#what is an overdose amount

[staroftara]

THANK YOU!

The British used Opium in a bad way to try to colonize China or at least force them into one-sided trade deals. And all other sorts of terrible things.

Also in 1937 it was bolstered by the logging industry, but there was restrictions solely on the drug starting in 1906 for the US as a whole

However, New York started as early as 1860! Due to to a string of suicides allegedly due to cannabis (and other things) but also this might’ve been what they were using??

It looks stronk.

Also New York didn’t ban it, they required it to have the label of “Poison”

“A bill introduced in 1880 in the California state legislature was titled 'An act to regulate the sale of opium and other narcotic poisons' and would have forbidden anyone to keep, sell, furnish, or give away any "preparations or mixtures made or prepared from opium, hemp, or other narcotic drugs" without a doctor's prescription at a licensed store. That bill was withdrawn in favor of one specifically aimed at opium, though further bills including hemp-based drugs were introduced in 1885 and in 1889.”

It’s weird that Cali started it!

Anyway, enough of me researching and rambling for no good reason~

Conclusion!

People have many reasons for wanting to ban drugs! Showing only one viewpoint is uncritical at best and dangerous at worst!

Cannabis should not be classified as a Class 1 drug, but should still be regulated until it’s effects have been properly studied.

when i see english speakers say "marijuana"...looks like somebody isn't immune to propaganda

[h-f-k]

-

[underthehedge]

Seriously, the number of people I've had to explain to that Lemsip (a popular hot lemon cold and flu remedy in the UK) contains paracetamol to is insane. It's written right there on the box, and you gotta take that into account if you're also taking paracetamol tablets. Same for many other "cold and flu" remedies and capsules.

Liver damage from paracetamol is cumulative and potentially fatal.

It also uses some of the same pathways for detoxification as alcohol which is why you should never mix them. And that includes with a hangover: If you're hanging out your arse and you need a painkiller, reach for the ibuprofen instead. Do not touch the paracetamol, you're still processing ethanol and it's downstream metabolites and combining that with paracetamol causes liver damage.

PSA:

Acetaminophen/paracetamol has a hard stop upper dose limit, above which it becomes extremely toxic.

That limit is 4g (8 “extra strength” (500mg) tablets) in 24 hours (about 2 tablets every 6 hours).

A single dose of 22 extra strength tablets can kill you.

Taking 12 or more tablets per day for more than a week can also kill you (this is about 3 tablets every 6 hours).

Symptoms of overdose take up to 24 hours to manifest, and are fairly difficult to distinguish from other problems. They include abdominal pain (especially right upper quadrant), nausea, malaise, and confusion.

The antidote (n-acetylcystine) must be given within 8hours of ingestion in order to be useful.

After 10 hours the only thing that will work is a liver transplant.

You might think “why would I ever accidentally take so much?”

Well, acetaminophen is in almost everything in the cold/flu/pain aisle. Migraine combos like Excedrin, cold and flu combos like NyQuil, basically anything that says “non-aspirin pain relief”, and anything that’s branded as a fever reducer. It’s all probably acetaminophen/paracetamol.

So the goal of this post is to get you to read the labels on your medications. Because taking taking Tylenol and NyQuil together for a week (like you might if you had the flu) could kill you.

[pallas-cat]

i really am trying to fight the urge to stop like. assuming people in my life are so unkind that they'd think these things of me because it's an unkind thing to do to them to begin with but genuinely i have not like. felt any amount of confirmed positive considerations from them either in a while and like yeah sometimes "show don't tell" friendships are like that. but also sometimes if all i'm being told is how i am putting myself in trouble and how irresponsible and silly i am being i will end up thinking things.

[trans-axolotl]

what do you mean reverse an overdose? How is that possible?

Hi anon.

So, in my most recent post where I was talking about reversing overdoses, I was talking about Narcan (naloxone).

Narcan is a medicine that can reverse opioid overdoses. It works on any opioids, including fentanyl, heroin, oxy, vicodin, etc. It isn't effective in reversing other kinds of drug overdoses, but would still work to reduce an overdose if your coke has fent in it, for example. It functions by blocking the opioid receptors in your brain and helps restore breathing. Narcan is not a dangerous medication, and it is not harmful to your brain, which means you can be dosed multiple times without increasing harm to your body. The experience of being Narcaned can be pretty fucking shitty, because it basically puts your body in withdrawal super super fast, and you might experience some of the effects of withdrawal like vomiting, body aches and chills, fatigue, etc. But there are not other harmful side effects outside of that. Narcan is safe to give to people of all ages, including children.

