#its a hot mess! but theres something in there! im determined to find it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starkercrossedlovers · 5 years

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Call Me, Maybe? 📞

This is part two of the sex line fic Hotline Bling and I hope you all enjoy!!

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Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe

Peter’s had the song stuck in his head for days, humming it under his breath in class, as he patrols, singing off key and loud in the shower...it’s silly, but he can’t stop.

It doesn’t help that he’s made it the ringtone for Tony, and when he’s not in class, it blares every time the older man calls or texts.

Which is a lot.

Because they sext and text and call each other...all. The. Time.

He swerves and dodges a blast from a robot seemingly intent on homicide and hisses when one of its lasers slices through his suit and into his ribs.

He should be getting ready to meet Tony, but no, some maniacal asshole had to go and ruin his date. He’s already sent Tony a text that he’s not going to make it—last minute paper to finish!—but he’s hoping that if he can just—

The robot tangles in the webs he shoots and then blasts it with an EMP, grinning in delight when it collapses to the pavement below.

He webs it down more securely until SHIELD arrives and then swings away, back to the apartment. It’s only when he’s in the shower that the wound on his side makes itself known again and he hisses as blood streams down the drain. His fingers shake as he wraps a bandage around his torso after the shower, wincing at the ache in his side.

He can’t go meet Tony like this...

Sighing, he pulls on soft sweatpants and a T-shirt, toweling off his hair as he heads for his desk.

He does actually have a paper to work on...even if he’d much rather be somewhere else...with someone else.

Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe

He grins when he sees his phone light up with a new text from Tony.

Tony: hey baby, I know you gotta paper to write, just wanted to say I miss that pretty face

He melts.

Snaps a pic of him, post shower, pink cheeked and shirt slipping off one shoulder and sends it.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Tony: oh baby...ur so pretty...wish I was there to mess you up, get you all dirty

Peter: me too...I’ll call you when I’m done?

Tony: yes plz baby 😘😘😘

Peter grins and sets the phone aside, determined to focus and get this paper done.

Then he can play.

——————————

When he’d first met Tony at the coffee shop two weeks ago he’d kinda expected to be taken somewhere private and fucked senseless. Instead, Tony had bought them coffee and guided him to a corner table and they had talked...for hours.

He’d found out the older man is a mechanic and former race car driver, with a penchant for sex line work on the side. He’d explained that he likes the work; he’s always enjoyed making his partners cum and being a sort of blank canvas for other’s needs is something he finds enjoyable.

Clad in a flannel button down with a Black Sabbath T-shirt underneath, jeans that clung to his thighs, and combat boots, he was...entirely unexpected.

They talked mechanics and engineering, biochemistry and history, social justice and morality and before Peter had realized it, his stomach was demanding food. When he tried to apologize, Tony just laughed and guided him out to his car—a 75 Aston Martin Vantage, cherry red with gold accents—and took him to dinner.

He finds out that Tony’s 45, single, divorced with no kids, and co-owner of Stark Industries with his ex wife, Pepper Potts. Peter can barely believe he’s sitting with a man named in the top 100 wealthiest people in the world eating burgers from some hole in the wall diner, but yea, it’s real.

When he dropped him off after that first date he asked if he could kiss him and then proceeded to do so until Peter was hard and aching, clinging to the older man and gasping his name, whispering a plea that Tony had struggled to refuse. He sent Peter inside and called him minutes after he got home, listened to him jerk off and beg for Tony, cuming alongside him just a few short minutes later.

They’ve seen each other nearly every day since then, talked just about every night, texted constantly, and still, Tony hasn’t fucked him yet. This weekend though, he’s going to make it happen. Aunt May is going to Chicago for a conference and he’s assured her he’ll be fine, nudged her out the door and then waited ten minutes to text Tony.

Peter: home alone this weekend, come over?

He bites his lip, pacing as he waits for a response and then jolts when his phone starts playing that familiar ring tone.

Tony: have a few more meetings at SI 8 ok?

Peter: yes!

Tony: see you later sweetheart 😘

Peter sighs, it’s noon, which means he has to wait all day for Tony. It’s an in service day so he’s home alone, with nothing to do. A grin creeps over his face and he runs to his room, shedding clothing until he’s in his boxers.

Screw homework, he’s going to tease Tony till he comes over early and fucks him.

He plays with his nipples until they’re sore and achy, chest flushed pink with desire and hair messy from writhing on his bed. He snaps a pic and sends it—missing you—he captions it.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Tony: baby...Jesus...u look so good

Peter shoves a hand into his boxers and takes another pic so Tony can see. Wish you were here he sends along with it.

Tony: Christ kid...trying to focus on this budget mtg and that’s not helping

Peter grins and records a small video of his hand stroking his cock inside his boxers, loops it into a gif and sends it.

Tony: fuck...baby boy, ur making daddy hard. Gonna get in trouble if u can’t behave

Peter records another short video and allows himself to gasp and moan, need you daddy he whispers, grinning as he sends it.

There’s a long few minutes of nothing and then—oh...Tony’s sent him a video of him, in the bathroom presumably, stroking his cock and murmuring.

Look what you did to daddy baby, look how hard you made me...daddy can’t even get through a meeting without his baby needing him, huh? Gotta leave work early and come take care of you?

Tony groans as he cums, and Peter moans with him, spilling over his own hand, grinning as Tony huffs and murmurs—be good baby, I’ll be there soon.

——————

Soon, it turns out is three more hours. Which is still much earlier than he’d originally said he’d be there, but still, it feels like an eternity to Peter. He’s actually done his chores; laundry, cleaned his bathroom, completed his bio homework, and he’s thinking of going out for a patrol when there’s a knock at the front door.

He tugs on a T-shirt and hurries out, beaming when he sees it’s Tony through the peephole. He manages to get out a surprised gasp at the sight of him in a suit before the older man pushes him inside and kicks the door shut. Tony’s on him all at once, hands cupping his ass as he lifts him, mouth hungry on his as he presses Peter against the wall, devouring him.

Peter whines as Tony’s mouth trails over his throat, marking it deeply before he fists a hand in Peter’s hair and pulls, tilting his head so he can kiss all along his collarbones and lick at the soft space in the hollow of his throat.

Tony rolls his hips into Peter’s so he can feel the hard line of his cock as he growls in his ear.

“Can’t even get through a few hours alone, huh baby? You that desperate? Hmm?”

Peter’s breath hitches and he nods, gasping when Tony’s fingers tighten in his hair to hold him still.

“Gonna have to teach you how to wait baby. Gotta learn patience.”

Tony backs away from the wall and carries Peter to his room, lays him down and strips him bare, and then just sits back, looking at him. Peter makes a soft noise, needy and pitchy, slides a hand down to wrap around his cock, only for Tony to bat it away and then capture the other, pinning them above his head in one easy move.

“No touching baby. That’s for daddy,” Tony tells him, smiling dark and dangerously. Peter whines but nods, arches his hips up as though he thinks it’ll get Tony’s attention to his cock, but the older man just backs away, keeps his hips high so Peter can’t make contact.

“Keep your hands there baby,” Tony instructs before sitting back, his weight on Peter’s thighs so he can’t move. Peter watches as he strips off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves so the bronzed skin of his forearms is exposed. He’s so densely muscular, years of working on cars honing his body into a solid weight that feels perfect on top of Peter.

Tony grabs the lube Peter had out earlier and slicks his palm before wrapping his hand around Peter’s cock, smirking when he gasps and tries to arch into it. He strokes him slow and steady, eyes dark and hungry as Peter moans and writhes, gasping Tony’s name as he gets closer, heat building in his stomach.

I’m gonna... he manages to gasp out...and Tony’s hand is gone. Peter sobs at the loss of sensation, whining as his orgasm fades away, tossing his head on the pillow unhappily.

When Tony resumes stroking him he moans and shudders, but it’s only a few minutes later that Tony removes his hand again. “I told you baby, you gotta learn to wait,” Tony croons, hand rubbing Peter’s thigh soothingly as he keens and writhes.

Peter’s not sure how long it goes on for like that—hours, days? All he knows is Tony’s hand on him and the ache in him growing each time it isn’t allowed to break free. He’s sobbing for each breath, tears wetting his lashes as he begs and begs, every nerve in his body like a live wire.

“Want you...in me,” he manages to gasp, begging please please please, and it seems like Tony softens for moment, considering his plea. He nods slowly and grabs Peter’s hips, rolls him into his stomach and then pulls him to his knees, gently pushes his head back down when he tries to lift it.

“Okay baby,” Tony murmurs, “just hold on.”

Peter expects his fingers, lube maybe, but he doesn’t expect—Tony’s tongue, hot and wet over his hole, licking fervently into him. He cries out shrilly, gasping and clutching at the sheets as Tony devours him; licking and sucking at his rim until it feels puffy and loose, tongue thrusting in and moving inside him.

It’s joined by a finger and then another, thick and calloused, firm inside him, stretching as Tony continues to attack his rim. Peter keens when Tony nips at him, the sensation nearly overwhelming as a third finger joins the other two.

He can feel Tony searching, and when his fingers find it, Peter lets out a strangled scream and thrusts back, eyes rolling back as Tony fucks into him. He’s loose and wet and it’s loud, the sound of Tony’s fingers inside him—sloppy in a way that should be disgusting but makes his gut burn with pleasure.

He can feel it rising within him, hot and desperate and he tries, but he can’t form words, just strangled moans of Tony and daddy as he drools info the mattress and then everything goes white; soundless, sightless, senseless.

As sound and sensation creep back in around the edges he’s aware of how hard he’s cum, and the fact that he’s still hard. Tony’s fingers are still in him, and the older man is murming softly.

“Look at you sweetheart, look at the mess you made. That pretty little cock is still hard, huh? Well, you don’t get to cum again till daddy does,” he warns. Peter can hear a belt being undone and a zipper sliding down and then Tony’s fingers slip out of him and he moans at the loss, rocking back to chase them.

Tony laughs softly and turns him around, pulls him into his lap where he’s still dressed, but his cock is out, hard and red and throbbing. He guides Peter up and holds his hips as he pulls him down, eyes hooded and dark as they watch him.

Peter sobs at the sensation; Tony’s cock is thick and long, and it’s, it’s breaking him apart as he sinks down onto it, breath hitching as the head slips past his rim, a sobbing moan sliding from his throat as Tony pushes into him slowly.

It’s too much, too thick, pressing into his soft insides, and it hurts, but not real pain, pain like when he makes himself cum too many times in a row or pokes a bruise—heavy, throbbing sensation that makes him ache for more.

