This is incorrect! I made Emari back when I was bi, nonbinary, ace, didnt have chronic fatigue, hadnt gotten the depression diagnosed yet. All of those similarities where I also ended up a homosexual trans man with chronic fatigue and depression happened AFTER i made him. Basically Emari is not my self insert they were like this first, my friends joke that I’m their self insert

Other smaller oc rambles in that server I’m ALSO playing

-Corvid gadgeteer nicknamed Maggie who is. Not very nice but she does care a lot. She also works for an organization called the vulture division, which does research into how exactly metahuman abilities work. Basically mad scientist but instead of being eccentric shes just kinda rude

-Superhero/secret villain with ink-based powers. Shes kinda boring on her own tbh but shes important for the story im leading players thru rn

-Star themed hero named Nova, a terrifying character both mechanically and lore-wise. There’s a LOT abt Nova so I’ll save his info for a separate ramble but tldr starry hero raised by a pair of villains who turned in the evidence to get his own parents captured and went on to become a hero out of pure fucking spite

-Biological manipulator/shapeshifter named Finch. 200 year old body horror villain who only actually cares about his Scoundrels, which. Technically is a villain team, but as far as Finch is concerned is their family <3 She is the worst, I love her, and she has THREE false identities. Also its like. ‘True’ identity is legally dead. So.

#hi hi thank u for asking abt my characters this is so fun u are my favourite thank u <3 #fun finch fact it uses all pronoun. i have some trouble w/ neos tho so usually I swap between she/he/they/it for him #other not fun fact Emari is. not the only one who was badly hurt when he ended up becoming ferrokinetic. the man is goin thru it tm and- #-very afraid of his own metahuman abilities

[uwuwriting]

Kids getting their quirks w/ Todoroki, Deku and Bakugou

Request: *cracks knuckles* uH may i pls have a headcanon for half half bastard, deku, and king explosive murder when their child’s quirk manifests? have a great day (or night lol) iajsmsjsnsk :D 💕- anonymous 

Okay my baby fever isn’t over but now I know the main factor. Apart from my new obsession with dad Nanami, my period is also here so yay. I’m in pain. SO let’s feed my baby fever even more with some pro hero dads bc I love them and cherish them. Nanami is still ruling my heart though. Love ya💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: babies!!!!, domestic au, dad au, fluffy, no warnings really, unless it causes you baby fever so beware of the baby fluffs.

Todoroki Shoto

-Baby was called from the daycare because the twins teacher couldn’t control their quirk manifesting. 

-Daycares are ready for quirk manifestation but someone hurt Rei and Ren kinda exploded and they couldn’t control the fire. 

-Rei got startled and her ice blocked both toddlers from the outside world as they were now existing in their own little igloo. 

-He panics because he fears that they hurt themselves or each other by using their quirks. 

-Scenarios of them attempting to hug each other, a habit they’ve had since they were wittle babies, and burning their skin or causing frostbite. 

-He rushed to their daycare, paperwork long forgotten on his agency’s desk as he stormed inside the classroom the small ice barrier splitting the room in two making his heart skip a beat. 

-Motioning to the teacher to leave he approached the block of ice, touching it with his left hand watching the ice melt as he finally spotted his two little girls, huddled together in the furthest spot of their igloo, trembling in each other’s arms. 

-Shoto ducked inside, slowly approaching them as they untangled from each other and rushed to him, meeting him half way in a crushing hug. 

-They both sobbed in his chest as he rubbed their backs. 

-Shushing them he tried to get a coherent story out of them but the only answer he managed to pry from them was a jumble of sorries and sobs.

-Picking them up, he asked them where their stuff was and after getting everything he excused all three of them and left the daycare, leaving a now melting igloo for the staff to clean up. 

-Back at home he managed to get them to calm down completely and made them something to eat. 

- “It’s alright, you protected each other like we’ve taught you. Your quirk activating is not your fault so stop blaming yourselves.” 

-They didn’t seem very convinced and they reminded him of himself back in high school, when he wouldn’t accept his left side as part of himself. 

-Hugging them close once again he left a kiss on each of their little heads, blowing a raspberry on their cheeks making them giggle at the feeling. 

-He loves the sound of their laugh. 

