#<- i know so many of these are from there

[zillychu]

I NEED Loop to be further tormented by finding out confessing to their party doesn't break their loops, and Siffrin wishes to see Loop again so hard he pops out of the favor tree so he gets to be Loop's guide

[authorjessowen]

Okay I actually love this and as a writer I've been trying to learn the names of things so I can use them in books. Flowers, car parts, trees, structures, you name it. I CAN NEVER REMEMBER which author (Ann Lamott? Toni Morrison?? Idk...) said as a writer you should learn the names of things. Be specific, use the names.

My sister was writing a short story and there was an exciting foot chase scene and the character ran through a bank, and used a specific object you find in a bank to either break a window or fight a guy off; I can't remember. But she didn't use the name of the object-- she described it as something like, 'the pole that held the barrier ropes between aisles' and as a beta reader for the story I commented, "I'm sure this object has a name, I would use the name" and that's how I introduced her to the idea of knowing the names of things, and how we both learned the word "stanchion."

i say this in all seriousness, a great way to resist the broad cultural shift of devaluing curiosity and critical thinking is to play my favorite game, Hey What Is That Thing

you play it while walking around with friends and if you see something and don't know what it is or wonder why its there, you stop and point and say Hey What Is That Thing. and everyone speculates about it. googling it is allowed but preferably after spending several minutes guessing or asking a passerby about it

weird structures, ambiguous signs, unfamiliar car modifications, anything that you can't immediately understand its function. eight times out of ten, someone in the group actually knows, and now you know!

a few examples from me and my friends the past few weeks: "why is there a piece of plywood sticking out of that pond in a way that looks intentional?" (its a ramp so squirrels that fall in to the pond can climb out) • "my boss keeps insisting i take a vacation of nine days or more, thats so specific" (you work at a bank, banks make employees take vacation in long chunks so if youre stealing or committing fraud, itll be more obvious) • "why does this brick wall have random wooden blocks in it" (theres actually several reasons why this could be but we asked and it was so you could nail stuff to the wall) • "most of these old factories we drive past have tinted windows, was that just for style?" (fun fact the factory owners realized that blue light keeps people awake, much like screen light does now, so they tinted the windows blue to keep workers alert and make them work longer hours)

been playing this game for a long time and ive learned (and taught) a fuckton about zoning laws, local history, utilities (did you know you can just go to your local water treatment plant and ask for a tour and if they have a spare intern theyll just give you a tour!!!) and a whole lot of fun trivia. and now suddenly you're paying more attention when youre walking around, thinking about the reasons behind every design choice in the place you live that used to just be background noise. and it fuckin rules.

[inbabylontheywept]

Reach Heaven (Through Violence)

When I was in 2nd grade, my school started a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. I want to emphasize that I started out very excited for this program. I was a small, visibly autistic child on a playground with fourth graders on it. In theory, this program might as well have been called The Rescue Babs Initiative. 

In practice, however, zero-tolerance programs almost always sink into madness. The motivations never line up right - too many incentives for cheating.

The first victim of the program was actually my friend, Sam. I was standing next to him in line when one of the fourth graders gut punched him. There was no reason for the punch, he was just small and in arm's reach. Sam got the wind knocked out of him, but he managed to gasp out the phrase stupid motherfucker right as the playground aide ran over to keep the peace. 

(Sam had an incredible vocabulary for a 2nd grader. Consequence of his dad being a recently divorced mechanic.)

Puncher got a two week suspension. That was fine. But Sam got a one week one for verbal abuse, which was beyond the pale. But that’s just what zero-tolerance is, right? No hitting became a rule everyone had to follow, and it didn't stop when someone hit us. So our options as kids were to somehow make like Jesus and ascend up to heaven… or solve things ourselves. 

We started solving things ourselves. 

I'll be honest, I think that was always the plan. A school can do a lot of things to reduce bullying, but if the goal is zero, there's only one path forward: Shoot the messenger. 

---

My part in the story was a few weeks after that. Long enough to know that the school's new unofficial policy was to suspend kids that reported problems, short enough to have no idea how to defend myself. It turned out the 4th grader that hit Sam was part of a trio, and that trio had their sights on me next. 

I asked some of my classmates what to do, and they said that the best idea was to just ignore the bullies. Refuse to give them a reaction. That was dogshit advice, but it was common enough in the early 2000s and it's not like I can fault 2nd graders for not knowing much about life. 

Anyway. I took the advice and I ignored my bullies. I ignored them when they said nasty things about my mom, and I ignored them when they bounced soccer balls off my head, and the one time I broke was when the biggest of the trio grabbed my arm hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises. We were watching a movie in the gym when he did that, and I leaned over and told him he could hold my hand if he was scared of the dark. Which worked, thank God. The grip hurt bad enough I had to excuse myself for a bit to keep my composure. 

I think a more mentally flexible kid would've changed strategies by then. Clearly, things were escalating. But it's hard for me to change my mind, so I stuck to my bad strategy, right up until the day the big kids caught me after school. I was crossing the baseball field when they got me. It was just one of those places you had to walk through to make it to the bike rack. 

The big guy, again, was the instigator. He pushed me down then stood over me, yelling for me to get back up. But I knew that if I got back up, he'd just push me down again, and for whatever reason, their Bully Code didn't allow for kicking a kid that was already down. So I stuck to the grass, and they tried a bunch of things to goad me into standing back up. Eventually, I started kicking at them while on my back, and one of them took the opportunity to grab my leg. Second bully thought that looked fun, so he grabbed my other leg. Kicking me like that was off limits, but dragging wasn't, so they just started pulling me around that way. 

They were so much taller than me that I was almost vertical during the pull so all my weight was put on my shoulders. And the fields were just made of unkind stuff. There was crushed gravel all over the place, spilled out from the divider between the big kid playground and the little kid playground, so every time they dragged me over a piece it just ripped a new gouge up my back. The ground itself was sunbaked caliche and dead crabgrass. There was a grit to it, like sand stuck to the outside of a clay pot. 

It grated all the skin off my upper back. Everything between the bottom of my neck to the bottom of my shoulder blades. I don't know at what points I went from yelling, to screaming, to just crying, but I did, and I know they seemed almost giddy every time it changed. Eventually they finished off with one loop around the baseball diamond and that hurt the worst. The dust there stuck to the snot and spit all over my face and made it into a foul mud, and the same happened in my shirt. The dust stung like salt, and the gravel in the lines tore open a few more cuts for dirt to pour in. I remember them stopping, and actually crying again I was so relieved. It was done. Thank God, it was finally done. They were done hurting me. 

They left me on my back near homebase. They'd finally got the reaction they were looking for.

It took me a few minutes after that to stagger back to my feet. I was able to wash the snot-mud off my face in the bathroom, but I couldn't bring myself to touch my back. It just felt like it was on fire. Then I made it back to the bike rack. 

That’s where my older sister, Liz, was waiting for me. She was just a grade ahead of me but it always felt bigger than that. There’s some deep weight associated with being the oldest. She could see that I was dirty and tear soaked so she asked what happened. I didn’t know how to put it in words, so I just tried lifting my shirt to show her. It made a sticky, tacky sound coming up - like the plastic coat coming off a slice of American cheese. Tchhhhk. 

I didn’t know how bad they’d got me before I heard that noise.

She looked at my back for maybe two seconds before telling me to put my shirt back down. I never actually looked at it when it was fresh, but I still had straggling scars by the time I got to highschool. Long silver-grey lines, visible mostly for the dirt still stuck in them. She looked a little sick when I turned around, but she kept it cool, which I really appreciated. I always hated crying in public, and I was half a hair from crying all over again. I don't think I'd have been able to keep it together if she'd freaked out too. 

Instead, she just asked me some questions. Who did this, how long they’d been doing it, what I’d been doing, if I’d told anyone. Some 4th graders, a month, trying to ignore them, nobody. 

She mulled those answers over. I could see her trying to chart a course forward - trying to figure out what it would take to solve this problem for good. She's always had this weird, sad, blank face that she'd make when she found a solution she didn't like. She'd make that face, then think some more, then make the face. Then think. 

Eventually, she just made the face. 

Don't tell the parents, she said. I can fix this. But only if you don’t tell them. 

I believed her. She was the most capable person I knew, and her word was gold. So I didn't tell our parents. I biked home, and every drop of sweat that rolled down my back felt like acid on my skin. I remember getting home and beelining straight to the bath, because I needed something to put the fire out. Took that as my moment to cry it out again too. First time I'd cried was from pain, but the second time was from the cruelty. Second time took longer, but the nice thing about a cold bath is that the water never runs out. I could just pop the plug out with my toes and just keep rinsing and draining and rinsing and draining until my mind was as clean and empty and stark as the tub itself. Then I could go fill that emptiness up with Calvin and Hobbes. 

