#(which are shockingly hard to find)

[faaun]

ok let's catch up quickly

[wild-at-mind]

Just remembering when I was waiting for bf to get his tatt done and looking at the magazines, they had one of those extreme body mods magazines which was interesting. I have never understood why people get this kind of body mod, but I'm trying to work on being more open minded. And from this magazine I can see clearly that the ethos is 'my body is mine and I should be allowed to choose to do these things to it', which resonates. And as a trans person I would hope I wouldn't forget that transphobes call transition 'irrepairable damage' and self harm. (I can remember watching those early 2000s documentaries where surgery for transition was basically framed as an extreme body mod to be looked at for shock value.)

So I'm looking at this magazine, all open minded like, and then suddenly one of the models (who was being interviewed for something else, like he had his dick split in two or something) just casually is like oh yeah I have tonnes of different types of swastika tattooed on my arm. And sure enough, then there's a pic of like...20 swastikas done in different ways all on one area of his arm.

:[

[waraxarcana]

@akagamiko asked: The High Priestess & The Lovers c: THE MAJOR ARCANA (Still Accepting)

The High Priestess: Do they meditate? Would they be considered "in tune" with themselves, or do they struggle with personal growth?

Hawkins does indeed meditate. Usually first thing in the morning along with some yoga to center himself before leaving his quarters to face the day. He did a lot more of it during the alliance with the Kid Pirates and On-Air Pirates because he needed to center himself a lot more before dealing with his biggest stressors.

As for being in tune with himself and personal growth, that's mostly a no. Or at least, he'll acknowledge and work on his personal shortcomings if he thinks he'll immediately gain something from it. For example, when he left Auger, he realized that most people were put-off by his lack of emotions. He didn't care so much until he realized that tactical displays of emotion could be useful, especially for manipulation. So he sought to learn how to express himself a bit more, or at least mimic others enough to more easily navigate social situations and turn them in his favor.

Unfortunately, he's too stubborn and closeted to be in tune to himself enough to acknowledge his bisexuality.

The Lovers: What do they consider to be the "perfect partner", be it romantic, platonic, alterous, etc.? Is there someone like that in their life?

For romantic/sexual partners, he likes intelligence, passion, and feistiness. If he's going to be with someone, he wants to be able to actually converse with them for hours. He wants to learn and discover things from them and with them. He needs intelligence to remain interested in a person, otherwise he'll quickly discard them once they've fulfilled their purpose. This pairs especially well with someone who's passionate, especially when it's related to their hobbies or goals. Hawkins especially likes someone who's passionate but also knows when to be quiet. As for the feistiness...that's a bit more in NSFW territory lol. I will also note that he considers thick, luxurious hair he can run his fingers through and play with to be a very attractive physical feature.

For platonic relationships, intelligence is still key. Hawkins does not like stupid people. He appreciates intelligence and cunning. Good conversation is again something he craves if he's going to be associated with someone. Loyalty is something he will also begrudgingly appreciate, though mostly to him. He's also someone who prefers animals over people, so he's more likely to tolerate the company of minks and animals over most humans. He finds they have a soothing presence about them (and yes, this does also include his carnivorous horse).

[rustedgate]

Despite me being the only one who sews in my house, it's a very dangerous game to bring my mom to the fabric store

[twilightkitkat]

I know people normally brand Wade as The Funny One, but can we talk about how they'd be as a comedic duo? While flirting? While fighting?

People oftentimes tend to stereotype Logan as The Straight Man, the guy who keeps a serious face no matter what. And while sometimes that can be true, if you look at his characterization in the movies and comics, that isn't always the case. I think that because his humor is more subtle and down-to-earth than Wade's they tend to overlook it entirely.

Wade's humor is more obnoxious and in-your-face. He uses a cheerful, dramatic tone to cue you in that he's trying to be funny. He makes pop culture references and rambles on and makes constant, non-stop commentary. He's meant to be entertaining and funny because it's his brand to be insane and nonchalant even in the face of danger.

Logan, on the other hand, has this very blunt, sarcastic humor. The type that requires you to think a second to get it. He'd make little quips and jabs, but either with a straight face or barely there grin, so it's harder to tell he's joking. His tone of voice is more deep and gruff, which we don't typically associate with being humorous, but he does tease enemies and joke and throw their lines back in his face and goad them.

These two together would drive everyone up the wall.

Everyone (the X-men, the enemies, Wade's friends) assumed that their interactions would be Wade making crude, obnoxious jokes and Logan telling him to shut up or acting annoyed but... that doesn't happen? Instead, Logan quietly laughs at Wade's antics or, even more shockingly, joins in.

Logan gets Wade's humor—relishes in it, even. He would find Wade funny when he makes stupid jokes at all the wrong times because he does it too but nobody pays attention because it flies over their head or he's too intimidating for them to really register his words.

(The only reason Logan was more serious in the movie was that he was a grieving, broken man who thought he was responsible for the deaths of his family. He felt completely alone. And yet, even then, he played along to some extent with Wade's jokes and acted baffled rather than genuinely annoyed unless it was a super inappropriate moment. And you could tell he found Wade funny and liked him talking by the end of the movie.)

These two would be sitting across the table and Wade would make some stupid joke and Logan would add onto it, straight-faced.

Wade would gasp and clutch his chest dramatically at someone taking the Ketchup from him before he was done and whine, "How could you!? The betrayal! I thought I could trust you, this is a crime of the highest degree! I should have you canceled on Twitter for the atrocities you just committed."

And Logan would shake his head, stoicly, and reply, "It isn't cool to steal, man. It feels good in the moment but you hurt other people."

And everyone would sit there like what the fuck? Did Logan just... play along with Wade?

(Logan was biting his cheek to not grin at their confused faces and Wade was practically cackling to himself.)

It'd be even funnier when they're fighting villains together.

"Watch out, babygirl! Daddy's going to save you!" Deadpool would scream, as he lunges in to stab the enemy as they have Logan pinned to the ground.

"Well, 'Daddy' needs to do a better fucking job at it," Logan would grunt as he threw the guy off himself.

Logan would be snarky, because that's his personality and sense of humor, but he'd play along. He'd commit to the bit so hard that the enemies would stop attacking for a second just to look at each other like, "Are you seeing this???"

"Wolvie, what did I tell you about your greasy tits? If you wanted to be a prostitute you could at least tell me so we could start an Onlyfans and monetize it," Wade would say after Logan's shirt got shredded in a fight.

"I'm not giving you a fucking cent of my Onlyfans money," Logan would grunt as he continues fighting.

"That's unfair! I'd be the best photographer out there, you need to pay me my fair share! This is a worker's rights violation!"

"Yeah, well, I'm the pornstar. I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting, you aren't entitled to shit."

And everyone would be like???? Did The Wolverine have an Onlyfans? Since when? And where could they find it—

It'd be funny to see them tear down the self-esteem of a villain together as they fought them.

"You look like Simon Cowell got dipped in a vat of acid and then grew out a mullet and got it cut by a 5-year-old on America's Got Talent just because their mom died of cancer," Wade would laugh and point at their appearance.

"That's being generous. At least Simon Cowell was attractive. More like a fucking muppet," Logan would add on.

And then they'd fight over whose interpretation was correct while the villain just stood there and took out a mirror to look at themselves because?? They didn't think it was that bad?? (It was.)

It'd actually give them the edge in fights because they'd baffle the villains so much. They'd either make them pissed off at not being taken seriously and therefore more sloppy, or just make them insanely self-conscious. Win-win.