- “You have no control over your powers and that’s okay. Me and mommy will help you with that.” 

-Deep down he was proud of his girls. 

-They didn’t lose complete control and Rei managed to minimize her ice from coating the whole classroom. 

-He was so happy to have these two little things as his kids. 

-They truly were his world. 

- “I’m so proud of you my little snowflakes.”

Midoriya Izuku/ Deku

-He thought his son was quirkless. 

-You were quirkless, he used to be quirkless so the logical thing was for your kid to also be quirkless. 

-Nope you were wrong. 

-Turns out he took after his grandma and he has a form of telekinesis. 

-Nothing really strong since both of his parents are biologically quirkless. 

-It was triggered while you were all chillin in your living room. 

-Izuku was scribbling something in one of his notebooks while your son was playing with his hero figurines on the floor. 

-You were watching kitchen wars. 

-Izuku’s phone started ringing and he shot up to get it, sending the notebook and pen flying across the room. 

-You were ready for the inevitable crash but it never came. 

-Looking up you saw both the notebook and the pen, levitating a few inches from the floor a slight green glow surrounding them.

-You were shocked looking back and forth from your four year old to the levitating objects. 

-Izuku was still talking on the phone and hadn’t realized the revelation that was being displayed in the living room. 

-Finally the call was over and he stepped back in, letting out a fucking SQUEAK when he saw his son using his quirk. 

-That was enough to break his concentration and the items clattered to the floor, your toddler looking back at his father with huge green eyes, chubby hands reaching out for him. 

-In a flash Izuku was on his knees next to the little boy, hugging him so close you thought he couldn’t breath. 

-He peppered his chubby face with kisses, praise pouring from his lips like rain as he raised the four year old into the air, baby giggles filling the room. 

-You joined them on the floor taking your fill of baby Midoriya pampering before looking at your husband, tears flowing down his cheeks. 

-You hadn’t seen him cry ever since your son said his first words. 

-And even then you couldn’t blame him, his first word was dada who wouldn’t cry? 

- “He has a quirk! Oh my god he has a quirk!” 

-Izuku brought both of you into a hug, crushing you to his chest as he kissed both of your foreheads. 

- “Thank you thank you thank you.” 

-It hit him like a truck how lucky he was to have you both. 

-A beautiful wife who loves him for who he is and not for his fame *like many other pros had warned him about* and a son who adores him and asks for daddy every second of the day. 

-He didn’t care about a quirk.

-He was scared that his son would also get bullied if he didn’t have one. 

-Right now everything was perfect. 

Bakugou Katsuki

-If you asked him he didn’t want your son to get his quirk yet. 

-If he did that meant that he grew and he wasn’t his wittle baby anymore. 

-Your son was playing with his uncles outside while Katsuki was setting up the barbeque. 

-He was simultaneously holding your one year old and you were having a heart attack seeing your baby so close to a fire but you trusted him. 

-Your son was laughing his ass off as he was chased around the table by four grown ass adults. 

- “Be careful around the table.” 

-The fact that all five individuals said yes mom terrified you. 

-Heading back into the kitchen you only managed to reach the sink before a scream pierced the air and in a flash you were back outside, scanning the yard for who got hurt and where. 

-Then your eyes landed on your son who had a hand outstretched in front of him, smoke leaving his small palm while Kaminari was laying face down a few feet away from him, a groan leaving the pro hero as a palm shaped hole was etched on his shirt. 

-Everyone was silent as they stared at your four year old, eyes wide in awe at the sheer force of a singular explosion. 

-The person who broke the silence was Kirishima who let out a loud woah snapping all of you out of your stupor .

-Bakugou looked at you, pure disbelief in his gaze as his son turned to him. 

- “Dad I’m just like you!!” 

-You swear in his daze he almost yeeted your baby over his shoulder. 

-In one swift motion your son was in his other arm being swung around as their laughs synced into one. 

- “Hell yeah you are.” 

-Joining them you ruffled your son’s hair as you kissed his cheeks, a deep scarlet blush painting his plush cheeks as he hid his face in his dad’s shoulder. 

- “Bravo bud!” 

-Sero was next with the praise followed by Mina and Kaminari who also whined about his Hawaiian shirt being ruined. 