It worked.

Mostly. 

---

I spent the whole next week feeling nervous anytime I was outside and Liz wasn't nearby. Some days she'd beat me to the bike racks, and I'd be relieved as hell to just go home. Other days, I'd be the first one out, and then I'd have to spend a few minutes worrying about what I'd do if the big kids showed up. But they never did. Liz always got there just a few minutes later, and I'd pretend I hadn't been planning escape routes.

Friday, I was sweating by myself when she showed up a few minutes later than normal. She unlocked her bike but she didn't move to leave. She had this big, long cable-type lock, maybe  six feet of braided steel. She folded it over in her hands so it looked like a swatter and swung it a few times in the air. Made it whistle like a falling anvil in a cartoon.

Today's baseball practice, she said. All Our Guys are on the baseball team. 

Our Guys. Odd phrasing. Also, I actually hadn't known that about them, but I nodded along anyway. She wasn't really looking at me as she talked - she was inspecting the lock.

My plan, she continued, is to wait here until baseball's done. Me and you. When it gets time I'll send you outside the bike cage.

The cage was a chain link fence, maybe six feet tall, built all around the rack. They’d lock it after school as an extra precaution against bike thieves. 

Your job, she continued, will be to hold the gate closed after they're all in. Keep em’ stuck. Think you can do that? 

She was being very frank, which helped me think clearly. I didn't think I could actually hold the gate closed if all of them ran into it at once, but I knew where a big half broken cinder block was, and I knew if I could wedge it in there, it would hold. So I told her that. 

Great, she said. Do that. 

Then I went to go get the block. She gave the cable a few more experimental swings, right as I made it around the corner. 

I'd been thinking in straight lines before that. Just meeting goals. It wasn't until that moment that I really allowed myself to know what was happening. That I allowed myself to have a choice. 

I chose to jog a little faster. I wanted revenge. 

---

I came back with the block a few minutes later, then we just talked like nothing was happening. The sun was shining, and we’d both gotten into bionicles, and it was easy to talk and be people. Normal, happy people. 

But that feeling went away when I heard the coach tweet a long whistle. Me and Liz both knew that was the signal that practice was done. I walked out and got my bric while she folded the cable in half in her hand again. Then we both waited. 

Eventually I saw the kids that drug me around the baseball diamond emerge from behind the portables. I watched them make a straight line back to the bike rack. They were laughing together, having a good time. Being normal. Like me and my sister. I realized I could let things be normal too. I saw my chance to let things go softball pitched to me, nice and easy, and I didn't even bother to swing. I didn't want normal anymore. I wanted this. I knew why my sister had that lock, and I'd thought about it, and I liked it.  

God help me, I think I needed it. 

The kids went inside the bike cage. I gave them ten paces head start, then put the cinder block under the gate. That was the signal Liz had been waiting for. 

She blitzed those boys. There were three of them, and the smallest still had two inches on her, so they probably would have kicked her ass if they ever had a moment to think. But she never gave them that moment. She picked the biggest kid, and decided he needed the first blow. I remember how much muscle she put into that swing - the cable was so heavy, and she was so small, that it kind of swung her back as she made that first half spin. Like a dog getting wagged by its own tail. 

It was a perfect connection. Flawless. She swung through her target, not at it, and the resulting slap that the cable made bouncing off the biggest kid's stomach was loud enough to echo through the cage. It brought a tear to my eye. It brought a tear to his eye too. 

The trio split after that, bouncing around the cage like fresh broke billiards. I can't describe how Liz did it, exactly, but she managed to chase the boys back together so she could hit them all more efficiently. She had a real knack for getting them right between the shoulders, so I never got to see the real perfection of her work, but she wasn't above swinging for the arms or legs if that was all she had. Those marks I could see, and they were brutal. The welts were wider and thicker than my thumb, like giant purple worms were trying to burrow out of their skin. Some even bled. I cheered on every hit. 

Liz, for her part, just had a sort of grim, single minded determination to her. She was so angry she was shaking, and so scared that tears just kept running down her face, and she was grinning all the way back to her molars, but the grin didn't get any bigger after a solid hit than a glancing one. When the kids started blubbering, she didn't change her process. I'd spent my time crying, she'd spent her time crying, of course they were getting theirs in too: That's what violence does. It brings tears. Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind. 

Eventually, one of the kids split off from the main herd and scrambled up the fence, gecko-style. Liz let him go. It was either that, or take her attention off the other two. Easy choice. 

Now, there were two kids left, the big one, and one of his smaller friends. Smaller friend did the same trick. I was worried he was gonna turn back, fight me and open the gate for his buddy, but he just fled for the hills. I remember thinking, damn, I hope they never forgive each other for this. I hope this ruins their whole friendship. I hope this festers into something awful. 

The one kid that was left really was trapped though. He wasn't built for climbing and he had no one to work as a distraction for him. Every time he started trying to make it up the fence, my sister would just twist up like a spring, then swing the cable with both hands right into his spine. The slap it made every time she did that was loud enough to hurt my ears. He never made it more than two hits like that before hopping off the fence and just trying to run around some more. He could get Liz tangled up in the bikes for a bit if he really tried, but it never bought him enough time to actually get out. She'd always find her way out of the thicket, swing the cable, and send him running again. 

Eventually, he just couldn't run anymore. He sat down, and my sister hit him a few times, telling him to stand up. He refused. He knew he was gonna get hit either way, so he might as well get hit sitting down. He put his arms up after a bit and let those take a beating too. Eventually he just started begging her to stop. So she did. 

He cried he was so relieved. I remembered how that felt: It’s done. Thank God, it’s finally done. They’re done hurting me. 

Liz told me to come in and show him my back. I took my shirt off, and I showed him a scab as large as a dinner plate. Cracked up like dry river mud. 

He looked sick. Started babbling about how he didn't know. Said he thought I was crying because I was just a kid - that he didn't know he was actually hurting me. That he'd just wanted to get a rise out of me and didn't know it would take so much. 

He didn't know he'd gone too far until it was too late. 

And suddenly, it was like looking in a mirror. 

Two snotty, welted boys, crying alone in the dirt. Backs burning like fire. Ashamed. Trapped. Realizing that they'd just done something awful, and worse, that they’d dragged the people that meant the most to them along for the ride. 

I hated him more at that moment than when he drug me over gravel. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill anything but their own brokenness reflected. Looking at him was unbearable. Like staring straight into the sun. 

I could've hit him again if I hadn't just gorged myself on violence. But I had. I was fat with it, sick and aching - anything more and I would have puked. So I just told him to get his bike and go. Please. Just go. 

He did. He staggered to his feet, and he grabbed his bike before running away like all the demons in hell were following behind. All bar two. There was a swingset nearby, and once he was fully out of sight, Liz and I walked over to it. We picked two seats next to each other and sat for a while, talking until our hands stopped shaking. Can’t remember about what. We didn’t really know how to process what had just happened. Still don’t, to be honest. 

Then we went home.

---

Thanks to @elisabethdeep-blog, @foldingfittedsheets, @amateurmasksmith, @caramel-catss @arataya, and @rozenkingdom for being my alpha readers.

And thanks @lizardho, for being my first friend, my best friend, and my childhood bodyguard. I know it took a toll on you. I'm truly sorry.

[paracosmicka]

I think I’m just gonna post as many sketches as I can of that one Shadow nightmare comic. I have like 4 different files on my iPad with variations and pages that I’ve redrawn like 40 times over the past year, so I’m gonna post a mix of them if that’s okay lol

Literally don’t know if I’ll ever make a finished version 😭😭 please forgive some of the very shitty sketches again half of these are from over a year ago

Gonna reblog with more in a second bc mobile doesn’t allow for more than 10 photos oops

[yukioos]

hiii, i’ve been stalking ur blog and i absolutely love ur writing ☺️☺️ may i request bakugou w a shy/introverted s/o who is a literal BADDIE but is clueless abt it 🙏 pls and thank you 🫶🫶

katsuki with an introverted s/o who’s clueless about how attractive they are

you sat at your desk writing quick notes, nothing too pretty but with handwriting readable enough to let someone borrow. entranced with what mister aizawa was writing on the whiteboard, you almost didn’t notice the whispers behind you. trying to quiet your mind, you stood silent and tried to listen in to what the boys behind you were talking about.