Narcan comes in both an nasal spray and intramuscular injections, but it's usually easier to get access to nasal spray. This is what Narcan looks like:

[ID: Someone holding a narcan nasal spray, which has a nozzle that can be placed into someone's nose, and a plunger underneath the nozzle that can be pushed up to administer a dose. Text on the image says: Do not test nasal spray device before use. Each device contains 1 dose of medicine. Each device sprays one time only.]

How to Use Narcan

Identify signs of Overdose

Check for Responsiveness

Administer Narcan

Support (other friends/911/medics)

To administer Narcan, you first need to identify if someone is overdosing. Signs of an opioid overdose can be when someone is unconscious, unresponsive, not breathing or slowly breathing, no pulse or erratic pulse, has pinpoint pupils, and/or has blue lips.

If you see some of these things and think that someone is overdosing, the next step is to check for responsiveness. You can do this by loudly calling the person's name, saying that you are going to Narcan them, gently shaking them, and by performing a sternum rub, which is where you rub your knuckles into the place in someone's chest where their ribs meet. If they're breathing and they respond, even if it's just making noises in response to you or physically pushing your hands away, that can be a sign that you don't need to administer Narcan right away. Still, in that case, it's a really good idea to stay with that person in case that changes. If, and only if, the person is completely unresponsive, you should administer Narcan.

Once you've determined that someone is unresponsive and overdosing, the next step is actually administering Narcan. Narcan comes in packs of two nasal sprays. Take the first nasal spray out of the box, put the nozzle in the person's nose, and press the plunger. If the person is still not responsive after 2-3 minutes, take the other nasal spray out of the box and give them another dose. I try to use the lowest number of doses possible to try to reduce the withdrawal experience, and I stop giving Narcan once someone is breathing and responsive. If they still are not responsive or breathing, and you know how to give rescue breaths, you can start administering rescue breaths. If you have to step away for any reason, turn the person on their side in the recovery position first.

After someone's overdose is reversed, it's really important that whenever possible, someone stays with them for at least an hour afterwards. Narcan is active in the body for about 30-90 minutes, so depending on what someone's original amount of opioids was, they might start overdosing again and need you to give them Narcan again. This is also why it can be important to try not to use again right away, which is really fucking shitty when you're trying to use cause you don't want to be sick, but unfortunately using right away can also put you at risk of overdosing again. When people come back after getting Narcaned, it can be a pretty disorienting and uncomfortable experience. You might not know who Narcaned you or why they're in your space, might be feeling really fucking shitty because of withdrawal, and might want to be left alone. If you've just Narcaned someone, introduce yourself and explain that you just gave them Narcan, listen to what they tell you, empathize with their feelings, respect people's boundaries, and give them space if they ask for it. Understand that they're probably feeling pretty fucking shitty in their body, that it fucking sucks when your high gets ruined, and they (justifiably) might not feel happy about the fact that you Narcaned them.

Pretty much all Narcan trainings will tell you that it's "recommended" to always call 911, but we all know that this is not always actually possible in a lot of situations and that cops always fucking make the situation worse. My policy is that I always, always ask for consent before calling 911 and if someone says no, then we brainstorm other ways of keeping safe and we don't fucking call the cops. If there's a situation where I do need to call 911, I never tell the operator that someone overdosed, because that usually gets them to send out the cops alongside ambulance, which can cause delays to care, put a lot of people at risk, and also put people, including bystanders, in legal danger. If I have to call 911, I say that my friend has collapsed/fainted/isn't breathing and keep it more vague, and when paramedics actually arrive on the scene, that's when I tell them more information about the overdose, what drugs someone took, and how many times I've administered Narcan.

You can get free Narcan a lot of places. Next Distro has resources for getting free Narcan by mail for almost every state. If there's harm reduction orgs in your area, they will have free Narcan. There's also a lot of Department of Health programs for free Narcan. Most pharmacies now also have Narcan available over the counter, but that's usually really fucking expensive and often pretty hard to shoplift cause they keep locking it up.

Even if you don't use drugs and you think that your loved ones don't use drugs, it's super important to have Narcan as a part of your first aid kit and learn how to use it. You never know when you're going to need to use it, and it's super good to be prepared ahead of time, in case your friend/family/neighbor/classmate/coworker ends up overdosing while you're there. Or in case you end up overdosing and having Narcan on you means that bystanders can help support you through it.

Here's a guide that goes a little more in depth into how to use Narcan.

Please feel free to ask if you have any other questions about Narcan or other harm reduction topics!