-For the next hours Katsuki didn’t let him go. 

-Didn’t want to let either of his kids go but it got kinda hard with the whole barbeque being his responsibility. 

- “We can train together, and work at the agency and go on patrols and…” 

-As your son rambled on about the things they could do now that he has his quirk, you looked at your husband, a soft smile plastered on his features. 

- “He will never stop needing you Katsu.” 

-You whispered as you kissed him softly on the cheek, catching a glimpse of a single teardrop leaving his eye before he quickly rubbed his face on your shoulder. 

- “I know.”

TAG TEAM AY:

@the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​ @dnarez​ @storage11037​ @wolfkid22​ @letscheereachotheron​ @ezoyscorner​ @luluwiie​ @threeamwriting​ @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses

#todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x you #shoto x y/n #dad todoroki #domestic todoroki #deku x reader #deku x you #deku x y/n #midoriya x reader #midoriya x you #midoriya x y/n #midoriya izuku #deku midoriya #bnha midoriya #dad deku #dad midoriya #domestic deku #domestic midoriya #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki x you #dad bakugou

[sotthestyles]

Bad Words - Dad!Harry

A fluffy blurb where Harry accidentally teaches your two-year-old son some choice language that gets repeated around the house, much to your disapproval 😩

AKA Harry swears in front of your two-year-old 🙊

warnings: none, this is just pure dad!Harry fluff! 

words: 1.3K

...

Harry was sitting across the table from you and your two-year-old son as you ate breakfast together first thing in the morning. The sound of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours album was playing through the kitchen speakers and the warm breeze from outside blew through the open window over the sink. It was a perfect, quiet spring day and you were excited to spend it with your two favourite boys. It wasn’t often when Harry had absolutely nothing work related to do and could spend the entire day at home focused on his family.

You smiled over at your little boy who was happily sitting in his high chair at the end of the table eating his breakfast of porridge and blueberries. He was trying his best to use his spoon in front of him but he mostly used his little fingers to reach for his blueberries in front of him.

“Such a good boy!” You praised as your son managed to get a spoonful of porridge up to his messy mouth. You glanced at Harry across the table and he had a proud grin on his face as well. Just as you began to say how incredibly smart and talented your baby boy was, Harry’s phone buzzed from his pocket.

“Fucking shit.” Harry muttered as he checked his phone in his lap.

“Harry,” You quipped at him as you took a sip of your coffee. Harry glanced at you innocently and you nodded over at your two-year-old who was shoving his face with blueberries and porridge.

“Sorry,” Harry replied with a small chuckle, “just realized I forgot to call Jeff about something.”

“Alright, well, watch your mouth next time.” You scolded him quietly. He chuckled again and insisted he would. You glanced at your son again and he didn’t appear to be listening to your conversation, but you knew that two-year-olds were like sponges that soaked up everything around them.

“Mumma, more?” Your son spoke up from beside you. You smiled as you watched him sign the word “more” in sign language, something that you and Harry had taught him before he had learned how to talk.

“Sure, you can have some more blueberries, bub.” You offered as you stood from your seat at the table. You rummaged through the fridge to find the container of blueberries and you heard Harry sigh from the table behind you.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned curiously as you closed the fridge and returned to your seat at the table with a full bowl of blueberries in your hand.

“I’ll be right back, have to make a couple of calls.” Harry explained as he stood up from his seat at the table. You nodded before he disappeared down the hallway.

“Hey, Jeff-“ His voice drifted off on the phone as he made his way upstairs.

You felt a bit disappointed that Harry had to clear up some work things so early in the day, especially seeing as you two had planned to spend all day with your son. You were more than understanding that Harry’s job wasn’t a typical one, and that meant that sometimes there were no days off for him, but that was okay. You decided to shrug it off, knowing he wouldn’t be too long upstairs. Your son was more than content finishing his breakfast then getting to play in the living room with all of his favourite toys. 

Around an hour and a half later, Harry finally returned back downstairs. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw him appear in the doorway of the living room, where you and your son were sitting on the floor, stacking a tower of blocks together.

“Dada!” Your son squealed excitedly when Harry stepped towards him.