Tears blur his vision as Tony fills him, hard and heavy in his gut, the head of his cock pushing into his prostate like a punch to the gut. He shudders and curls inward, tucks himself into Tony’s chest panting and whining as Tony pushes the rest of the way into him.

He’s so full...it feels like he could split apart at the seams from how Tony’s cock is seated inside him, pressing into him, the weight of it taking his breath away. He’s shivering and breathing unsteadily, and when Tony’s hand makes slow circles over his back and his lips press into his hair, he whines and nuzzles into him further.

“You okay baby? We don’t have to keep going,” Tony murmurs, lips against his ear, voice warm with concern.

Peter shakes his head and sniffles, “S’really full,” he slurs, “s’alot.”

Tony nods and kisses his temple, “I know baby, just breathe, mmkay?”

Peter manages a weak nod and turns his chin so his nose is in the crook of Tony’s neck and his scent floods his nose; warm and spicy with undertones of grease and metal. Tony keeps making slow circles over his back and eventually he realizes he’s rocking his hips, making slow circles of his own on Tony’s cock.

“You ready baby? You gonna ride daddy’s cock?” Tony asks, voice a low hum in his ear.

Peter nods and wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders as he sits straighter, a little bleary eyed as he stares into Tony’s eyes. The older man smiles and lifts a hand to cup his cheek, a tender expression on his face as Peter gains his rhythm.

“You’re so beautiful baby, all pink and flushed and fucked out from daddy cock. Love those little noises you make,” he murmurs, thumb pressing into Peter’s lower lip and then into his mouth as the boy moans and rolls his hips faster.

Peter is dazed and a little light headed, need swelling within him once more as he rides Tony, gasping and moaning around the fingers in his mouth. His ass burns, stretched open and throbbing at the weight of Tony’s cock thrusting into him, the heat of it filling him till he’s like a ripe fruit, swollen and ready to burst.

He sobs a little as he thrusts faster onto Tony, arching his back as he finds that spot within himself, pleasure like white lightning up his spine every time Tony’s cock drags over it. He’s not even coherent as he lifts himself and slams back down, cries loud and wrecked, chest heaving with every breath.

P-pleaseeeee...daddy! Uhn Uhn Uhn

Tony’s grip tightens on him as he watches his boy, flushed and crying, cock bouncing as he rides him, loud desperate moans filling the small apartment.

He wishes he had the foresight to record this, so he could watch it over and over again when they’re apart—next time, he promises himself. Pleasure burns in his gut as Peter bounces on his cock, tears on his cheeks as he begs to cum, cock drooling heavily on his stomach.

He’s close himself now, and decides to take mercy on his sweet boy. Wrapping his hand around his cock he strokes, twisting at the head and thumbing at the sensitive tip, groaning as Peter wails and jerks, sounds strangling as he bounces harder, faster.

Peter can’t tell where pain ends and pleasure begins; he’s too stretched out and Tony’s touch on his cock hurts, but he needs it, needs to cum, and the thrust of his cock inside him is hard against the bruised walls of his body, but it’s good, so so good and he can’t, he can’t—

Tony sucks a mark to his neck, “Cum for me baby,” he gasps, pressing his nail into the tip of Peter’s cock just as he slams down on Tony’s length. A wail rips from his boy’s throat and then his cum is splattering over his stomach and Tony’s hand and on his suit and he’s shuddering and following after him, spilling hot inside Peter with a groan of his name.

Peter sobs, rocking down on Tony as his cum fills him, hot against his tender insides, slipping out around his puffy, raw rim and he cries, shuddering through each spurt of his own cock into Tony’s hand until he’s got nothing left to give and he’s limp in Tony’s arms.

The older man hushes him as he cries, holds him tight and presses kisses to his face and throat and hair, crooning praise. “So good baby, you were so good. I’m so proud of you.”

Tony gently guides him back against his pillows, pulls out slowly and hushes Peter’s whine at the loss. Peter buries his face in Tony’s shoulder and breathes unsteadily as the older man runs his hands over him, shudders when his thick calloused fingers slide into his hole where he’s wet and open.

“God baby, look at you,” Tony rasps out, voice low and gravelly. “You’re a mess sweetheart. All open and wet with daddy’s cum.”

Peter whines and pushes his face against Tony’s throat, embarrassed but pleased.

“C’mon baby, look” Tony encourages and he finally pulls away, leans up and peers down, flushes when he sees the way his thighs are coated in sticky white, his and Tony’s cum staining his skin.

He collapses back and throws an arm over his eyes, entirely exhausted and wrung out. A dull ache throbs inside him where Tony was, and he can feel his hole trying to tighten, but he’s still loose and dripping cum and he shivers, enjoying the slick sensation of it.

Tony kisses his cheek and pushes his arm off his eyes, gaze worried and soft. “Are you okay Peter? Anything hurt?”

Peter laughs softly and slings his arm around Tony’s neck, draws him down for a kiss that’s uncoordinated and sweet. “I’m ok, promise,” he breathes against Tony’s lips. The older man studies him with a hint of suspicion and then nods, smiling softly.

“Mmkay sweetheart. We’re gonna shower and then you’re gonna eat and watch a movie with me.”

Peter stares at him for a long moment, throat working to produce the words he wants desperately to ask.

“You’re staying?”

Tony’s gaze softens and he nods, leans in for a kiss, “Baby, of course I’m staying—you’re never getting rid of me now,” he promises with a wry little smirk Peter can feel against his mouth.

He grins and pulls him closer, “Good. I don’t want you going anywhere...except inside me.”

Tony laughs and drops his head to Peter’s shoulder, body shaking with laughter and Peter grins; he’s so glad he called that line and found Tony.

Found this.

Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe

———————

@sluttystarker @starkerchemistryy @pantastic-peach @thebadthingshappen @ciel-mio @hpspazz @starker-4ever @w1nters-stark @foof-a-loof @confused-trash-kitten @panicdotexe @stqrker @honey-honey-darling @mariketa12 @itsmeryshipper @dramione90 @starker-flame @pretzelpoetry @seriouslystarker @starkerthanreality @ikneelbeforemygod @professional-fangirl75 @virgilismypoorshadowling @godlovesstarker @sapphicfreak @veronicashipsit @the-dark-obsidian-princess @ikneelbeforemygod @laughing-oreo @sensei-sans-sugoi @ruelukas22 @tom-starker @yourlittlemelody

#starker #starcrossedtalks #peter parker x tony stark #peter x tony #daddy stark

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thotful-writing · 5 years

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Obedience

Jacob Seed/F! Character

Description: She had been reluctantly taken into Jacob's training as a Hunter, she was strong, but needed to learn her place and obey commands. Jacob had tried everything, there was only one other way to teach her.

A/N: I don't write much Jacob stuff, but figured I'd give it a go.

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, dom/sub undertones

Jacob paced the room, he wasn’t sure if he was angry or worried, he decided to go with both. He hadn’t heard from her in hours, he told her not to do anything but of course she was stubborn and constantly trying to prove herself. Suddenly the door opened, he stopped, his heart pounding as all of the worst scenarios ran through his mind. He was set at ease when he saw her walk in.

“I told you-I told you not to go, but you went anyways? You disobeyed a direct order.” He stalked towards her, anger seething through him.

“I-I was doing it for the Project, to help.”

“It was too dangerous to do alone and now I’m going to have to go and fix your mess.” He stopped a few inches away, glaring down at her.

“But-I did it. I secured the outpost.” She stepped back trying to get some distance from his obvious rage.

He blinked at her confused for a moment, how could she have secured the outpost on her own? With no backup?

“You did it? By yourself?”

“Yep. No problems or anything, Sir.” She gave him a weak smile, hoping he’d be grateful.

“You still went against my orders. You’ll have to pay for that.”

She wasn’t fond of Jacob’s punishments, he was always so creative. She had been under his training for a few months now, she desperately wanted more with him, but knew her feelings weren’t reciprocated in any way. Jacob was all work and no play, completely closed off from any emotions or affection.

She shivered outside in the rain as she held the large rock over her head, her arms trembled, ready to give out if she let them.

“Why don’t you just put the rock down? Come inside where it’s warm?” He said as he paced around her.

“No, Sir.” She responded, keeping her gaze forward.

“Just put it down, it’ll be fine.” He continued to try and persuade her.

“N-No, Sir.” She shivered.

“Are you disobeying my orders?” He circled her like a predator circling his prey.

“N-No, Sir. You told me not to put this rock down until the sun came up. That’s what I’m going to do.” Her arms continued to shake. She’d sooner drop it on her head than put it down and disappoint him.

“Have it your way.” He said as he went back inside.

She could no longer feel her fingers, she was pretty sure they were now permanently attached to the rock. The rain let up a little, but she was soaked to her core, there was no way she’d get out of this without getting pneumonia. Jacob returned with a hot bowl of soup, he stood in front of her and got a spoonful, blowing it gently in front of her face. She instinctively licked her lips, she’d give anything for some food right now.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you hungry?” He furrowed his brow as he looked at her.

“Y-Yes, Sir.” She didn’t look at the soup, she held her gaze to his.

“Come inside and get some food. There’s plenty.” He placed the spoon in his mouth and made the most ridiculously pleased face.

“N-No, Sir.”

“You sure? It’s delicious.” He took another bite.

“Y-Yes, Sir.” This was the only time in her life she ever denied food and it pained her to do so.

“Guess I’ll just give the rest to the Judges then.” He left her once more.

6 hours, 6 hours had passed, she only knew because she could see the sun peaking over the horizon, she continued to wait though, determined to hold out until Jacob gave her permission to come inside.

“Oh, you’re still out here?” Jacob stretched and yawned in front of her.

She nodded her head her body trembled, she no longer had the energy to speak and her mouth was pretty much frozen shut.

Jacob didn’t say anything, he grabbed the rock from her and dropped it to the ground. Her arms immediately fell to her sides, they felt like cooked noodles. She moved to step out of the mud, but her legs gave out and she fell to the ground. Who knew standing in the same position for 6+ hours would cause your legs to become stiff and buckle the second you tried to move? She pushed herself up on her hands and knees, took a deep breath and tried to stand back up, but it was no use, she fell back down to the ground.

Jacob sighed as he watched her feeble attempts. He was initially reluctant to take her on as a Hunter, but she persevered through his training and had proven herself worthy, she still had a stubborn streak that needed to be broken though. He rolled his eyes before he leaned down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms.

“S-Sir?” She looked at him surprised.

“Jesus, you’re freezing.” He said as she shook in his arms.