Eventually, word on the street got around that Wolverine and Deadpool were a brutal duo. Verbally. There'd be villains telling stories about how they were disrespected and maybe an emotional support club "Fought Deadpool and Wolverine and survived on the outside but died on the inside."

They'd be a peak comedy duo that would become notorious for their chemistry (both in their fighting style and commentary).

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Hey guys the Worms are coming back so I’m having thoughts,

tw: a/b/o dynamics, major angst no aftercare, panic attacks, past abuse, military

I love the stories where the 141 (in a/b/o context) are all alphas or a mix, but I also haven’t seen much of them being all omegas, which I think would really make sense.

Imagine it, omegas are more sensitive to their surroundings I think, with sharper instincts and reaction time imo, and they’re probably smaller than the stereotypical alpha so they can move faster. They can stay relatively calm under pressure and suppressants deal with the issue of a heat. I’ve always more imagined the 141 as four omegas, but four that stand out, and are used to criticism from people not in the military that don’t understand their team bonds.

So imagine they one day get news of a new transfer onto their team (maybe replacing soap as he’s recovering from his bullet wound HES NOT DEAD MW3 NEVER HAPPENED) and they’re not worried until they’re told it’s an alpha. An American alpha, too, if I let this get really self indulgent. Americans are loud and proud and annoying, so they fear the worst, you could throw off their team bonds, or make fun of them, or mess up their missions, etc, etc.

But in this imaginary world imagine that omegas also have more societal power than alphas, not physical power though, and you happened to be a victim of alpha-abuse. So what if the alpha that comes is shockingly quiet despite your imposing height and strength, and even looks nervous. The 141 would be absolutely ready for a brawl, I think, scents stinking up the room, only for you to stiffen as your nose stings from the potent mix of scents.

They’d observe you the entire time of the initial scenting, your stiff posture, uncomfortable behavior, and most of all the odd texture and scarring of your scent gland on your neck. Not unusual in your line of work.

After that, they made it clear you were an afterthought.

They wouldn’t let you get them food in the mess, or let you enter their shared nesting area, or even linger in Price’s office. If you covered them on a mission they’d nip at you or give you little low growls. They didn’t like the change to it, having to adjust, or just wanted to prove that they didn’t need an alpha, especially not to replace Soap.

You were trying. You knew you had to work your ass off for their respect and trust, and you were trying so hard. They didn’t seem to care.

Before they’d met you, they’d never thought that an alpha could have anything similar to a distress, nothing even close to the physical and psychological damage and pure stress someone had to be put through to reach that point. That was, until, one day when Ghost yanked you down to his scent gland to take a whiff when you ask how he covers the gunpowder from missions in his scent (spoiler: he doesn’t) and you just completely…freak out.

Shoving him away, eyes wide and looking through him, heart rate and breathing too fast. You’d absolutely booked it to your lone, sterile room that was the opposite of their cozy nest. It had taken a good hour just for Price and the rest to drag a medic and find out what the hell was wrong, only for you to be diagnosed with “Cane Baker Condition”,

“It’s, essentially, a form of PTSD related to a secondary gender, or experiences with one in a negative light. Think like a panic attack that lasts until their body is convinced they’re safe. Keep them out of bright light, away from loud noises or anything triggering for them, and give them some recognizable items from the nest, and they’ll snap out of it.”

It was then that they’d realized you had no recognizable items. Because they’d not let you even have a chance to enter their nest, and here they were now. You, lying underneath your piss poor bed in a pitch black room with one blanket in a sad mockery of a nest for comfort, getting as close to a panicked whimper that an alpha could between every breath.

Now they had to figure out how to earn your trust and respect, especially after they’d given absolutely none to you, neglected and abused you, for weeks.

should I make this a series?? (midterms are almost over so I’ll be more active soon, so far I’ve passed all of them!)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[rainesol]

The way Riddle’s mental health gets treated in comparison to the other character’s mental health is really annoying sometimes.

Here’s the thing, Riddle apologises for lashing out REGULARLY. Most times when he catches himself becoming unreasonable, he stops, apologises, and makes a consistent effort to change for the better.

I’ve also seen people (mostly on tt) claim that he’s not understanding of other people’s struggles which is the opposite of the truth. He’s incredibly accommodating. He helps Cater study in a way he thinks will help most, taking possibly hours of his own time, showing understanding to his implied ADHD. He gives Deuce his own clear notes and help book on maths -zero questions asked- showing understanding to his implied dyscalculia and dyslexia. On the same topic, Riddle is very heavily implied to struggle with low-empathy, meaning he does in fact find it hard to put himself in other peoples shoes. (Idia literally calls him ‘Mr Zero EQ’ [en] or The man who can’t empathise with anyone [jp] as an insult during the GloMas event). Riddle was also one of, if not the most apologetic about his overblot.

Another thing to point out is that Riddle isn’t enforcing these rules for fun? He follows those ridiculous rules compulsively. He worries that if he’s not following these rules constantly, something bad will happen to him. (Which, in his experience, is correct.) Do people even realise how hard ignoring compulsions are? He also is commonly headcanoned as autistic. A few common symptoms of autism is to be very justice oriented and to follow rules to the t. This (shockingly) is inconvenient and causes a lot of struggle in the persons life.

Of course, none of these struggles are cute or fun, so nobody wants to acknowledge it. /s

[haleswallows]

DC x DP Dead Tired 'Fake Relationship' plot bunny

Alright, imagine me presenting you with this like a proud cat bringing you the hair tie I just murdered. (Anyone is welcome to add to this - to treat it like a prompt or to expand on it. Just, like, let me know so I can consume it with an unhinged fervor, thank you!)

Tim (no longer forever 17) finds himself in a bit of a situation. One being that he's really fed up with Dick and Barbara and Alfred and even Bruce being nosy. And why are they being nosy?

Because that's their love language. And also, because for some absurd reason Tim cannot discern, Dick got it in his head that Tim is lonely. Which, of course means everyone has accepted the mission to get Tim hitched.

Is it that Tim and Bernard broke up? Is it that Tim has gone stag to every charity gala for the last year? Is it that Bruce finally pulled his head out of his ass and made things work out with Selina? The world may never know.

What Tim does know is he isn't lonely. He's fine. Truly.

Enter Danny Phantom.

The ghost hero is interesting. Tim side eyes the guy pretty hard when he joins the Justice League. For a dead guy, he's pretty cheery and up-beat. Honestly, with all the quips & puns, he could have been a Robin in a past life.

Surprising absolutely no one, Nightwing and Phantom quickly become butt-buddies, joined at the hip, partners in crime. Tim is not jealous, no matter what Dick says. He has his own team, his own cases, CEO work, etc etc etc and even more etc. Great, Dick has a new friend.

Too bad for Tim, one of his cases overlaps with Phantom's 'jurisdiction'. No one will tell Tim what that means. No worries, Tim will find out. He always does.

Red Robin and Phantom team up. It goes... great. No grievous injuries, the case gets solved, Phantom takes the frankly disturbing relic of Red Robin's hands. Tim cares only in-so-far that the thing is out of Gotham and Phantom promises (so-signed by Batman? the actual fuck?) it will be safe and won't return to the human realm.

They're wrapping up in one of Tim's more 'civilian' passing safe-houses. Mostly because it was the closest, and Phantom said something about 'ley lines' and 'easier to open a portal'. Cool, whatever. Tim was going to burn this safe-house soon anyway.