“dude, she’s so pretty! that lipgloss looks really good on her, you know? i’ve been thinking about it for days.” kaminari attempted to whisper, but ultimately failed. you smiled. he was probably talking about kyoka. he paused, “should i ask her out?”

a familiar voice rang in your ears, “ask her out and i’ll kill you, dunce face.” katsuki grunted, making you think maybe they weren’t talking about kyoka. hopefully, at least, considering katsuki’s your boyfriend.

you thought it’d be weird, however, for kaminari of all people to like you. you never thought you were concerningly attractive, or even ugly, just average, nothing special about you. you had an okay quirk, average grades, and a decent personality, but nothing went beyond according to you.

but to everyone else, you were better than average for almost everything. you practiced training and had amazing control over your quirk, excellent grades, and always studied, beautiful, and probably the kindest, funniest, and most comforting person someone could know.

katsuki especially agreed with all of that.

he hadn’t told many people that the two of you were dating, as you were shy and wanted privacy. he also agreed with you, as he wanted to surprise his friends with an ‘oh, i forgot to mention i’m dating y/n by the way’ just to see the expressions on their faces. not showing too much pda in front of other people was what you and katsuki both preferred, but behind closed doors, you two were so openly loving.

but even when katsuki would compliment you, whether it was in public or alone, you always seemed confused, like you thought home was lying. he wasn’t, of course, but it was odd to hear something specifically sweet from his mouth. you hadn’t gained many compliments from others as a child, but you always accepted them, even if you didn’t outwardly agree with them.

one time, the two of you were going on a walk in the park near the U.A. campus. katsuki noticed your hair, and for some reason, the words just spilled from his mouth. he complimented, “i don’t know what the hell you did, but your hair looks amazing today.”

you tilted your head as he blushed, looking at the ground as the two of you walked side by side. you asked, “huh, really? i didn’t do anything different today.” murmuring the last part.

he chuckled, “well you always look amazing. i just really noticed your hair today.”

a chuckle escaped your mouth, “you’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend, kats!”

he stared at you for a moment and looked caught off guard. he rolled his eyes, “that’s just a fact, idiot. you always look good, i’m not just saying that because we’re together. ashido was just talking about how you’re the greenest flag in the class, and during the second period, kaminari was talking to about how he wants to ask you out. i was close to exploding him right then and there.”

you raised your eyebrow with suspicion then giggled, “sureeee, they said all of that.”

“you seriously don’t believe me?” katsuki asked.

“nope!”

at least katsuki knew the truth, and when the two of you become comfortable enough to display your relationship publicly, he’ll be bragging about you left and right.

yay i loved writing this!! thank you so much for the req <3

[stzrgirl4norris]

if you can't beat them, join them - LN4

Lando Norris x Reader (smau)

summary: a silly little nickname from Lando's friends created chaos on a fan base

based on this request

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊

lando's instagram

liked by yourinstagram, quadrant, keeganpalmer and 3,947,293 others

lando retiring from cars. only skateboards now.

view all comments

maxverstappen1 Maybe you'll have a chance now 😂

> user max ended his ass > user max is only here for the roasting > lando just wanting to get rid off the real competition i see 🥱

yourinstagram i'm just glad you're coming back home in one piece 🙏

> lando i mean... barely > keeganpalmer i wouldn't return paps to you only with half his limbs > yourinstagram keeganpalmer would you stop with those weird ass nicknames?? > keeganpalmer yourinstagram i'll think about it

keeganpalmer i think you should stick to the cars

> lando yeah cause my teacher fucking sucks > keeganpalmer sure...

user SKATER BOY LANDO 🥵🥵🥵🥵

user so how many times do we think he listened to skater boy by avril lavigne??

> user like ten thousand times

quadrant best video ever coming soon

> user are we going to see lando falling?? > quadrant no spoilers (yes) 🤫

liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 293,499 others

yourinstagram special night with cartier ❄️ making me feel the most beautiful ever!

view all comments

user raw next question

user born to ride or whatever lana del rey said

user i have nothing appropriate to say

user rock, paper, DEFINITELY scissor

lando something's off... oh it's just my pants don't worry!

> user LANDO STOP > user someone take his phone away > user pr nightmare boyfriend > maxfewtrell the things i would do to unsee this > yourinstagram babe pr is going to eat you alive...

keeganpalmer hot mams!!!😂🔥

> user the fact that he calls lando paps and yn mams > user yeah this couple has a daddy kink for sure > yourinstagram keegan you are going to pay for this

yourbff face card no cash no credit

alexandrasaintmleux beautiful girl!! 💗

user mom is cooking

liked by keeganpalmer, maxfewtrell, yourinstagram and 4,293,222 others

lando caught in a cool guy competition😎

view all comments

maxfewtrell in which both of you are losing btw

> lando your jealousy is sooooo pathetic

keeganpalmer hot paps 🔥🔥

> user every time keegan calls lando paps a fanfic writing bitch gets horny > user tumblr is about to lose their minds > user getting ready to like every single daddy smut out there

yourinstagram 🖤

> keeganpalmer yes mams comment!🙏🙏🙏 > yourinstagram at this point you're just doing it to annoy me > keeganpalmer is it working?? > user idk i'm so confused here

user legs are divorcing

user two bad bitches at. the. same. damn. time

user omg these comments are scaring me

> yourinstagram for real

user and i'll be there for him... with open legs... and an open mouth

user i'm so chill 🫠

user raw aw aw aw aw or whatever lady gaga said

user born to ride, forced to scroll

*twitch chat* user i feel so sorry for yn lol user i don't know how this started but i hope it never ends user the fact that lando does absolutely nothing about it user miss girl is so done with them

keeganpalmer added to their story

"me reading yn's instagram comments and twitter knowing i just created chaos"

liked by lando, yourbff, ynfanpage and 1,933,293 others

yourinstagram 🌅 (i am ready and armed for the mommy comments)

view all comments

user mommy? sorry- mommy? sorry- mom-

user and the crowd is.... moving their phones to their left hands

> lando yeah no leave right now > yourinstagram oh my god

user dinner is ready *i say as i lay on the table*

kikagomes my whole jaw just dropped😍😍😍

keeganpalmer your comment section is scaring me

> yourinstagram i wonder who's fault is that > user don't act like you didn't start it > user the ammount of mommy comments here > keeganpalmer i apologize yourinstagram

lando how do you expect us to stop calling you mams when you post this????!!!!!!!

> yourinstagram i don't! at this point i want you to keep going! > user pr nightmare girlfriend > user i feel like i'm violating their privacy

yourbff CHOKED ON MY WATER

user JESUS THAT WOMAN

user scrolling feels like a divorce

user the internet is wild

[casuallyanidiot]

Some more good Ole Yandere Nerd

Tw. Noncon/Dubcon, kidnapping, invasion of privacy, fisting, yandere

Yandere Nerd who fucks you so frequently in so many different ways that he jokingly starts to collect data on it.

"You've cum 23 times this week without penetration. We can definitely raise that by this time next!"

He keeps neatly color coordinated graphs and charts of the amount of times you'd had sex with him, how many times you came, what different types of toys and kinks you seemed to like the most, and more. He'd write thousand word research essays on the topic while fucking your face under the table. He'd look down through fogged glasses and make sure you'd swallow before he got the motivation to continue on for the next few pages.

It's almost impressive how well organized he keeps track of everything.

Yandere Nerd who explains what he's working on like he's talking to a dumb dog.

"You see, it's quite interesting to find that there's no significant difference between how much you cum from when I spank you versus no spanking when I play with your ass. I think we need to repeat this at least 30 times each to see if there's any further development."

You never imagined that dirty talk could be so dull. Though, he probably wasn't trying to turn you on using anything other than brute force, sheer, will, and a closet worth of sex toys.

Yandere Nerd who likes to stretch you out on increasingly bigger and bigger toys.

His cock definitely is not the size of his fucking arm, but it's not even about his pleasure at this point. He just likes seeing you all whiny and sobbing while begging him to take his fist out of your poor, abused hole. He won't listen at all! How mean :( . In fact, he'd probably measure how large your stretched out entrance gapes after every session and then time how long it would take for your quivering form to go somewhat back to normal.

Yandere Nerd while, mid fuck, suddenly decides to share the good news with you.

"The paper I wrote on you got accepted into a journal!"

How that fucking happened, you don't know, but all of a sudden detailed descriptions of how often you cum on a daily basis were suddenly up for anyone to see. You ended up crying when you read the journal, too humiliated to feel anything but anger and utter embarrassment. He rubs soothing circles into your back while trying to comfort you, but he's not exactly slick with the way he's pulling out his camera to record your reaction.

What!? This is valid data! Now if you're going to be the subject of further studies, then you have to be at least a little bit more cooperative with him, okay?

