#and our leading himbo is just like

[hipsterfrankcastle]

midnight mass is such a perfect show. i wish it was good.

[gothamnewsnetwork-official]

The Second Blood Son - the affair of Mrs. Drake

It is no secret that Gotham’s resident celebrity billionaire, Bruce Wayne (see related articles), has a habit of collecting children like how most other celebrities collect cars, and it is also no secret that Mr. Wayne is a rather promiscuous individual, or at least was in his younger years.

Mr. Wayne has been suspected of being in many relationships with members of Gotham, Star City, Metropolis, one-percent, as well as prominent social figures such as Clark Kent (see related articles), Lois Lane (see related articles), and Lucifer Morningstar (see related articles), and even the occasional vigilante (see related posts).

Despite all this he is only reported to have one biological child. His youngest son, Damian Wayne-Al-Ghul (see related articles), who he gained custody of only a few years back after a seemingly non-existent legal battle with the boy’s mother, Talia Al-Ghul (see related articles).

Mr. Wayne-Al-Ghul seems to be proud of this fact, often joking with his siblings about being the only ‘blood son’ of Mr. Wayne, and therefore the actual heir to Wayne Enterprises instead of his brother, Timothy ‘Tim’ Drake-Wayne (see related articles).

This, of course, is all in good fun, but what if we told you that the youngest Wayne child was, in fact, wrong? That Damian Wayne-Al-Ghul isn’t the sole blood-child of our resident billionaire-himbo?

Earlier today we received an anonymous tip on the subject. The commenter claimed to have been house staff of the Drake family (see related articles) prior to the untimely accident that left Mr. Drake-Wayne an orphan. They claimed that many a time Mr. Drake would make passive-agressive comments towards his wife and son regarding the boy’s parentage.

According to the commenter, Mr. and Ms. Drake were rarely intimate and the pair had a long streak of infidelity (see related articles), Ms. Drake’s alleged cheating starting just shy of a year prior to the birth of their son.

The commenter also includes audio recordings of an argument overheard while they worked at the Drake’s home over both Mr. Drake’s alleged involvement with other women and his refusal to admit to his alleged infertility.

If these claims are to be believed it is almost certain Tim Drake-Wayne is a bastard child, the only question is to whom? There has been prior speculation over Mr. Drake-Wayne’s parentage given that his parents detest for one another was not particularly discreet (see related articles) as well as the fact that he bears a striking resemblance to his adoptive father, Bruce Wayne.

We at Gotham Reports are readily inclined to believe this theory, given the aforementioned similarities, and the fact that Mr. Wayne took in Mr. Drake-Wayne almost immediately after the tragedy. This leads to some rather interesting discussion about whether or not Mr. Drake-Wayne and Mr. Wayne are aware of their alleged blood relation, as well as if it would change anything in the dynamic of the Wayne children (see related articles).

Of course this is all alleged, and given that there has been no move to have Mr. Drake’s genetic parentage tested we may never have a complete answer. Regardless, we believe it is worth noting in any further discussions on the dynamics of the extended Wayne family.

Let us know your thoughts on the topic (here)

Gotham Reports is certified in unbiased, fair, and reliable reporting

See the post that inspired this article (here)

[jweekgoji]

can u write some Yandere TFO Darkwing x Cybertronian femme reader, who is a miner but Darkwing ends up getting her pregnant and forces her to be his conjux

Yandere!Darkwing/Femme!Reader [TFO]

tw: dubcon, yandere/dark themes, unplanned pregnancy, toxic relationship, supervisor/subordinate, power imbalance, size difference, mentions of past abuse, sickness, description of trauma, hurt no comfort, no happy ending. word count: ~1780 a/n: I wanted to keep it short, but somehow it leads to this. I guess this is for 5 Darkwing fans? imo, he has good himbo potential. also writing for Elita was fun...now i wanna write some Optimus and Elita/Reader fics once i'm done with requests.

How could you let this happen?

The same question runs in your head over and over again. It seems that no matter how hard you try to forget about it, you always see that familiar face right next to yours. Dwarfing you, making you feel so small and fragile. It probably wouldn't be too far from the truth. With your smaller, weaker body, nobody would even notice if you were gone.

You should be used to it by now. Countless cycles of mining, the same routine seems somehow calming despite having no signs of progress in any near future.

Energon, sleep, energon, sleep. What kind of life is that? Was that really all you're good for? Your endless purpose until you break one day?

Primus, why did he make you suffer?

“Hey!” you hear a rough, commanding tone from your captain right behind you. “No slacking off until we finish our job! Come on, keep up!”

You blink once, then another few times, optics quickly concentrating on the wall in front of you. How long were you staring at this wall…? Doesn't matter.

Elita-One gives you a glare; she is too preoccupied with leading her group safe; of course, the mines are too dangerous, and every single wrong move could lead to a series of disasters. You usually have no problems with following her orders, but everything now is just too much. Too much stress, too many orders. You're so exhausted.

Reluctantly, you continue working on collecting energon once again. The heavy equipment makes your frame tremble from the weight; you never once struggled with it, despite the drilling machine being almost the same weight as yours. Now, every single minute feels like a challenge. Focus, focus, focus— you can't just pass out during your work! If it didn't kill you first, then Elita-One certainly would after you screwed her chances of promotion.

You shook your head, as if somehow all the thoughts about the pain—the non-stop aching shooting down your back. It makes you want to bend down and wrap your arms around yourself; maybe, just maybe, it will all go away, and you'll be back to normal.

The soft whirr of your cooling systems gets louder. The poor mechanism overworking itself to cool down your frame. You barely notice how the buzzing sound of the drills seems quieter now, changing into the ringing in your head.

The loud clank of the metal against the ground quickly catches Elita's attention. A frown etched on her faceplate, the immediate ‘...by the name of Solus Prime, what's next?’ she quietly grumbled under her breath, turning her attention to the source of that sound.

Your boss was ready to scold you again, another lecture about the importance of teamwork and how it affects the whole squad—but all the annoyance quickly changes into panic the moment she sees you. Close to falling on your own knees and forehead pressed against the wall as you lean against it.

She quickly approaches you, placing her servo on your shoulder to turn you over so you can face her. Your frame is so warm, no, too warm it's almost burning hot. Your spark beats so hard she can practically feel it under her palm. The signs of sickness are obvious, and she cursed her luck yet again that now she has to explain the situation to the supervisors.

Elita helps you to lean your frame against her own instead, holding her arm around your waist, asking countless questions about what the pit you were thinking, and starting your shift without telling her about your well-being. She's the leader of your group! She has to know everything! It doesn't help with her concerns that you barely say anything, too weak to even open your mouth.

She is so annoyed with you, at everything right now. Great, just great, now she has to— a pause. Her optics widened for a mere second. Elita-One looks down at you with a mixture of confusion and a growing shock. The beating of your spark. Twice as fast, too unusual for any cybertronian even if put under the stress. Her servo reaches to your chassis, hovering over the spot where the spark chamber is. You're sparked up.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Quiet, too quiet, perhaps. The first thing you notice before finally opening your optics. The soft light of the room makes you want to go back to recharging again. Another innocent dream will be a good place to escape the harsh reality, until the slow realization creeps into your mind.

“It wasn't my fault, how could I—” the distant sound of Elita's voice is heard outside the room you were in.

“It was your job to lead the group and make sure everything goes according to the protocols. Just like ensuring that every bot in your squad is in the right shape for work,” you don't have to check twice to understand who it would be. Darkwing.

You can hear Elita trying to defend herself again. After all, it wasn't really her fault. You never wanted to tell anyone about it. But what choices did you have? How can you explain being sparked up? By who?

Now you feel guilty. Shame. She got into trouble because of you, and knowing how hard she worked to reach her position...You're so, so sorry.

You slowly move to sit up on the berth in the...what was this place exactly? It reminds of the infirmary, but surprisingly, any medic is absent today. Ratchet? Lifeline? First Aid? Completely gone.

As the door opens, your optics meet Darkwing's own. It was always hard to understand what exactly he was thinking about when he looked at you. The visor, the battle mask, it seems like every single thing in him has a purpose to make you self-conscious. Nervous and scared. Unlike him, you never had the chance of hiding.

Once you two were alone, he's fuming. He breathes heavily, trying to suppress the anger burning inside his chassis. If you were any other miner, another speck of dirt under his pedes, he would have disciplined you without thinking twice.

But you're no ordinary miner now, are you?

“You hid this from me, on purpose,” Darkwing looks down at you, servos clenching into tight fists. “And this is how I find out about it. Do you have any idea what you just got yourself into?”

The mere idea of him being together with  some nameless miner? Ridiculous. He never planned it to develop into something more. Just a one-night stand, nothing more. He would have forgotten about it by the next day if it wasn't for something, making him think about you since then.

The perfect size, fitting in his servos just right. A tiny toy to play with and use however he wants. A cute one too; isn't this a great deal? The curves, the shape of your frame...if you had a cog, what kind of alt mode would you have? A jet like him? Maybe a car? A boat?

Any other of his fellow supervisors would have left you immediately once they found out. If any bot gets to know about it, he's screwed. Darkwing, who claims to despise every single cogless bot? And now he's having second thoughts about whether he should let you be on your own or...participate?

You lowered your head, as if in shame. There's no fight in you left, not after Darkwing personally stripped you of your dignity. Now the only thing left is a sense of responsibility over that sparkling inside you. You're not even sure if your body can take it. The slowly growing little thing takes up a good half of your energy, and with the energon portions you receive, it is hardly enough for the two. You might die from starvation if this keeps up.

Just standing next to Darkwing is a struggle. You wonder, if he even understands what he costantly puts you through, or maybe he finds some sick pleasure in it. Watching you suffer. Is that what he wants? While you live with the responsibility that he put on your shoulders, nothing ever changes for him. This is so unfair.

You will be no surprised if he drags you to the mines to continue working just to please Sentinel Prime right now.

“Can't even look at me. You miners are only good at one thing,” another taunt. His servo reaches to cup your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

The touch is gentler, not the usual roughness you started getting used to. You learned that whenever he is near you, the pain should be expected the next. That's why it's hard not to flinch every time he gets a little too close. This time, it's something different. Your optics closed, as if expecting a punch, a slap, or another bunch of degrading words?

Nothing.

Trembling in his grasp like some sort of wounded animal next to their predator. Obedient, quiet and timid, the cycles he spent to shape you into a perfect doll to play with. But you're carrying his sparkling, the part of him is soon to be born in this world. It is too late to get rid of it, even though some time ago the sound of it seemed tempting. No, even a useless doll like you deserves a second chance to prove yourself. From some faceless miner, you can grow into something more. Better. A carrier.