He carried her inside and passed the shared quarters for the Hunters, he continued walking down the corridor to his quarters, she’d glanced inside but had never fully been in it before. He placed her in his bed and covered her with the thickest fleece comforter. He left for a moment before returning with two more blankets, piling them on her. She continued to shake under the warmth, but the feeling was coming back into her extremities slowly. Jacob stood over her as she shivered, her lips almost blue, he knew she needed more heat. He kicked his shoes off and pulled the covers back, lying down beside her and covering them both back up. He pulled her close to his chest.

“S-Sir, you don’t have-“

“Shut up. Your body temperature is too low. Why did you stand out there so long?” He scolded her.

“B-Because you t-told me to, Sir.”

“If you had followed my orders that closely before then you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Although it was a bit awkward, she actually enjoyed her current situation, not the freezing to death part, but the being in bed close to Jacob part. His body heat was helping warm her up quicker though, she had stopped shivering as she laid next to him. Jacob tried his hardest to remain completely unfazed by her closeness, he couldn’t deny he’d desired her for a while now, especially in watching her strength and determination increase over the months. Now, as she lay so close to him, he wasn’t sure how much resolve he had to resist her, one glance wouldn’t hurt, would it? He looked down to see her asleep against his chest, breathing softly. He brushed a piece of hair off her face, he panicked slightly when she stirred, but relaxed when she continued to sleep.

She stretched across the bed to find Jacob had left her, she wondered how long he stayed with her? Her arms were still sore and weak as she left the bed, she wanted to seek him out, to thank him, but she decided to return to her quarters instead.

“Heard you got quite the punishment yesterday.” One of the other Hunters commented as she entered the room.

“Lasted longer than you did though, how long did you stay out there before you’d pissed yourself?” She smiled smugly.

“You’re right, I didn’t last long out there. Maybe if I had then Jacob would have shared his bed with me too. But I guess we can’t all spread our legs for special treatment.”

She wanted to lash out, but she refrained, she knew Jacob wouldn’t be happy if she started killing off his Hunters. She ignored the comment and gathered her clothes to go take a shower. She let the hot water warm her still semi-frozen bones, her fingers and toes still felt somewhat numb. When she returned to the shared room the man was still there, he glanced up at her, but she ignored him. Before she knew what was happening, he was behind her, pressing her against the concrete wall.

“Just want a taste of what Jacob gets.” He said into her ear as his hands travelled down her body.

She would have screamed but it wouldn’t have done any good, Jacob would have come to save her, but it would’ve only made things worse for her. She let him get distracted by her compliance, he let his guard down for a moment, she threw her elbow back into his face as hard as she could. He yelled out in pain as he stepped back from her, holding his nose.

“Touch me again and I’ll slit your fucking throat while you sleep.” She turned around to face him.

He was about to say something, but Jacob entered the room, “What’s going on here?” He crossed his arms as he glanced between the two of them.

“Nothing, Sir.” She feigned innocence.

“The blood pouring from his nose tells me it’s more than ‘nothing’. What happened?” He looked at the man.

“I-I tripped.” He said as he continued holding his nose.

“Is that so? Maybe you need more agility training then, clean yourself up and meet me outside in 10.”

The man left, glancing back at her, she held her gaze on Jacob. She didn’t want to tell him what had almost happened, she was worried he’d see her as weak.

“There something else I need to know?”

“No, Sir.” She shook her head. He looked at her for another moment before leaving the room, he was certain he knew what had happened and he didn’t plan on taking it easy on the guy.

“Jacob? Hello? Anyone?” A voice rang over the radio, she looked over at it, Jacob was still outside.

“Yes?” She pressed the button and answered, knowing she should’ve just gone to get Jacob.

“We need help! We’re under attack here at the Elk Jaw Lodge, by the Resistance, there’s too many of them. Send help!”

She stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. She knew she could get there quickly and help, as well as prove herself to Jacob, but he was so furious when she’d done the same thing the other day. She made her decision, she grabbed her guns and headed out. There were a lot more Resistance members than there should have been, by the time she got there it was almost too late, there were only a few followers left. She ran in, guns blazing, taking out anyone and everyone she saw. Her adrenaline was pumping so fast she didn’t realize when she got nicked by a bullet as it tore through the skin on her arm. When it was all over, she had either killed all the Resistance members or they had run away. She helped the remaining followers get patched up until reinforcements could come. She decided it was best if she headed back to the VA Center, hoping Jacob had heard about her success.

She walked in the door, half expecting to see Jacob waiting for her again, but he wasn’t there. She walked down the corridor further until she reached his quarters, she peaked inside but didn’t see him. Suddenly she felt someone grab her arm and turn her around.

“Looking for someone?” Jacob asked as his eyes bore into her.

“N-No, Sir.” She tried to pull free of his grasp, but he held firm.

“Heard you were down at Elk Jaw Lodge.”

“Yes, Sir. They needed help so I-“

“So, you disobeyed a direct order, again, and went to play hero?” He clenched his jaw as he glared down at her.

“Sir, I-“

“What’s it going to take to break you, hm? To get through to you that you don’t call the shots around here?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She stared up at him, genuinely worried about what he would do. She didn’t think helping would be such a bad thing, but she did go against him, and she had made a habit of it recently. Jacob held her arm as he pushed her into his room, slamming the door closed behind him. She trembled slightly as she stood in front of him, not knowing what he was going to do to her. He grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her hair back, forcing her to look at him.

“You’re going to learn how to obey commands.” Before she could register what was happening his lips crashed into hers, kissing her forcefully.

He shoved his tongue into her mouth, she welcomed the intrusion and swirled her tongue around his. She fought for dominance in the kiss but was quickly reminded of her place by a hard pull on her hair and a sharp bite on her bottom lip. He pulled away from her abruptly, leaving her breathless and wanting.

“Clothes.” He commanded.

She didn’t need to be told twice, she quickly rid herself of her shirt and unbuttoned her pants. She paused momentarily when he grabbed her arm, looking over the wound she had, bringing her attention to it as well. He let out a heavy sigh at the sight, but knew it wasn’t anything life threatening, deciding to leave it for later. She returned to her task and removed her pants, remaining only in her panties in front of him.

“Still don’t listen.” He said as he grabbed the waistband of her panties and pulled them until she heard the fabric stretching and then ripping apart.

She shifted her legs, feeling her wetness already soaking her thighs and he hadn’t even touched her yet. He tossed her underwear to the floor with her other clothes and circled her, just as he had done before, like he was a predator and she was his prey. She jumped when his hand landed hard on her bare ass, sending shivers over her body at the contact. He moved forward, pressing his body against her back, she could feel his hardness on her ass, she instinctively reached back to palm him through his pants. He let her for a moment before giving her another smack on her ass. She pulled her hand away from him immediately. He remained there, his hands on her shoulders pulling her back against him, he loved the feeling of her body on his. He trailed kisses down the side of her neck, biting into the flesh on her shoulder. She moaned instinctively and reached back for him again, needing to touch him. The second her hand touched him he spanked her again, harder this time. She withdrew her hand once more.

“Desk.” One word was all she needed, she walked over to his desk and bent over it, waiting.

He remained where he was, admiring her from afar as she waited for him. How he wanted to take her now, on every surface in the room, but she needed to learn her place first. He didn’t move for several minutes, she began to wonder what the hold up was, she turned her head to look at him.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

“No, Sir.” She turned her head forward.

He moved closer, his fingers tracing down her spine lightly, she felt goosebumps form across her skin as his fingers moved down further, barely touching her ass. She pushed back into his hand, hoping to coax him into touching her more, the only thing it earned her was another hard smack on the ass, adding to the already reddened skin.

“Patience.” He growled.

He knelt behind her, bringing his face directly to her center. He smirked at how wet she was already, completely soaked. His hand started down at her ankle, lightly moving up her leg, to her thigh. He spread her open wider, but never touched her where she wanted it most. She whined after a few minutes, shifting her legs. It was taking all his will power not to fuck her over this desk right this instance, but he held back. He leaned forward and pressed his tongue flat against her, starting at her clit and licking up to her entrance, tasting her. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, finally being touched where she needed it. He pushed one finger into her opening, feeling how tight she was.

“This is going to hurt.” He said as he withdrew his finger and stood up behind her.

She furrowed her brow for a moment, what exactly was he talking about? It didn’t take her long to figure it out after he’d unzipped his pants and pressed his tip at her entrance, pushing into her completely without warning her first.

“Wait, fuck…” She squirmed, trying to adjust to his size as he stretched her out, but he grabbed her hips and held her still, not letting her move.

He pulled out almost completely before sliding back in, at this point she was glad she had gotten so wet before he’d done this, if not it would have been a lot more painful. She tried to control the pace by moving further up the desk, but he caught onto her quick and grabbed the wound on her arm, causing her to yell and stop all movements.

“Please, Sir…” She begged as he tightened his grip on her, still thrusting in and out of her slowly.

“Begging is another way of trying to control a situation.” He laughed at her attempt.

He released her arm and gripped her hips once more, thrusting harder into her, causing her to lurch forward on the desk. She was finally getting adjusted to him and moaned each time he dragged against her walls as he pulled out. His pace had increased as did the pressure in which his fingers were digging into her hips. He groaned as he pounded into her, reveling in her tightness, the way she writhed beneath him and under his grasp. She began to tighten around him as she felt her imminent release approaching.

“No.” He said as he slowed his pace back down, bringing her back from the brink.

She panted and wanted to argue, but knew it was no use, he would just continue to drag this out if she did. She remained silent as he started moving faster again. He smiled at her obedience, she was learning quickly, even if she wanted to complain, she wouldn’t. He slowed his pace again, but thrusted deeper inside her, hitting that perfect spot that made her knees weak. She moaned loudly each time he hit it, he knew she was getting close again, as was he. He thrust into her harder and faster again, the desk banging into the wall, if no one had heard it before they definitely did now. She whimpered at each thrust and felt herself tighten around him again.

“S-Sir?” She asked, he knew what she wanted.

“Alright, Darlin’” He said through gritted teeth.

A few more thrusts and she came undone beneath him, her body shuddered her orgasm hit her. Her walls clenching around him pushed him towards his own release, he had no plans of pulling out of her either. He remained inside her, making sure she got every ounce of his cum. They both began to come back down, he finally pulled out of her, she remained on the desk, unable to move.

“You belong to me now.” He leaned down and spoke into her ear, placing a kiss on her shoulder as she lay there.

#Jacob Seed #jacob seedxreader #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfiction #fc5

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hyperdrivehearts · 5 years

Note

Is the number ask thing still something you do? If so, 2, 15 and 18 please ^-^

QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN, REGARDING THE MUSE

(Always accepting these anon!! Seeing people ask me things (especially strangers on anon– it makes me happy that people are interested in my muses!!))