[mionghairearracht]

....really fucking fed up with the amount of people ive seen imply or outright state that anyone advocating for police abolition has never experienced violent crime.

guess what, some of us have and for many of us a huge part of the reason we support it is because of how absolutely horrible our experiences were.

things police have done for me when ive come in contact with them

tell me that a person strangling a coworker wasn't a reason to call and then refuse help

get pissed when i called back because someone was being fucking choked and they were forced to send someone out

get pissed and accuse the staff of purposely attracting problems after we installed a sharps container to reduce the used needles we'd been dealing with for months when they saw them after we reported another assault....

which took them an hour to arrive at and then they got pissed the victim had gone with paramedics to the hospital and we hadn't somehow held the person who did it for them

harass two witnesses to an assault because the were homeless

harass me because i carry narcan and they overheard me say i used it to paramedics at an overdose

see the shelter van in a parking lot and come in to harass the shelter workers as they helped someone

and so much more

there has never been a situation where police have helped me when i experienced violence and there are a ton where they have made shit much worse.

if the police disappeared and none of the money was redirected i would be much safer, let alone if the money went to organizations and groups who actually gave a shit about people beyond using them as punching bags

who would i call if i needed help? definitely not the people who've repeatedly harassed me, refused to help when needed, and take a fucking hour to show up when someone is being beaten.

probably one of the community groups that's managed to do a significant amount more with a fraction of the budget without guns or harassing victims.

[housecatclawmarks]

Place the blame for widespread opiate use on big pharma > reduce people’s access to prescription opiates, forcing them to buy their supply from unsafe places > people inject drugs on the street and overdose > rich & middle class populace of the city removes resources for drug users to try and ‘reclaim’ what they think should be ‘their’ neighborhoods > people using IV drugs share needles more and HIV transmission ramps up drastically > drug companies charge exorbitant amounts for HIV medication, either extorting people or killing them bc they can’t afford it

[rebootgrimm]

So Trump Won, Now What?

I get it, we’re all worried. I am too. Above all else on this list, keep yourself safe. Don’t do anything stupid, especially without a plan.

Find Ways to Cope

With the election results, it’s understandable to be afraid. Do whatever you need to (within reasonable amounts. please do not overdose) to comfort yourself.

Take off of school / work if possible to rest. If you don’t have money saved up to be able to take a day off, that’s completely understandable. If you can’t take a day off school for whatever reason (like me. I’m writing this while being driven to school) then that’s okay as well.

Eat comfort foods. You can take a cheat day if you’re on a diet today, you deserve it.

Do things that help you calm down. Some things can include: drawing, crafts, listening to music (punk playlist I helped create here if that might help), knitting, etc. Whatever it is, do it. 

Cry. It’s understandable to want to cry after this. I felt like crying too.

Prepare For the Worst

I hate to say it, but it’s likely that shits going to hit the fan once Trump hits office. Here’s some ideas on what to do.

Preserve any media that MAGA might try and get rid of. For me that’s going to be writing things online down into a notebook and preserving punk songs (likely onto a cassette tape just so I have it tangibly), for Janet next door that might be pirating. Buying any books that might get destroyed is a good idea as well, so that way it still exists, despite censorship.

Stock up on physical items that may end up being destroyed / not being sold anymore. Books are a good idea to have since book censorship has existed as long as dictatorship has. Another idea is over the counter birth control since it likely won’t be allowed to be sold anymore. If anyone has any more ideas, put them in the reblogs / comments.

Stock up on money. I have a secret stash that has about $200 in physical dollars hidden in it, and that’s just counting dollars. 

Build Community

This goes hand-in-hand with prepare for the worst, but I felt like it deserved its own section.

Make a garden. It may be a bit late to do that right now due to it being winter in the U.S., but you can always prepare for one. Food prices will likely go up, so it’s good to have plans for free food.

I’m not sure what to title this bullet point, but with prices for everything likely going to go up, it’s great if there’s people who can provide things like clothes or anything else one might need.

Even without any of the other two things, having community in general is good. Even if that’s just a group of friends who you sit with at the lunch table and talk with, it’s still a community. If you aren’t able to make one in real life for whatever reason, then make one online.

If anyone has anything at all to add on then please put it in the reblogs (preferred) or comments. I’m not usually one to ask for reblogs, but I’d argue that this is really important and needs to be shared. Remember that your existence is resistance and that it’s always okay to punch a Nazi.

@our-trans-punk-experience @liberalsarecool

[tomriddleslove]

What’s left of me?

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where your pursuit for excellence leads you down a path of self destruction, and you’re slowly loosing yourself. You didn’t expect a certain boy in your year would be your saving grace. Alternatively: Mattheo makes you realise you’re more than what you think you are.

