Slaves Who Escaped Were Breaking The Law. Literally. Outright.

Marc: Who's that? *points at the hat wearing guy* Steven: Oh? He says his name is Jacked Jockley. He speaks Spanish! Somehow has the keys to our flat the same as us. Marc: Shouldn't we figure out who that guy is Steven? Steven: Ehhhhhhhh nah, I have to go to work anyways. Bye bye you two! Make friends! Jack: ¡Adiós Steven! ¡Que tengas un buen día! ¡Espero verte mas tarde! (Bye Steven! Have a good day! I hope to see you later!)

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Marc: So... Jack how are you?

Jack: Fuck you Marc Spector

sometimes you have to pretend your kitchen is a club dance floor and get a little whorish while cooking your frozen pizza. it’s called living deliciously in a pandemic

I was thinking about this all day and its so hurt💔

she ate

i dont bite people anymore. but i did as a child cos i thought i was a werepuppy. also i was still mormon so i would go into the school bathroom at 11:11 everyday (not a mormon thing i was just obsessed with witches n pretended i was one in 5th grade) and pray that god would turn me into a little dog so i could stop going to school. and i was always like "if you don't turn me into a little dog i will STOP BELIEVING IN YOU" and he didn't so i did.

found out in the lemire run matt is canonically jake lockley's lawyer and subsequently lost my mind

By the end of Tuchanka, it’s become exceedingly clear Shepard doesn’t expect to live through the war. 

They say they hope Mordin is putting in a good word for them in the afterlife, and the “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” comment is just so… resigned.

They hope they can win the war, but they don’t really expect to see the peace. They know they’re going to give everything to this. 

Damn. 

could i please request a blurb w hotch like the scaring off a creep one u did with james 🥹🫶

Thank you for your request! fem!reader, tw unwanted advance

When a creep at the bar won't leave you alone, you look for the most intimidating man in the room. You know it might make things worse for you, but his suit jacket screams businessman, maybe lawyer, and while lots of lawyers are scumbags, he's standing with another man and two women, neither of which are under his arm, so you take your chances. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you." A cruel hand tightens around your wrist.

"I already told you I have a boyfriend," you say, pulling your hand away from the creeper's reach. 

"I already told you I don't believe it," he says. 

You rag your hand out of his touch and weave through people, until you're close enough to almost throw the businessman off his feet as you slot yourself under his arm. He stiffens, and his friends all react defensively, but luckily he puts up his hand and nobody tries to tackle you. 

The creeper is a couple steps behind you, and he doesn't see the strange reaction your 'boyfriend' has to your hiding in his side, thankfully.

"If you don't leave me alone," you say as bravely as you're able, hand curling with real nervousness into the businessman's shirt, "my boyfriend's gonna ask you outside." 

Creeper looks at you, shocked, and then at the businessman with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Is she fucking for real? 

The businessman's arm settles properly around your shoulder, his hand braceleting your naked upper arm. 

"Did you hear her or not?" he asks, and his voice is so steady, so commanding, he startles not only the creeper but you, too. 

"I can repeat it for you, if you'd like," says his dark-haired friend. She's almost as fierce as he is. 

Finally, finally, your creeper admits defeat and turns away. You watch him walk all the way to the door, and then you turn around and hang your head. 

"Sir," you say, "I am so, so sorry to just barge into you like that." 

"Are you hurt?" he asks. 

You look up, blinking. "Oh, no, not really. He grabbed me pretty hard, but that's when I came up to you." You smile at him and his friends. "You're the most intimidating person here. No offence." 

He rolls his eyes at the wave of his friends' raucous laughter.

"He absolutely is," says a shorter blonde woman, grinning. 

You nod your apologies at all of them and turn back to the maybe-not-businessman, who's really quite handsome both smiling and glaring. You decide you like the smiling more. 

"Could I buy you a drink?" you ask. "As an apology? Or a thank you." 

"No." He holds his arm out like he might steer you away and your heart drops, but he adds, "I'll buy you one. If that's alright." 

There's nothing forceful in his offer. The pit fills. Excitement blooms.

"That's alright," you confirm, words coloured by a tell-tale happiness. 

He guides you to the bar with a big hand behind your shoulder. Good-natured laughter follows from his table of friends, as well as a short but enthusiastic cheer of, "Go Hotch." 

"What's a hotch?" you ask, perplexed.

He laughs, a light, airy thing, at odds with his stern looks. "No idea. My name's Aaron, by the way."