Tim, as always, gets himself into trouble. Chronic Thinking Too Much Disease, they really ought to make a cure for it. He's reflecting, watching Phantom eat Cheerios right out of the box, sitting on the counter, looking like he belongs there. When the fuck did Tim get Cheerios?

There's no denying it. Tim liked working with Phantom. The guy is good in a fight, doesn't rely on his powers too much, and kept up with Tim. Not not physically, but intellectually. And he's shockingly earnest when he isn't being a trash-talking little shit.

So. Tim gets an idea.

"Hey," he says before he's even thoroughly thought it out, "we should date."

Phantom pauses, gloved hand suspended in the middle of shoving another handful of cereal into his mouth, wide eyed and gaping. Attractive.

"Huh?" he says, eloquently.

"Not for real," Tim scrambles to explain. "I mean fake dating. Just hang around some, be a bit performative, nothing out of masks. We can say we're taking things slow and break up. Nightwing keeps trying to set me up with a date. This will get him off my case."

"Oooooh." Phantom resumes inhaling cereal. Why a ghost needs to eat, Tim would like to know, but it's probably rude to ask. Slowly chewing, Phantom seriously thinks it over. "You know, the council has been bugging me too. About dating. This could work out for both of us."

Council? Tim would like to know why a council is interested in Phantom dating. So he asks.

Phantom sighs explosively. Finally, he sets the Cheerios down. "OK, so like, this is need to know basis only. I haven't even disclosed it to the League. And like, Nightwing only knows because he's my friend and the Observants crashed one of our mission and blew the lid."

Pulling a face, Phantom waves an arm in an arc over his head. A crown appears, spinning and shooting off beams of light like an Aurora Borealis.

"I'm the Ghost King. It's a whole thing, no I am not taking questions on it at this time. Well, technically, I'm the Prince of the Infinite Realms because I'm too young to take the throne. So, there's a council and a regent. Whatever, not important!"

Phantom claps, getting himself back on track. "What that means is there's a council and Observants that are really interested in my personal shit. Including who I date. But like, I'm enjoying my brat girl summer and being single right now, not that they care."

Tim blinks. Then blinks again, slotting the new information in place alongside everything he knows about Phantom. That's... something.

"That sounds annoying," Tim says, instead of one of the approximately 23 questions in his head that are quickly spawning more by the second. "Fake dating would solve both of our problems."

Because Tim is a professional, they make a contract. Phantom will remain Red Robin's boyfriend, since they're taking it slow and no secret identities will need to be disclosed. Tim doesn't ask why Phantom would have a secret identity... he's dead? Saves the question for the later.

Red Robin will remain Phantom's totally human badass vigilante boyfriend, since they're taking it slow and Tim won't be required to do anything in any capacity for the Infinite Realms.

Then they set boundaries. Date ideas, what they're comfortable with for PDA, how much they'll have to do to sell it.

"I mean," Phantoms says, again with a mouthful of Cheerios. "Clockwork monitors the timelines, so he definitely already knows what we're doing. And he hasn't intervened yet." When Tim gives him A Look, Phantom helpfully explains, "He only intervenes when I do something stupid enough that'll change the course of the multiverse. So," then shrugs, entirely too nonchalant for Tim's tastes.

"If Clockwork already knows, won't he say something to the council or the Observants?" The very Observants Phantom has guaranteed will pop in on Tim at some point. So Tim feels compelled to ask.

"Nah," Phantom says. He kicks his feet from where he's sitting on the kitchen table now, right at Tim's elbow. "He hates the Observants more than I do. I bet he loves this. He's always down to fuck with them."

Great. That's... great.

Nothing can go wrong, right?

[sturnioz]

shy!reader making fratboy!chris study with her so he can actually focus and pass his classes without always having her share her notes with him. things go in a different direction n shy!reader is sucking on the tip of fratboy!chris' dick when he gets an answer right or actually memorized something !!! idk just a thought

chris is not good at concentrating. on top of that, he hates studying; finds it useless and pathetic, would definitely much rather do anything else than study. his only reason for passing any of his classes is that he relies heavily on matt, who more often than not does the work for him, or he copies the answers from your organized notes that you leave for him, which contain everything he needs to pass.

it stresses you out just a bit — the weight of your own work feels overwhelming, especially as it piles on top of the responsibility of making sure that chris' notes are completed. it's a heavy burden that presses down on your shoulders, and honestly, you're growing tired of doing the majority of the work. you want him to learn, to grasp the material, and to memorise what he needs to understand on his own.

"why should i learn all this shit if i got you 'n matt doin' everythin' f'me?" chris huffs during a study session, flipping the textbook off his lap with a loud thud as it hits the floor. "m'takin' the easy way out, kid. why would i do it the hard 'n pointless way?"

"you need to stop making me and matt help you," you murmur as you bend down to retrieve the textbook, holing it tightly as you meet his gaze.

chris snorts, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans closer. "kid.. m'not makin' you do anythin'. i don't think i've even asked you for help once... s'just you handin' me your fancy little notes on your own."

his words cut deeper than you'd like to admit. it's true; he's never verbally asked for your help, it's more of you noticing his lack of effort and feeling compelled to offer your own support by taking the initiative to write the notes.

still, the realisation makes you pout and turn away, frustration bubbling inside you as you grapple with the truth of his statement.

"alright, look. you... you want me t'learn? fine. i can do that, but uh... but you have to do somethin' for me, yeah?" the sound of a proposition catches your attention, prompting you to slowly turn your head and meet his gaze. chris tilts his head to the side slightly, a glimmer in his eyes as he leans closer. "every time i get an answer right — or remember somethin'... you owe give me a kiss."

your heart skips a beat, and your eyes dart to his lips as his suggestion, the warmth flooding your cheeks. but chris lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head.

"nah... nah, kid. wasn't talkin' about that."

is doesn't take you long to be between his legs, your knees sore from the wooden floorboards digging into your bones with your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock — gone from giving him sweet, little kisses to sucking him whenever he managed to get a question right.

there are tears in your eyes from the times he's been nestled deep in your throat, and you're unable to see him through watery vision, but you can feel him — stroking your cheek or cupping the back of your neck to keep his cock jammed down you throat.

shockingly, chris somehow got every question right. no mistakes, no fumbles of words, no breaks.

he got everything.

[oni-gory]

Genshin boys in heat! PT. 1

ᡣ𐭩 characters: Tighnari x afab reader

ᡣ𐭩 cw: Minor writing smut, penetration, public sex, masturbation (kinda?), Switch Tighnari

ᡣ𐭩 notes: New series of oneshots! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) my posting schedule is so inconsistent omg yall im so sorry— 😭

Tighnari

You and Tighnari were nothing but coworkers, both of you were members of the Vanara that often bumped into each other. Well, that’s how you saw him at least. Tighnari on the other hand, found you quite attractive. He was interested in you, but knew better than to pursue his romantic ambitions. Especially with a coworker. So he just often caught himself staring at you.

One morning, while you were getting ready to go patrol with some other forest rangers, you bumped into Tighnari. But… he was acting strange. His face was very red and he seemed really fidgety. You tried to apologize nonetheless, “Oh- I’m sorry Tighnari! Uhm… are you alright.?” You asked, but Tighnari didn’t respond. He just quickly pushed past you and hurried away into the forest. That made you really worried. So instead of going on parol like you were assigned to, you went looking for Tighnari.