“What’re you and mumma playing? Can daddy join?” Harry knelt down onto his knees to join you on the floor. 

“Okay, dada!” Your son grinned a cheeky grin up at his father. You sat back against the footrest by the couch and watched as the two boys played blocks and giggled with each other. It was seriously the sweetest thing to watch, you couldn’t help but fall deeper in love with your husband, if that was even possible, while watching him and your son interacting. 

After a little while of playing with Harry, your son began to ask for a snack. Since it had been quite a while since he ate breakfast, you decided it was probably time for a little snack before lunchtime.

“Here you go, my love.” You smiled as you handed your son a small bowl of goldfish shaped crackers. 

“Thank you, mumma!” Your son replied sweetly, a precious grin plastered on his face before shoving a couple of crackers into his mouth. He wandered back over towards the couch and you followed behind him. 

“Come sit with daddy!” Harry suggested as he held his arms out for your son, who immediately toddled over to climb in his lap. 

“That’s my boy!” Harry smirked as he pressed a kiss to your son’s chubby cheek. The three of you settled in on the couch together to watch a Mickey Mouse cartoon while your son ate his snack.

Your son wiggled his little body to sit up higher in Harry’s lap but as he did this, his hand accidentally let go and dropped his bowl of crackers, which all spilled onto the floor in front of you.

“Shit!” Your son muttered as he climbed down from Harry’s lap to pick them up. Your eyes widened at his inappropriate expression. You immediately glanced at Harry beside you, who burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Harry!” You said as you slapped your hand against his leg.

“What? That’s funny!” Harry couldn’t help but chuckle his boyish laugh out loud.

“Don’t encourage him to say that,” You insisted as you bent down to help your son pick up all of his spilled crackers by your feet, “you’re such a bad influence!” You couldn’t help but tease Harry. You rarely swore around your son, unless you absolutely had to let one slip out, but Harry wasn’t as careful. You knew this sudden outburst was a direct result of Harry’s choice of language earlier over breakfast.

“Sorry,” He muttered with one last chuckle, “s’not funny, I know.” 

“No, it’s not,” You insisted, trying your best to stay calm but firm in telling your son off, “that’s not a nice thing to say, bub. Mumma doesn’t like when you say those kinds of words.” Your son quirked an eyebrow up at you and then over at Harry. 

“Daddy says shit!” Your son explained with a shrug, clearly not understanding what the problem with his choice of language was. You glanced at Harry and gave him a look, telling him it was his turn to step in and explaining this to your son. 

“Hey, bug,” Harry spoke cautiously as he bent down to your sons level, “you know that’s not a nice word to say? Daddy said it earlier and it was bad, he should’ve gone to time out.” Your son giggled at the thought of his big, strong, daddy stuck in the timeout space by the staircase. 

“We don’t say those kinds of words, okay? Just nice words, like “oh, shoot!” or “oh, darn!” You explained further, trying to think of more appropriate expressions. Harry nodded along as you spoke. 

“Daddy’s really sorry he said a bad word earlier,” Harry insisted sincerely, “can y’tell mumma you’re sorry too?” You raised your eyebrow at your son. 

“Okay,” Your son nodded as he turned towards you again, “m’sorry, mumma!” You smiled down at your sweet boy, who had the most precious dimpled grin on his face. 

“Thank you, baby,” You said as you brushed your fingertips through his messy hair, “no more bad words, okay, boys?” 

The two boys agreed they wouldn’t say any more bad words, sealing their promises with pinky promises, which you thought was the most adorable thing in the world. 

#harry styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #dad!harry #dad harry styles #harry styles x reader #dad!harry x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #my writing

[bruhstories]

Sticky, Saccharine & Sinful

Summary: Professor Jaeger asks his assistant to come over and grade some papers. Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Fem!Reader (modern AU) Warnings & Content: language, protected sex, fingering, oral sex (female & male receiving), spanking, daddy kink, bossy Zeke, bratty Reader, tying up, bit of an age gap but no underage shit (we don’t do that here) Word Count: 2.5 k

A/N: Huehuehue guess who finally wrote a daddy kink smut? Also I have looped Cherry Cola by Kuwada the entire time i wrote, proofread and formatted this bitch, I think it works with the atmosphere

"Y/N, I'm gonna need you to help me grade some papers later today." Professor Jaeger pushed his glasses with his index finger as he looked up from his book.