2. What made you decide to write this muse?

Kalin and Yusei have always been my favorite 5ds characters, ever since it originally aired in Canada! There’s this channel called YTV (youth television) that had a Saturday morning bit called Crunch where you’d get your regular Saturday morning cartoons, and in the early afternoon some anime would air! It was always in this order: Beyblade Metal Fight, Yu-Gi-Oh 5Ds, Pokemon Diamond & Pearl.) My parents were and are seperated, so I was only able to catch episodes every second week (I relied heavily on the previous episode recaps but it would mess me up when things would have repeats) had a very hard time remembering the name of 5Ds for some reason, and was never able to catch up online of missed episodes like I did for beyblade.

Because I never could catch up on what i missed, I didn’t get back into YGO as a whole until 2012, where I originally wrote Yusei on wattpad in my original Dark Signer AU. (He had a really cool old lady seer for a friend (who was supposed to be Carly’s grandma(??)) and I had a self insert OC who was Crow’s sister and was supposed to be Yuseis love interest (how how far I’ve come.) ANYWAYS what I’m getting at here, is that Yusei has been a muse of mine since like 2012.

I rewatched 5D’s in about…..2016?? Maybe later????And then again not long after I met Kasa ( @soulburnings ) on her Manjoume blog, and then Kasa made her Yu boys blog, and THEN HER CURRENT BLOG FOR TAKERU and it’s Kasa’s fault entirely for getting me back into YGO. Since Kalin and Yusei were my faves back then (What can I say? I love batshit murderers and cool bro characters– I have terrible tast,) it only felt natural to gravitate back towards them.

TLDR: Blame Kasa. Ily Kasa.

15. Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

Yusei could get along with a fucking LAMP POST honestly. He’s friendly, understanding, a bro, and he’s very patient with people and always sees the best in them. I feel like he’d be a person you could spill tea to, and he’d never tell a soul.

Kalin on the other hand…. not so much. Enforcer!Kalin would have definitely been someone I could get along with, while Dark Signer!Kalin would, y’know, try to kill me as one does. My Present!Kalin and hell, even canon Present!Kalin, are not a) approachable, b) are very open c) they both have the habit of shoving people away. And like, I also self project onto Kalin A LOT, and something that not a lot of people seem to realize that if you met someone so similarly like you, ESPECIALLY in the negative aspects, you probably wouldn’t get along that well and butt heads.

18. What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not?

Unpopular opinion: the fandom likes to make Yusei seem like an “uwu good cinnamon roll boi who can do no harm uwuwu” so for me, personally, it’s very important to acknowledge that he has one hell of a petty attitude and temper. It’s established right from episode 1, where he revs his engine because his friends didnt realize he was back home in the subway– he doesn’t say anything (and the reaction of Tank, Nervin, Blitz and Rally implies that this is a regular occurrence with him.) Yusei has shown on multiple occassions that he isnt afraid to throw his disk down and knock sense into someone with his fists. He built another, and better duel runner, to go after Jack solely for his Stardust Dragon card– it wasn’t even a revenge plot, he just wanted what was rightfully his.

(Not to mention, he has one hell of a resting bitch face. He’s scowling so much, I don’t think he even realizes it.)

Despite all of this, from destroying duel disks and decks as an Enforcer, to he and Jack punching each other in the face, I think it’s equally important to know that even when Yusei is being a bit of a prick, he doesn’t hold onto negativity and resent– he essentially doesn’t hold any grudges. (However, he does hold onto grief and sadness, so much so that Luna picks it out while communicating with his duel spirits in the dub.) After he got Stardust back, while he was still rightfully peeved at Jack for his actions, Yusei forgave him and moved on.

Despite all of Yusei’s good qualities, and being an excellent friend, Yusei does have negativity inside of him and that part shouldn’t be ignored. People are not black and white.

As for what he values about himself: nothing. Yusei doesn’t really have an ego. He knows he’s good at dueling, he knows he’s good with technology and mechanics, but hes humble about both things. He doesn’t value one over the other. He loves his friends, and protecting them is second nature to him, but he believes that everyone needs to value the people they’re close to, so it’s not really a part of his personality that he finds the most important.

Honestly, if theres anything that he’d think that’s the most important to him, it’s his pride. I know that sounds selfish, especially when it’s in Yusei’s case, but when Kalin crushed his pride, it shook him to the core where Yusei felt as if he didn’t trust himself dueling. For him, I don’t think its a matter of honour as much as it is a matter of justice. He takes pride in his friends and family, he takes pride in being a Satellite, he takes pride in fighting for the right thing: it’s less about himself than it is about other people.

For Kalin, I’m going to solely focus on my portrayal bc fuck canon, but anyways, it’s his determination to keep fighting, to keep living and knowing that people can change. He probably valuse that part of himself too, but he’d never admit it. Kalin has literately gone through hell and back, and has come out entirely traumatized, but he doesn’t let that trauma win.

(suicide mentions below.)

Kalin’s suffering from PTSD and depression, and he is suicidal, yet he never truly gives up (until he’s sent to the mines in Crash Town, really.) When he first arrived at Crash Town to die, he could have lost his duel on purpose, but he never did until Yusei showed up. I think a part of it is pride, not wanting to go down without a fight, but I don’t believe Kalin was only fighting other duelists– he was fighting himself and his right to live. He already offed himself in the Facility.

As someone who tried to commit suicide twice, it’s important that Kalin keeps on fighting through it. There’s going to be bad days, days where you can’t leave your bed, days where you let out a nice cry in a hot shower. Keeping yourself going, for any reason, is very important because things do get better. (Im not great, but im better, and so is Kalin.) If that reason is as small as needing to feed your cat, its a good reason to keep going. For Kalin, he wanted to see Yusei once more and then he’d be satisfied.

Kalin’s not perfect, he is an ass and he knows that, but he does want to be better so other things can get better for him and rebound off of each other. (I was a prick too when I was in that mental state.) Things get better, but you also need to take charge and make it better yourself and Kalin knows he can force light into the darkness he was wallowing in for nearly 4 years.

It’s not a personality point, but I’m sure Kalin is just happy to be alive.

#long post #thank u anon for indulging me i went off my shit #i hope kasa doesnt mind the mention djhahjsdjasd #tw suicide mention #Anonymous #HEADCANONS:|| Kalin #HEADCANONS:|| Yusei

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animalbks · 6 years

Text

For every DPS happy they dont have play mercy anymore there's a Mercy main unhappy playing, period

I understand all you reaper mains and Soldier mains dont want to mercy, that's why I mercy. I find it fun to play mercy because it was so dissimilar, and i found it fun being more strategic and tactical with what I do. If I wanted to play Soldier I would just play Republic Commando. People want to make fun of me for being a mercy main because I cant aim, until I go into quick play and wreck their shit as widow. I win deathmatches as mercy, I am not unskilled.

But now I have nothing to do, and my ult just compounds that.

Valk makes Mercy less fun to use, because theres no agency and no meaningful choice. You just fly up and you hope your teammates arent brain dead morons who run away from their healers (good luck friends). It removed the non-ult strategy of Triageing your team to determine who needs to be healed when, or who will benefit from damage boost. An example would be to Damage boost baby dva or damage boost Zen while he covers healing so he can grab his ult to counter than Genji. In ult you can just heal everyone, and damage boost when you dont need to.

Because Rez is useless there's less strategy to using Ult. I no longer have to weigh when to use my Rez. Do I Rez now or do I wait to ult? Well Rezzing during ult now gives you 6.5 Seconds less of ult than you had before the patch, so objectivity there is no reason to Rez during ult. Im not wasting a second and a half of sustained healing or damage boost.

That raises the question: When do I ult?

Well previously save my ult because I was countered so easily by Soldier, McCree and Junkrat, and now I have less speed, and less of ult, so either im gonna save it harder and make sure it counts (which might I add was the problem people had with the original Ult) , or im going to waste it because it doesnt matter.

So to recap, I dont get Rez, I dont get strategic choice, and now I get countered harder.

Mercy is either better off or more fun without it.

People joked that the Mercy rework was DPS? Well shit, thats literally my only fun option right now. Otherwise I might as well not even use Ult.

I would say old ult was more fun than current ult. At least then you can get a satisfying moment of "holy shit thank you mercy". Now I just get "Mercy you fuck why didnt you ult. We lost that fight because of you" and "God damnit Mercy, I didnt watch the kill feed, Rez me"

Mercy's pick rate is going to plummet, thats for damn sure. She's a hot mess, and no one wants to play her.

Video Games are supposed to be fun first, and balanced second. An unbalanced game can be fun, but a boring game is never going to benefit from Balance, and that's where mercy is at right now. She is a fucking mess. Period. Her ult makes her less fun to play in her intended role.

And this reflects badly on the game.

Overwatch is supposed to be fun for all people who play it, thats why theres so many heroes. Rein is not mercy, Reaper is not DVA. There might be some overlap in terms of role, such as Widow and Honzo, but the idea is that there are many characters that benefit from many skill types. Mercy is more strategic than Widow is, and thats why people who play Mercy play her.

The entire god damn reason DPS mains are tired of playing Mercy is precisely why Mercy mains play her in the first place. A mercy main is playing an entirely different game than a Rein main, who is playing an entirely different game than a Widow main. I dont play Republic Commando if I want to play Call of Duty, and I dont play Call of Duty if I want to play Battlefield, and I sure as fuck dont play Battlefield if I want to play Slime Rancher.

Mercy is my Slime Rancher. She makes me happy to play. Thats the goal of game design; I wouldnt have paid money to Blizzard if I didnt get happiness in return. I understand that not every Overwatch player is going to derive that, no one should pay money to suffer unless they derive happiness from their suffering. But im not here to kinkshame. DPS mains shouldnt have to suffer playing Mercy.

But in that quest to stop DPS mains from having to play mercy, Blizzard have eliminated any reason for Mercy mains to play her as well.

These nerfs do not exist in a vacuum. The main community wants to encounter less mercy in their games? Well for some, mercy is going to feature in 100% of their games. I play mercy because I want to play mercy, and she will continue to feature in 100% of my games.

But dont fret, the community got exactly what they wanted. Mercy will feature in less of your games because I sure as hell am going to be playing less games of Overwatch.

I have no incentive to play a new character competitively. I'm still a better mercy than 85% of mercy players, according to Overbuff, and only a few of those are better battle Mercy's. Playing Quickplay doesnt teach me how to play a hero competitively, and my SR is currently too high to learn it there. I cant afford to learn a new Hero, as that would be throwing and would be damaging to my Teams. And at the end of the day, any hero I learn is going to be less fun to me than Mercy was.