He can't let you go back to that place; it would be too cruel even for someone like him to let the carrier of his sparkling to continue this. The best thing is, no one would even suspect you were gone. A tragic event, one of the miner bots neglected their health until it was too late.

Sad, sobbing story, but don't worry, being stuck with your ex-supervisor is not too bad. By the all old rules, it's a shame not to claim a carrier of your sparklings as your conjunx.

“You should be grateful that I have better plans to use you, cogless,” Darkwing's hold on you tightened just for a fraction. To make sure you listen and understand his intentions. No other options but to obey. His words echo in the back of your mind.

The act of profference.

Gifting you a freedom, something you wished for and craved so deeply supposed to make you happy. If only it wasn't the same day you lose it.

[floueris]

Types of disney princes / male leads *ੈ✩‧₊˚

heeseung

nick wilde (from zootopia) okay not unexpected like have you seen heeseung, sooo foxy meow, jokes aside. I think they are alike because as we all know heeseung is a very flirty person, which resonates with nick in the earlier part of zootopia when he constantly teases Judy and “uses her words against her” and I think the method of teasing is also really similar, but ofc!! the growth, when both nick and judy planned the scheme to get bellweather caught was really smart. And you know that part that nick was there with judy while she cried ? exactly like heeseung, he would always be there for you when you need someone there and always there to make you feel better and gives you a very huge sense of comfort

jay

prince eric (from the little mermaid) c’mon guys… jay is our classic gentleman, like how eric was with ariel, he would always treat people, especially ladies with utmost respect ( guys I CANT SHUT UP BUT LIKE HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN THE VIDEO OF JAY SAYING “ ladies, one at a time, don’t push please” BYE I DIED I CANT SHNDNSNDNSNNANDNSNSB) anyways I digressed but like Jay is the most perfect gentleman bf everrrrr like yk that one scene that is where Eric js kissed Ariel sooo deeply, SOOO JAY CODED BYEEE AN ULTIMATE SWEETHEART

jake

flynn ryder … (from tangled) CMON YALL SAW THAT COMING OKAY…..Flynn Ryder is soooo flirty like jake like BYEEEE, also THAT NOSEEE !!! Both of them have fantastic noses, also another reason why they are similar is also because Flynn was protecting rapunzel even when he was severely injured which was very very jake core to me because jake always puts you first before anything even if he is “in pain “ also jake is a very charismatic person and like Flynn he is able to get out of trouble or get something through him sweet talking

Sunghoon

milo thatch (from the Atlantis the lost empire) milo is a very gentle and intelligent person, very sunghoon-esqe NO??? personally I think sunghoon is a very goofy person okay, similar to milo, he fights for what he thinks is right. Also my boy is a simp!! and both sunghoon and Milo are like sooo loser stuck in a hot body core, and ngl both of them look really good in glasses saur 😣

Sunoo

Hercules (from Hercules lol) anyways a lil “unexpected “ because sunoo looks more feminine but Hercules was a very gentle character which suits sunoo very well because I think that although sunoo is very gentle which makes the girlies more comfy w him, he also has a very manly streak in him, and personally I think he’s super brave and kind, just like Hercules. Maybe a lil himbo core? But also not really, sunoos just a really sweet guy

Jungwon

tadashi hamada (from big hero 6) GUYS YOU CANT TELL ME JUNGWON DOESNT LOOK LIKE HIM LIKE HELLOOOOO, anyways both of them are smart, innovative and have very kind souls (which imo is soooo attractive gbye) and also because tadashi made baymax just to take care of hiro if he’s not there anymore (GBYE MY HEART CANT TAKE THIS) also I think jungwon is a very self sacrificing person, always trying to sacrifice himself to help others yk, which can be good and bad. Lastly, jungwon is sooo reliable just like tadashi

riki

NAVEEEENNNNNNN (from princess and the frog) like the banter ?! the growth, everything!!! the reason why I think riki is like naveen is because personality wise they seem really similar like the banter and teasing first and foremost and just how carefree both of them are. secondly, it’s also about how naveen grew throughout the movie, from someone who didn’t care about anyone but himself to learning how to adapt and think of other people. obviously im not saying that riki doesn’t care about anyone but himself but in the way that we say riki grew up since i land days until now, and we can see like naveen, how much he has grown as a person!!!! also I will die on this hill that riki treats his gf like a kweeeennnnn like I’m not even joking, he wants nothing but the best for you hehehe and would treat you like a queen

—-

a/n: BYE GUYS I LOVE THIS SMMM IM LIKE SUCH A BIG DISNEY FAN BYE SNMSNDNSNS I LOVEEEE DISNEY SMSMSMSMS THIS WAS SOO CUTE HOPE YALL LIKE IT TEWWW SARANGHAEEEEE !!! LMK HOW I DIDDDD MEOWWWW

[holylulusworld]

Two can play a game

Summary: Your arranged marriage is far from perfect. When Ransom takes one step too far, you pay him back the best way possible.

Pairing: Mafia!Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader, ???!Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, arranged marriage, Ransom being an asshole, cheating, implied cheating, mentions of sidepieces, making out, implied smut, mafia au

There he is, licking whipped cream off some bimbos’ tits. The woman moans and fakes she’s having fun. Just like some many greedy bitches wanting to get their hands on his wealth before.

Ransom Drysdale. Your husband. The self-declared gift to all women.

At the beginning of your arranged marriage, you easily overlooked his flaws and quirks. He was a good-looking and charming man, easily working his way into your heart and between your legs.

Ransom was passionate and sweet. Even if he was a little too cocky and arrogant for your taste. He was a prick to most people, including your friends. The only person he treated with respect was you.

Back then you believed this arranged marriage can work out.

Sometimes you even felt loved by your husband. And you reflected his feelings.

But all good things come to an end.

Your little bubble burst when you walked in on him railing one of the new maids. He didn’t even try to hide his infidelity. Proud of himself for leading you on, and making you believe you are more than a pawn to him.

Ransom declared your marriage is not a real marriage. Arranged marriages don’t count in his opinion. That’s what he said. His poor excuse for cheating on you.

Since that day, you refuse to sleep in the same room with him. Just like you didn’t let him touch you. The thought of riding the same dick he pushed into some bitch’s cunt was enough to leave your pussy dry most of the time when it comes to your husband.

“Oh, my beloved wife,” Ransom lifts his head from his latest conquest’s tits.

“Does she want to join us?” The girl squeaks as her eyes land on you.

Ransom grins, but you ignore the little pang in your chest. “Ah, better not. She’s frigid, you know.” He says to the girl he has on top of your kitchen counter.

“When you are done here, call someone to get rid of the kitchen counter. You never know where your little skank was before you found her on the sidewalk,” you snap at your husband.

He watches you open the fridge to get a bottle of water. “If you would excuse us now,” he grunts. “Or do you want to watch?” Ransom tries to rile you up. It’s a fight for dominance and you won’t lose it.

“Sorry, but limp dicks don’t do it for me, honey,” you bite back. “I’ll talk to our neighbor. He invited me over to talk about the next book we want to read. At least he’s got good taste.”

“See. That’s why I prefer fucking hot women like Cassie.”

“My name is Kathy,” the blonde protests. “Did you already forget my name?” She frowns deeply. “Ran?”

“He didn’t even listen when you told him your name.” You walk out of the kitchen, sway in your hips. “If you go home with Ransom Drysdale, you are destined to get disappointed. In any way. He doesn’t even know where to find your G-spot, and he won’t try to find it …

“Y/N, hey,” Andy smiles widely when you stand in front of his door. It happens ever so often since you found out about Ransom’s infidelity. “Bad day?”

You sniff and shake your head. “Do you have a drink with my name on it, Andy?” He opens the door wider to let you in. Andy doesn’t ask what happened. He waits for you to talk to him.

“Always, neighbor.” He closes the door behind you. “What can I offer to you.”

“Distraction, and maybe a place to stay for the night,” you lick your lips. “Ransom has company.” Your eyes drop to the diamond ring on your finger.

“He brought one of his sidepieces to your home,” Andy sounds almost shocked. Almost… “Why would he do such a thing?”

“He likes to play games.” You shrug. “I refused to play along and let him fuck me after I found out about his harem of bimbos. If only he was at least a himbo with a big dick.”

Andy nods thoughtfully when you finally explode.

“I had to let my doctor check me for STDs. Can you imagine how I felt? I’m married and ask them to run all the tests. I bet they believed I’m the one who cheated!” You start to pace the room. “I haven’t looked at another man.”

“Y/N, you need to take deep breaths,” Andy softly speaks to you. 

He looks at you with soft blue eyes, and fuck, he looks so good. Did he always look so good?

“No. I need to get this out.” You raise your hand. “I-I was always faithful. I could’ve fucked countless guys, but I didn’t. Because that’s not who I am, Andy.”

“I know. You’re a good girl,” he replies, making you stop in your tracks.

He looks at you, eyes drifting toward your lips. You take a breath, and another before you grab his face to kiss him. Andy doesn’t hesitate. He eagerly kisses you back.

Damn, he tastes even better. Like mint, and the coffee he drank. You cup the back of his neck and run your free hand over his back. He moans into you, tongue delving into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he wraps his arms around you and kisses you again. This time, he suckles at your tongue. “You taste so good.”

He laughs against you. “You too,” Andy nips at your lips. “Do you want this? I don’t want to take advantage of you. We can just talk a little and…”

You silence his doubts with your lips. “I wanted you the moment you moved in across the street four years ago.”

“Same,” he pants between kisses. “But you were married, and I was freshly divorced.” You grab the hem of his shirt, shoving it up to his arms. “Fuck, you looked so cute in your summer dress.”

“Yeah?” You whine as he buries his face in your neck. He kisses your skin, nipping and licking your sweet spot while you hastily unbuckle his belt. “What did you want to do with me?”

“Fuck you until you can’t walk straight.” Andy shoves his pants down his legs, stepping out of them.

“Just like right now?”

You gasp when he grips your hips to hoist you up and slam you into the wall, causing a few picture frames to drop to the ground.

Andy doesn’t seem to mind. He crushes his lips onto yours, kissing you passionately. You moan into his mouth and wrap your legs around his waistline.

“Right now,” he growls against you. All softness is gone when he looks at you pressed against the wall. “I wanna ruin you for him.”