After searching most of the areas you knew he frequented, you ended up wandering around the forest by the Gandharva Ville. That was when you heard panting coming from a… tree? You approached quickly, worried that it was an injured animal. But when you peeked your head past the tree, you instead saw the Forest Watcher. He was leaning against the tree, sweating profusely while gripping a bulge in his pant. Your face flushed red and you quickly looked away, hoping to quietly sneak away and pretend it never happened. But all of a sudden Tighnari grabbed your hand.

His sense of smell was outstanding, and it seemed he noticed you. Tighnari looked up at you with a red face, a desperate look in his teary eyes. “I-I’m sorry.. plea—please help..” He begged you, pulling on your arm. Despite his appearance, Tighnari was shockingly strong. You struggled to find the words, not wanting to say yes… but he looked so desperate. Tighnari seemed like he needed you. So you feebly nodded, mumbling an embarrassed response, “Okay.. Uhm- What do you need.?” Tighnari looked around to make sure nobody could see him before leading your hand to the bulge in his pants. Just you touching him, even through his clothes made the Forest Watcher shiver.

Your face was red while you continued touching him through his clothes, listening to Tighnari’s whimpers. He moved from laying back against the tree to laying back against you. “Moree..” He whined, sweating while trying to make you remove his pants. You bit your bottom lip before removing his pants. This entire situation was so embarrassing… But for some reason Tighnari was to blinded by his lustful heat, which you were still oblivious to. His hard cock was poking out of his underwear, longing to be released. You let out a shaky breath when seeing it, surprised by how large your supervisors cock was. Your hands trembled, pulling his underwear down to his knees so you could get a better look at it. You felt so perverted as your fingers wrapped around his lengthy dick. Tighnari’s eyes rolled back into his head as he lifted his head, letting it rest on your shoulder. He was so sensitive..

You were standing in the middle of the forest jerking off the Tighnari of all people… This was insanity. But his sweet moans clouded your mind, distracting you from the thoughts running wild in your head. You got the chance to focus on just pleasuring him, swirling your fingers around his tip and watching as the green eyed man whimpered. He was getting a bit loud, and Tighnari noticed. He covered his mouth, muffling his moans just barely. He even started breathing heavier, and you could tell he was about to reach his edge.

Then, just as you thought, a rope of sticky white cream bursted out of Tighnari’a cock. He hyperventilated, tears trickling down his cheeks after the intense pleasure. Your hand was now a mess, and so were your panties. Your eyes were locked on his still hard cock while Tighnari tried to collect himself. “T—tha..Thank yuo…" He mumbled, leaning against a tree. His face was flushed with blush and a bit of tears and Tighnari didn’t notice that you had bent down onto your knees until you gripped his sensitive cock. The Forest Watcher let out a yelp, his ears drooping against his head. "W-what are you d— oh archons~..” He shivered, biting his bottom lip as you opened your mouth and began to suck on his cock. Tighnari’s legs trembled, feeling sensitive after his orgasm. But even still, He wanted more. Much more than only your mouth. He wanted to breed you.

It had been an hour since the two of you were gone, and none of the others forest rangers knew what was happening between the both of you. They had no idea that by now, Tighnari had you against a tree, ramming his cock inside of your cunt desperately. He was holding your legs up even after your protests against it, clearly determined to breed you. “Ti—Tighnariii~!! Too— too much~..” You moaned out, gripping the tree in an attempt to stabilize yourself. Tighnari had his face nuzzled in your shoulder, smelling your arousal, which only fueled his thrusts. You continued to moan until you heard his muffled voice, “You’re being too… loud.." Then you made an attempt to quiet down by covering your mouth with your hands. He was fucking you like a rabid dog, and honestly, he basically was one. Tighnari began to feel your pussy clenching around him, and he noticed your back was arching. So he decided to try pounding into you deeper, feeling his own orgasm reaching near. All of a sudden, you felt the Forest Watcher’s cum overflowing in your pussy, dripping onto the grass. As the high of your orgasm ended, you knew that the two of you wouldn’t just stay coworkers.

[qqueenofhades]

do you have any advice for those in the very early stages of thesis-writing? currently desperately clinging to the mantra of "shitty first drafts," et al

Unfortunately, there is no place where you will more whole-assedly have to embrace the "shitty first draft" mantra than in academic writing, especially in thesis writing, especially if this is your first-ish crack at an advanced and major piece of original research. I'm not sure if this is for an undergraduate senior thesis, a MA-level thesis, or (my true and heartfelt sympathies) a PhD dissertation, but the basic principles of it will remain the same. So there is that, at least. This means that yes, you will write something, you may even feel slightly proud of it, and then you will hand it into your supervisor and they will more or less kindly dismantle it. You have to train yourself to have a thick skin about this and not take it as a personal insult, and if your supervisor is remotely good at their job (not all of them are, alas) they will know how to be tactful about it and not make it feel like a direct and extensive commentary on your private worth as a person. But you will have to swallow it and do what you can, which can include -- if you're the one who has done the research and know that's how you want to present it and/or you are correct about it -- pushing back and having a conversation with them about how you think your original approach does work best. But that will come later. The first step is, yes, to mentally gird yourself to receive critical feedback on something that you have worked hard on, and to understand that no matter how much you grump and grumble and deservedly vent to your friends and so on, implementing the feedback will usually make your piece better and stronger. That is the benefit of working with a trained expert who knows what makes a good piece of research in your particular academic field, and while it doesn't get easier, per se, at least it gets familiar. Be not afraid, etc.

If you're in the writing stage, I assume that you've moved past the topic-selection and general-research stage, but allow me to plump once more the services of your friendly local university library. You can (or at least you can at mine and probably in any decently well-equipped research university) schedule a personal consultation with an expert librarian, who can give you tips on how to find relevant subject databases, create individual research guides (these might already be available on the university library website for classes/general topics), and otherwise level you up to Shockingly Competent Research Superhero. So if you're still looking for a few extra sources, or for someone else who might be reading this and is still in the "how the heck do I find appropriate and extensive scholarly literature for my thesis??" stage, please. Go become a Research Ninja. It's much easier when you have a minion doing half the work for you, but please do appreciate and make use of your university librarian. It's much more effective than haphazard Google Scholar or JSTOR searches hoping to turn up something vaguely relevant (though to be fair, we all do that too), and it's what your tuition dollars are paying for.

Next, please do remind yourself that you are not writing the whole thesis in one go, and to break it down into manageable chunks. It usually does make sense to write the whole thing semi-chronologically (i.e. introduction, lit review, chapter 1, chapter 2/3/4 etc, conclusion), because that allows you to develop your thoughts and make logical connections, and to build on one piece to develop the next. If you're constantly scrambling between chapters and zig-zagging back and forth as things occur to you, it will be harder to focus on any one thought or thread of research, and while you might get more raw output, it will not be as good and will require more correction and revision, so you're not actually hacking yourself into increased productivity. You should also internally structure your chapters in addition to organizing your overall thesis, so it makes sense to draw up a rough outline for section A, section B, section C within the body of a single chapter. This will make you think about why the segues are going in that order and what a reasonably intelligent reader, who nonetheless may not have the specialized knowledge that you are demonstrating for them, needs to move understandably from one section to the next.