[ghostwitchboy]

This is why I get mad whenever a certain web dev at my community college insists his use of ai isn't bad and that it's just part of tech progressing and that it's not like people are really impacted by it

The new ‘AI’ Scottish voice being used by ScotRail is being used without the consent of the voice actor.

Professional VA, Gayanne Potter wrote the following on Facebook.

[ddarker-dreams]

As Above, So Below.

Yan Anaxagoras x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalances, some co-dependency and emotional manipulation. Word count: 2.2k.

Anaxagoras is a polarizing figure. 

It’s to be expected, considering his lack of propriety. He cares little for respecting age-old traditions, observing social customs, or sugar coating his words. This has earned him no shortage of detractors. While they might label him a heretic or lob other accusations, even his most ardent opponents can’t deny that he’s brilliant. 

You’re no stranger to his eccentricity. His teaching style fluctuated between the routine and the sublime, you never knew what to expect. Nonetheless, you’ve always felt he takes his students’ edification seriously, hence his extreme tactics. Upon reflection, you concluded that this distinct pedagogy molded your mind into its current shape. Curiosity, drive, and a will to question the supposedly infallible have become your core tenets, courtesy of your professor. 

Who would’ve thought the very skepticism he instilled in you would one day be directed towards him? 

Ever since your most damning accusation left your lips, silence has reigned in his office. You projected a semblance of confidence for most of your exchange, but that façade has long since dissipated. You’re fidgeting, nervous energy building inside like a dam ready to burst. You regret doing this in his office, but the conversation necessitated privacy. The room has always left a strange impression on you. One glance at the notes strewn about his desk confirms the immeasurable gap in your intellect, how he’s discovering answers to questions you’d never think to ask. It’s both awe-inspiring and demoralizing. 

You can feel how he’s observing you, mentally breaking you down to your base components. There are only so many ways one can respond to the charges you’ve presented. Denial is by far the likeliest, followed up by indignation or disbelief. You’d run through this scenario hundreds of times in your head. Each time, he’d said something by now, constructing a meticulous defense. This silence denies you the catharsis rage would allow. Instead, you’re made to sit in a limbo of your own creation, replaying each element of this confrontation. 

Was your evidence lacking? Did your emotions seep through too much, discrediting your logic? Or are you not right in the head, having imagined everything in some paranoia-fuelled haze? 

Gathering your courage, you look up, steeling yourself for whatever stares back.

Anaxa’s composure is striking. He’s smiling, a sentiment akin to fondness softening the lines around his eye. If that wasn’t disconcerting enough, he chuckles, quietly at first, but ending in a hearty diapason. You drop all pretense and openly gawk at him. This goes beyond a few character quirks, this is madness. Righteous fury sends your blood boiling. You stand up, ready to storm out, when he raises his hand, a motion that keeps you in place. 

“Please, sit,” he supplicates. No vestige of his former derangement remains; regardless, it isn’t so easily erased from your memory. Sensing your apprehension, he continues, “Haven’t I taught you to always finish what you’ve started?” 

You part your lips, ready to insist that this is different, but the argument dies on your tongue. He has a way of making you doubt yourself without doing anything. Even now, you’re plagued by an impulse not to disappoint him. Feeling defeated, you return to your seat.

He leans back, crosses his legs, and rests his folded hands on his knee. “How long have you held these suspicions?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Untrue. Try again.” 

“... Since the Month of Gate.” 

“That long, hm?” Anaxa muses. He leans closer, his gracile form hunched forward, like when he’s on the precipice of a great revelation. “We’re in the Six Month now; why wait as long as you did?” 

“Because I couldn’t believe it!” 

He clicks his tongue. “Willful ignorance, then? That’s unbecoming of you.” 

Your heart plummets at his reprimand. Memories of your first few one-on-one oral tests come flooding back, pelting your psyche. He accepted nothing less than your absolute best. You used to think he purposefully set you up for failure, demanding the impossible, but the results proved otherwise. He saw potential in areas you were too frightened to spare a glance. He encouraged — no, demanded — that you face them head-on. Consequently, you discovered yourself capable of feats previously unthinkable. 

That habit of his must extend beyond the lectern. 

“You come to me presenting vague, disconnected data, without the resolve to say what it is I stand accused of.” 

Something in you snaps. “How about falsifying my grades, coercion, bribery, and stalking, to name a few?” 

“An excellent start!” he asserts, slightly breathless from exhilaration. “Finally, we’re getting to the heart of the matter. Your reasoning is solid, if lacking in scope. Expand on your argument.” 

“This— this isn’t a learning exercise. If you don’t take me seriously, I’ll…” 

You trail off, fully aware you lack the means to substantiate a threat. Scowling, you internally berate yourself. He’s successfully stirred up your temper. Who could blame you, though? His disregard is baffling! You know him to be insensitive, sure, but never purposefully cruel. A lump forms in the back of your throat. You fight it with all your might, not wanting to add to your humiliation. He hadn’t made you cry in ages. The last time would’ve been his scathing critique of your first assignment, many years ago. You swore never to endure that again. 

“Don’t look at me like that, my dear,” Anaxa sighs. “I am taking you seriously. Forgive my excitement; I’ve been awaiting this conversation. Now, I know you’re thinking, ‘he’s lost it,’ or something to that effect. Let me reassure you — I’m perfectly sane. How else could I have accomplished what you’ve accused me of?” 

You eye him warily. “So you’re admitting to it?” 

“Not everything. I never tampered with your grades.” 

He’s focusing on the least egregious charge? Wouldn’t anyone else refute stalking or coercion first? You almost left out the dubious grades, it paled so greatly compared to the other accusations. 

“You never told me I failed after an oral test.” 

“I never said you passed, either.” 

“But you looked pleased!”

“Does that translate to a high grade?” 

“It’s disingenuous!” 

“Disingenuous, yes, but falsification? Hardly.” 

“Why is that what you’re caught up on?” you demand, your voice rising in pitch. “The point is, you’re keeping me from graduating. That’s the issue here.” 

“Is it not up to the professor whether their student should graduate or not?” 

Anaxa’s acting facetious to get under your skin and it’s working. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, recalling his lessons about the advantages of preying on your opponent’s emotions in a debate. Is that what this is? Had that been the case, you’d expect a more subtle approach. All this ambiguity is doing you a disservice. He claimed you ‘lacked scope,’ so you opt for a shift in tactics. 

“Why don’t you want me to graduate?” 

“An improvement over your earlier questions,” he notes, nodding in approval. “Still, you should know I dislike giving answers you’ve arrived at yourself.” 

“I haven’t—” 

He interrupts you by speaking your name, his tone low and chill-inducing. Shudders travel along your body. His disappointment reaches into your chest cavity and steals your oxygen. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. This ever-present desire to make him proud has twisted your priorities. Despite yourself, his earlier praise, meager as it was, sent your heart soaring. The acknowledgment of a genius is titillating. 

… Maybe you’re not right in the head either. 

“You’re attracted to me.” 

“A shallow description, albeit accurate.” 

“You don’t want me to leave The Grove.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Some warped sense of attachment, if I had to guess.” 

“Hmph. I wouldn’t call it warped,” Anaxa replies. “The ethics, perhaps, but my intentions aren’t so nefarious. Your talent would be wasted in Okhema. Should you stay, I’d have you as my assistant, a position you’d find challenging and rewarding. Is that not a tempting offer?” 

Your mouth goes dry. 

Tempting? Life-altering would be a better description. The role of assistant to a Sage is enviable for its benefits, monetarily, but more vital, academically. Other scholars are more willing to collaborate, you have access to any materials you research necessitates, and you’re welcomed into previously inaccessible circles. It’s a chance your younger self would’ve killed for. 

However… 

“My intention has always been to return home and apply what I’ve learned. Okhema’s one of the last standing city-states, I want to contribute what I can.”

Anaxa pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re still clinging to those fantasies? Leave that city to the Goldweaver. She has her shortcomings, but when it comes to ruling, she maintains order.” 

“We can’t rely solely on Aglaea. Common people should do their part,” you insist. “I want to see my home prosper, not limp from crisis to crisis.” 

“Such are the times we live in.” 

“So I should just give up, then?” 

“If you have any sense.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘finish what you start?’” 

“We aren’t finished yet,” Anaxa responds, unusually harsh. “Focus on that. Everything else is secondary, a distraction.” 

Your eye twitches. 

“What about what I want?” 

“You want to stay. It’s a misguided civil duty fooling you into believing otherwise.” 