“Ruin me. Make me yours,” you challenge. You allow him to grind his erection against your core and offer your body to him. All you want in return is to forget about your unfaithful husband.

“If you let me have you, I won’t allow you to go back to him. You’ll be mine,” Andy warns. “Name what you want.”

You whimper at his words. Ransom never asked what you want. No one ever did.

“You.” You breathlessly reply. “I want you. Make me forget about him.”

You roll to your side, smiling as your eyes land on the man next to you. Still, you hold your breath. What if this wasn’t the best idea you ever had?

What if he regrets what happened last night?

What if he breaks his promises and forgot about all the things he said to you while he claimed your body?

Andy dips his head to look at you. “Morning beautiful.” He rolls to his side to look at you. “Slept well?”

“Yeah,” you don’t know why your voice trembles. Maybe because you fear Andy is the same as your unfaithful husband. He seems so different from the prick you are married to, but you let a pretty face and charming personality fool you once.

Andy runs his hand over your arm, fingertips tickling your skin. “What do you want to do today?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. Honestly, after last night everything has changed. You only came to Andy’s house to seek shelter for a few hours, or one night.

Now that you gave in to your feelings, you cannot go back to Ransom and pretend it doesn’t break you to see how less you mean to him.

“How about we go to your house, deliver the divorce papers I prepared while you were sleeping, and pack your things? I’ll bring a few friends to help you carry the heavy stuff.”

You’re taken aback. “What?” Stammering you look at Andy who lovingly cups your cheek to press a soft kiss on your lips. “Andy, this isn’t funny. I need to think about what to do now. You don’t know my husband. He’s a prick, but also dangerous and he won’t let me walk out on him so easily.”

“You think I care?” Andy chuckles darkly. “Oh, beautiful. I told you that you are going to be mine when you let me, have you. Didn’t I?”

“Yes.” You remember vividly how you begged him to make you his, and only his. That you agreed to become his pretty little wife, and always cum for him. “That was in the heat of the moment. Wasn’t it?”

“Y/N, I dreamed of taking you out for years. Every time I wanted to ask you to leave your husband, you told me about him with so much adoration that I couldn’t make a move. But now that I know he fucked up, I can’t miss the chance.”

“Andy, I can’t end my marriage only to become someone else’s arm candy or his most prized possession. I’m not a toy, nor a brainless doll you can use.”

“Baby, I swear this isn’t how I see you,” Andy presses another soft kiss on your lips. “Let me help you. If you don’t want to be with me, I understand. All I want is to make sure that Ransom Drysdale leaves you the fuck alone.”

“Why?” You question.

“Because,” he kisses you again, slow and gentle, “I think I love you…”

“Y/N, what’s the douche from next door doing at my house,” Ransom follows you and Andy. “I’m talking to you!”

“Oh, I thought as you are busy disappointing one of your playthings with your limp dick,” you snap at Ransom. “I can bring a real man to satisfy my needs too.”

“Beautiful, why don’t you go upstairs and look for all the things you want to take with you? My friends will be here any minute.”

“Okay,” you nervously glance at Ransom. “Be careful. He’s dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Andy pecks your cheek. “I’ll be careful.”

Turning his head toward Andy your husband’s features darken. “If you touched my wife, you are dead.” He pats the gun hidden under his jacket. “If you leave my house now, I’ll only break every bone in your body.”

Andy laughs into Ransom’s face.

“You’ve got no clue who I’m.” Stepping toward your husband, Andy sizes Ransom up. “Do you honestly believe you are scaring me? You’re nothing but a pathetic man cheating on his beautiful wife and,” Andy leans closer to Ransom to whisper in his ear. “I’m long enough in town to know that you are not on top of the food chain any longer. Your time is running out.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“The deal last week,” Andy smirks darkly, “the one you couldn’t seal? I took it over. Your business partners are my partners now. Your wife. Is mine. Your friends, mine too. I dismantled Ransom Drysdale piece by piece.”

“Why? How?”

“At first, I moved in next door to check your territory out. But then, I saw your wife and the way you treated her. She didn’t know you were a piece of shit cheating on her from day one.”

“You did all this for my wife?” Ransom hiccups. “You’re insane. Starting a war over some pussy!”

“You don’t get it,” Andy hisses. “Y/N is not some pussy to me. She’s everything, and I’ll make her my queen.”

While you look for the things you want to take with you, Andy threatens Ransom and his organization.

When you walk back down the stairs, your husband already signed the divorce papers. He will let you go and get out of town as fast as possible.

Ransom didn’t know that no one messes with Andrew Barber. The head of the Boston mafia. One of the deadliest men alive…

Tags in reblog.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

I feel like Himbo/Bimbo!Granger reader constantly gets stuck or lost in hogwarts secret rooms and passages. Room of requirement, accidentally found. Kitchens? Who knows how they got there. Sometimes, our golden trio or Draco notice reader hasn't shown up to class, leading to group manhunts to find out wherever the hell they went.

You know damn well when Harry gets his hands on the Marauders Map it’s main use will be to find exactly where Himbo/Bimbo!Granger!Reader is. I imagine the first time the Reader stepped foot in Hogwarts they had already gotten themself lost, they’re like the human equivalent of Trevor the toad (it doesn’t help either that more often than not Himbo/Bimbo!Granger and Trevor are always found together).

The first time the Reader gets themself lost or misplaced, Hermione has a complete panic attack. Like, they were just here and now they’re fucking gone. Hermione herself would have the entire castle flipped upside down looking for her twin. Harry and Ron wouldn’t be able to calm her, hell they’re just as panicked as she is. The only one who could really reign Hermione in would be Professor McGonagall, and even she has her own anxieties about Himbo/Bimbo!Granger missing. Honestly, the whole school would be freaking out, the only calm and collected one out of the lot would be Dumbledore. Once the Reader is finally found safe and sound you can bet a plethora of tracking charms will be put on them. Not only that but the Reader wouldn’t be allowed to ever be unsupervised again, especially after having the exact same thing happen a few more times even with the tracking charms in place. Hermione would make it even more of a habit then before to hold her sibling’s hand everywhere they went, and if Hermione isn’t there then someone else will be holding the Reader’s hand in her place.

You can’t tell me that after the first few times Himbo/Bimbo!Granger!Reader disappeared randomly there wouldn’t be a special school code for them. Also, I have no doubt that at least half of the times the Reader got lost or trapped somewhere was because of Peeves, they just take his word so easily and more times then not he’s completely fucking with them.

I feel like one of the places the Reader would get lost in the most would be the dungeons and Draco always happens upon them. It’s not like he has his own tracking charm on them too or something like that, that would be ridiculous. Except that’s exactly what it is, he has to know where they are too after all.

[enneamage]

i remember your really great essay on the fandom's tendency to hope ccs are queer due to, in part, the uneasy relationship between male streamers and women. now seeing wilbur's exploration into famously queer media (i have never met a dude into tyler the creator who was not bi unless he himself believed tyler wasn't queer), i was wondering, do you think male ccs in the community are aware that being bi makes them appear more safe towards women? i don't doubt anyone's sexuality btw

For starters, I think that Wilbur is throwing a bunch of spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks in terms of a new public persona. What you’re looking at is still an indie softboy variant, just spiced a bit differently. Art Guy and Bisexual can be related but as I said in the other post, sticking morality, sexuality and aesthetics together as a package deal is a quick way to be misled. The thing I want to linger on is the evolution of the idea of a softboy, which was actually a fandom-esque tumblr term that was a term of endearment to fictional / irl boys before it became an ironic nickname to call out a particular kind of wolf in sheep's clothing. I think that concept cycle happens a lot. 

In the straight sense, men do have a motivation to try to get women to like them. While some people are remarkably bad at this or have no clue how to achieve it, others are a bit better at following the trail of an appealing persona and trying to fit themselves into it. Some of it is a genuine self-image desire as well, you want to think of yourself as an appealing person even without an audience, so you take the temperature of the culture and try to follow the path that seems to work best for your desires and interests.

Softboy / golden retriever boyfriend / himbo and the like tends to come from the imagination of women online when collectively brainstorming what kind of person would be seen as a breath of fresh air in the current Dude Climate. The issue with it being translated IRL is that once it becomes clear that people really do find these tropes attractive, people want to lean into the strategy a bit either as an exaggeration of their own personalities or an active choice to Not Be Like Other Guys, inviting inevitable disappointment when they have the ups and downs of a real person with traits, or are revealed to be straight up frauds. 

In terms of leaning into persona or aesthetics aside from sexuality, I want to bump this post by someone on the mcyt snark reddit that takes a tour through personas that consistently appear and reappear in post-2020 MCYT circles. I think the people love a persona (or imago perhaps) and a package deal of traits, we tend to hand them out for free when we’re forming our impressions of people even if they don’t mean to create one. 

Wilbur in particular has a lot of reasons to try and dress himself up as ‘safe’ for the time being, but you asked about the bi swatch of MCYT and I think the answer to the safety part is unconsciously, yes. I think that having an aspect of their experience being removed from mainstream straight culture really does put them in a different headspace than straight peers, but whether that headspace is actually kinder and safer in practice isn’t guaranteed in the way that I think both parties might hope. They probably notice that people treat them better or differently when they lean into the mlm part of their identity, leading them to do it more over time.

Again, especially with CCS, I think a lot of people hope that the bisexuality will lead to a long term partnership with a man or that their attraction to women would be softened into something less hormonally or culturally straight. People actively leaning into post-2020 queer culture aesthetics (because we’re not talking leather bars here) may also seem more safe or appealing by breaking down the dyadic “let me define myself by being completely opposed to you” aspects of really rigid gender performance relationships. Ironically this may also make them seem more appealing as partners in the platonic and romantic sense because it feels less like you’re dealing with a rigid diametric opposite. You feel closer to them by being under the LGBTQ+ umbrella with them, which also adds some motivation to parasocial attachment. 

[sonicasura]

Skyscraper Softie

Kaiju No.8 but Kafka's kaiju form is huge and he has a lot more difficulty retaining his human visage. Yup you read that right. I'm screwing around with Kafka's kaiju half again although things might get a bit eldritch. Enjoy.

Let's first start with our himbo's kaiju descriptor. Instead of 6'4, No.8 is now an astounding 68 ft 11 inches tall paired alongside a body type similar to Monsterverse Godzilla. Big beefy that comes with a long thick tail since his kaiju form honestly feels off without it.