"You got it, boss!" You nodded as you entered the staff lounge room at Stohess Uni, two cups in your hands.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Zeke?" The man sighed. “Or at least call me professor.”

"But I'm your assistant, you're my superior, that makes you my boss, boss." Sarcasm dripping down your tongue as you placed his coffee down the table. "All black, two cubes of sugar."

"Thank you. And yes, technically I am your boss, but you're, what, six years younger than me?"

"Seven and a half." You pouted.

You've been working at Stohess University for a little over a year now as Zeke Jaeger's assistant. He was the best philosophy teacher, as well as head of the department, and you nailed your internship interview, aspiring to be like him one day. He even taught you Ethics during your masters, and currently you were doing your PhD research under his coordination. The man was a genius in his field, and you didn't dare disappoint him, but your personalities always clashed. He was calm and collected, you were bubbly and all over the place. He was nice and polite, you were sarcastic and rude. Zeke knew you'd make a horrible teacher for children, but undergraduate students would adore you.

"How can you drink hot coffee in this heat wave?" You asked him as you fanned someone's epistemology essay to cool yourself off.

"It's actually been proven that warm drinks hydrate better than cold ones during summertime." He inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee before taking the essay out of your hand.

"Whatever you say, boss." You shrugged and gulped on your iced tea, a few glistening amber drops dripping from the corners of your mouth, down your chin and your neck. "Ah, shit." You wiped the tea with the back of your hand, not catching Zeke watching you curiously. "Why did the AC have to break down today of all days?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and immersed himself back into his book. "Oh, I hope you don't mind coming to my place to grade the papers? I don't think you'll be able to focus in this heat. Besides, I want to take a look at your latest PhD chapter." Jaeger told you absentmindedly, eyes glued to the pages in front of him.

"Sure thing–"

"Don't say it."

"Boss."

"Jesus Christ..."

You adored pissing your ex-professor off, but deep down, Zeke couldn't deny the fact that he loved the authority he had over you. You were a very alluring woman, after all, and any sane man would kill to be as close to you as he was, let alone boss you around like he did. And he had the strong feeling you acted like a brat around him on purpose. You took your leave after downing the rest of your beverage, going to the library to borrow some books for your own research.

•°☆°•☆•°☆°•

You rang the intercom and waited for Zeke to let you inside the building, dragging your feet down the hallway, tired from carrying so much shit with you – laptop, books, essays, papers, pens and highlighters – you were a walking, talking stationery shop and one could only wonder how someone with such a petite frame was so strong. Zeke waited in the doorway and took some of your things, relieving the weight as you sighed.

"Coffee?" He guided you to his kitchen.

"Water, please." You plopped on a chair and unbuttoned the first three heart-shaped buttons of your lilac shirt, tiny beads of sweat bundled up at your collarbone.

"You sure? I'll be keeping you up all night." Jaeger laughed. He was obviously talking about the papers, but to you, the sentence had a different innuendo — not that you minded, you had your fair share of sinful fantasies with the older man. Come to think of it, you were wondering why he was single. Zeke was undoubtedly an attractive man, he could have any woman he wanted. Yet you’ve never seen him on a date, never seen a picture of a woman when you accidentally glanced at his phone, never heard him talk about a significant other.

"Hey, mind if I smoke?" You asked, noticing the ashtray on his table.

"Not at all, I'll join you." He sat opposite you, mug of coffee in his hand. You pulled out a pack of pink cigarettes from your backpack and placed one between your lips, pocketing your jeans for a lighter. His hand extended over the table, lighter in his hand, and you slightly bent your head forward, eyes glued to his. You inhaled the smoke, not breaking eye contact, and exhaled with a sigh. Something about Zeke lighting up your cigarette made your little cunt tingle.

"Thanks, boss." The corners of your lips turned into a barely visible smirk. You really, really liked to tick him off.

"Don't mention it." He told you before lighting his own cigarette. What, no comeback? No objection? "How's your paper going?"

"It's... going." You shrugged.