A/N: I guess this could very easily be like a prequel to the other mattheo one shot ‘i’m here’. This is definitely a bit self indulgent but we all have our things 😻😻

Warnings: Allusions to overdosing (brief), mentions of not eating.

Songs: Nothings New - Rio Romeo

18 days.

18 days till you would be finished with all of this.

Technically, it would actually be 408 days till you finished school and graduated from this godforsaken place, but 18 more till you finished with exams.

You weren’t sure how many more hours you could spend hunched over indecipherable handwriting, pouring over text till your eyes stung and your back ached. Surrounded by a stack of books and rolls of parchment, you couldn’t even begin to figure out where you ended and the library began. You had taken up a huge table (that could seat at least 4) for the better part of 17 hours, sat on the same chair since 6:00 am.

You stifle a small groan of pain as you roll your wrist, stiff and sore from the hell that was ancient runes.

There are ink splotches all over your skin, and you’re sure the amount of work you were pouring into this stopped being effective nearly 5 hours ago.

Your eyes flicker up and scan over the once-packed library that had slowly dwindled down to a few students, half of whom were in the same boat as you.

To you, being the last person in the library was a huge sign of success. It meant you were more dedicated and more hard-working.

In reality, the truth couldn’t be any further from that, but in your mind, if you weren’t milking yourself over every last piece of work it simply wasn’t being done right.

The hushed murmurs and sounds of parchment being unfurled fade into the background as your quill scratches furiously against the parchment, mind running at a million miles an hour.

You ignore the pang in your stomach as you work; you haven’t eaten today. You didn’t want to get up at any point to get food, for fear of your place being taken.

Now, you didn’t want to get up for another reason. It was well past the library's open hours and Madame Pince was angrily fussing about, bustling around everyone as she got them to leave. A testament to how long you had been there, she didn’t even seem to notice you, and you were worried getting up and walking about would break this sort of invisibility shield you had going on.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t really drunk any water either. You brought your bottle with you but had forgotten to fill it up. It was fine though, the human body could last for 3 days without water - it could wait. Your upcoming exams were far more important.

In Scandinavia, the Elder Futhark remained in use until some time around the eighth century (the time of the Eddas), when drastic changes in the Old Norse language occurred, and corresponding changes in the runic alphabet were made to accommodate the new sounds. However, unlike the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, the Younger Futhark (as it is now called) reduced the number of runes from 24 to 16, and several runes came to represent multiple sounds. The forms of the runes were also changed and simplified.

Gods, you couldn't take this anymore. You felt sick and exhausted. You ignore the hunger that gnaws at your stomach, rubbing a hand over your face as you contemplate finishing off and going to bed.

But every time you think of stopping a horrible feeling emerges in your stomach, consuming you with anxiety. The weight of impending exams and the fear of not doing well gnawing at your determination. You glance at the clock, realizing it's well past midnight, and the library is now completely empty except for you.

Madame Pince, finally noticing your presence, approaches with a disapproving look. "You know, the library does close at a certain hour. I can't have students staying here all night," she scolds, but her tone softens as she sees the exhaustion in your eyes.

“Sorry. I lost track of time” You mumble, haphazardly cramming your stuff into your bag. You get up, and the room spins for a second. You stumble but manage to catch yourself, holding onto the table as Madam Pince reaches out a hand to help you recover.

“You need to take care of yourself. No exam is worth this much stress,” She says, eyeing you with concern. If only she knew how far that was from the truth. You felt as though you had so little to your name. Performing well, overachieing. That was what you were known for. It was the only thing you felt was yours. Everyone else had character, they were distinctly themselves. They had hobbies, interests, and friendships that defined them. But for you, it was always about excelling academically. Without that, you became nobody. You were no more than the number on your papers, and the reminder weighed down on you like an unrelenting burden.

By some miracle you manage to stumble down the empty halls of the castle into the Slytherin common room, which seemed paradoxically warm considering its grandiose stone structure and dark, moody lighting. You carelessly drop your bag onto a table closest to the fireplace, trudging up to your room as you battle the sleep that threatens to consume you.

It's dark, and your roommates have long gone to bed.

“Lumos” You murmur, hiding the blinding light that emerges from the tip of your wand with the lining of your school robes, dimming it slightly. You grope blindly at your bedside drawer, stopping when you feel the familiar smooth glass bottle, that fits perfectly in your palm. You slip it into the pocket of your robes, slowly shutting the drawer as you make your way back down to the common room. You dismiss the light that shines from your wand, tossing it onto the sofa as you take a seat on the floor, in front of the low table. You read the instructions on the back of the small bottle as if you hadn’t been consuming this religiously for the past month.