Yes Kafka did jump out of the window at the hospital when he began to transform. Reno watched him do it in sheer horror before witnessing the man rapidly shift into kaiju form under 40 seconds. You can say their attempt to avoid the Defense Force was even more awkward than in canon.

Luckily Kafka learned halfway through the trek that he could blend into the surroundings like a chameleon. He had to close his eyes and have Reno guide him though as this is a part of his body he couldn't camouflage. Another issue also cropped up that night than just yellow rivers on the streets. Kafka was hungry. (Yeah he eats the spider Yoju.)

Now Kafka has a lot more difficulty keeping the kaiju inside suppressed. At most, he can stay human for 4 hrs before he's forced to transform. The kaiju is 'just too big' in his words. He also runs the risk of transforming whenever unconscious.

Thus Kafka was forced to live in the wilderness than just give up his last chance at the Defense Force. He still works with the Monster Sweepers who play a much bigger role here than just emotional. Knowing Kafka's new appetite, they allow him to feed on the corpses.

The Sweepers also help him find a place in the mountains where he could live and sustain himself without causing others trouble. Although it wouldn't take long for the Defense Force to later find Kafka again. His massive size, difficulty to revert to human form, and people hiking where they shouldn't led to this.

Although the Defense Force don't kill him immediately. His strange behavior being the major reason why. Despite being a Kaiju, No.8 has only killed and eaten kaiju. Any humans that stumble upon him were either ignored, he tries to avoid or even more unusual benevolent.

This leads to a proposition about studying No.8. Should things go well and enough breakthroughs are provided, he would be captured. Whether it's for further study or attempts to turn No.8 into a guard dog is mixed.

Things only ramp up when their special interest reveals a new ability. He can create an avatar of sorts. A smaller clone body(canon form) that he could operate while his real one goes into autopilot. No.8 reverts to normal once the copy rejoins the original form or is destroyed.

An ability that slates him for capture by the Defense Force. Even moreso once he uses them for the Training Exam and First Mission incidents. Kafka will experiment with this power in hopes he could get more of his human life back.

You can say his new chance at the Defense Force isn't gonna be nice nor fun.

@renard-dartigue @popipopipopipopipo000 @discoknack @drmarune

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

Should you write it? Uh, please do!😭🥴😩 as a corporate girlie I would love me some Office!Ghost tbh, maybe you’re from another agency working intel on a joint operation w 141 and he gets a kick our of teasing you bc you’re such a stark contrast with your cute lil briefcase and the business casual dresses, totally not used to working literally on site surrounded by all these military/law enforcement men you usually do work for behind the scenes in the safety of your office

PAIRING: Office! Ghost/Co-Worker! Ghost x F! Reader 

WARNINGS: that particular kind of tacit sexual tension you find in corporate Britain || sexy eye contact from across the bullpen || filthy language || 18+ only

A/N:  corporate girlies unite! || anon is referring to this post || i tried to do the prompt as it was but realised that I know nothing about how the military works :) but this is fiction, so we ball, I hope you like it anon! I have no idea where this fic going, please help :)))

Part 1 of 4 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

***

It starts simple before it gets complicated, as these things tend to do.

There are exactly two things that keep you motivated in this job—the smoke breaks you take 5 times a day, and the off-chance of seeing Ghost around the base.  That’s it.  Two things.

And one of those was being ruined by your newest friend’s lack of enthusiasm for the other thing.

“I bet he's blond.”

Simon just takes a deep drag of his cigarette, looking at you with the distinctively irritated side eye that he gives you about 12 times a day.

“Ask me why I think he's blond.”

“No.”

But you’re undeterred.  “He just has that energy, you know.  I’ve only ever seen him with MacTavish, and he stands there like a tall, sexy, dumb…tree.  Like, I bet he’s fucking gorgeous, but he’s also giving blond himbo.”

Simon’s eyes roll up to the sky in irritation.  “I dunno what himbo means.”

“Yeah you do.  You said you’ve worked with Ghost before.”

You almost want to perform a pirouette in joy at getting Simon to finally look at you.  “N’ what of it?”

“Then you know what a himbo is.  It’s Ghost.”

You don’t even try to contain your manic laughter when Simon just about turns and leaves.         

***

What Simon doesn’t understand (the cantankerous bastard) is that you’ve made eye contact with Ghost a few times around the base.  The man is more elusive than average, even in this line of work.  His presence around the base is...well.  Entirely consistent with his moniker.  The man is a ghost.  

Sometimes you wonder if it’s all really performative, but something about the way he moves in the spaces around him leads you to conclude that maybe he’s omnipresent after all.  He'll catch your attention from the periphery of your vision, only to disappear when you try to actively seek him out.  He melts into the background of wherever he looms, like a shadow. (Or a Ghost).  There and not there, all at once.

And on the rare occasions you’ve seen him around, he keeps to himself.  Not surprising, given everything you know about him (which isn't a lot), but what is interesting to you is the way he looks at you.  And when he’s around, he does look at you.

You can't say you mind, considering you look at him too.  Even after all these years working with big, handsome, massive men and women, day in and day out, you still can't say you've gotten used to it.  And you could never be used to someone like Ghost.  

But then there’s Simon.  The other man you’re finding yourself increasingly attracted to.  

They tell you he’s only there temporarily and as punishment.  You can't even begin to imagine who could (and would even dare to) punish the big grump.  You don’t actually know why he’s being punished with desk duty, and even if you wanted to, you have no way of finding out.  He won’t tell you, and neither will your supervisor. 

More importantly, you decide, you couldn’t care less. 

Simon’s punishment means that your week has suddenly become very, very interesting.  The mood around the office is different while Simon sits at your absentee colleague’s desk.  People are quieter around him—uneasy and the slightest bit put off by his brutish nature. But you can’t deny that there is something about Simon, something you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.  The man is just...effortlessly sexy.  

You sit across the room from him, but facing him, and so every time you look up, he’s there.  The height of the desks combined with the height of this mammoth man mean that you can’t see his entire face, but his eyes stick out from the top of the desk partition, and it’s enough to create…issues for you. 

Five days ago, when you'd walked into the office, and noticed a stranger on Davis’ seat, you hadn't actually known it was him.  He was just...some guy.  A nose that looked like it had spent more time being broken than not, wicked scars running down his face and into his lips, mean-looking but with the most expressive brown eyes.  And then your supervisor introduced him to your team as Simon.  And that was it.  Thus had begun your love affair with permanent arousal. 

You must be one of Pavlov’s dogs with how you’ve been conditioned to associate the feeling of his eyes on your face with wetness between your legs.  It’s mercilessly constant and you’re left feeling achy and unsatisfied every day, having to content yourself with rubbing your thighs together for some much needed relief.  And through it all, Simon just watches you.

You know he’s interested.  And he must know of your reciprocity, because your traitor face gives it away, and because his interest is quickly replaced by smugness.  

During a brief stint of temporary insanity, you consider confronting him about it.  But what would you even say?   So sorry, Simon, you big, scary, grouch, but would you just please hit this and we can both call it a day and I can move on to making heart eyes at Ghost again? Hehe, no.

But you’re stubborn to a fault, so you befriend him (albeit with you doing most of the hard work in your “friendship”) and downplay your attraction, while he pretends he doesn’t spend most of the day making bedroom eyes at you.  Win-win.

And if you end up carrying an extra pair of panties in your purse, then it’s not like he needs to know about it.

****

Taglist: @devcica || @kneelingshadowsalome || @tiredmetalenthusiast || @xintothewoodswegox || @miyabilicious ||

[foli-vora]

run to you: chapter five

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: life is hectic atm but i'm so glad to finally get this out! i swear i'm gonna get around to replying to all of your lovely comments on chapter four. i really appreciate your love and support for this story and i'm forever thanking you, even if i don't get around to replying as quick as i want! so not a lot of marcus and reader in this chapter, like... at all lmao, but the storyline is now picking up and we can fasten our seatbelts for the turbulent ride ahead. enjoy, angels! x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and 'You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: just over 4.5k

Warnings: angst, swearing, the bestest golden retriever himbo bff, talk of crime and undercover operations, mentions of heartache, mentions of jail/being incarcerated, talk of murder/bodies, smutty flashback (18+ only), Patrick Jane, super brief blink-and-you-miss-it Lisbon appearance (poor marcus bb is not doing good rn lmao SUFFER BITCH), and the usual warning: bitter saltiness that only one man brings to life in us

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

He’s hovering.

At first, it’s almost easy to ignore—you think he’s just watching you paint with a small sense of curiosity and would move away once boredom finds him, but you’ve never been one for people looming over your shoulder for an extended period of time, and so the irritation quickly starts to seep in.

The hand holding the paintbrush drops, and you look expectantly at him while knocking your headphones off of one ear, “Can I help you, agent?”

Jacob leans on the table next to you and tears into the homemade sub in his hands, chewing loudly as a small smearing of mayonnaise gathers at the corner of his lips.

He gives a nod, mumbling around the mouthful of food, “Just makin’ sure you eat.”

You blink in surprise, glancing at the window, “It’s lunchtime already?”

“A bit past,” Jacob replies, moving away now that he has your attention and sits himself on a chair at the table, “but I didn’t want to let you go late without eating. Gotta keep up your energy, Monet—don’t want you running yourself into the ground.”

“Thanks,” you murmur softly, organising your little workstation and rolling your aching shoulders.

The break is surprisingly welcome. You didn’t even realise how long you’d been lost in your work until you stopped, and now the throb in your fingers is all you can focus on. You clench and unclench your hand as you walk to your bag and ready some lunch, careful of the hot food you retrieve from the microwave.

Jacob doesn’t look at you as you seat yourself opposite him, too engrossed in studying the painting hanging on the easel.

“You’re good at this,” Jacob notes, eyeing the almost completed piece waiting to be taken wherever by Marcus’ team, “how’d you get into this stuff? Art school?”

Appetite now gone, you shift in your seat, suddenly far too interested in pushing the rice into small mountains in your glass dish.

Breathe.

He doesn’t know.

“I uh… I actually did it for a living.”

“Oh? Nice.”

There’s no malice in his tone, no mistrust, just pure interest.

He doesn’t glare at you, or pull a face of suspicion. It doesn’t even occur to him that it may have all been under the table and illegal. You feel a little guilty, almost as if you’d been leading him to believe you weren’t a previously convicted criminal. It makes you want to own it, to just speak your truth and let him make his own judgement of your actions.

Maybe it would be best to do so, so he would know where he stands and how he should view you. You’re not a good person, and maybe he deserves to know that. He does deserve to know that. 