Some academics I know like to do an extensive outline, dumping all their material into separate documents for each chapter/paper and kneading and massaging and poking it into a more refined shape, and if that works for you -- great! I'm more of the type that doesn't bother with a ton of secondary outlines or non-writing activity, since that can lead you away from actually writing, but if you need to see the fruit of your research all together in one place before you can start thinking about how it goes together, that is also absolutely the way that some people do it. Either way, to be a successful academic writer, you have to train yourself to approach academic writing in a very different way from fun writing. You do fun writing when you have free time and feel inspired and can glop a lot of words down at once, or at least some words. You do it electively and for distraction and when you want to, not to a set timeline or schedule, and alas, you can't do this for academic writing. You will have to sit your ass down and write even when you do not feel like writing, do not feel Magically Inspired, don't even want to look at the fucking thing, etc. I have had enough practice that I can turn on Academic Writing Brain, sit down, bang something out, sit down the next day and turn on Academic Editing Brain, go over it again, and send it off, but I have been in academia for uh, quite a while. The good news is that you can also automate yourself to be the same way, but the bad news is that it will take practice and genuine time invested in it.

As such, this means developing a writing schedule and sticking to it, and figuring out whether you work best going for several hours without an interruption, or if you set a timer, write for a certain time, then allow yourself to look at the internet/answer texts/fuck around on Tumblr, and then make yourself put down the distraction and go back to work for another set period of time. (I am admittedly horrible at putting my phone away when I should be doing something else, but learn ye from your wizened elders, etc.) You will have to figure out in which physical space you work best, which may not be a public coffee shop where you can likewise get distracted with doing other things/chatting to friends/screwing around on the internet/doomscrolling/peeking at AO3, and to try to be there as often as possible. It might be your carrel in the library, it might be your desk at home, it might be somewhere else on campus, but if you can place yourself in a setting that tells your brain it's time to work and not look at WhatsApp for the 1000th time in a row, that is also beneficial.

Finally, remember that you do not have to produce an absolutely world-beating, stunningly original, totally flawless and perfect piece, even in its final form. Lots of us write very shitty things when we're starting out (and some of us, uh, still write very shitty things as established academics), and you do not have to totally redefine your entire field of study or propose a groundbreaking theory that nobody has heard of or anything like that. A lot of academic work is small-scale and nuanced, filling in spaces on the margins of other things or responding or offering a new perspective on existing work, and it's best to think of it as a conversation between yourself and other scholars. They have said something and now you're saying something back. You don't need to be so brilliant that everyone goes ZOMGZ I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF THAT BEFORE; by its nature that happens very rarely and is usually way out on a limb (extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, etc); you just need to continue the dialogue with a reasonably well-constructed and internally plausible piece. So if you think of it that way, and understand that a shitty first draft will usually develop into something that is good and valuable but not SHOCKING NEW REVELATION clickbait hype, you will take some of the pressure off yourself and be more able to shut up that perfectionist voice in your head. However, all of us have some degree of imposter syndrome and it never entirely goes away, so you'll have to manage that too. Etc etc as before, it doesn't vanish altogether, but it gets easier.

And last but not least, though I'm sure I don't have to say this: for the love of fuckin' god, do not use ChatGPT. Even the genuinely shittiest paper in the world that you still worked on researching, organizing, and writing with your own brain is better than that. Trust me.

[florencebirdsong]

Sink or Swim

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Agatha All Along Week 2024 - Day 4

summary: you're caught stealing from captain harkness. She's kind enough to offer you a choice: walk the plank or learn how to use your quick fingers for something else

tags: pirate au, fingering (a receiving), finger sucking, oral fixation, light hair pulling

authors note: i’m aware of the historical and clothing inaccuracies shhhhhhhh stop thinking about it you’ll ruin the immersion

ao3 | masterlist

The yelling has stopped. You’re pretty sure they were lowering the anchor but the swell of the waves tell you that you’re far from a dock. Your stomach sinks. Pirates stopping in the middle of the ocean can mean one of two things. They’re raiding another ship or they’re getting the plank out. The lack of fighting sounds tells you which it is.

The captain kicks the door open. You scramble out of the way as she marches in. Agatha Harkness. The most wanted pirate in England. Finally, you have a face to the name. Not that it will do you much good out here.

She raises an eyebrow expectantly at you, looking unfairly good in her uniform. You aren’t sure what she’s waiting for.

“You stole from me,” she says when she finally gives up waiting.

“Sorry?” you try.

It’s not like you knew it was her. There’s few who’d risk stealing from Agatha Harkness. But the lack of her portrait is her whole schtick and it’s what turned a tiny bit of thievery, a week in the slammer at most, into a walk-the-plank situation.

She huffs a laugh and walks further into the room, sitting on the single chair. You don’t bother making for the door as it falls shut, unlocked. The ship is crawling with her crew and you’re no doubt far from shore.

“I almost didn’t notice you,” she says. Is that a good thing? You look slightly to the left of her. Not sure if she’ll see it as a challenge if you look directly at her or rude to avoid her gaze. “You’ve got two choices,” she says. Well, at least there’s some hope. “Walk the plank or learn to use your skilled fingers for something more useful.”

That makes you look at her. Hard labour over a cold, terrifying death? Yes please.

“As a deck hand?” you ask hesitantly.

Her lips quirk. “No,” she says and doesn’t elaborate.

“Bookkeeper?” you try again. “I know my numbers.”

“Not even close,” she says and gestures at the floor in front of her, which doesn’t clear anything up.

She points down and you slowly sit in front of her, waiting for her to laugh and tell you to do something else. She doesn’t, if anything her focus on you seems to grow.

“Knees,” she says and you start to have an inkling of where this is going.

Since you don’t want to end up in the freezing nothingness of the ocean you obey. It has nothing to do with how shockingly attractive she is.

“Can you guess where this is going next?” She asks as she spreads her leather clad legs. You nod, mouth dry. “Well?”

You hesitantly place your hands on her knees, a small part of you worried you’ve read this wrong. Her expectant expression doesn’t change. You slide them up her thighs. She leans back in her chair. You don’t look up as you unbutton her pants with shaking fingers but you can feel her gaze on you.

You make yourself meet her eyes when you’re done. They’re blazing with heat. She raises her hips and you slide her pants down her legs, trying not to show how the reveal of her skin affects you. You decide to be brave and hook your fingers in the waistband of her briefs, pulling them down at the same time. Her lips quirk up and warmth begins to glow in your chest. 

Your eyes drop down to find her cunt wet. It makes you pause. She’s enjoying this. Obviously, she’s enjoying having someone at her feet. That lines up with everything else you know about her character. What gets you is that you’re the one affecting her. You’ve made her this wet. You swallow and you lean closer but hands grip your hair.

“I believe I said your fingers,” she gives you a challenging look when you don’t back down. 

You look back down at her glistening pussy and decide not being able to touch her at all is worse than not getting your mouth on her. It’s also probably best not to antagonise the woman who just threatened to shove you overboard, but that thought is far from your mind.

You lean your head against her thigh as you run two fingers up her wet slit, coating them before finding her clit. You start with gentle circles, unsure of what she prefers. You glance up but her eyes are closed, head tilted back slightly. You continue until she directs you to do something else.

“I’m not seeing much skill here,” she growls, her breath slightly uneven.

You slide your wet fingers back down to her entrance. She’s soaked, but you aren’t brave enough to say it. Instead, you slowly push one finger inside of her. Her hips raise slightly and you can see the way she clenches her jaw to stop any noise escaping. Deciding you don’t want that, you slip a second inside of her and scissor your fingers apart. She makes a surprised noise, a slightly higher pitch than you’ve heard her voice go, and you do it again. Her hand tightens in your hair. It’s your turn to make a small noise. Her eyes slide open and she turns her dark gaze on you. Her pupils are blown. She tugs your hair and your pace stutters.

“You need to be able to multitask on my crew,” she says, her voice rough.