It doesn't matter how fun a new hero can be, if its less fun than mercy, then Overwatch as a whole is less fun. And that is a failure in game design.

It would honestly just be better to have Mercy's ultimate Rez herself. Or Give her the option to Rez her entire team, taking 1.5 seconds to do so in ordered to be countered, at the cost of the rest of her Valk. That would at least give her some agency and strategic value, and keep her from hiding and rezzing, and give the enemy a chance to kill her; 3 things I think the entire community wants. Just something radically different than what she is now.

I dont honestly know how to fix her. But is Overwatch better as a whole at the expense of Mercy mains? If it is, i'm happy for you. After all, that's why I played mercy. To make DPS players happy

#overwatch #Mercy #Game design #Blizzard

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pjo-hoo-nextgen · 6 years

Text

The First Quest X

Andy attempted to gain some knowledge as to why Maria and Jaxon were no longer on speaking terms, but not many people knew what had happened.

“I don’t get it,” Andy huffed, resting his chin on his hand. “They always fight but this is different.”

“Wrench,” Sol held out her hand expectantly and Andy placed the tool in her grip.

“If anything they’d have fixed it by now.” He paused in thought for a moment, tapping his fingers against his chin.

“Maybe they just need time apart.” Sol suggested making an unusual attempt at conversation.

“They hardly touch one another with an eight foot pole. They have plenty of time apart.” Andy laughed. Sol hummed in reply and settled her goggles back on her face. “I mean the bickering gets old but the silence is just...uncomfortable.”

“Some people have odd ways of doing things.” The motor Sol was working on gave a small attempt to start before fizzling out. “Crap. I swore I fixed it.”

“Try jiggling the knobby thing.” Andy pointed at a protrusion on the machine.

“That’s not what it’s called,” Andy noticed the small smile on her face and couldn’t help but sit up a bit taller. She took his advice anyways and sure enough the engine gave a mighty sputter before maintaining a low hum. “Yes! Finally!”

“Great! Now you can put it on the motorized dummy track for the training arena!” Andy hopped up from the stool he’d been sitting on.

“That’s the plan.” Sol nodded, moving to turn off the device. With a satisfied nod she tugged off her goggles and gloves.

“You got a little something.” Andy gestured to his own nose indicating the spot where Sol had a fair amount of grease plastered on her face.

“Again?” With a grunt of frustration Sol used the hem of her shirt to scrub at her face. The grease only smeared further over her nose and cheeks.

“Don’t do that!” Andy laughed. “You got it everywhere!”

“Ugh! I hate my life!” Sol huffed.

“Sit down. I got this.” Andy offered her the stool. Sitting, Sol watched him curiously until he came back with a squirt bottle, a surprisingly clean rag, and a mirror. “I will be your stylist today. I was trained in the art of beauty!”

With an impish grin Andy did a clumsy spin and struck a pose, spinning the bottle on his finger as if it were a ring of car keys.

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Andy winked. “Now let the master work.”

Sol sat perfectly still as Andy worked at cleaning away the stubborn residue. She’d had experiences like this before and her skin was often left red and raw from the rough material. This time, however, it was different. Andy managed to perform the task with ease being surprisingly gentle.

“Aaaaaaand, done.” He declared. “Take a look babe.”

Andy held up the mirror for Sol to check her reflection. “Not bad Grace.”

“Clean as a whistle.” Andy nodded. “Like I said...I’m the master.”

“Of dorkiness.” Sol scoffed tossing the dirtied rag at him.

“My feelings.” Andy feigned offense. “Anyways, we have a game of capture the flag to prepare for.”

“Indeed.” Sol nodded. “I have a feeling this will be very interesting.”

— — —

Indeed it was. Maria and Jaxon were inevitably on the same team once more. Only this time, Grey was left trying to manage the forces.

Maria and Jaxon had both adopted personal agendas and didn’t bother to acknowledge the rest of their team.

“Okay, so...I’m on defense. This is cool.” Andy talked to himself as he paced beside the flag.

“What’d you expect? We got our moment of glory last time. The other kids were destined to have a shot.” Sol frowned sitting on a rock and sharpening her blade. “But the schedule goes Wednesday-Friday for Capture the Flag games. We get another shot soon enough.”

“Yeah, but I expected more entertainment.” Andy paused in his pacing to kick a rock into the trees. At first neither of them noticed it but then it became quiet clear.

There was a commotion going on at the center of the battlefield. From the sound of it nearly everyone had stopped to watch. “Okay, I know we have to guard this but-“

“Come on.” Sol was already running in the direction of the noise with Andy following hot on her heels. The two stumbled from the woods to find a very alarming sight.

“Oh my Gods they’re trying to kill each other.” Andy breathed.

Despite being on the same team Jaxon and Maria were locked in a heated duel. Maria had a score to settle and she intended on restoring some of her pride.

Sol was the first to do anything. Being small she managed to worm her way through the gathered crowd. Andy squeezed his way through with a bit more effort.

“I said go to the right.” Jaxon growled.

“What I do is not up to you.” Maria replied slashing at him with her sword. Jaxon stepped to the side and lashed out in return. Maria arched her blade behind her back ending the strike. “You made it quite clear.”

Spinning Maria slashed angrily at Jaxon’s ankles. Leaping he twisted in the air sending a blast of air far more violent than he should have. Maria was knocked to the side, she tumbled a bit, before coming to a rest.

“Jaxon what are you doing?!” Andy demanded latching onto his brother’s arm.

Maria crawled to her feet, rolledher shoulders, and gave a twirl of her sword; a challenge.

“Enough. Both of you.” Grey stepped between the two raging demigods. “Knock it off.”

“Step aside Grey.” Maria’s voice was full of authority, dripping with the power only a true leader could muster.

“Make me.” The eldest boy raised his chin in defiance.

“Sorry.” Maria gave him an apologetic look before charging at Jaxon and using her elbow to nudge Grey aside. Jaxon shoved Andy away, who stumbled back into the crowd of people.

Sol’s anger flared up and despite herself her arms ignited in bright orange fire. Jaxon made another strike but Sol deflected the blade and caught hold of the weapon. The blade sizzled before the gold began to melt.

Jaxon looked down in surprise before it dawned on him that Sol was ruining his father’s blade. He’d just gotten it back from Thia via Hermes’ messenger friends: wind nymphs. Now, Sol was melting the gold into a bubbling puddle. On instinct he reacted.

Sol was blasted back into Maria causing both girls to collapse on the ground. There was the sound of a painful snap and a cry of pain.

“What is the meaning of this?” The demand came from Chiron who had finally made his way to the commotion.

Jaxon looked with teary eyes at the ruined heirloom in his hand. He had grown up using the blade, dreamed of smiting enemies as dangerous as his father had. It was gone now. Ruined.

Grey knelt beside Sol and Maria. “Are you two alright?”

“Ugh, yeah.” Maria mumbled rubbing her head. She glanced over at Sol only to find the young girl crying and nursing her very broken wrist. “Oh Gods.”

She wasn’t the only one to notice the injury. Grey’s eyes widened and he moved to help her. Andy flew into a rage. He tackled his brother to the ground despite his smaller stature and let his fists fly.

“What is wrong with you? Huh?” His fists stung painfully. “You can’t hurt people like that!”

“Stop!” Jaxon held his arms up to protect his face. “Andy, stop!”

The younger boy was thrown off with a buck of Jaxon’s hips. Jaxon wrapped his arms around Andy holding him still.

“Get off of me!” Andy yelled, squirming violently.

The commotion ended only when each of the demigods was dragged to the infirmary.

— — —

“I have no idea what’s gotten into all of you but you need to figure it out.” Jason stood with his arms crossed looking at each of the kids who sat nursing injuries. Grey was the only one completely unscathed.

“You cannot go around trying to kill each other! That’s not okay!” Annabeth who had also been selected to give the lecture pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I didn’t do anything.” Andy protested.

“You pummeled your brother.” Jason glowered. Andy opened his mouth to reply but Jason held up a hand. “Andy Clay Grace, do not argue.”

“So what’s the punishment?” Grey asked glumly.

“You’re all staying here until you sort it out. No leaving or going home.” Jason determined.

“That’s not fair!” Maria cried.

“Some of you can go home, Grey, Sol. You are both allowed to leave.” Neither of them made a move. “Or you can stay here if you wish.”

“Figure it out.” Annabeth shrugged. “It’s that simple. There’s no unity in anything if infighting this bad exists.”

— — —

And so they were left there to solve their problems. Maria selected her own little corner of the infirmary and claimed it her own. Jaxon did the same.

“Let me see it.” Grey knelt in front of the bed Sol sat on and gently took her bandaged wrist. “It should heal relatively well, maybe a bit of physical therapy will be needed, and no forge for some time.”

“Your dad said all of that already.” Sol mumbled. Sniffling she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Well, I learned from the best.” Grey stood and ruffled her hair. “I’ll be back. I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Was it wrong to punch him?” Sol startled at Andy’s remark. He’d been so quiet she had hardly noticed him there.

“Yeah.” Sol nodded. Andy’s head was bowed and his bottom lip began to tremble.

“I just got mad. I didn’t mean to hurt him that bad but-I don’t like him when he’s like this.” Andy hardly cried and so Sol was left with a brief moment of surprise. She wasn’t sure what to do. She’d never been the best at comforting someone.

“Hey, don’t cry.” Sol gave a light punch to his arm with her good hand. “People mess up.”

“Yeah, but a good brother doesn’t punch his sibling.” Andy sniffled.

“A good brother also doesn’t push his sibling.” Sol slung her arm around Andy’s shoulders. He didn’t say anything else after resting his head on her shoulder. She let him cry and pretended not to notice for his sake.

— — —

Jaxon sat staring at the deformed blade. He couldn’t believe it. He wanted to cry. With an angered grunt he chucked it across the room where it clattered to the floor. “Stupid.”

Maria glanced in his direction and felt a tiny amount of sympathy for him. She did know how much the weapon meant to him. “Your dad won’t be mad you know.”

“Yeah right.” Jaxon huffed.

“He’s not that big of an ass.” Maria noted dryly. The conversation ended quickly and the infirmary was bathed in a permanent silence. Slowly the demigods began to drift off to sleep and the silence would remain until the morning.

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caredogstips · 7 years

Text

The age of joke

The long speak: It used to be precisely a word now it is a way of life. But is it is necessary to get down the banter bus?