“It was… it wasn’t legal. That’s how I got caught up in Marcus’ radar,” you admit quietly, briefly letting your eyes meet his and watching the flicker of surprise flash across his features before dropping your gaze again, afraid to watch his warmth and friendliness disappear. 

“Oh.” 

Nothing is said for a few minutes.

You swear you can feel the seconds trickling by, your nerves picking up and heightening with every silent tick. The small bit of the lunch you’d packed last night and eaten starts to churn uncomfortably in your stomach, swirling with your growing anxiety and threatening to bubble up your throat.

You can’t look at him.

“How’d you get caught?”

“It was a whole thing. Apparently the FBI had been after them—us—for a while… I knew it was big, I wasn’t stupid, but I guess I just tried to ignore the other side of it all. The money was good, and it felt nice. Marcus went undercover—guess they wanted someone on the inside, and I just happened to fall in the trap.”

And fall into the trap you did. You fell good. One look into those warm brown eyes and your walls had crumbled. You still don’t understand how it all happened. If only you could go back and scream at your more naive self, tell her to just walk away and never look back.

God, had you truly been that lonely? To open up so quickly, so easily, with a complete stranger? Would things have played out differently if you had just been stronger and ignored the obvious attraction and turned a cheek to his advances? Would he have just moved on to somebody else for the sake of the case?

It makes you angry, and you don’t have a clue as to why. Maybe it’s because somewhere deep within you, beneath the bitterness and the hurt, you wanted to believe he actually did want you, and not just use you as a means to finish the investigation. You wanted to believe that a part of it, even just a slither of it, was real.

Stupid.

Of course it wasn’t real. None of it was.

Jacob nods in understanding, “So that’s why you hate Pike?”

Hate?

Is that what you feel for him?

The angry side of you says yes. Yes, you hate him and everything he fucking stands for, and that you’d feel this way forever… but it doesn’t sit right, feel right. Maybe you don’t. Maybe hate isn’t what it is. Resentment? Disappointment, perhaps? 

“I don’t hate him,” you sigh quietly, giving up on lunch and pushing it away from you, “not… not really. I mean, I did. For months I wished all sorts of horrible shit to happen to him, but I… I don’t know. I guess I just accepted it for what it was after a while. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like him—at all—but I just want to forget it all happened and move on. I want my fresh start, you know? It’s hard seeing him, being around him again, after all the heartbreak.”

“Wait,” Jacob frowns, holding a hand out to stop you from speaking any more, “when you say you ‘fell into the trap’, does that… were you guys a thing? While he was undercover? Was it serious?”

“It was to me,” you admit with a murmur, “even had me picking out a damn wedding dress.”

The laugh that you force from your lips is strained and void of any true humour.

If anything, it’s an attempt to steer the direction of the conversation from diving any deeper into the overwhelming feelings you had for a man that had never existed. It’s humiliating to even think about. Maybe if you laugh about it, the sting of it all won’t hurt as much.

“Oh well,” you breathe, straightening in your seat and twisting your lips to resemble a faint smile, “it’s all in the past. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Jacob watches you play with your food with a look you can’t quite identify. You don’t want to risk looking at him too much, afraid that he’ll see the clear pain swirling in your eyes. The damage has probably already been done. He’s seen it all, and probably more. He’s a Federal Agent—their job relies on reading people on a daily basis. 

“Hey,” he mutters, giving you a small comforting smile when you eventually pull your gaze away from the table to look at him, “for what it's worth, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt. It must’ve been really tough, and I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

Your features twist into a frown, “Who said I was alone through it?”

He watches you knowingly for a moment, his brows raising ever so slightly as his small smile turns a little sadder, sympathetic. He’s right, and he knows it. You had been alone. It’d been the most alone you’d ever felt, and you’ll spend the rest of your life hoping to never feel that way again. 

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you give a small shrug and drop your fork with a quiet clatter, “I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. Yeah, you’ve made some pretty shit decisions in the past—I’m not debating that, but I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. You’re not a bad person, not like the ones we’re used to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone. You watch him for a few minutes, eyes darting between his bright green ones and searching for anything that gives you a small feeling of doubt that his words are nothing but a lie.

You find nothing.

A true smile starts to grow along your lips and you dip your head, unable to keep meeting his genuine gaze without feeling the sting of tears in your eyes.

 “Thank you, Jacob. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome, Kahlo.”

It’s quiet, and you feel like you can bear the sight of food again.

Your shoulders feel lighter, the ache in your chest has dissipated. It’s freeing. You hadn’t yet been able to speak on what had happened without someone focusing on the crime part.

The inmates you had bunked with, the counsellors in jail, the people hiring you once you got out… they all had that pre-judgement of you. The title of criminal followed you throughout every interaction, but not here, not with him.

You pick up your fork and start picking at your food, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. The slice of Jacob’s sudden huff cuts through the air, and he throws his almost eaten sub onto the table before crossing his arms in obvious irritation.

“God, what a fuckin’ dick.”

—

Heat—it’s everywhere.

It sticks to your skin, it swells in the pit of your stomach, it builds and builds over your flesh with every deep roll of his body over yours. It should be too much, too overwhelming, but your nails still dig into the soft skin of his back in a silent cry for more.

Just when you think he can’t possibly get any closer, he does. He pushes—crushes—you into the mattress, hands cradling the back of your head in an effort to keep you as close as possible. So close, so fucking close, you’re practically breathing in the other, with no room left for oxygen between you and it’s absolute bliss.

He’s breathless against the skin of your throat, nothing but soft whimpers and the hush of sharp exhales filling your ears. Lips press wherever they can reach, trailing paths of fire along your cheeks and the length of your neck until you squirm from the sensation, fighting both the urge to hide from his tender touch and stretch out for more. 

“A-Alex,” you breathe, face turning enough to trace the tip of your nose along the shell of his ear.

He exhales sharply, hips faltering ever so slightly. His face briefly falls away from breathing in your skin, dipping his head and hiding his features. Despite the unexpected jolt in his rhythm, he still moves, still rolls his hips in that way he’s fucking mastered, ensuring every upwards roll of his hips has that delicious bit of friction along your clit.

It’s maddening.

It’s perfection.

The ecstasy rolling through your body hits an all time high, and your thighs tighten around his hips, coaxing him to brush harder, push deeper into the wet heat of your pussy until you start to feel that sweet, sweet edge start to creep along the edge of your nerves.

More, more, more—

“Ale–”

He suddenly rears forward, moulding his lips to yours and stealing the very breath from your lungs. It’s always the same. The kiss is urgent, all teeth and tongue and it’s impossible to speak another word. You struggle to keep up with his intensity, too busy focusing on that overwhelming high and the tightening that threatens to give at any second now. 

It’s good—it’s so fucking good, you swear you’re going crazy. He does that to you. Though you can’t say it, breathe it, his name is all you hear in your mind, its own soft echo a consistent companion to the sheer pleasure he drowns you in.

Alex, Alex, Alex.

—

It’s been a month.

A month in your new little workspace, a month of painting, a month of successfully avoiding him. Despite it being his investigation, he now keeps his distance from the makeshift art space he had given you. Maybe he finally got the message that you didn’t want to be around him, that the mere thought of even uttering a single word to him made you feel almost nauseous.

You haven’t seen him in weeks. 

When you finish a piece, he sends his agents. You know a few by name now, but don’t bother with small talk. They come, give you a friendly hello, take the finished, wrapped painting and leave—that’s it.

That’s all it is.

You don’t have to do anything else, and it’s wonderful. You spend your days painting, relishing in the familiar feel of a brush between your fingers and enjoying the legal money deposited into your account every week.

You get ahead with bills. You buy some new clothes. You feel refreshed, finding a certain needed peace from the sudden financial stability. You know it’s not going to last—Jacob doesn’t talk about the case a whole lot, but you know that the team has made some progress with it, so you put a little money aside for the day the FBI no longer needs you.

He becomes a fast friend, and if you were ever to find it within you to thank Marcus for anything in this world, it would be him. You surely would’ve gone batshit insane if you’d been holed up in that room by yourself day in and day out, probably worse if you had been locked up with Marcus every day.

But not Jacob.

Jacob keeps the air light.

He’s kind, funny, and a bit of an idiot, and you find yourself fondly laughing nearly every day at the little things he would do or say. You thoroughly enjoy his company, and love hearing about his time in school, training to be an agent and the few cases he’s worked on so far.

He asks you questions and seems genuinely interested in getting to know you and of you past, never once making you feel lesser than or lowly for your less than ideal life before this. 

“You made a decision, Matisse. Good or bad—own it.”

He keeps to himself whenever you find yourself focused on your work, and only steps in to remind you to take care of yourself. On the odd occasion, he’d join you, content to watch you work with a shine of interest.

You don’t like it, so you shove canvas paper and oil pastels at him to keep him from hovering any longer and it works. It becomes a little activity of sorts, a release for him whenever paperwork starts to push at his patience a little too much. 

“They should’ve hired you for this case,” you mumble teasingly around your lunch, grinning at the pride filling his features as he finishes his latest project—his own creation inspired by the Van Gogh you’re currently working on.

It’s pretty, full of bright colours and soft swirling patterns. The Future, he had called it, and apparently—it was all for you.

You need something colourful, Da Vinci, something happy. You’re too sad. 

The FBI doesn’t deserve him.

“Hey, I’m proud of this,” he retorts sharply, pointing a finger smudged with colour at you but his tone doesn’t match the bright amusement in his eyes, “belongs in a damn museum. It’s an original Wilson—people will flock to see it. You just wait, Michaelangelo, this will bring a lot of money down the track, mark my words.”

Your chuckle is cut off by the insistent buzz in his pocket, and he stands immediately, answering the call with a swift Wilson and stepping away from the table with his phone pressed to his ear.

It’s Marcus... you know just by the way he positions himself, ensuring to keep a bit of distance and turning away so you don't have to potentially hear his voice from the other end. You quickly lose interest in the conversation, focusing back on the open book you’ve been trying—and failing—to get into the last few days.

The interest in the conversation was lost, until you hear it.

“Understood, sir. We’ll leave now.”

Immediately looking up in question, your brows start to furrow as Jacob wraps up the phone call and strides back to the table quietly. Anxiety begins to build in the pit of your stomach at the sudden serious set of his features, unused to seeing the usually bright and bubbly face now so stoic. It’s Agent Wilson, not Jacob. 

“We’re leaving?” you ask in confusion, “but I haven’t even done—”

The frown between his thick brows deepens, and he barely looks at you while he shrugs his navy blue suit jacket on, leaving faint smudges of orange and pink on the lapels.