You desperately want to use your mouth but you obediently use your free hand to play with her clit. Her eyes slip closed at the new sensation but she doesn’t let it distract her for long.

“Not what I meant,” she says and nudges your lips with two fingers. You part them, curious. She slips two fingers in. You wrap your lips around them and suck as they gently tease your tongue.  “Good,” she says, voice rough.

It’s almost enough to distract you from fucking into her. Almost. The feel of her wet heat wrapping around your fingers is too enticing for you to be distracted long. Even when she presses down on your tongue. You scissor your fingers again in retaliation, if she doesn’t come before you go stupid she’s going to throw you overboard.

Her legs begin to tremble around you and you increase your pace. Her fingers leave your mouth to grip the arms of her chair and your gaze gets caught on how they glisten. Just for a moment. The way she gasps and throws her head back as she comes steals your attention. Her hat tilts off-centre, her chest heaves and her walls squeeze you so tightly you wish you had your tongue in her.

You don’t stop until she eases but even then you only slow down.

She eventually waves her hand at you and you cautiously lower your hands. She slumps back against the chair and closes her eyes, breathing deeply. It’s a moment before she speaks again.

“Passable,” she says like she wasn’t panting two minutes ago. “We’ll see how well you do for the next few days before revisiting the plank.”

You nod and pretend like you aren’t throbbing with need.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/761543881408086016/one-of-the-things-i-find-baffling-is-when-people?source=share

I know this is kinda old by now but I experience this so hard.

I can read the best fanfic I've ever put my eyes on. Perfectly aligns with what I'm looking for, the characters are (shockingly) in character, it's long enough for me to get lost in it, and the author has clearly put a lot of time and effort into it. I've written a 10 page google doc analyzing how they portray the characters and their interactions. i will think about this fanfic for the next week.

But then I go to that author's page, and everything else they've posted is incest kink PWP slop. and suddenly that one fic I loved so much is completely ruined and I don't get any enjoyment out of it anymore. And it really fuckin stings because now I will still think about it for the next week, but with a layer of "man, it really sucks when shitty people write good fiction because now it just makes me mad when I think about it, which is often" over the top until I find something else my autistic brain will latch onto instead

--

Do you expect me to do anything but laugh at you here?

[pumpkinpaix]

Chapter Spotlight 4:

"Iterative Violence: English (mis?)Translations of Modao Zushi and Chen Qing Ling" by Chant Y. Ng

Describe your topic/chapter in one sentence/one meme/140 characters.

A work by any other translation would NOT smell as sweet!!! In fact!!!!

What drew you to this topic?

Hi yes it's me, your pal cyan, you may know me from such hit posts as 8k words of rage-crying about the translation of 知己 as soulmates (which is about translation as violence), or maybe that other one about translation as violence (shockingly, it's really about translation as violence), or perhaps even that other other one about how one might translate Lan Xichen's title— (you know, I think this one is also about translation as violence)

If there’s one thing you hope the fandom takes away from your article, what would it be?

I hope that people think harder about how impossible it is to translate a text, and that they choose to extend more grace and compassion to authors and translators alike. A translation is not a window but a painting. Also, I'm manifesting better pay and respect for the work of translation into the cosmos. Please consider this a memo I am posting on the great message board of the universe. Thank you.

What is your MDZS/CQL origin story? (i.e. how did you come to this text?)

Started watching, made some gifs, read the book. Had a breakdown. Bon appetit.

Favorite adaptation, if any?

Audio drama! The love, care and effort put into it continues to astound me. Sometimes, to get the sound of a dizi hitting the ground, you gotta throw a dizi on the ground, y'know?

If you were isekai-ed into MDZS/CQL, what sect affiliation would you choose and why?

Please let me live my life in peace, I am but a feeble scholar.

Most compelling relationship in the text?

Twin Jades!!!!

Chaotic one-sentence pitch to get your friends into MDZS/CQL?

*gripping you tightly by the shoulders* don't

If you could ask MXTX one question, what would it be?

你最近怎么样啊？

Anything to say to potential readers of the collection?

Thanks for checking us out! It's been a wild and unpredictable (four-year!!) ride but everyone worked very hard on their parts. Means a lot even if you're just here for our little promo. :) If you'd like a copy of my contribution for classroom use, please do reach out!

You can find Chant (cyan) here on Tumblr @pumpkinpaix.

(FAQ) (all posts on Catching Chen Qing Ling)

[venussaidso]

Mekhi Alante Lucky and Jeremy Meeks are two male models who got spotted from their mugshots.

It's very likely that they could both have Ketu-ruled Moons — Mekhi Alante Lucky with Mula Moon and Jeremy Meeks with Ashwini Moon.

The 'reformed delinquent' is something I've noticed a lot for Ketuvians, especially the men. For example, Ashwini Moon Matt Dillion was discovered by a casting agent while bunking off school, being rebellious early on — only to then play an actual delinquent fictional character. “I wasn’t in class, you could say that. I think why I ended up doing that movie was because I connected so much with the character. I recognized this kid, he was a juvenile delinquent – he was in a much worse place than I was, probably.”

This took me back to the character Roi, from the Spanish series Berlin, played by Mula Moon Julio Peña. Roi is literally a reformed delinquent — I touched on his character a bit more in my post Ketu Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 2) 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝟑.

And Roi randomly reminded me of Fontaine from They Cloned Tyrone, who's played by Magha Moon John Boyega. Fontaine's initial purpose of existing is to be a hard ass drug dealer, maintaining the cycle of violence and stagnancy within his community — which he means to transcend when he discovers that everything about his role in his town is simply manufactured.

This arc supporting the reformed delinquent.

Also, Matt Dillion talking about bunking school reminded me of an old guy friend of mine that I went to high school with throughout. He had Ashwini Moon. He used to bunk class regularly since the ninth grade, and was a heavy drinker already. He was always caught up in violence and conflict. I'm not sure if he's reformed, but last time he drunk called me at night before a school exam, telling me he accidentally stabbed someone– that person is luckily alive. Anyway, not all Ashwini natives will be like this or are like this — before someone lectures me in the comments. But he was a dangerous individual. Unfortunately, at that time, I didn't see that side of him fully. We used to walk together everyday after school, we would talk about everything and anything. The potential to reform or rehabilitate is there [but I don't trust men to change].

And just last year, I encountered a Magha Moon guy, who is the ex boyfriend of my Magha stellium friend. We were all talking about some random shit before he started talking about dark stuff. He looked me straight in my eyes and told me he stabbed his stepdad the year before. He's a very scary individual, and unfortunately I still cross paths with him on campus. Being random as I am, I had asked for his birth details upon first meeting — because his ragged appearance looked very Martian/Ketuvian and I just wanted to confirm my suspicions. His nature is very, very draining and abusive.

Ashwini Moon Dennis Rodman has been also known for his delinquent antics for his entire career, never caring for others and what others think. This level of detachment from Ketu definitely makes these individuals possibly dangerous as they don't care about rules or crossing boundaries. For example, Rodman had been attacking cameramen while he's literally playing in the game [basketball] — one day he violently kicked a cameraman in the groin and got this guy hospitalized, paying him $200,000 in settlement.

Mula Sun, Ashwini Moon Jared Leto is also known for being creepy & abusive towards his cast members and other celebrities. He's also a cult member. He's also known for attacking his fans.

And finding out that Suge Knight has Sun in Ashwini was quite shockingly validating as he reminds of that former Ashwini guy friend of mine. Suge Knight has always been violent since high school, being kicked off football teams due to his headless nature and drive to cross the lines — always using the game as an excuse to destroy his opponents, but gaining nothing material at all from it. This is extremely Ketuvian of him, as his Moon is conjunct Ketu as well. And his Ketu is exalted, being in Jyestha nakshatra.