Anaxa’s speaking like he’s objectively correct, as if any claims to the contrary are insipient, a waste of his time. It’s equal parts fascinating and infuriating. You’re reminded of the countless hours spent in this room, passionately defending your rationale against his methodical deconstructions. Except now, it isn’t a theory or method you’re debating, it’s your future. Ultimately, no one aside from you has the final say. His claim that you’re deluded by sentimentality is projection. He’s acting absurd here, not you. 

“I’ve always had great respect for you, professor,” you admit, ignoring a terrible ache in your chest. “You’ve never been afraid to question the status quo, even if it meant challenging the gods. That’s why… that’s why I struggled to believe you’d sabotage me. Call it ‘willful ignorance,’ or whatever, but was it so wrong of me to have faith in my mentor?” 

Anaxa’s eyelashes flutter shut and he smiles. “An appeal to pathos, is it?” 

“It’s called being human, Anaxa.” 

That gets under his skin. His eye is hooded when it reopens, belying irritation. 

“Anaxagoras,” he dryly corrects. 

“Your priorities are a mess.” 

“Insolence should never be tolerated,” he asserts. “I commend your rhetoric. Need I remind you, however, that I’m not to blame for the image you’ve formed of me?” 

You exhale sharply through your nose. So that’s the angle he’s deciding to take? He’s willing to desecrate a shrine you dedicated to him, built with precious memories and experiences?

While studying his physiognomy, you note how stoic he’s become. He’s toned down his usual theatrics. There’s a solemn nature to his gaze, his eyebrow slightly upturned and jaw set firmly. Through his outerwear, you can make out the alchemical symbols inked into his arm. When it comes to pursuing his ambitions, he’s like a man possessed. Nothing is too sacred, not even his own flesh. 

What chance do you have against such determination? 

“You must be lonely, professor.” 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Resorting to insults now, are we?”

“It’s just an observation,” you say. Then, a prolonged pause. “One that you aren’t denying.” 

Anaxa reclines in his seat and clears his throat. “Your company… isn’t unwelcome.” 

It could be your imagination, but you swear there’s a light dusting of pink over his cheeks. He fiddles with the cuffs of his outer garment. Out of all the dubious comments he’s made, that’s what made him self-conscious? The absurdity takes you a few moments to recover from. Anaxa leverages the opportunity, bringing your hands into his. You try pulling away out of instinct, only for him to exert surprising strength. 

Effectively trapped, you cease your futile struggle. 

“Stay,” his voice is so soft, it almost fails to reach your ears. “I’m not above begging, if that’s what it requires.” 

He lowers his head, seeking to propitiate you, as if golden ichor didn’t flow through his veins, denoting his supernal status. He who scorns the divine has taken on the posture of an acolyte. An act befitting a lifelong blasphemer, you suppose. 

Anaxa speaks your full name, each syllable rolling off his tongue like honey. 

“Should you leave, I’ll hasten the eschaton of this world by aiding the black tide.” 

“... And you claim you haven’t ‘lost it?’” 

“Not yet,” he murmurs against your inner wrist. “You’re still here.” 

“What you said could warrant execution.” 

“I prefer to die having had you for myself than to live apart.” 

��You’re mad.” 

“As the progenitor, can a malady fault its symptoms for existing?” 

“Casuistry at its finest.” 

Anaxa finally relinquishes his hold, but not without kissing your racing pulse. 

“Be critical of me all your days, I’ll delight in the offense.” 

You bring your hands to your chest, the skin he lavished in affection tingling. Your head is spinning, like he shifted the world on its axis. His eye scalds you, his magenta pupil burning hot with unrestrained fervor. There's no room for compromise. He will see his designs made manifest or immolate this dying world to punish your rejection.

"What will it be?" he asks.

You close your eyes, unable to withstand his smoldering gaze any longer.

"... My place is by your side, professor."

[bruisedboys]

THUNDERBOLTS — what do you think each of their love languages is? Like they’re so damaged ik lol but I’m so interested to hear your take on this

okay sorry I kinda went in a total spiel here. I love my damaged freaks

the thunderbolts and their love languages (ft. bucky, john, bob & yelena x fem!reader)

bucky is an acts of service guy! he does so many things for you without you having to ask. he makes all your meals (unless you want a turn to cook, then he’ll let you of course, but you’re insane if you think he won’t at least try to help). he ties your shoelaces when they’ve come undone, even in the middle of the street or if it’s raining, he’ll still get down on one knee and do them for you. he refills your water bottle before you even realise it’s empty, he’ll drive you wherever you want to go, and he’ll always always holds the door for you (if you get it before him, he makes you go back inside so he can hold it for you). it’s all the little things but it’s the big things too, helping you bandage a wound when you get hurt, washing your hair when you’re tired or sick or just because! fixing your blocked drain or replacing the cracked tiles on your roof. he just loves doing things for you, whatever you want or need he’s at your beckon call. of course, he’s well aware you’re completely capable of looking after yourself, but he absolutely believes you shouldn’t need to lift a finger if you don’t want to, and he’s happy to lift his finger (or his whole arm) for you at any given time <3

john’s love language is physical affection! he’s not so good with words, so he tries to say what he feels with his hands instead. he’s very protective so he’s always got a hand on the small of your back or around your waist. when he’s driving he’ll almost always have his hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles into your jeans. when he’s talking to you he always has to be touching you, a big hand playing with your fingers while you tell him about your day, or his thumb massaging your neck while you watch a film together. he’ll never admit it to you, but he does it to make sure you’re real, that you won’t just slip away through his fingers like water. he’s worried enough you’ll leave him due to his asshole-like tendencies, but touching you and knowing you’re still right there makes him feel a bit less worried. he loves taking your face in both his hands to kiss you, or pulling you in by the waist, and he gets a kick out of manhandling you when you’re both in the mood for it. also, when he’s asleep he holds you so tight you have to shove him off lest you suffocate <3

for yelena, I think her love language is words of affirmation! she’s the opposite of john in that she’s very good with her words and knows exactly what to say and when to say it. she loves to use a plethora of pet names on you (sweetheart, pretty girl, my love), and she lovesss speaking in russian to you just to see you get flustered. she dishes out compliments so often that you should be used to it, but you’re not, and every time she does it you get shy. she’s always saying things like you look so pretty today, or I love that colour on you, or you did such a good job, baby in that silky smooth voice of hers, and your brain just goes haywire every time. she also never shies away from telling you how much she loves you, and therefore everyone else has to suffer through it too <3 (john blocks his ears whenever she gets all lovey dovey on you in his company)

bob’s love language I think is quality time! he’s never really had someone to love as much as he loves you so he wants to spend every waking second with you. he prefers staying in over going out, but if you want to go out he’s 100% gonna go with you. you tell him you’ve gotta run to the grocery store for five minutes and he’s immediately on his feet, tagging along under the pretence of “making sure nothing happens to you.” while he loves to plan cute dates so he can take you out and spoil you, he really loves to just sit with you at home, whether you’re talking or sitting in silence he doesn’t mind. he loves playing video games with you, cooking with you, going on walks with you, anything that means he gets to spend time in your company. he misses you like crazy when you’re apart, and when you’re together he’s stupid clingy but you don’t mind, and that’s why he loves you so much <3

[incloudcity]

doghouse | qh43

summary: after a dumb argument, Quinn finds himself iced out—literally and emotionally. Now he's spending the weekend pulling every trick he knows to win back the girl who's not saying a word (but definitely saying everything).

You hadn’t spoken to Quinn since Thursday night.

Not a word. Not a sigh. Not even a glance when he tried to catch your eye over the edge of his cereal bowl Friday morning. You were hurt, and you didn’t trust yourself not to say something you’d regret—or cry—so the silent treatment had become your armor.

The argument had been dumb. Over something small that spiraled into something big: missed calls, misunderstood tone, too many nights apart, and one too many “you never…” and “you always…” until you both said things you didn’t mean.

Quinn knew he screwed up. And now, he was spending the weekend making up for it.

He tried subtle.

He cleaned the entire apartment—floors mopped, laundry folded, even your half-used latte cups magically disappeared from the nightstand. He left your favorite takeout on the counter with a Post-it note: ‘Truce?’

You ate it.

But you still didn’t speak.

He tried charm.

You woke up to a bouquet of peonies—your favorite—propped against your pillow. Next to them, a small box. Inside was a keychain shaped like a hockey puck engraved with “#43’s #1 Fan”.

He hovered in the doorway. “I saw it and thought of you.”

Silence.

“Okay. That was cheesy,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

You nodded slowly. Still no words.

He tried desperation.

You were curled on the couch watching some reality dating mess when he came in wearing your pink fuzzy robe. Just the robe. No shirt. No pants. Just legs, robe, and shame.