“Leave it, we need to get to the office.”

The anxiety immediately gives way to dread.

The office? Where Marcus and his team are? Why?

You want to ask if you can stay behind—straight up refuse to go anywhere near that damn building—but the firm set of Jacob’s lips lets you know it’s non-negotiable.

He helps you with your bag, a certain urgency to his movements, and then you’re descending the stairs with him hot on your tail. He ushers you into the car, throwing a wary glance each way down the street before moving around the vehicle and sliding into his seat.

You swear you can feel your heart beating in your throat. He’s clearly in a rush, but you’re at a loss as to why. Has something happened? Is there danger? Are you in danger?

With your mind beginning to hurl possibilities at you, you start to feel more and more nauseous with every swift swerve through traffic Jacob makes.

“Is everything okay?” You ask carefully, fingers fiddling with the straps of your bag as you try to calm the rage of your heart. 

He briefly looks away from the traffic and gives you a small reassuring smile, “Of course. There’s just been a big development and I’m needed back at the office for a debriefing, sorry for the rushing.”

“Oh,” you breathe in relief, “okay, I understand. Well, you can drop me home if that’s easier for you.”

“It’s an urgent thing and uh… Pike would like you at the office.”

Your lips press shut and an immediate frown overcomes your expression.

Of course.

If there had been developments in the case, why did you need to be there? It’s not like you're an agent with unlimited access to the available information. Your own folder Marcus had given you was severely lacking any true details of the case beyond what you needed to know, and it’s not like you were involved in anything anymore, so you had very little to contribute further than your creative talents.

You keep quiet for the rest of the quick trip, taking the hint that now is not the time for small talk. The need to chat is nonexistent to you right now anyway, even if Jacob happened to be in a perkier mood. The mere thought of seeing, and talking to, Marcus again does nothing to ease the dread churning in the pit of your gut. 

The building is not a welcome sight, yet you hurry to follow Jacob from the brightly lit parking lot and into the home of the FBI. He stays beside you the whole way, through the wide crowded corridors and during the silence of the elevator, giving you one final reassuring smile before he pushes open the door to the Art Crime Department.

It’s busy. 

Marcus doesn’t suddenly appear from nowhere and bombard you both at the entrance. You can take a deep breath. The shrill ringing of phones fill the space, and the shuffle of agents near running about with various files and pieces of paper takes you a little off guard.

There’s an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. You can’t quite put your finger on why it unsettles you so.

You follow Jacob further into the chaos, ensuring to keep out of the way and keeping an eye out for the one man you seem to now be bracing for, steeling your nerves into something harder, something unbreakable. You don’t need to wait long—there he is.

He looks tired.

Marcus appears from a room, presumably his own personal office, raking a hand through his mussed hair and saying a few brief words to a coworker before his eyes zero in on Jacob. He points to the conference room where you’d once sat at the beginning of this, already heading that way with another agent, and Jacob gives a short nod in response.

You try to blend into the background behind Jacob so Marcus doesn’t take much notice of you, but it’s not even a moment later and his eyes are suddenly meeting yours. The feeling of his attention is instant, and the increase of your heart is familiar by now.

Despite the distance between you, you feel how they roam over your face, seemingly searching your expression, but it’s not long until they fall away and you’re left to exhale quietly, now free from his gaze. 

He disappears into the conference room, and you swallow down the thick feeling of anxiety building in the back of your throat. He doesn’t seem eager, or interested, in talking to you straight away, and you’re relieved by that—you could mentally and emotionally prepare yourself a little more.

“My desk is over there if you want to sit down,” Jacob offers, turning and walking backwards in order to point you in the right direction, “and I’ve got snacks in the bottom drawer.”

Rolling your eyes, you give a strained huff of amusement and start walking towards it, “Of course you do.”

Your shoulder catches the frame of someone else and you quickly take a step back, wide eyes locking with a pair of vaguely amused blue ones.

He’s dressed sharply, much different to the basic suits the agents around him wear, in a well kept grey toned three piece suit with the simple white collar of his shirt popped open at the base of his throat. His soft blond curls are styled neatly back, and the gentle scent of tea wafts from the cup in his hold.

He’s pretty, by society’s standards, but his eyes are sharp, as if they can see right into the very centre of you.

You don’t like it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mumble, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

You don’t linger to hear what the agent has to say. You hurry into Jacob’s desk space and throw your bag under it before taking a seat in the simple desk chair, the backrest squeaking as you rest into it.

His desk is as you expected it to look—messy, but organised in his own little chaotic way. The edges of his computer screen are littered with sticky notes of reminders, his ballpoint pens are all missing their lids, he has a bobble head character of a sports player next to his keyboard and a crumpled paper plane lies hidden beneath a thick notebook.

It’s undoubtedly Jacob, end to end.

The wide variety of sweets and chips resting on old files doesn’t surprise you at all when you tug at the stiff drawer, and you immediately zero in on the ones he’s been sharing with you over the past few weeks.

“Jane, stay out of trouble,” a brunette orders sharply as she passes, briefly catching your attention and the man you had previously bumped into comes to a stop just beside you.

“Aye aye, Captain,” he replies dryly with the growings of a smirk, sipping quietly at the tea in his hands and watching the last few agents file into the conference room before the door closes.

Do people still use saucers? He does. He half turns towards you and eyes you curiously as you sway absent-mindedly in Jacob’s desk chair, breaking into the packet of sour candies.

“You’re not an agent.”

You blink up at him and give a small, polite smile, “No, I’m not.”

He makes a low noise of thought to himself and sits on the edge of the desk opposite to Jacob’s, watching you over the rim of the plain white cup he lifts to his lips.

You shift a little under his study, busying yourself with picking a lemon flavoured candy out from the packet and looking over the various little notes decorating the dated computer screen.

Meeting @ 10 Tues. Picasso retrieval daily @ 8. Get bread. Call ma before she has a damn heart attack—

“How long have you been an artist?”

Eyes rolling back to the stranger, you give a slightly confused, “What? How do you know I’m an artist?”

“You have paint on your fingers,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the room.

Rubbing your fingers together, you feel the tell tale crack of dried paint over your skin and glance down at it in vague interest. He’s got a really good set of eyes. You shift a little in the seat and pinch the ends of your sleeves before pulling them down further over your hands to hide them from him.

“A few years,” you reply vaguely, “you’re rather observant, Agent Jane.”

It comes across more as an accusation rather than a general statement, and it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He grins, flashing a nice set of pearly white teeth. 

“Patrick,” he supplies, “and I’m a consultant.”

“Didn’t even know that was a thing,” you mutter plainly, not liking the way you feel like a fucking open book with this stranger, “well, shouldn’t you be in there, then?”

You nod towards the closed door of the conference room and Patrick makes a low noise of dismissal, a slight scrunch curling his nose.

“I already know everything about the murders—Lisbon can handle it.”

The word cuts through the air and chills you right to the bone. 

“Murders? What murders?”

Patrick looks at you, shrugging lightly.

“That’s why we’re here. The fancy little tracker led this bunch down to the meeting point in California, but we found the bodies first. Deal gone wrong, I’m guessing. The buyer probably found the painting to be a fake, and got rid of the delivery men because of it. Very messy.”

Your stomach turns.

The painting? Your painting? 

“What was wrong with the piece?” You ask quietly, voice suddenly strained.

“Not sure,” Patrick murmurs, taking an apparent interest in the way you’re reacting to his information and studying you from over his tea, “guess we’ll know soon enough.”

You swallow, a sting of sweat building along the back of your neck. They knew it was a replica? How? You must’ve done something different, there must’ve been something wrong with it. Otherwise how else would they know? They wouldn’t.

Have you made a mistake?

Is that why Marcus wanted you here? Are you in trouble? What would be the ramifications of your mistake? After all, it’s your fault. People had died because you didn’t focus hard enough on your work. The FBI have probably realised how useless you are if you can’t even convince some shady black market dealers that your pieces are real. 

You must’ve been distracted. You never made mistakes, and now you’ve made one that cost lives. How many? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it happened, and now you have to live with that knowledge.

People have died. People have died because of you. 

You fucked up. 

-

tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

[thegreatstoryteller]

The Improvised Chronivac: FRAT-ifier

@dumbmusclehypnojockboy​ Happy Holidays! Hope you enjoy your story!

Sometimes moments from the past last long after they’ve passed. For Fredrick Cleston that certainly was the case. It’s been almost a decade since he’d been laughed out of that blasted college for his outrageous scientific genius. They could not even humor his vast intellect with a degree. No. Instead he was found unsuitable for any place of higher education whether it be to conduct his dangerous experiments OR to push the boundaries of physicality and ethics! But no longer would that sorry spot on the collegiate map be considered a place of intellect. Once his machine was completed no one will know this small town for anything other than the idiocy that it has always held. Once his machine was completed, reality itself would be at his disposal! Sure, there had been other geniuses who found ways to bend reality and bend minds, but none like this!

-

No one at Telegre University realized that today was their last day of higher education. The world-renowned university was prided on its academic achievement, claiming responsibility for countless graduates and their subsequent success. Few could argue that this temple of education produced geniuses as fast as application rates! If you weren’t joining the medical track to become a doctor, you were in engineering to pursue grand designs! Perhaps you were a philosopher with the next greatest life methodology. Or maybe a civic genius ready to bring their ideas to law! No corner of this school lacked genius…. Until the day there was a large explosion a few blocks away from campus.

The nearly invisible pulse that surrounded the square footage of the school went unnoticed by nearly everyone! That is until that strange scientist started walking about. Many on social media called out a creeper making his way through campus!

He started with the bio medical section of school. Many of these young minds were eager to cure the ailments of the day. However, as these students studied in class many looked out the window… as if drawn to this strange man holding an odd metal box with strange screens appearing on it.

“Excuse me sir. You’re entering one of our classrooms. Are you lost? Do we need to call security?” One of the students questioned, crossing his thin arms, as he looked condescendingly at the wild looking man of science.

“Young man I’m right where I need to be. Though perhaps you’re lost? You don’t look like you belong in this stogy classroom. Perhaps you belong on the beach!” Dr. Cleston fiddled with his device, adjusting knobs! Moving levers and inputting a simple phrase. “Himbo Surfer” Soon more phrases came up! “Oblivious” “Air headed” “cocky” “high libido” “extremely breedable” and many more filled the screen as Dr. Cleston laughed madly.