Its the most fucking laughable storey, isnt it? We went to watch fucking dolphins, and we ended up in fucking Syria. Last-place summertime in the Mediterranean party resort of Ayia Napa, Lewis Ellis was wielding as a guild rep. I represent, it was fucking 8am, he told an Australian website soon afterwards, and the last fucking golf-club had closed, and we remembered, We can still depart dolphin watching. Well blag our mode on to a fucking craft and croak dolphin watching.

But when the boat voyaged so far that Cyprus disappeared from panorama, Ellis explained, they started to worry. Why are we so far from tract? they questioned the crew. Were fucking miles away and weve got no fucking wifi. Something, Ellis said, had been lost in rendition; his exuberant season as a shepherd for the useds party pilgrims used to go terribly awry. The gang wasnt taking them to watch dolphins: they were going to a Russian naval basi in the towns of Tartus, on Syrias Mediterranean coast. Yeah, it is a little ridiculous.

It was , nonetheless, a fib that had legs. Hungover lads boat errand boob territory them in Syria, wahey-ed the Mirror; British holidaymakers board defendant barge in Ayia Napa and be brought to an end in war-torn SYRIA, laughed the Express. If you envisioned these headlines at the time, you may dimly remember the rest. A stubborn trawler captain, chugging doggedly onwards to Tartus, where he turfed the friends out upon territory; interrogation at the mitts of Russian intelligence officers; mutual hilarity as the Russians realised what had happened; and, after a red-hot banquet, a speedy tour of the expanse, and a good darkness sleep, spots on the next angling boat headed back to Cyprus. It was never made clear why the captain had let them on the craft in the first place, but whatever. Everyone lapped it up.

Reflecting on the whole circumstance five a few months later, Ellis, a 26 -year-old with a business position and a marketing lords, couldnt altogether wrap his head around it. I ponder I experienced 35 narratives about us, he told me. I read about myself in the Hawaiian Express, do you know what I symbolize?( Notwithstanding that there is nothing to doesnt appear to be any such newspaper, yes, I emphatically do .)

What became it really weird to see the media pile in with such unstinting passion was that the storey was total cobblers. I could not belief how unsophisticated they were, Ellis said, a top memo of hilarity still in his tone. We were just having a chortle! It was banter!

Lads: this is the age of joke. Its long been somewhat about the banter, but over the last few years, it has come to seem that its all about the banter an unabashedly bumptious posture that took up a position on the outskirts of different cultures in the early 90 s and has been larging its road towards the centre ever since. “Theres” hundreds of banter groups on Facebook, from Banter Britain( no memes insinuating child abuse/ dead children !!!) to Wanker Banter 18+( Have a laugh and keep it sick) to the Premier League Banter Page( The only ruler: keep it banter ). You can buy an I banter jugs on Amazon for 9, or an Archbishop of Banterbury T-shirt for 9.99.

There are now four sprigs of a restaurant announced Scoff& Banter. When circumstances were going badly at Chelsea FC under Jos Mourinho, it was reported the team had banned all joke in an attempt to focus their subconscious, and that word appeared in the newspapers, as if you would know exactly what it entail. Person has created a banter map of London using a keyword scour on the flatshare website SpareRoom, indicating exactly where people “re looking for a” roommate with good banter( Clapham tends to facet prominently ). When a 26 -year-old man from Leeds constituted for a selfie with a baffled aeroplane hijacker, Vice swore it the high-water rating of banter.

Lewis Ellis( left) and friends in Ayia Napa, pretending to be in Syria. Photograph: Lewis Ellis

If you are younger than about 35, you are likely to hear the expression all the time. Either you have banter( if you are funny and can take a pun) or you dont( if you arent and cannot ). The mainstream, in summary, is now drink and asleep on the sofa, and banter is delightedly drawing a penis on its forehead.

As banter has risen, it has expanded. Long a word used to describe submerged sayings of fraternal charity, it is now likewise a word allows one to excuse uninhibited exhibitions of masculine bravado. Today, it is segregated by class, seized on by brands, picked over by psychologists, and regretted by culture reviewers; it is dominant, fiercely contested and exclusively hazily understood.

And so, whether he purposes it to or not, Ellis use of the expression parent some questions. Is he shedding his pile in with the most prevalent division of the blokeish mainstream, a sanitised and gracious gaiety that elongates from lad-dad panel shows to your teammates zinger about your dreadful haircut? Or is he lining up with the misogynist impersonators of the Bullingdon club, a sprinkling of prejudiceds, and, as we shall identify, an actual murderer purveyors of a malicious and insidious masculinity that insists on its indivisible dominion and calls you a slut if you object?

Ellis isnt preoccupied by these questions, but for what its worth, he does say that he and his friends never had the slightest planned of going to Syria. We werent actually trying to clown anyone, he told me, although Im not sure thats wholly consistent with the facts of the case. We were out for a saunter, and we went across this area that gazed actually run down, we thought it was like Syria. So we apply it on the team reps[ Facebook] page that thats where we were. And everyone started liking it. And then one of the people who contacted us was from LADBible which is like the Bible, but for LADS so we pronounced, well have a mess around here. Well tell a completely ridiculous tale, see if the media believes it. Find if we can become LADBible famous.

It did, we are able to. Eventually, the truth “re coming out” , not thanks to any especially determined investigative journalism, but because Ellis cheerily admitted on Facebook that his narration of superb foolishnes was a story. Hahaha what a prank, he wrote, with some justification.

The confession simply raised another repetition of notice. Books that had picked up the legend in the first place resurfaced it with new headlines to manifest the daring of the fabrication; social media useds adduced it as evidence for their own views of young men, or the media, or both. The Russian delegation Twitter account announced it a telling illustration of how many Syria( and Russia) stories are made up by UK newspapers, which was great geopolitical banter. The courtesy entertained Ellis, but he alleges it wasnt the stage. We simply thought it was funny, he responded. People are too serious. I hinder being told to grow up, but I still want to have a good time. Ive had the jobs, Ive got the education. But when Im off production, I want to escape.

Ellis is an enthusiast and an optimist. He is, he told me late last year, hopeless to take every opportunity, simply to enunciate yes to everything I can. We were on a nighttime out in Manchester with his pals Tyson, John and Chris. In such courses of the evening, the following circumstances knew their mode into my brew: fingers; salt; vinegar; mayonnaise; a chip; saliva; a 10 greenback; and, I hazily recollect being told after the fact, at the least two shootings of vodka.

Everyones got a thought in the group, Ellis said, as we walked from one saloon to the next. One person, hes not even that ugly, we say he looks just like a Peperami. Tysons get this mole on his appearance, its like a Coco Pop, so youve got a Coco Pop on your appearance. I looked like Harry Potter when I was a kid, so they announce me Potter, thats my moniker. Every single one of us has something. So you youve gone Chinese attentions. Youre Chinese.

For the record, I didnt think this was OK, but coming after such a harmless litany, it didnt seem malicious enough to confront. Of course, tacit promotion is what shapes such offensive epithets a platitude, and so it is a matter of concern that it saw “i m feeling” mysteriously accepted, just as it had when John perforated me softly in the pellets when I arrived. There was no doubting Elliss candour: as he spoke, the sheer daft beautiful of male friendship seems to astounded him, almost to the point of physical suffering. We just take the piss out of each other, and thats how we establish our passion , he spoke. So many group converses on the phone, and you just take the piss until they cry . And its like, when youre certainly killing them, you go, Ill stop if you miss, because you know they cant say yes, so you exactly keep going. Then we arrived at the next rail, where I was made to drink something called a Zombie.

Early in the evening, before any of this had eroded my ability to take helpful notes, Ellis smashed off from talking as we moved down wall street and sidled into a window display at Next Home, where he Tracey Emined a carefully established bottom by climbing into it and reeling around. Everyone cracked up. Contribute “the worlds” a shriek, Ellis tends to think, and the world will smile back at you. Jump on a craft, and youll end up somewhere enormous; stimulate the boat up, and youll got to get faster. Its all about having fun, its all about the banter, he articulated, after hed rejoined us outside. Banter is about realise “the worlds” a more exciting place.

If nobody can agree on what joke is, thats scarcely a new difficulty. The first habit of the word recorded in the Oxford English Dictionary comes from memo Restoration lad Thomas dUrfey, also known for his hit hymn The Fart, in a sarcastic 1677 participate called Madam Fickle. Banter him, banter him, Toby, a character called Zechiel urges, which may be the first time that someone called Toby was so instructed, but certainly wasnt the last.

The OED also notes early attempts at a description by Jonathan Swift and Samuel Johnson.( Speedy mentions a banter upon transubstantiation, in which a cork is turned into a horse, and fair enough, revolving a stopper into a mare “wouldve been” classic joke .) Both “re a bit” disgusted by the word, and neither unearths often of an origin narrative: by their chronicles, joke is so coarse that it rose, amply structured and without antecedent, out of the mouths of oafs.

As it is about to change, though, the OED is not at present amply able to handle the banter. According to Eleanor Maier, an associate editor on the dictionary, a research of earlier English texts reveals that a number of previous patterns are missing from the dictionarys definition, which is now being first drafted in 1885 including a quote from a 1657 rendition of Don Quixote.( After examining the history, Maier told him that she would be adding banter to the listing of introductions that are up for evaluate .)

dougie stew (@ DougieStew)

Welcome to London #BagelGate pic.twitter.com/ KcJoz0ycZU

February 26, 2017

In recent years, joke has barged into our lives at a impressive time. Googles Ngram Viewer, a implement that assesses( with some limitations) the frequency with which a period shall be published in a large database of written sources, finds that banter popped up approximately twice as often in 2008, the most recent year plowed, as it did in 1980.

But banter plugged away for a very long time before it became an overnight success. In the 19 th century, it often designated a kind of formal sparring. Even as the term progressed over the 20 th, it continued to seem a bit prissy. In the House of Commons in 1936, Ramsay MacDonald, the former Labour prime minister who had recalled in a brand-new sit after losing his old one, was subjected to a great deal of banter Dear old-time Granny MacDonald !, among other witticisms.In 1981, a Guardian report that chess champion Anatoly Karpov and his handlers have succeeded in protested at his challenger Viktor Korchnois constant cross-board talk ran under the unlikely headline: Chess joke banned.

Such floors do little to prepare us for what banter has become. Consider the viral video that became known as #bagelgate earlier this year. In the recording, a minor hassle broke out on the 00.54 improve from Kings Cross to Huntingdon, and then for no plainly related rationale the status of women who had a large crate of bagels decided to put one on the heads of state of the person sitting in front of her, and then another after “hes taking” it off and hurled it out of the window, and another and another, and then everyone in the carriage started chanting hes got a bagel on his head, and eventually the slightly spoddy prey who is me when I was 13 and someone filled my pencil client with Mr Kipling apple pies( squashed, exuding) because I was fatty completely lost and hollered Get the fuck out of my appearance !, and then another campaign broke out on the programme, and then the police got on to the teach, and every single person fell into not-me-guv stillnes: this is not Granny MacDonalds joke any more.