Also, you might notice that Venus nakshatra natives will have an overlap with Ketu nakshatra natives. I know for sure that Venusians can be inclined to violence. Chris Brown is the most typical Venus nakshatra man I could think of right now.

Sidereal fire signs, and sidereal Scorpios, tend to show up in people who behave dangerously. Xxxtentacion had sidereal Scorpio Moon, and he was a delinquent.

Erykah Badu has sidereal Scorpio ASC.

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

TWO FOUR

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

THREE

After a long bath, during which you took your time exploring every detail of the lavish bathroom, you found yourself standing before your wardrobe. It was massive, with mirrored doors that reflected your every movement. The clothes inside were mostly high-end—elegant dresses, tailored blazers, and pieces that leaned toward the extravagant. After some deliberation, you chose a red dress that bordered on being too seductive, with a daring slit that revealed your legs up to your thighs.

Tonight, you wanted to capture your husband’s attention even more. Once dressed, you carefully applied perfume and styled your hair, slipping into a pair of high heels that, while uncomfortable, perfectly complemented the dress. As you stood before the full-length mirror, you questioned whether the effort was worth it. You weren’t entirely sure if you remembered how to do makeup, but you made an attempt—enhancing your lashes with mascara and applying a bold red lipstick to match the dress.

When you finally left the master bedroom on the second floor, a nagging curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What was inside Charlie’s office that he was so intent on keeping locked? But your husband would be home soon, and the anticipation of dinner with him distracted you as you descended the stairs, feeling a flutter of excitement. Mary, the housekeeper, greeted you warmly and kindly offered to give you a tour of the house. She was an older woman with a sprightly demeanor and an air of maternal care. She walked you through each room, explaining their purposes and sharing small anecdotes about the home. Her warmth was comforting, and she mentioned that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes.

However, as the minutes stretched into an hour and then two, your excitement turned to unease. Charlie still hadn’t arrived. Mary, noticing your disappointment, eventually joined you for dinner, doing her best to fill the silence with polite conversation. Her sympathetic gaze was hard to ignore—it was clear she felt sorry for you.

"Mary, could you tell me where to find the key to my husband's office?" you ask, interrupting the conversation you had both been carrying on. Mary’s gaze shifts to the window, her eyes fixed on the emptiness outside, as though weighing her response.

"I really shouldn't meddle in the personal affairs of my employers," she says hesitantly, her voice soft but tinged with unease. "Just point me in the right direction, and I promise no one will ever hear a word about it," you reply, your tone gentle, almost coaxing, as you offer her a small, reassuring smile.

"Mrs. Mayhew, please don't put me in a difficult position," Mary says, her voice wavering as if she were truly torn. "I don’t remember anything, Mary. I have no awareness of my life beyond what surrounds me now. Please, help me. I beg of you," you implore, leaning forward and clasping her hand in yours. Your earnest gaze meets hers, and for a moment, she looks conflicted.

Finally, Mary sighs, her shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the burden of her decision. "There’s a drawer," she begins hesitantly, "in the last cabinet of the kitchen. It has a hidden compartment." Her words hang in the air, charged with secrecy and a hint of guilt, as she glances away, clearly regretting having spoken.

As if bound by an unspoken pact, you give Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze before leaving her seated, silently affirming her trust. You make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in your chest as you search for the hidden compartment she described. Your fingers tremble as you fumble with the drawer, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then, with a soft click, you find it—the key.

The house is eerily quiet, save for the sound of your hurried footsteps as you ascend to the second floor. Clutching the key tightly, you waste no time unlocking the door to Charlie’s office. The moment it creaks open, you are greeted with a scene that steals the air from your lungs.

The room is a macabre gallery of horrors. A large bulletin board dominates one wall, adorned with photographs of mutilated bodies—cadavers sliced apart, their lifeless forms frozen in grotesque poses. One image depicts a body cleaved in two, while another shows a woman with her abdomen grotesquely opened; her distended belly suggests she was pregnant. Your breath catches as your eyes fall upon a photo of yourself, pinned among the others. Beneath it, in bold writing, is your name with the word "Suspect" scrawled beneath it. Not far from it is an image of Charlie, labeled "Primary Suspect."

The walls bear even more—a chilling collection of painted recreations of the crime scenes. The artistry is disturbingly exquisite, each brushstroke capturing the raw, visceral nature of the acts committed. The paintings are hauntingly lifelike, as though frozen moments from a nightmare. On the desk, amidst scattered papers, rests a dossier with your name emblazoned on the cover. It’s thick, filled with notes, photos, and what appears to be an exhaustive investigation into your life.

You carefully scrutinize every detail in the office, even though parts of your dossier have been redacted. Ensuring everything else remains undisturbed, you lock the office door behind you and descend the stairs with a fury that feels volcanic, ready to erupt. Your steps are hurried, each one fueled by the tempest of questions swirling in your mind. You want answers from Charlie—immediately. Not only about the grotesque contents of his office but also about what could have possibly been more important than dining with you tonight.

Reaching the base of the stairs, you place the key firmly into Mary’s hands. She looks at you without a word, her expression a mixture of understanding and quiet resignation.

"Mary, return this key to its proper place, and afterward, pack some of my clothing and essentials into the guest room. Once that is done, you’re dismissed for the evening," you say, your voice taut with suppressed rage. It takes all your composure to keep from snapping, your anger simmering beneath the surface—anger at your husband’s deceit, at that ghastly mural, at those haunting paintings, and most of all, at the invasion of your privacy. Mary nods silently and turns to summon Ed, who arrives shortly, adjusting his jacket as he steps into the house.

"Ed, I believe Mrs. Mayhew would like to see her husband," Mary says, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. Ed hesitates, glancing at you as though questioning whether this is wise, but your determined stride leaves no room for debate. Without waiting for further discussion, you step out of the house, your heels clicking sharply against the stone as you head toward the car. Settling into the back seat, you fasten your seatbelt.

"To the hospital," you command, your tone brooking no argument. Ed nods and starts the car, and the journey begins, the air in the vehicle heavy with your unresolved fury and the weight of the revelations awaiting confrontation.

You don’t take long to arrive at the hospital. At the reception desk, you’re informed that Dr. Mayhew is currently attending to a particular patient. Frustration wells up within you as you rack your mind for a plausible excuse to gain quicker access to Charlie. Fate, however, seems to be on your side. From across the hall, you spot your husband emerging with his patient, their conversation light and pleasant as they approach the hospital’s entrance. The moment Charlie's eyes meet yours, it’s as if he instantly senses that something is amiss. Yet, it’s not just his presence that catches your attention—it’s hers.

The woman with him feels unsettlingly familiar. You quickly piece it together: she was on the mural in Charlie’s office. If your memory serves you correctly, her photo was captioned with Detective Megan Duval alongside the words romantic past. Like a puzzle clicking into place, the realization stings.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" Charlie asks, his voice calm yet edged with unease. He steps away from Megan and approaches you, placing his hands gently on your arms as if to comfort you. But you brush him off with a sharp movement, your temper barely restrained.

"I came to confirm that Detective Lois might have been right after all. But aren’t you going to introduce us, dear husband?" you ask, your tone laced with biting sarcasm. Your eyes bore into him before flicking to Megan, whose expression hardens alongside Charlie's.