You almost broke.

“I’m not above begging,” he said, voice sincere under the humor. “But if I have to wear this and be your butler for the rest of the season, I will. I miss you.”

Your jaw clenched. He took a step closer.

“I was wrong,” he said gently. “I was stressed, I took it out on you, and you didn’t deserve that. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t a priority. You are. You always are.”

Still nothing.

He sat on the floor beside you, resting his head on your knee. “Please talk to me. I’m going insane.”

You reached down and combed your fingers through his hair—silent still—but the touch was enough to make his breath hitch.

Quinn woke up to the smell of pancakes. And music. And your humming.

He followed it like a trail of hope and found you in the kitchen, still quiet but clearly making breakfast for two.

“Can I help?” he asked cautiously.

You turned, handed him a plate, and finally—finally—looked him in the eye.

“I want extra syrup,” you said, voice flat.

He smiled like you’d just won the Cup.

“You got it.”

[ms-demeanor]

probably not a good sign that i couldn't talk about work at the con this weekend without crying a little and that I had to force myself to leave my laptop at home so i couldn't do work and leaving my laptop at home made me feel a little panicky and also now i kind of want to throw up instead of going to work tomorrow.

I'm so overloaded that I've become completely ineffective, I've got so many projects that none of them are getting done, fucked up tracking time a couple weeks ago and missed twenty or so hours on my paycheck and am feeling so fried that I am struggling to muster up the energy to fix it (i shouldn't have missed that many hours anyway i'm hourly there's supposed to be a clock system for me but there isn't the time tracking is supposed to be for metrics not for how i get paid and now i have to dump time into fixing that)

there is a repository of business information that lives ONLY on my computer (my personal computer, because I do not have a work computer) that needs to get uploaded to our documentation system but the configs exported from one system as PDFs but can't be uploaded to the other as PDF so I need to open each one and save it in word so I can upload them individually because the system can take word docs but not PDFs

I need to finish creating the spreadsheet of standard hardware and put specifications and part numbers and standard costs on it but I need to meet with the networking team lead so we can go over spec for the networking equipment because the standards are new to both of us and I need to know what he's looking for if one of the standards are out of stock and he needs to learn the abbreviation/part number system for that particular vendor so i need to teach it to him and until we're on the same page I can't finish my hardware standards project

I need to create a guide for the practice leads to reach out to vendors in their relevant practices because right now I'm the one who reaches out so I'm the one who has the meetings about spec quotes and nobody else knows who to call or where to submit a consultation request

I need to create a guide for the techs to source hardware and figure out part numbers and compare specs

i need to quote two printer options for a client

i need to email the vendor about the mis-applied warranty and have it corrected to the appropriate device

i need to get uptime data on eight servers collected for the bimonthly client meeting

i need to call microsoft to get access to a tenant for a user we never should have sold licenses to

i need to check tracking and update the order spreadsheet

i need to export the list of firewalls from one vendor and sort it by active clients and sort it by the ones that need to be replaced because they're EOL and then the ones that need to be renewed and then the ones that aren't on fire that we can consider replacing in two years

I need to look at the list of servers and sort by drive type and get the drive part numbers so that I can get spares to all the clients

of those things, I think I've got tickets for two or three of them. The other forty five tickets I have are unrelated to this task list.

[blorbocedes]

been chewing on a tag I saw @gayferrari type... "wags are the new grid girls"

so what was the point of grid girls - to associate glamour and sex to an otherwise all male sport. too much penis, even the cars are shaped like phalluses they needed that yonic energy. it was a marketing tactic, a ploy to associate F1 with their playboy, drive cars get money bitches pussy aspiration. It was being marketed to men -- hence grid girls, not even women, dressed in the driver's insignia but more scantily clad, to be beside him for the unspoken implication that the driver can have her after winning the race.

it took until 2018 to phase out grid girls and was replaced by grid kids (and many of our presently woke feminist drivers then wanted grid girls to stay), with a growing cultural backlash and feminist criticism to the sexualisation of women as props in sports in an era where f1 was rapidly losing viewership and relevancy.

after the drive to survive netflix blow-up, FOM, Liberty Media started explicitly marketing to a lesser tapped market which is the female demographic. anything that wants to be relevant in the social media age needs stans, and nothing encourages that like parasocial relationships. now we have social media admins engaging specifically in fan spaces, using their language, referencing ships, doing fanservice and moving away from the solely male centric marketing.

now wags have always existed as long as drivers have been heterosexual but it wasn't until victoria beckham peak spice girls fame sitting courtside for david beckham made being a wife and girlfriend look glamorous, the outfits she wore and the face she served. the princess story for the new age, where the prince is a handsome famous athlete and you're the prize, the one he's blowing a kiss before shooting the hoop. it's why we still have nicole from pussy cat dolls and lewis hamilton winning world title edits in the year of 2025. it's that camera panning on her, with her gorgeous brown waves and teary eyes as she did the sign of the cross and ran to lewis, kissing him over his helmet -- the fireworks of yas marina in the background.

if grid girls tapped into a purely male heterosexual fantasy, wags tapped into a heterosexual female fantasy.

we can see this with the meteoric rise in social media following of the new age wags. f1 drivers have always dated models and beautiful women, but now those women become famous and build a following off the men they're seen with. what used to be limited to paparazzi and the daily mail, now has hundreds and thousands of independent gossip pages who follow their every move, meticulously detail every outfit and brand they've worn, track their social media activity, even their personal relationships. f1 wags are now bigger than ever, they're parasocially obsessed over and hated on more than ever, every move watched and criticised or smothered in affection just for existing. I'm not here to moralize on celebrity worship culture idgaf, but all this online attention is currency and it is profitable. hence wags build their own careers off the curated, aspirational image of being a wag. of travelling all over the world to beautiful places, wearing beautiful outfits, having a (up to debate) beautiful man by your side -- and brands have certainly taken notice. hence the sponsorships, beauty and fashion brands and self care sponsors all vying to work with them from your rhode lipgloss to your alo matching set

now Liberty Media has seen the shift -- no longer reliant on their official female mascots of grid girls, it's the meticulously dressed, savvy, skinny, gorgeous wives and girlfriends who are the aspirational women on the grid. it's important to note hundreds of women have always worked at f1 races, on the grid as marshals, in hospitality, as team personnel, as engineers and strategists. but YAWN 🥱 bo-ring! everyone knows the most important people on the grid are the drivers and therefore the most important women are the ones at his side. and so Liberty Media pans the cameras on these women and their doe eyed worry/elation as their guy crosses the finish line. it's more frequent, more lingering, and voyeuristic in a way that invites you to inhabit their place in your mind -- what would that be like? after all, you viewer at home are similarly biting your nails watching your guy cross the finish line. in that moment she represents you.

it's ofc misogynistic to imply the aspiration of wags is just for women — the idea of the Hero taking his helmet off and kissing the swooning damsel is literally in bond movies and appeals to the conqueror/winner male fantasy.

but from a purely marketing standpoint, FOM benefits from putting these women in official unofficial spaces as part of the drivers' (and thus F1's new more sanitized, "inclusive" brand image). When the wags are invited to F1 Academy events to promote them, when they're invited to the official F1 movie that's just for the drivers' viewing as the plus one, when they're shown on DTS beside the drivers in their private lives, or a whole segment that's about Ginger Spice riding horses with her sex pest team principal husband, when they're in hospitality and the camera cuts to them every so often signalling to the you, the audience, are supposed to care about this story they're selling you. it's no longer the scantily clad 'girls' by the drivers' side to be ogled, it's the official dowager titled Wives and Girlfriends selling you the aspirational, western, heterosexual, wealthy, conventionally attractive family unit.

not here to cast any moral judgments on wag culture -- I enjoy looking at beautiful women who live such fundamentally different lives too, but rather looking critically at why the larger media complex behind f1 wants to sell you their personal relationships in the era where your attention is currency~

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader   word count: 2k and i have so many other ideas, lmk if you want more parts! notes: this one goes out to the nonny in my inbox when i asked for ideas! i kinda blended both your ex!reader and babydaddy!jack ideas! hope you enjoy!

You ended things amicably — as amicably as two people can when love’s still there but the capacity to hold it isn’t. Jack didn’t have space for you, your kid, his job, and his trauma. Something had to give.

But you co-parent well enough. There are bumps, but the rhythm is there.

Usually, handoffs are easy. He comes over, eats dinner with you both like old times, then wrangles Beau back to his place. But today’s different — off-cycle. You’re headed to the airport for a work trip, and Jack’s just wrapping up a shift, so you agree to meet at the hospital.