Meanwhile the young man who commented stood wide eyed. His normal modes 5-foot frame had begun to contort and grow. Each pulse from this box seemingly affecting his physiology! It started with his feet. The nice leather shoes he’d worn to class began to strain and break. His normally pale feet were no more as tanned skin surrounding sizeable size 14 feet burst forth from those shoes. Then his legs extended! Higher and higher, while thickening perfectly, shredding his boring beige pants revealing a tight hugging pair of board shorts that surrounded and ever-growing ass and bulge! His torso shredded with a single flex as his pudge stomach reversed into perfectly cut abs! His pectoral muscles now revealed to the world with a just the right amount of chest hair as well! Then his arms extended growing powerful with each inch leading to hands that could grab a surfboard with ease! His moans through this process now deepened as it gained a laidback tone and his face rearranged losing his classes and sallow skin. Now tightened into a beautiful smile and longer wavy hair.

“Haha surfs up bros!” The new surfer said much to everyone’s shock! Though even that was short lived. Did they always have a surfer bro in their class? No that doesn’t seem right… was he always this overt showing off his body?

“My head bros… what was I doing here again?” the surfer asks.

Dr. Cleston smiled. “You were here to have people join your new frat I believe. For surfers and beach hunks.” The man’s words stroked a chord within the empty headed vessel he let out a dumb giggle and nodded.

“Fuck yeah bros. You gotta join my frat! We just chill and hit the waves everyday. Then we flex and show off to all the bros and babes watching for a good time!” He says luring more and more people forward. His voice naturally drew the med students in as one by one the doctor changed them in new ways! Some growing taller, shorter, stronger, tanner. Races and ethnicities were altered permanently as well as age when certain professors left their offices to see what was wrong. Before long the entire area was no longer a large building, but a run-down frat house filled with too many members! Each command entering the chronivac not changing just one! But like a wave it changed larger and larger groups till the enter med student population of the school were nothing but free loving surfers!

The mad doctor Cleston did not stop there. He moved on to the engineering quadrant of the school. There was currently a competition ongoing of who would make the sturdiest mechanical marvel. Some created miniature vehicles, others small clock towers, and even more created actual robots. Though none of that would before long. Like a piper guiding lesser beings to their true calling, Cleston’s device radiated a compulsion for the engineers to approach.  

“You all are so crafty and studious! Though perhaps we should have you allocate that ingenuity elsewhere! Perhaps work with less iron and more… gridiron!” Dr. Cleston typed furiously on his device turning to the smallest runtiest engineer! “You my friend will be the captain the one to lead this team and ensure you are the strongest dumbest unit this school has ever seen!” Phrases appeared like butterflies over this young man’s head. “Captain.” “Ruthless” “Powerful!” “Dominant!” “Tank!” “POWER!” and soon they rang true.

Before this mousy haired youth stumbled back his large legs stomped the ground beneath him. What once was a normal tennis shoe turned into a huge cleat with and even huge leg attached to it as this engineer grew into the largest football player anyone had seen. A jersey replace his normal shirt while a helmet replaced his hat. His nerdy moans grew deeper as he started shouting out for his men to line up. With each step he marched… grassy Astro turf emerged beneath him. Not only was he compelled to make his own team, he was compelled to bring a new field to this college!

“That’s right captain. Spread you influence. In fact why don’t you start brining me the me for your team. Those lucky enough to be picked by you will be your brothers on the field. Any left over… well I guess we could use some  handsome cheerleaders to motivate you on and off the field!”

One by one this massive American football player grabbed a new stunned engineer and threw him at the feet of Cleston who grew him into another athlete before their eyes. Some join their captain in gathering men. Some simply served the doctor fetching him water and doing his bidding. By the time he was done he was in an entire quadrant of a school that looked like a football field! Young men in full uniform were running exercises and making dumb jokes, while scantily clad cheerleaders danced for them.

The final stop for the doctor was the humanities segment of the school. At this point he had an entourage of surfers and football players. They crowd around the doctor happily serving as guides and guards till the last bastion of this school stands before them.

“Come out all your philosophers and lawyers! I believe it’s time you begin anew in a different court!” This time Cleston did not even wait for the student to come out! He let his device run wild as pulses of electricity now crackled from the machine. Campus architecture began to warp and reshape. Buildings became gymnasiums! Leisurely quad portions became outdoor basketball courts! Even the nearby cafeteria became a variety of concession stands. And the young men that emerged from the area fled, transforming before his very eyes!

One red haired student ran outside, skin as pale as if he’d never seen the sun. But that changed as the professor aimed his device at him amplifying his changes. “Big black basketballer” “Proud” “Self assured” “Giant!” “Godly!” “Champions!” The look of confusion on this face began to shift. His mouth found itself shaping into a confident smirk, as his body grew higher and higher. He felt knowledge leaving his brain as his body inflated with size and power! His entire burst out of his clothes revealing his darkening skin and powerful arms and legs. Large feet to support such a frame with a sizeable package that would draw attention from anyone who could see it! He even drank his water bottle in a way that almost invited a challenge!

He wasn’t the only one. Countless classmates and the professors teaching them were all changing with these command till a roaring game was going on inside the gymnasium and around the out door courts. Anyone not playing was on the bench cheering on their teammates to glory! Basketball would be pretty big at this university now. As would its players. All of them growing to be bigger and more intimidating than the next!

At this point Cleston was satisfied and walked slowly to the center of the school, the Dean’s office. His travel companions of surfers, football players, and basketball athletes following him like mindless drones… or a small army.

The bookish Dean exited the doors to his office shaking. “Kleston!  This is absolute chaos you’ve brought to this school. Using such an unstable device could tear a fabric within reality itself if you continue this madness! Shut it off and maybe we can repair the damage before you unleash unspeakable harm to the world!”

“You beg for mercy as I’m about to achieve my ultimate goal! Never! That is why you are the final to change at this school! I’m going to make you the most absent minded sports driven fool of them all!” Kleston blasted his machine right at the Dean who screamed out in surprise as surges of all sorts of changes began to strike him. However this wasn’t just any change! Just like the others it spread… but with no one else around the bolts of changing electricity began to creep up Kleston’s weedy arms… his own device consuming itself and its user as these changes progressed! “No… no! This is not my design. Change him you damn machine! Not me!” He screamed louder and louder! Until a large explosion at the center of campus unleashed every imaginable change!

-

One month later. No one outside of Master Chronivac users remember the illustrious Telegre University. Though ask any sports loving party guy and he’ll tell you he’d love to go to Titan University. Home to the biggest bros, the dumbest academics, and the most intense sports programs. Professionals could never predict how a school with such dumb strategies won their games, let alone certain championships! Many attributed it to the titanic student body this university attracted. Regardless, it serves as a lesson to all people meddling in technology out of their control. Specifically the iconic Twins of Titan U. 

They are some of the most handsomest men around social media these days… shame they’re too dumb to play any sports. Obviously this was the former Dean of the university and the made scientist Kleston… However, even the most creative Chronivac users could tell them apart. They’ve both been so substantially changed both physically and intellectually that they could not be distinguished.

So, remember not to lose yourself proving people wrong. You may end up just like them in the end.

[malicedafirenze]

I've been looking at some negative reviews and critical discussions of Silver Under Nightfall out of curiosity, because I'm very much in HOW COULD ANYONE NOT LIKE THIS mode and one of the most common points of criticism I've seen is people saying they don't feel chemistry between the three leads, because they don't find Xiaodan's and Malekh's attraction to Remy believable.

and this has made me wonder to what degree I simply adore the romance dynamic in this book because I absolutely want to: like yes, give me vampire polyamory with decent writing and a serious but not grimdark tone and I am on board just like that.

But there's also the aspect of it just being delicious wish fulfillment. Like oh no, our self-doubting wet cat of a protagonist is being told he's worthy of kindness by two beautiful, powerful, dangerous people who take him under their wing and just implicitly start protecting him from those who have abused him in the past, even before he realizes that what's happened to him is abusive in the first place.

Maybe I don't need a logical explanation for why these two powerful vampires - who have a history of picking up dying strays and nursing them back to undead health, if you remember - see a kind, competent and unfairly shunned guy and go "we'll get him out of there, and if he's up for it we'll take him into our lives and our bed".

Maybe Rin Chupeco's summary of "vampire couple finds himbo in the trash and takes him in" is actually all the character motivation and logical reasoning I need for this.

[thejockout]

Consistency vs. Inconsistency in hypnosis; is it really a big deal? How big is it???

Practice makes perfect.

Practice makes progress.

Excellence is not an act, but a habit.

We are what we (repeatedly) do.

All clichés I'm guilty of using, and all ones I stand behind to some extent; practice and repetition are necessary for picking up virtually every skill, and hypnosis is no different. Even putting the skill of trance aside, in the context of transformative change, you are attempting to gain the "skill" of feeling or behaving in a way you currently don't. The "skill" of being... a himbo. A pup. Or just some vague, better self you're aiming towards; which is all awesome, and all takes time/repetition.

As you are all well aware, hypnosis is not a magic spell that will enchant/transform you from "Who You Are" -> "Who You Wanna Be" all by itself, obviously. IMO, hypnosis has two main roles in the change process; it acts as a bit of motivation enhancement, either providing the spark that sets a new fire alight in you, or just gives some fuel to feed an already existing flame... or both, if the file's good and resonates with you! Then, of course, it also serves as a space to rehearse a new headspace, or even just a new way of thinking that you want to carry with you into the waking world.

Repeatedly engaging in hypnosis allows these effects to build strength. A single conversation can be enough to set off a domino effect that leads to some new realization or epiphany in you - many of us have had an experience like that in our lives, some important discussion or realization that changed our view of things forever. But more often than not, inner change is a result that accumulates from many slower, smaller pressures. Conversations with trusted peers, reflection on our core drivers, the simple attrition of life that naturally changes our views... some of those processes are unconscious, so we forget how long it really took for them to build that new opinion/habit/worldview. But when we're consciously pursuing change, as in hypnosis, we are often acutely aware of how long it's taking us to get there, and want to speed it up.