"I can introduce myself," Megan interjects, stepping forward with a measured tone. "I’m Detective Duval. I assure you, you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m here as a patient, and your husband is my doctor." She extends a hand toward you in a gesture of civility.

You glance at her outstretched hand, but the sight only fuels the jealousy roiling inside you. "Save your platitudes for someone gullible enough to believe them, Detective Duval. I won’t keep interrupting whatever this is. Have a good evening," you retort, your voice dripping with venom as you turn sharply on your heel.

Your emotions are a whirlwind—jealousy, betrayal, and anger all threatening to consume you. You think fleetingly about causing a scene but find yourself too overwhelmed to do so. You just want to leave. You make your way toward the car where Ed stands, waiting patiently. But before you can reach him, something stops you. Or rather, someone. Charlie strides past you, moving with alarming determination. Before you can react, he hoists you off the ground and unceremoniously throws you over his shoulder, completely ignoring your protests.

"What do you think you’re doing, Charlie Mayhew?" you demand, your voice seething with indignation as you struggle against his grip. He doesn’t respond immediately, his steps firm as he carries you away from the hospital doors, leaving both Megan and Ed in stunned silence.

He carries you with unwavering determination to what you assume is his car in the hospital parking lot. Despite your protests and the sharp slaps you land on his well-toned back, he doesn’t release you until he places you firmly in the back seat of the vehicle.

"If you wish to keep protesting, then fasten your seatbelt and save your anger for when we’re home," Charlie says, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet authority. He adjusts your position as best he can, ensuring you’re seated properly before closing the door with a firm click. Without another word, he circles to the driver’s side, the tension between you hanging heavy in the confined space of the car.

Without exchanging another word, Charlie drives you both home, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel and his demeanor tense. You notice his stress as he occasionally picks up his phone, typing out terse messages to someone. You make a pointed effort to ignore him, directing your focus instead to the passing scenery outside the window. It doesn’t take long before the car pulls into your driveway. The house looms ahead, quiet and still. Mary has likely already left for the evening, and Ed is nowhere to be seen, leaving no trace of having followed behind.

When Charlie parks the car, he steps out briskly and moves to your door. Without hesitation, he leans in, releasing your seatbelt with deliberate care. His face is close to yours, and the air feels charged, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. "I’ll be waiting for you inside," he says in a low voice, his gaze steady as it locks with yours for a lingering moment before he straightens and walks toward the house.

You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car and heading toward the house. Once inside, everything appears meticulously arranged. On the dining table sits a prepared plate of food, likely Mary’s thoughtful gesture for Charlie. However, he stands in the middle of the living room, tension radiating from him as he nervously removes his tie and lab coat.

"I’ll be sleeping in the guest room," you state firmly, your tone brooking no argument. You turn on your heel to make your way to the guest room, but Charlie’s hand shoots out, gripping yours and halting your retreat.

"While I do regret leaving you waiting tonight," he begins, his voice steady but undercut with frustration, "that does not excuse your behavior. You have crossed a line." His eyes bore into yours, the weight of his words settling heavily in the space between you.

"I crossed a line?" you counter, your voice rising with incredulity. "And where exactly is this so-called line when you're the one keeping secrets from me? Or are you really going to stand there and tell me that you and Detective Duval share nothing more than a professional relationship? That there wasn’t a single other doctor in this city she could consult? Spare me, Charlie."

Your words are sharp, cutting through the tension as you step closer, your movements circling him like a predator confronting its prey. Despite the fury simmering between you, he seems unfazed—or perhaps too confident. He takes a deliberate step toward you, his hands moving to unbutton his dress shirt, the faint rustle of fabric punctuating the charged silence. A sly, almost teasing smile tugs at the corners of his lips, breaking through the serious expression he had worn moments before. His eyebrows lift slightly, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes as if daring you to push further.

"Are we done with the accusations, or would you like to continue?" he finally asks, his tone low and edged with amusement, even as your frustration mounts.

"I fail to see the necessity of you removing your clothing while we’re in the middle of an argument," you say, your resolve wavering slightly as your focus slips from the reason for your confrontation. "But let me make one thing clear—you will not distract me. I won’t let you deceive me, Dr. Mayhew," you add, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster, though your words carry a partial untruth. You could reveal what you found in his office, expose the secrets he's so carefully hidden. Yet you don’t. Perhaps because you’re unsure of your next move, or perhaps because a part of you is, indeed, distracted. Your eyes betray you, drawn to the sharp lines of his well-defined chest as his shirt slides from his shoulders. A twinge of frustration flares within you—not just at him, but at yourself for letting him affect you this way.

"My beloved wife, if I were having an affair with Detective Duval, I’d be far more discreet than to let the entire hospital catch wind of it. But you are correct—Megan and I do not share a purely professional relationship. She was my girlfriend before I fell in love with you," Charlie says, his tone calm yet deliberate as he shrugs off the last of his shirt and tosses it onto the sofa. "In fact, our relationship ended because I chose you. What you perceive as a sign of infidelity is nothing more than two former lovers finally reconciling after years of bitterness. Does that satisfy you?" You study him carefully, your mistrust lingering despite the ring of truth in his words. There’s a certain earnestness in his voice, one that’s difficult to ignore, but the revelation stirs unease within you.

"If that is all you have to say, I shall take my leave," you declare, turning on your heel to retreat to the guest room. Yet your attempt is futile. Charlie’s arms encircle your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips graze the back of your neck, planting a soft kiss before trailing down to your collarbone. His warm breath fans against your skin, unraveling any coherent thoughts from your mind.

"I would never betray you, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice low and full of conviction. "For two years, all I ever wanted was to hold you in my arms; I would never risk losing you. You and I are more than husband and wife—we are partners." His face buries itself in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent before pressing more kisses along your skin, his path leading to your ear. You say nothing, unable to form a response, and instead turn to face him. The tension between you is palpable, burning you from within. Your fingers graze his lips, as though committing their softness to memory. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer with unrelenting need.

You cup his face in both hands, pulling him toward you. Your lips meet his with a hunger that surprises even you, as though only he could quell the yearning deep inside. His lips are impossibly soft against yours, and you hardly register when the kiss deepens. Your tongues dance together, a gentle yet fervent battle for dominance, while his hands roam your body—caressing your waist, gripping your hips, exploring the curve of your back. He begins to tug at your dress, lifting it as if desperate to rid you of it, guiding you toward the sofa. But before he can take control entirely, you pull him down first, making him sit as you take charge.

You settle onto his lap, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you grow beneath you. Your nails trace over the expanse of his chest, leaving faint red marks as you savor the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. Charlie captures your lips again with fervor, his hands firmly gripping your waist, guiding your movements against him as if ensuring you stay anchored in his embrace. The heat between you is all-consuming, maddeningly intense.

Yet, the image of him with Megan flashes in your mind—a thorn of doubt piercing through your desire. The uncertainty gnaws at you, twisting your emotions. Without thinking, you bite down on his lower lip with more force than intended. Charlie pulls back sharply, a pained groan escaping his lips as the faint taste of his blood lingers on yours. "What the hell, Y/N!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with irritation, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of confusion and frustration.

"That, Doctor Mayhew, is what you get for testing your wife’s patience," you retort, steadying yourself as you rise from his lap, your tone cool yet charged. "Goodnight, Charlie," you add with finality, stepping away from him and heading toward the guest room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, anger, and something you can’t quite name. Charlie calls your name a few times, his voice softer now, almost pleading, but he ultimately lets you go, leaving you to your thoughts.