It feels strange walking in. You haven’t been back since the two of you ended things. There are plenty of familiar faces… and a few new ones.

The second Beau sees Jack, he’s wriggling out of your hand.

“Beau—no running in the ER—” you start, but he’s already barreling toward his dad.

“Oof, kiddo, remember we said soft hugs?” Jack laughs, catching him easily, hoisting him up into his arms.

Dana and Robby round the corner just then.

“Hey, look who it is!” Dana says, but Beau clams up, burying his face in Jack’s neck.

“Sorry, you know kids. He’s shy this early,” you say, brushing a hand down Beau’s back. “Be nice to Dana and Uncle Robby, baby.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen either of you around,” Dana says, pulling you into a quick hug. “I only get my Baby Beau fix from Instagram stories now.”

“Oh, I figured Jack would still be throwing his infamous backyard parties,” you say, trying to keep it light.

“Nope, those petered out. What’s it been—three years?” Robby glances at his watch, then at Jack with a pointed look.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize what he’s referencing.

Samira passes by next, lighting up at the sight of Beau. “Hi, Beau! Didn’t know I’d get to see you today!”

“Hi, ‘mira,” Beau murmurs, a soft smile still pressed into his dad’s shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Jack—could I get your opinion on something before you head out?”

Jack looks around. You jump in before he has to juggle.

“I’ve got a few minutes. I can set him up in the lounge?”

Jack nods, grateful. “That would be amazing. It’ll just be a minute.”

As you head down the hallway, you catch a whisper from a pair of interns behind you.

“Damn, didn’t know Abbot married a hottie.”

Dana’s voice cuts in, dry: “Not married. She’s smart enough to not sign a contract with a guy who’s half in love with his job.”

You finish laying out Beau’s coloring book when Jack slips into the lounge, pouring himself a coffee, rubbing at one eye. That tired, end-of-shift look still gets you.

“You know, you could’ve told me you were d-a-t-i-n-g,” you say.

“Huh?” he blinks. “Want a cup?”

“I’m running late,” you wave him off. “And I don’t mind — I just think maybe we should tell each other when new stuff like that comes up. For his sake.”

Jack straightens, confused. “I have no idea what you're talking about. And you didn’t give me a heads up about Carl or Craig or whatever his name was.”

“Chris. And yeah, I should’ve told you. I did tell you, eventually. I’m working on being better about communication, and I’d hope you’d want the same.”

He sighs, then pulls you just outside the lounge, out of earshot.

“Okay, I don’t want to make you even later, but if we’re going to talk, then talk. Don’t allude to stuff — just say it.”

You exhale. “I thought maybe you and Samira were… seeing each other. From the way she spoke to Beau. And the looks from Dana and Robby—”

Jack actually laughs. “She’s 29. I’m her attending. We grab coffee, I mentor her. Sometimes when I have Beau, yeah. If that bothers you, I’ll keep it in mind. But I’m trying to be a good doctor. A good mentor. A good… whatever to you. And it still feels like I’m messing it all up. So just—don’t assume. Talk to me.”

You flush. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed.”

He twists a strand of your hair between his fingers, gently. “Y’know… would take a lot of stress off both of us if you moved back in. We could split the chores. Carpool. Coordinate pickups. Plus, I can think of a few stress relievers we used to be real good at…”

You swat his hand. “Okay, sure. Ha. Ha. I’m going to say bye to Beau. See you Saturday.”

On your way out, you pass Dana outside on her cigarette break.

“You know, a couple doctors I know say those things kill you.”

She exhales a laugh. “Not if this job kills me first. Life’s too short already to deprive yourself of the things — or people — you love.”

“Sure, Dana.”

“Any time, missy. And just so you know… he’s different. He’s been going through it, but he’s doing the work. Seeing that therapist. Doesn’t come in as much on his days off. There’s some… balance there now.”

“Sure, Dana. Bye, Dana.”

But the thought lingers.

Two days into your trip, you’re feeling a bit lonely. It always hits harder when Jack has him. You don’t usually FaceTime when they’re together — boundaries. But this feels like an exception.

you: how’s my boy? jack: i’m doing great. how’s my girl? you: 🙄 you: how’s Beaujack: see, you gotta be more direct. a man could get confused jack: he’s great. hit a double. got a popsicle. we’re watching transformers for the 80th time. classic boys night. you: bad time to try to facetime?

Incoming Call: Jack Abbot (ICE)

You swipe to answer, suddenly aware of the dark circles under your eyes, still in the hotel bed after a full day of networking.

“Mooooommyyyy!” Beau’s voice shrieks through the phone. “I did so good at baseball and then got a treat and Daddy made pasta and we’re gonna watch a movie!”

“That sounds amazing, baby! Are you having a good time?”

“The best! When do you come back?”

“Three sleeps.”

“And then we have Mommy and Daddy time?”

“Of course. You think about what you want to eat, okay? I’ll pick it up on the way.”

“Okay. And then we all sleep here?”

You pause. “No, baby. Remember? I sleep at my house, Daddy sleeps at his. You sleep at either.”

He gets quiet. Your chest aches.

“Alright, time for jammies and teeth. Go get ready, kiddo.” you hear shouted from the other room.

“Okay, bye Mom!” he says, dropping the phone.

Jack’s face replaces the ceiling. “I like hearing your voice in the living room again. Makes the house feel full.”

“Jack. You gotta stop.”

“Just saying. Beau’s not the only one who likes the sound of you here. My offer’s still on the table.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, Jack. Hey… would it be okay if I called again Friday? I know we don’t usually, but… I miss him.”

“You’re never a bother. I could strap the iPad to my chest, have you join us for the whole day.”

You laugh. “God, Jack. You really know how to make a girl’s night better.”

“Oh baby, don’t I always.”

“Bye, Jack.” you roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling when you hang up.

--

The weather turned halfway through your drive from the airport, and between the stop for food and the hike from the only available parking spot, it feels like you swam the last block.

Jack opens the door barefoot, in joggers and a hoodie, towel slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking down to your drenched clothes. “Jesus.” He reaches instinctively for your bag, handing you the towel, hand brushing yours. “C’mon. Let’s get you warm.”

You step inside. Beau’s already wrapped around your legs before you can shrug off your coat. Jack disappears into the kitchen, already dishing out dinner.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just eat,” he says, setting a bowl in front of you. “You’re freezing.”

You sit. The food’s still warm, garlicky, comforting. You glance up at him. “You’ve gotten better at this.”

“Ordering takeout?” he teases, leaning against the counter.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No… this.” You wave a hand vaguely at the house — the toys in the living room, the quiet rhythm of it all. “The parenting. The life stuff. You don’t seem rattled anymore.”

He gives a half-shrug. “Had to be better.”

You eat in companionable silence while Beau chatters from his spot at the table, recapping his week in half-sentences and excited tangents.

“Mom, can I watch a show while you finish?”

“Dad’s house, dad’s rules,” you say, looking to Jack.

“Sure thing, kiddo. But grab your gifts for Mom first — then one episode.”

Beau vanishes.

“Gifts?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jack shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just some stuff he made. He’s proud of it.”

The silence that follows stretches, not quite awkward, but thick with something unspoken.

Then Jack says, low and clear, “I miss you.”

You look up, startled. Heart catching in your chest.

“I know I don’t say it often. Or the right way. But I do. I miss you. Not just the idea of you being around — you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about how it felt, before things got hard. And… how lately, it’s been feeling like that again. When you’re here.”

You put your fork down, gently. “Jack…”

“I’m not asking to go back. Or to pretend the last few years didn’t happen. I’m just wondering if maybe we could try something new. Something more intentional.” He gestures faintly in the direction of Beau’s room. “We’ve already rebuilt the foundation, haven’t we?”

You study him. The steadiness in his eyes. The quiet way he’s offering — not demanding.

Finally, you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d get another version of you.”

“I didn’t think I had another version to give,” he says softly.

“So… what are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m saying I want you back,” he murmurs. “In the way that counts. I want to build this life with you — not just pass each other in it.”

You reach up, cup his cheek. “That’s a really nice speech.”

“I practiced,” he grins.

“You’re still kind of an idiot.”

His smile widens. He brushes a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “I said I’ve grown, not become a completely new person.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Okay. So how do we do this?”

“What?”

“I’m not just moving back in and jumping into bed with you, Jack. You still have a lot to prove.”

“Of course,” he says, straightening a bit. “I was thinking… maybe a family movie night tomorrow? Something easy.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I like the sound of that.”

“And if that goes well, maybe a grown-up movie night? I’ll wine and dine you. And we can make out in the back row like teenagers.”