If it is hard to understand how these activities can fall under the same umbrella, it should be noted that a phenomenon may predate our choice of expression to describe it its precisely that the act of description draws it most visible, and perhaps more likely to be imitated. At some place, though, joke became the call for what British boys already regarded as their natural tone of voice. There is a very deeply embedded folk culture in the UK of public ribaldry, extreme satire, facetiousness in other words, of laddishness, speaks Tony Thorne, a linguist and cultural historian. What you might think of as banter now is rooted in that tradition.

That tradition firstly flogged itself to banters mast in the early 1990 s, and polemic soon followed. In June 1992, a Guardian storey headlined Police fire sex banter officer, about the removal of a sergeant for sexual harassment, entered an early skirmish in the modern banter battles, and its significant brand-new bed to its meaning in the wild: The move is seen as part of the Metropolitan polices desire to reassure women officers that what has previously been tolerated as banter is greater acceptable. Two year later, the cubs mags arrived.

The first edition of Loaded magazine appeared in May 1994, with a picture of Gary Oldman on the figurehead inhaling a dog-end, under a placard that showed him a super cub. What fresh crazines is this? the editors note spoken. Loaded is a new publication dedicated to life, liberty and the endeavours of fornication, booze, football and less serious matters Loaded is for “the mens” who guesses he can do anything, if merely he wasnt hungover.

If banter chagrins you, James Brown, the magazines firstly writer, is quite an easy bogeyman. As he recognise himself, he composed a claim that defined a genre. Loaded was swiftly recognised as a foundational text for a resurgent and exuberant masculinity that had been searching for public showing. While it was always overtly horny, the publication was initially more interested in a lonesome, slackjawed and self-ironising acknowledgment of -Alisters( one reversible posting had Cindy Crawford on one side and a steam train on the other) than the grot-plus-football formula that successors and imitators like Maxim, Zoo and Nuts milked to shattering. But the committee is also flirted with something murkier.

To its pundits, Loaded and its imitators aimed to sanitise any particular hooliganistic worldview with a tactical renunciation. Banter emerges as this relentless gloss of incongruity over everything, told Bethan Benwell, elderly lecturer in speech and linguistics at the University of Stirling and the author of several newspapers on mens publications. The constant explain of sexist or homophobic feelings with this winking that says you dont really mean it. Benwell drawn attention to Loadeds emblematic strapline: For men who should know better.

Brown is denying that his periodical fabricated banter. Instead, he tells, it captured a zeitgeist that the media had previously failed to acknowledge; the kinfolk culture that Tony Thorne refers to, brought forward into the open. Before Browns intervention, GQ had extended John Major and Michael Heseltine as embrace hotshots, for Gods sake. I took the advantages and the mentality of the young men that I knew, and I give them in a publication, Brown suggested. Im not responsible for the atmosphere of the later entrants to the market. We were criticised because we fancied wives , not because we maligned them.

The thing about Loaded was that the mode we wrote manifested the way we were with our mates, he went on. Theres definitely a act that exists in the male outlook: you take the piss out of the person or persons you like, and you ignore the people you dont.

Accept this as your starting point, and dissents become exhausting to prolong: what youre objecting to is an behave of affection. Of route, “its what” stimulates it insidious. Because Browns account remainders on the intention behind the publication, and Benwells on the effect it had, they are impossible to reconcile. Its a very difficult act to withstand or objection without looking like the stereotypical humourless feminist, said Benwell. But by laughing, you are complicit.

Loaded leaved this new various kinds of banter escape velocity, and it has started to colonise other worlds. On BBC2, for example, David Baddiel and Frank Skinner were staking out their own territory with Fantasy Football League, a mixture of sketches and personality chit-chat that managed to be enthusiastic and satirical at the same occasion, and reached its peak when the pair became national icons, thanks to their Euro 96 chant, Three Lions. While a long-running joke about the Nottingham Forest striker Jason Lees pineapple haircut seems flatly racist in retrospect Baddiel did an impression of him in blackface by and large, the colour was milder and more conventional than the publications were: this was the insight of colleges and universities graduate slumming it before starting on grown-up life.

Baddiel implied that laddism is likely to be dominates a range from ogling to literature, depicting a line to Nick Hornbys memoir of life as an Arsenal fan, Fever Pitch. Hornby formerly said to me that all this stuff you are familiar with, imagination football and his journal is gentlemen speak about things that they like and for a while in the mid-8 0s they werent allowed to, he said in 1995. Ive always liked football and Ive always liked naked women, and its easier to talk about that now than it was eight years ago. Those explains manifest a kind of sneer at its pundits that you could often detect in Fantasy Football League, even as its hosts protested that they were just having a laugh though Baddiel himself is denying that view. Twenty times on, he, like Brown, is at hurtings to draw a line between the approach that he and Skinner popularised, and the forms that arose afterward. I approximate me and Frank did specialise in joke, he said in an email. In a hour before it was known as bantz.

Over the next 10 times, two things happened that ushered in persons under the age of joke.( You might call it matured joke, except that its too the opposite .) First, instead of just has become a circumstance that happened, it became a situation that people talked about. Then, as it became a more tangible culture make, everyone started trying to make money out of it. The watershed instant, the forms equivalent to Dylan extending electric, was the invention of Dave.

Like most good theories, it examines simple enough in retrospect. Before Dave was Dave, it was UKTV Gold 2. The precede channels gathering share was 0.761%, and no one could tell who on globe it was supposed to be for. But we had the contents, remarks Steve North, the channels brand director in 2007 and content of a specific kind that the existing appoint did very little to communicate: Have I Got News for You, They Belief Its All Over, Top Gear. Sees said they adoration the repartee, the comedy. It reminded them of spending time with their funniest friends.

The first issue of Loaded magazine, from May 1994

The target audience was highly specific. It was men marriage or in relationships, maybe with young children , not going to the inn as much as they used to, enunciates Andy Bryant, managing director of Red Bee, relevant agencies brought in to work on the rebrand. And they missed that camaraderie.

Their purpose thus fixed, North started to run brainstorming periods at which people would shout out recommendations for the call. One of the ones we compiled was Dave, he enunciates. We felt, enormous, but we cant call it that. But then we reputed, Its a replacement friend. If the audience really pictures it as that, if they see it as genuinely providing the banter, maybe we can really pay it a name.

They employed their hunch through its paces. The market research corporation YouGov was commissioned to test Dave alongside a cluster of other refers( Matthew and Kevin were also on the shortlist ), but nothing else had the same everyman resonance. For us, Dave is a sensibility, a place, an spirit, a sense, announced North, his tone astute, virtually gnomic. Everyone has their own gumption of who Dave is, thats the important thing. Its difficult to find anyone who doesnt know someone called Dave.

Now the channel had a firebrand, it needed a motto. Lots of people claim they played a part in the identify, announces Bryant. But it was just as important to encapsulate what the channel was all about. And at some part someone, I dont was well known that, wrote it on members of the board: The dwelling of funny joke. The rebrand contributed 8m brand-new spectators in six months; Dave watched a 71% increase in its target audience of affluent young men.

Conceived by the first generation of senior professionals to have grown up with joke as an unremarkable part of their demographics culture desegregate, the canal crystallised a change, and accelerated it. In 2006, The Ricky Gervais Show, in which Gervais and Stephen Merchant relentlessly poked fun at their in-house jerk savant Karl Pilkington, became the most popular podcast of all time. In 2007, its first year of Daves rebrand, Top Gears ratings shoot from below 5m to a record high-pitched of 8m. The following year, QI moved from BBC4 to BBC2.( A tie-in volume written the same year, QI: Advanced Banter, sold more than 125,000 transcripts .)

North checked the kind of fraternal pestering that was being monetised by his canal, and the panel shows that were its lifeblood, as fundamentally benign. The key happening is that its two-way, he responded. Its about two parties riffing off each other.

But like his 20 th-century forebears, he can see that something ugly has advanced, and he wants to keep his brand well away from it. Bants, he added with dislike. That circumstance of cover for dubious behaviour we detest and hate it massively. When we propelled, it was about enjoyable, being light-hearted, maybe pushing one another without being disrespectful. When people talk about Ive had a go at that person, great banter no, thats just nasty.

By the become of the decade, as other labelling bureaux simulated the success of Dave, banter was everywhere, a folk tradition that had acquired a strange kind of respectability. The all those people who celebrated it werent precisely fellows in the inn any more: they had spending ability and organisation allies on their surface. But they were, by the same token, more visible to commentators. Invasion from an underdog can be overlooked; aggressivenes from the establishment is serious enough to become a matter of public concern.

Take Richard Keys and Andy Gray, Sky Sports brand-defining football presenters, who got themselves up to their cervixes in some highly bad joke in 2011. Keys accused dark armies, but everybody else blamed him and Gray for being misogynists. We knew this because there was footage.

The firestorm, as Keys called it, centred on claims that the two men had said and done heinously sexist acts off-air. Most memorable, at the least for its phrase-making, was the time in which Keys eagerly requested his fellow pundit Jamie Redknapp if hed smashed it it being a woman and asserted that he could often be found hanging out the back of it.

Gray became promptly. In the days before he followed, Keys burned hot with sin in a series of mea-sorta-culpas, specially focused on the strip in which he conveyed his derision at the idea that the status of women, Sian Massey-Ellis, could be an aide referee in the Premier League.

It was just banter , he suggested. Or, more exactly, just a bit of joke, as he mentioned Massey-Ellis had assured him she understood in a later telephone conversation in which, he added, much joke elapsed between us. She and I enjoyed some joke, he protested. It was lads-mag joke, he contended. It was stone-age banter, he acknowledged. We liked to have banter, he explained. Richard Keys was sorry if you were offended, but likewise, it wasnt his faulting if you didnt get onto. It was just banter, for goodness sake!

Up to their necks in some particularly bad banter Andy Gray and Richard Keys in 2011. Picture: Richard Saker/ Rex

Keys insistence that his correct was simply a failure to move with the times was nothing new: banter has always seemed to carry a longing for the past, for the purposes of an guessed age before male love was so cramped by the tedious obligations of feminist scrutiny. But while his underlying deems were painfully dated, his thought of joke was only modern: a sly expansion of the words signify, and a self-conscious contention that it provided an impregnable defence.