"You haven't written anything in your last chapter, have you?"

"No, I have," you half-whined, "it's just that I can't find my words. I think I encountered writer's block."

"'S alright, we'll figure something out." Zeke pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and dropped it on the table.

"Wow, no shit you need help, that's a lot of papers." You twirled the cigarette between your fingers before taking one final puff and crushing it in the glass ashtray.

"Told you." He picked his resting cigarette back from the ashtray. "You can do the first years."

"I'd rather do something else." You whispered to yourself, eyes almost rolling at the back of your head.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, boss. First years, got it." Your manicured fingers pulled the stack of papers closer to you. The exams were already annotated according to subject and year and you took everything you needed before shoving them back to Zeke.

•°☆°•☆•°☆°•

You were bored out of your mind, fiddling with the red pen in your hand and tapping your fingers on the table with no particular rhythm. It was already dark outside and you barely finished a quarter of your stack while Zeke was halfway through his.

"Could you please stop that?" He asked you without even bothering to look at you.

"Why?"

"It's annoying."

With a groan you rolled your eyes and stopped tapping your fingers, instead opting to fidget your leg, bouncing it up and down under the table. The wooden furniture shook at the movement and Zeke sighed, putting the pen down.

"I understand you're bored, but if you want to be a professor, this is part of the job description."

"I know, I know, but, like, can we take a break? Please? We've been at it for two and a half hours now and I'm just so bored." You looked at him with puppy eyes and a pout on your plump lips.

"Ugh, fine. What do you want to do?"

"I dunno. Got any board games?"

"Only a pack of playing cards." Zeke shrugged.

"Perfect! Literally anything is better than this. I mean look at what this kid wrote: the ship of Theseus ARE a thought experiment. Can you believe it? How can a nineteen-year-old not know proper grammar?"

"Careful, Y/N," he chuckled, "you made a pretty embarrassing error during your masters, too."

"Nooo, don't bring that up!" You got up and walked to the freezer, scanning the contents.

"Why not? It's funny."

"Yeah, for you." You rolled your eyes. "But I still proved my worth." You triumphantly told him, tongue playfully poking out of your mouth from behind the freezer door. Ugh, you were so cute, made to be ravaged. Your eyes settled on the single raspberry popsicle and you picked it up, closing back the door. "Can I have this?" Oh, he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Of course."

With Zeke's approval, you unwrapped the plastic, revealing the rose-tinted dessert, swirling your tongue around its tip. You were a sight for sore eyes, (not so) innocently licking at the popsicle, your gaze on him and his growing bulge. He didn't even bother hiding it, instead relaxing in the chair and drinking you in. It was no mistake that Zeke invited you over, and you weren't stupid enough to believe it was a mistake.

"Do you... want some?" You trailed off as the once cold dessert began melting from your hot lips.

"If you'd be so kind." He patted his lap and you accepted the invitation. His bulge was comfortably uncomfortable against your ass, and you put the popsicle onto his lips, one arm draped around his shoulder. Zeke's tongue moved languidly around the sweet snack and you leaned in, your own tongue licking both the dessert and his lips. It was sticky and saccharine and sinful, and your poor pussy couldn't take it anymore.

"Do you wanna fuck me, daddy?" You naively asked him. He wasn't surprised in the slightest by the name, already suspecting you had daddy issues, in fact counting on it.

"I very much do." His hands were already roaming your body. The popsicle was almost gone, and you deepthroated the last bit, taking the little stick out of your mouth with a pop. Finally, he crushed his lips onto yours and you could tell he had experience. You dropped the stick on the tiled floor, twisting your body to better straddle him. Zeke unbuttoned your shirt as you slowly began grinding your hips against his bulge, earning a groan from him. "Ugh, you bad girl." He threw his head back as you loosened the tie around his neck.

"Are you going to punish me?" You slowly, too slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

"What’s the point of a punishment if you’re going to enjoy it?" He mused, unclasping your bra. You had goosebumps all over your skin and Zeke took one of your nipples in his hot mouth, a hand pinching your other one. You whimpered at the slight stinging sensation

"Does it m-matter if I enjoy it?" His touch became rougher, almost animalistic.