You laugh, big and genuine. “I think I like the sound of that too.”

“God, I missed your laugh.”

The silence that settles then feels different. Full, not tense.

Then Jack says, almost too casually, “Oh — I’m switching to days.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“Robby and I talked. Figured I’d use this week off to reset my sleep schedule. I start the day shift officially tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Jack…”

“This isn’t about you. Well — a little. But it’s mostly about Beau. Nights just aren’t sustainable anymore, and I want a more stable schedule for him. It’s time.”

You reach up, fingers brushing the side of his hair. “Okay. But only if it’s right for you. I never wanted you to give up what you love.”

“I’m not giving up what I love,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “I did that three years ago. I’m just rearranging things now — so I don’t lose it again.”

You don’t answer with words.

You just kiss him. Soft. Certain.

And when Beau comes racing back in with a construction-paper-wrapped something clutched in his hands, he skids to a stop and grins.

“Are you guys kissing?”

Jack smirks against your forehead. “Yeah, bud. I think we might be.”

[angstandhappiness]

AUGH, PRETTY

expanding on the thought of kudou getting the call sign 'hero' and afo getting irked by it for some reason

[littledes1re]

Hii love. Can you write something about Joel getting you pregnant.

Maybe at first he didn't want kids (but because of his age, he thought he wasn't gonna be the best dad for them). He always knew you wanted, and one day he saw how good you are with them, and desire in your eyes. Maybe some smut thaanks

Makin’ you a mama

Pairing: Old!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, BREEDING KINK, praise, pet names, soft!joel, talking about pregnancy, pinv, unprotected sex (obviously), age gap! (62 x 26), one time joel calling himself ‚daddy‘

A/N: thank you anon for making me write this. I‘ve always wanted to write something like this but never had the balls lmao

It‘s been two years since you and Joel came to Jackson. And you couldn’t believe how well everything was going. After surviving hordes and hordes of clickers, runners and raiders, having to put up with the temperature that keeps on changing, searching for a place to rest and the fear of losing Joel even tho at that time, you two weren‘t even together. He was a grumpy, mad, annoyed man who never let his feelings out. Surviving with him meant also surviving him.

In all kinds that was just the past and a story to tell whenever you were invited to gatherings. Joel and your relationship was strong, you were scared that people would get shy away from the age gap, but apparently they have seen worse in the apocalypse. Whenever you two were together, people looked at you with admiration, asking themselves why their relationship wasn‘t going that well. Joel was overprotective, always made sure you were well taken care of, always listened to you, never argued. Other men had none of that in them. You were happy, content but there was one thing swimming around in the back of your head that you—no matter what, couldn‘t forget.

„You really think I would fit into the father role with my 62 years once again, baby?“ his eyes were gentle, looking at you, searching for enclosure in your expressions.

„Yea, why not? You make me feel taken care of, you are a great man, I know that you would very well fit into that role.“ your voice was just above a whisper. There was a sigh leaving his lips and then he took his glasses of, running trough his hair at the same time.

„I—I don‘t think I can do that. Just give me some time to think about that okey?“

Yet, the answer never came. And you never wanted to push him. So you let it rest. He lost his child once, he once had all of that and went trough a traumatic event, you knew that he was still scared.

And if you were honest with yourself, did you really want to have a baby in this god forsaken place? You really want to have that baby go trough the same traumatic things you two went trough? It wasn‘t easy living here. It wasn‘t easy living else where.

Maybe it was the end of the world. You didn‘t know that.

So you forgot that idea. Out of your mind.

You concentrated on your job. Daycare. Not really the best way to let that thought out of your mind, huh? But you loved it, you loved the kids, the pretty toys that were scattered everywhere, the colourful rooms and the sweet parents that came in and picked their kids up. It was a great way to forget the outside world, to really come close with the humanity that was forgotten for some many years.

Joel was going to pick you up, like he always does after doing his construction work around Jackson. When he came to your workplace tho, he had to stop and was completely lost in his thoughts.

It was you. Having a toddler on your hip, while swinging from left to right, singing to him. Your eyes were full of love, the toddler was laughing with you. His small hands gripping your shirt, tangled in your hair, feeling comfortable with you. Joel subconsciously started to smile, standing there and really thinking about how you would look like as a mother. There was something so effortless about the way you moved, how you instinctively cradled that child with your warmth and certainty. As if motherhood always lived within you, waiting to be embraced.

What if it was your kid in your arms? What if your house was filled with the laughter of having a child. Joel stood there and pictured you, soft glow in your cheeks, carrying the baby beneath your heart. How perfect you would look with a belly, how perfect you would fit into that role.

Joel longed for that feeling. He would do everything in this world to make you happy, to make you comfortable. He would not let you work, he would be there and raise that child with you. He would love you two unconditionally. And suddenly— there it was. The longing to become a father and make you a mother.

„J-joel—what the hell has gotten into you.“ you muttered out, out of breath as joel abruptly pulled you to him, kissing you, just seconds after going inside the house. He didn‘t answer, too hungry to think straight. You yelped as he threw you into the coach, going on top of you and spreading your legs.

„Joel.“ you whined, his hands quickly unbuttoning your shirt, then your bra, his fingers landing on your nipples, gently pinching the nub. You whimpered, too lost in the sudden pleasure, your hips starting to move up against his crotch.

„Pretty breasts are gonna filled with milk.“ he groaned out, your eyes widening. What was he talking about?

„Joel, what the hell are you even talking about?“ his hands stopped on your tits, gently moving to your belly, stroking around, smiling to himself.

„gonna make you a mama, baby.“

„Wait, really?“ you weren‘t sure if you heard that right. The man who was just scared of being a father again, was telling you that he was going to make you a mother. Joel chuckled at your reaction, unzipping his pants, taking his cock out. It was all red, his tip pulsing as he started to jerk off, squeezing it and releasing a moan from his lips.

„Mhm. Ain‘t that what you wanted? C‘mon now, open up.“

„Joel, are you sure? Look I don‘t want to pressure you—”

„I‘m sure. Now don‘t make me wait or I ain‘t giving you anything.“ he teased, your face lighting up as you giggled. Quickly, unbuttoning your jeans, while joel focused on pumping his cock and kissing and biting down your neck line. You spread your legs further, pulling your soaked panties down and running your hands trough your mans hair.

„That‘s right. Look at you, already so soaked. Gonna let me give you a baby, hm?“

His cock rubbed along your slit, your breath coming to a stop as you looked into his lust filled eyes. He slowly fed his cock into your cunt, your mouth falling open at the stretch and fullness you were feeling. His thumb coming at your little clit, slowly rubbing, making you whimper into the silent room.

„shh, I know, I know. That‘s it. Look at you letting me in. Little cunt needs this, baby. Needs me to fill her.“

And you can do nothing but moan and whimper around him as joel sets a rhythm with his thrusts. His cock going in and out of your pussy, the squelching sounds filling the room. Your tits moving up and down, his thumb never letting up on rubbing your clit. His gaze never left you. Concentrated on your fucked out expression, while also focusing on the hard but gentle thrusts he was giving you. Your knees trembling, thighs quivering—he was fucking you with all he had.

Your heels dug into the couch under you, your hips going closer to him, wanting to feel him just a little bit deeper. His cock meets your spot this way, making you cry out.

„That‘s the spot, yea?“ he groans out.

„Mhm.“ you whimper as an answer, too lost in the pleasure to even look into his eyes. You squeezed them, putting your hands on your tits playing with them.

„Gonna be a gorgeous mother, I know it, angel.“

Joel knows you are close as he sees your tummy clenching, your thighs shaking. He feels himself coming closer too, so he pulls you just closer into him, his thrusts concentrating on that spot in you, his hands holding your back so he stays as deep as possible in you.

„Daddy‘s gonna fill you up, but I want you to cum with me. C‘mon.“

He whispers into your ear, your toes curling as you feel the orgasm coming closer to you in your tummy.

„Doing so so well f‘me aren‘t you?“

His thrusts were growing sloppy as he breathlessly whispered praises into your ear.

„Belly gonna swell, tits gonna be full of milk. Letting that old man fill her up to the brim. Yea, my good girl, baby.“ And that what it all took for you to snap. You cried out, gripping his shoulder, feeling his cock twitch in your cunt, releasing rope after rope of cum into you. You clench, squeezing him for all of his worth, while biting into his shoulder and coming down from your orgasm.

While catching his breath, he gently lays you down again, caressing your tummy but doesn‘t pull out. Without a word he suddenly grabs you, his cock still in you, he carries you to the bedroom.

„Need it to take, baby.“

And you know that it‘s going to be a long night.

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