The Keys variation understood banter, first, as a catch-all means of disavowing responsibility if someone was hurt; and, second, as a means of reinforcing a bail between two beings by being cruel about a third. The comparison wouldnt satisfy got a couple of alphas like Keys and Gray, but both strategies accompanied it closer to a style of communicating with classically feminine associations: gossip. Deborah Cameron, the Rupert Murdoch( lol) Professor in Language and Communication at Oxford University, argues that the two modes of interaction follow basically the same organization. People gab as a trust competition, she alleged. You tell someone your unsayable private secret, and it bonds you closer together. Theyre supposed to do now reciprocate with a confidence of their own. Well, banter works in the same way now. You say something appalling, and you see if the other person dares to top your remark.

The trust game in joke was traditionally is expected to be: do you trust me when I read were friends in spite of the aim circumstances Im replying about you? But now theres two seconds version of the game: do I trust you not to tell anyone the mean thoughts Im announcing about other parties? I repute initially it was a harmless event, enunciated Cameron, whose analysis is rooted in an repository of male group conversation, predominantly entered by her students, that goes back to the 1980 s. But then it started to be used as an excuse when gentlemen were caught out fully participate in forms of it that werent so harmless.

It comes down to context and meaning, says the comedian Bridget Christie. The gentler pattern of joke is still knocking around, she suggested, but now it exists alongside something darker: I obtained The Inbetweeners youngster banter hilarious, because it was equal and unthreatening. But there is obviously a world of difference between a group of teenage boys benignly taking the piss out of each other, and a bigot being racist or misogynist and trying to pass it off as a joke.

Trace the rise of banter, and you will find that it corresponds to the rise of political correctness or, anyway, to the backlash against political correctness gone mad. That word and just joke reflect each other perfectly: one denoting a priggish culture that is deemed to have overreached, the other a laid-back culture that is deemed to have been unfairly reined in. Ironically enough, merely joke does exactly what it alleges political correctness of, seeking to close down argument by say to you that making is settled by category rather than material. Political correctness is saying that a racist prank is mainly racist, whereas banter asserts that a racist pun is mainly a pun. In the past, the men who use it rarely had to define it, or to explain themselves to anybody else. Today, in contrast, it is mentioned all the time. The biggest change isnt the banter itself, remarks Bethan Benwell. Its the explicit call of the word as a disclaimer.

By sheer repetition and by its give as an unanswerable defense, joke has altered from an abstract into a vast and calcified description of wars as well as texts: started from a lane of talking to a way of life, a form that inadvertently became a worldview. He joked you, people sometimes remark: you always used to banter with your copulates, but now it often sounds like something you do to them. Once it was directionless, inconclusive yak with wit as the engine that drove it, said the comedian Russell Kane. Now, if I errand you up, thats banter.

You might think the mortification suffers from Keys and Gray would have constituted banter less plea as a get-out, but not a bit of it. Banter, increasingly, seems like the first sanctuary of the indefensible. In 2014, Malky Mackay, who had been fired as manager of Cardiff City Football Club a year earlier, was caught having transported textbook that referred to Chinese beings devouring bird-dogs, black people being criminals, Jewish people being avaricious, and lesbian parties being snakes all of which were initially optimistically defended by the League Managers Association as letting off steam to a friend during some friendly text letter banter. The comedian Dapper Laughs, whose real identify is Daniel OReilly, established himself as jokes rat king, with his very own ITV2 display, and then completely lost after he suggested that an audience member at one of his gigs was gagging for a assault. A man was convicted of assassinate after he mashed his friend against a wall with a Jeep Cherokee after an disagreement over badger-baiting, a course of action that he added had been intended as banter. Another trounced the throat of someone he had met in a pub and described the accident as a few moments of joke after 14 or 15 pints. Both are now in prison.

By any sane quantity, joke was falling into dishonor, as often a disguise for malice as a word for the ribaldry of fellows on the lash. Still it did not go away: instead, the worst of it has mutated again, insisting its expert in public and saving its creepiest partialities for the shadows or, at the least, for the company of five, or 10, or 20 of your closest mates.

At the London School of Economics, it started with a circular. Each year at the universitys freshers fair, LSE Rugby Football Club shared a banterous primer on rugby culture. In October 2014, suggests the then-president of the student solidarity, Nona Buckley-Irvine, a student has now come to her in tears with a emulate in her hand. The brochure “was talkin about a” trollops, slags, crumpet, mingers, and the desirability of misogyny; there were legislating cites to the frights of lesbian mortification and outright lesbian gluttony. Anyone charmed by all this was invited to sign up for the team and meet the banter register, entitling them to participate in the exchange of chappish email conversation.

To anyone with a run knowledge of university laddism, it was hard to suppose a more everyday iteration. Still, after the unreconstructed chappishness of the circular has now come to sunlight, the association knew it had a problem. It questioned a collective justification admitted that we have a lot to learn about the injurious effects of joke, and promised to organise a workshop. But there are still reason to be sceptical about the magnitude of that commitment.

When Buckley-Irvine and her peers published a report on the accident, they memo a fibre of others, including an antisemitic assault on a university ski tour to Val dIsere in 2011. And there were other follies it didnt mention. According to two people who were present, one club dinner at an Indian restaurant on Brick Lane ended with a stripper having bottles thrown at her when, already intimidated, she refused to take her invests off. She obscured in the toilet, and had to be escorted out by a member of staff as the team vandalised the restaurant.

Photograph: Alamy

According to five people who were either members of the rugby society or closely associated with it, one notorious elderly member was widely thought to be responsible for the booklet.( He did not respond to requests for explain .) But when they came to defend themselves to the student uniting, members of the squad fell back on one of “the worlds largest” revered mainstays of laddism: all for one, one for all. Theyd clearly worked out a line, mentions Nona Buckley-Irvine. No private individuals was responsible. They were sorry. It was just joke. Thats what they all said.

The accountancy firm KPMG, which sponsored colleges and universities wider Athletics Union, “ve decided that” banter was not an specially helpful firebrand association, and moved funding merit 22,000. The students uniting decided to disband the golf-club for the academic year. The decision moved some commentators to disgust. It was a gross overreaction, a former unit member told me. We were the best-behaved unit when it came to actually playing rugbies but they censored that bit and they couldnt proscribe any of the rest.

Others took a less measured tint. I had old-fashioned members emailing me and calling me a tyrant, articulates Buckley-Irvine. Expecting me if I didnt understand that it was just joke. Rugby actors sung mistreat at her on nights out, she told me. They shoulder-barged her, and called her a cunt.

These kinds of interactions would tend to take place on Wednesdays, also known as boasts night, at a prohibit in Leicester Square. Sports night was the apotheosis of the rugby organizations bleak solidarity. In homage to what you might call the wingers-before-mingers code, for example, representatives from the squad who were expected to dress in dress werent allowed to speak to women before 9pm. So they would just holler abuse instead, one girl former student, who Ill call Anna, remembered. One chant, she replied, get, Nine nos and a yes is a yes. At the time, Anna thought that it was all a pun. Beings would say, Its precisely banter all the time. After everything. Absolutely everything, she spoke, sitting in a cafe in south London. If you were convening someone brand-new, saying they had good banter, that was a reasonably high congratulate. Whereas if you dont go along with that material, its seen as, you cant take the chat, you cant take the banter. And its not to be considered as having a stance against it. Its seen as not being able to keep up.

After the rugby squad was disbanded , good-for-nothing much altered in plays night social life. Many members of the club still went on the same darkness out; they are only colonised other squads. They still addressed girlfriends as Sarah 2 or Sarah 8 depending on how attractive they considered them out of 10; they are continuing had shouted speeches about their copulation lives in front of the women they had slept with but refused to acknowledge.

That culture was not confined to Wednesday nights. Anna recollects a person who took her portrait as she slept, naked, in the bunk they were sharing, and circulated it to another non-university plays crew via WhatsApp. She wasnt meant to see it on his phone.

Ask anyone well-informed where joke resides now, and theyll give the same reaction: WhatsApp groups and email yarns, the safe seats of the lad class. What youd get out of those WhatsApp threads, its a different world of drama, one former member of the football club pronounced. The details of girls people that youd read, a few amusing jibes, that was the limit for me. But where reference is moved on to, like, really, really bad trash, always about sex it was too much. Those strands are the source of everything.

If the threads were an store, they were by no means the limit. Banter, by common consent, wasnt confined to lampooning each other: it was about action. If you dressed up for a night out, one girl student remembered, “its just” kind of status quo that you could have your arse grab. It was just like, Oh, that was kind of strange, but OK, thatll happen. Like everybody else willing to speak about it, her position of that culture was perplexingly nuanced, sometimes self-contradictory. It seems spooky, she said, but that tell me anything, some of my best nighttimes were there, and like it was enjoyable. But then she enunciated: What was defined as serious just got so pushed . I envision for someone to lodge a complaint they would have to be actually hurt.

Anna recollects lots of sketchy incidents. She remembers nighttimes when her choices faded into a blur, and she wondered if she had really been in control. But at the time, I would never call it out, she remarked. And then, youre all living in vestibules together, and the next day, its like: What did you do last nighttime? Thats funny. Thats banter.

When Anna thinks about the behaviour of some of “the mens” she knew at university, she find it hard to pin down exactly what she recalls of them. Theres one in particular who sticks in her recollection. On a Wednesday night, he was a joke person, she told. He was a Wednesday animal. But the rest of the time, he was my friend.

Controversial though all this was at the time , no one seems to think that it will have expenditure the perpetrators often. Ive tried so hard to leave all that behind, said the former is part of the football crew. But those guys theyre all going on to run banks, or the two countries, or whatever. The senior rugby boy who numerous held responsible, by the way, has territory on his hoofs. Today, he has a activity at KPMG.

In 2017, every new instance of banter is immediately discerned and put through the journalistic wringer.( Immorality Joel Golby, who wrote the definitive verse on the bagel thing, has made a career from his exquisite close readings of the structure .) But when each new absolute myth rises, we dont typically have the context to shape the essential points finding: do the proponents tend towards the harmless excitement of Ellis and his copulates, or the frank hatred of the LSE rugby boys? Is their affection of irony straightforward, or a mask for something else?

As Richard Keys and Dapper Laughs and their cohorts have polluted the idea of joke, the commercial entities that endorsed its rise had now become uneasy with the label. They wanted it to go viral; they hadnt expected it to runs postal. Dave, for example, has plunged the residence of funny banter slogan. Its not about classic male mood any more, its a bit smarter, alleges UKTVs Steve North. We certainly say it less than we used to.

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