Repetition is really the only lever you can control that might speed things up - which is why I preach it. We all want to get somewhere, and we all want to get there as quickly as we reasonably/sustainably can. Inconsistency, on the flip side, will slow you down because... well, to return to that previous metaphor, if you don't keep adding wood to the fire, it's going to get weaker. Eventually it'll blaze so high it kinda tends to itself, the way you default live your life will fuel it; but as a new, baby uwuwuwu flame... yeah, it takes some nurturing. It's still not the biggest deal to miss days, or even weeks. I've taken months off trancing at a time and returned, anxious about whether I'd still be able to trance, and found that I've had very immediate/rapid hypnotic breakthroughs when I do; including my most recent one this summer where I've suddenly become hyperresponsive as a subject, lol, after not trancing through most of spring. (If you hit a plateau, a "break" can often help you get past it after you return. It's a little like one of those Hot Wheels cars you need to rev backwards and then release so they shoot ahead lol.)

BUT. Consistency helps a lot when we're trying to just, get a foothold with some change... but life inevitably throws a spanner in those works sometimes. Though we may always want to be diligent/committed/consistent, circumstances beyond our control drag us off our planned path... or sometimes, circumstances that feel like they are under our control, like fatigue... or busyness... or, when we pause to ask ourselves what's going on, it may just be that we're not prioritizing it as we want to be.

Ultimately, while this is a hokey end to the piece (I'm a hokey guy), all we can do when such a problem arises is to... accept it. Stand strong. If you can't trance for a while because you're anxious, or you haven't been sleeping, or someone's sick/injured, or because you just keep forgetting to do it and you're getting real pissed off at yourself for that - tough as it sounds, first thing is to just work on accepting that obsctacle. Tolerate it a little bit more, feel + process whatever angst you feel towards it. This is the first step to releasing it, and release is increeedibly important to overcoming. You're never going to get SO MAD at something that it just disappears; and often times, that emotional resistance will only keep you stuck longer.

Radical acceptance is a buzzy term nowadays, but its a very powerful concept from Buddhism that I think applies perfectly to all the issues I've raised here... and even smaller issues, like struggling to go deep enough when you DO get around to trancing. I've covered this in files before, but radically accepting your trance as it is, allowing it to unfold moment by moment instead of watching like a hawk and injecting further frustration/fury/fix-it mentality will only improve its quality, and enable you to reach the depths you long for. (If you've never heard of this concept, Google it; Tara Brach, the writer of the book "Radical Acceptance", also has some great meditations available about it.)

But again, outside of how resistance/obsctacles affect the literal trance experience... radical acceptance is useful in helping us see that it's OK if sometimes, we are knocked off the path we choose for ourselves; because it's not undoing your progress, really. It's more like being shunted between parallel lines. Here's a shitty Paint diagram to show that.

Of course it sucks to have been going from A->B, and then have life come along and knock you onto the C->D path. But you're not gonna be there forever; when you've dealt with the obstacle in your way, you can decide to return to the first path and continue that journey! And as I described earlier, sometimes you discover you can make new breakthroughs as a result of that pause-reassess-return sequence. You don't go back to the start of your first path - you'll either pick back up where you were, or find you're a little bit ahead of even that.

The tricky part is how we deal with the obstacle that threw us off the path, or that is now keeping us away from it. If it's something concrete/short-term, then sometimes the answer is just "waiting it out". If, like me, you've had a shitty time trancing this week due to external factors that you KNOW will soon resolve... that sucks, but it'll be over soon and then you can recommit to your goals. 🤷‍♂️ A few missed days won't delay you much.

But if they're longer-term/more abstract barriers, unfortunately, you're gonna have to sit and reflect on how you can either mitigate their impact OR remove them entirely. There's no universal hint here, and it's not something I can cover in the scope of this post - but the same principle applies, and the same core message of don't beat yourself up when you get derailed still applies. Derailing happens to everyone; what proves that you ARE committing, that you ARE trying your best to stick with a process, is taking the active choice to return to the original path when you can... instead of wallowing in the misery of having been knocked off course to begin with.

---------------------------------------------------------

https://linktr.ee/jockout

When I'm not dropping myself or others, I'm off being a mystical forest bro in the wilderness of Ireland. But I am always available for commissions if you reach out via DM. My flat rate is currently $65-100, but you can check my pinned Tumblr post for more up-to-date info. Keep listening, bros.

This post is an excerpt from the Hypnovember Week 3 post on my Patreon; said I'd post it here standalone because it functions as a blog post. <3

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Gotta say, the first episode of Deep Night was better than I expected.

True, I kind of had zero expectations. I tend to vacillate between love and hate (ok, more just strong dislike) with the shows that Cheewin directs, so I've learned to be cautious. But still!

Our leads start out feeling very old school BL, where you have the rich arrogant one and the studious one with the high walls. And it's obvious the arrogant one has a crush already, and expresses it via the dumb "boys tease if they like" trope.

But then it ends up getting a bit of a different twist, because Khem goes to his mother's club and sees her star performer, who is of course the same Wela he's been "teasing" all this time.

And Khem immediately gets incredibly horned up, where he's now fantasizing about upside down makeout sessions while in class.

So of course although he previously said he wants nothing to do with his mom's club, he's now willing to work at the ground level just to be close to Wela.

(Side note - huge shoutout to Khem's mother for being all "this idiot will learn to love this club I've worked hard to build by starting with parking cars". We love a woman who says screw nepotism, baby gotta earn it.)

And in another nice twist on the trope, before the first episode is through, he straight up apologizes for giving Wela a hard time at university (while getting turned on by the smallest amount of visible skin).

Considering the standard beginning, where they go from here is definitely not feeling predictable at the moment.

Also, the way they're shooting the aerial stuff is just really neat.

Look at this!

And this!

And I have no idea why an aerial show has random bondage, but I certainly don't object to it.

And the side characters look promising, we have some gender fluidity, some bigger bodies (though the characters are primarily comedic, as usual, I hope they get some depth over time), and we get a himbo with amazing pole skills.

Fingers crossed!

[anarchic-miscellany]

Reading "One Piece" for the first time: Part 10 Alright, sorry for the delay. I was at a concert and getting engaged. This week our "heroes" make some progress at this "Grand Line" place. The towering monsters rising from the ocean are actually pretty cool, but the goofy googly eyes make it look like a child has gotten into a bag of googly eyes and their sibling's toybox. It's a bold art style. One of the morons calls out "let's fight it" when a whale blocks their path, but we don't see who. Place your bets now! It's not going to be Meme in Progress, he's off the hook. Honestly, this whole gang reads like a bunch of 10 year olds playing a tabletop roleplaying game. Wait, they have a cannon? Who gave them a cannon, where did you find that, Idiot? Put that down! In a classic of the "pirate fairy tale genre": they get swallowed by a whale! Huzzah! I am actually hoping for stuff like this: whimsy and charm and weird little quirky bits, battling to flee the belly of a beast. They meet an old man, and The Himbo immediately wishes to kill him when he gives his star sign and blood type: honestly, same buddy. This is the first time that the Himbo has been relatable. I wish we spent more time in the whale, this was a fun side plot and tangent, and of all of the ways to deliver lunacy of the exposition (magnetic fields on every island essentially mean that they have to do side quests on every island: I honestly respect that. At least there are rules) this is among the least boring. The story of the whale is cute, and the Idiot punches it in the face to stop it from giving itself depression headaches. A cute, in character way to end it: making it promise to kick his ass next time he comes back this way. Netural thoughts on this Croup and Vandemar double act of "9 and Wednesday", but also not disliking them either, which is a good sign. There are far worse Mihawks, I mean characters.

So we sail off into the snow: my one complaint here is that it's genuinely a fucking dick move to smash Meme in Progress' snow lady here, Idiot. Like, why? Are you a psychotic 4 year old? I just answered my own question here. The Cartographer with a Brain Cell is leading them with her compass game, but I hope that they don't just make her the "token straight woman" to the wackiness of the gang. Even Jules got to be insane in "Psych" and Amy Santiago was hilarious in "Brooklyn Nine Nine". They pull up at cactus island (I find the art here appealing, and appreciate the contrast between winter weather and a desert island of cactii) and are welcomed by clearly evil Mayor and his drunken townsfolk. Naturally the Idiot, The Giga Chad and the Meme in Progress run off to enjoy them, and Cartographer with a Brain Cell (unsurprisingly) stays behind cautiously. The big surprise is that the Himbo stays back as well. Presumably because he cannot find a thing to murder yet, or cannot find a sword to fight.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You bringing back that Cassian hair fic and your tags on it have me giggling. Clearly so passionate about our fave bat boy's hair! But you're right and you should say it 🤭

You know what, lovely Anon? I am passionate about it 😌 Like listen, this is absolutely the fandom hill I am willing to die on even if it's just me and like 4 other people, and I will not apologize for that!!!

I will say, the people who I was talking about this with yesterday (and thus sparked the reblog) are fandom friends, and they're lovely people, and they had no malicious intent in this joking and teasing instance, but I do think there's a wider fandom problem of lessening Cassian's character.

And I know what you're thinking, "but Caty. You shit on canon Cassian all the time." And I do! But that's still my boy!

He's a General. He leads whole armies. He has intricate military knowledge, strategy, probably history. Nesta notes in ACOSF that he has a lot of books. Like Cassian is smart. He is a smart dude. But I've found that often he gets cast as like the fandom comedic relief. Like you watch the skits on TikTok and they're fun, but Cassian will always be played as the Big Dumb Boi(tm). He's the head empty himbo. And now we're adding that he's unhygienic too? That he doesn't wash and doesn't care about his appearance/doesn't even try? No thoughts in his head and no care for the hair on that head....

Like please leave my boy alone 😭

Plus, Cassian's a bastard! And I know people often point to that as like further proof he's not doing much because he literally couldn't as a child and obviously had more important things to worry about while in the snow. But I actually think it had the opposite effect! Cassian isn't exactly a proud bastard. We see in ACOSF that it still affects him, that he thinks Nesta deserves a prince like Eris over lowly ole him.

I think Cassian learned something from Rhys. He learned something being raised by Mama Night. And I think he puts in the work to present himself in a way that reflects his status, his station now. He is standing there as The General(tm), and you better damn put some respect on his name!

And I know there's jokes to be made about SJM's choice to make Illyrians workout and sweat in leather of all things (🤢) and how Cassian is always in them and does he even own any other clothes? But I think that's part of it too! Him always in his Illyrian leather is part of him presenting as the warrior, as the General.

And mmm now I'm thinking about a fic where similar to Cassian seeing Nesta with her hair down and what that signifies. But it's Nesta seeing Cassian without the General mask. No leathers. No siphons. A little bit messy and not put together. So soft... So vulnerable.... Jots notes for Cassian Appreciation Week....

Anyways! This answer really got away from me, didn't it? So rambley. I've completely lost the plot and the point. But yeah, I'll just step down off my soapbox now.... 😅