"Of course," he stopped sucking your swollen, oversensitive nipple, "otherwise you won't learn your lesson." You got up and turned around, your back against him, taking your jeans and underwear off, bending down and exposing your cunt to him. "You're going to be the death of me, Y/N." Zeke shook his head, removing his own trousers.

"Allow me." You tucked your fingers behind the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down as you kneeled in front of him. His throbbing cock tapped your face after finally being unleashed from its textile cage.

"I suspected you were big, but this? This is too good." You sneered at his member, mesmerised by its size.

"Just shut up and suck it." Zeke pretty much commanded you and you wet your lips, pressing your tongue against the velvety tip. You worked your way around his shaft, enjoying this more than you should've. You pulled back, a string of saliva and precum attached to your lips as you looked up at him.

"Am I doing good, daddy?"

"So good." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your head back. You eagerly sucked and slurped until he got bored of your mouth around his cock. Zeke pulled you up, spun you around and bent you over the table. He brought your wrists together and tied them up behind your back with his tie before taking a step back and admiring the view. Ass up, face down, just like he loved it. His foot pushed yours to the side, spreading your legs for him before he gave you a good slap over your ass cheeks. You shot up with a moan but his hand forced you back down against the table.

"I think I know exactly how to punish you." Zeke announced, two fingers spreading your folds as his tongue dove inside of you, lapping at your wet cunt.

"Oh, God!" You groaned in pleasure. No man has ever eaten you out like he did. Most guys did it as a chore. Zeke? He was enjoying every single bit of it, passionately fingering you, his tongue moving in ways you didn't think were possible. "Ah, fuck– so good! Daddy, please! I'm coming!"

The way he venomously laughed told you that no, you were not going to come any time soon. Just as you were about to let loose, Zeke stopped, removing his fingers, another slap on your ass. Tears pooled at your Y/E/C eyes, frustration written all over your face. "No, no, no!"

"I told you, Y/N, you're a bad, bad girl." He bent over and whispered in your ear, his cock pressing against your entrance, his hand in your hair.

"Oh, pleaseee, I need to come! Will you let me come?"

"Hm, it depends." Jaeger straightened his back, hands resting on your hips. "Did you learn your lesson?"

"Yes, yes, daddy, I did! I promise I'll be good!" You tried to turn around to look at him, oblivious to what he was doing behind your back, cheeks crimson, droplets of sweat on your forehead.

"Convincing enough." He shrugged and you heard the condom snap against his cock.  Unexpectedly and without any warning, the man thrusted into your wet cunt and you, again, shot up, but he pinned you back. "Stay fucking put, you little whore." Zeke demanded and you tried, you really tried, but your body had a mind of its own. "I see you refuse to learn."

"No, no, please!" You slammed your face onto the table, squishing your cheek in the process, desperate and helpless.

"That's better." He concluded, sarcasm dripping down his tongue as he rammed his cock deeper into you. The silken walls clenched around his hard member, and he grunted, no other woman pleasing him like your tight pussy did. "You like it when I take you from behind, you filthy slut?"

"Yes– oh my God, YES!" You bucked your hips against his for more pressure and pain.

"What would my students think if they saw you getting fucked like this on their papers?"

"Ah– I don't c-care!"

"What would the headmaster say if she knew you fuck your superior and- ugh- coordinator?" Jaeger thrusted harder and faster.

"Please, Zeke-"

His hand found its way to your neck, tightly squeezing it.

"Wrong name, Y/N."

"Shit, daddy!"

"That's right, I'm your fucking daddy and hell will freeze before someone else fucking touches you!"

"Fuc-k, fuuuck!" You both howled and panted as you climaxed, your entire bodies quivering. Zeke pulled out of you, carefully removing the rubber from his cock and giving you another slap on your perky ass cheeks. You stood up, arms still tied around your back, turned on your heels and pecked him on his cheek, giggling like a schoolgirl, marvelled by the fact that he chose you over anyone else.

"You know what, Y/N? Now that I've found you, I'm never going to let you go." He promised.

"I'm all yours, boss."

#zeke jaeger #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke x reader #zeke smut #aot #aot smut #aot x reader #aot fanfic #snk #snk smut #snk x reader #snk fanfic #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #zekeythefreaky