Wideye potion User Guidance:

Take no more than one teaspoon every 6 hours. Effects will last for up to 8 hours. Excessive use of this potion may lead to adverse effects, and in rare cases, severe bodily harm. Users are advised not to use the maximum dosage for a consecutive 72 hours.

You’ve read it so many times, you were sure you could recite it by heart. Choosing not to heed any warnings, you pop open the cork and down the whole bottle in one go. The rancid taste of the potion burns, eliciting a shudder down your spine as you swallow down the bile that threatens to emerge. Pocketing the empty glass bottle, you stretch your arms before retrieving your books, ready to continue working.

If you were lucky, the potion might give you a boost of energy for about 3 hours or so. You had been taking it so much you had developed a sort of immunity to it, and the effects were not as potent as they used to be. The sacrifice of your well-being for the sake of productivity had become a routine, a desperate attempt to squeeze every ounce of time and focus out of your exhausted mind and body.

You have attempted to brew a stronger concoction, in the misplaced hopes that increasing the potency would counteract the effect of the immunity. However, the violent cramps and palpitations it had given you very quickly told you that wouldn't work.

You knew it was bad. It was causing irreversible damage to your body, killing you at worst. It simply wasn't sustainable. But you couldn't drag yourself out of that mindset.

Failure. Nobody.

You gritted your teeth and carried on working.

You managed to get through another potions essay, and the time on your watch read 1:00 am.

You could carry on for longer, right?

You zone out for a second, staring off at the orange embers that emerged from the fireplace, shining bright for what seemed like a millisecond before falling to the floor, turning into nothing but ash.

The orange embers flicker, and for a moment, you see yourself in them – a fleeting brightness that threatens to be extinguished. The battle between ambition and self-preservation rages on as you grit your teeth and carry on working, oblivious to the embers slowly falling into nothingness, much like your own fading sense of self.

“Why on earth are you up at this hour doing work?” A voice calls from behind you, and the momentary intrusion shocks you, sending a burst of energy through you as you spin around.

Flopping down onto the sofa next to you, leaning back with his legs lazily outstretched, was none other than Mattheo Riddle. Clad in a plain grey sweatshirt and black jeans, he eyes you with curiosity, smelling distinctively of smoke. He had most likely been out, as he so usually was at this hour. You shrug, turning back to your work.

“Exams. Need to revise” You mumble, voice cracking. You swallow, massaging your dry throat as you grimace, trying to get back to your writing.

“Revise? Merlin, you're the smartest person in our year. You don't need to be revising” Matthep leans forward, plucking a piece of parchment from your pile and examining it with a raised eyebrow.

You snatch it back, a protective instinct kicking in despite the fatigue. You hated that sentiment. Despised it, even. People always assumed your performance came naturally. That you were simply born with the ability to do well. No one seemed to consider what you had to do to get to that point, how you wore yourself down, day in and day out, till you either passed out from exhaustion or pain, neglecting your most basic needs.

"I might be the 'smartest' person, but that doesn't mean I can afford to slack off," you reply, a hint of frustration in your voice. The adrenaline from the sudden interruption starts to ebb away, leaving you feeling even more drained.

Mattheo leans back, momentarily caught off guard by your defensiveness. He had never seen you this on edge. He was so accustomed to seeing you as this familiar presence during the school day his partner for the many lessons that he didn’t have his friends in. The two of you would work together and on rare occasions, hang out with one another in the common room as well. It was a rather unlikely duo, the king of Slytherin and the academic prodigy. Yet, More often than not Mattheo found himself seeking out your presence. He never admitted it outright, but he hugely admired you. Your intelligence, your drive, it all captivated him. There were times when he hoped he could be only half the person you were.

How funny it was, for you felt the very same thing when you saw him. He seemed content. Happy. He was loved by nearly everyone. Popular, with a fun social life. He had everything you wanted without putting in any of the work.

You wanted to be like him. But you weren’t. And if you wanted anything like what he had, you had to work damn hard for it. So that's what you did. With a small sigh, you turn back to your work.

“Hey,” He says gently, his voice softening slightly. "I’m sorry. I say stupid things sometimes.” He apologies, brows furrowed as he looks at your back facing him.

“It's fine. I should be saying sorry. You didn't say anything, I just…. I’m just a bit tired, that's all.” You mumble, apologising as you get up. You stretch, a yawn escaping your lips as you wearily rub your eyes.

“I'm gonna run up to my room and grab some more parchment. I’ll be down in a second,” You say, shrugging off your school robe as you turn to walk away. You ascend the stairs leading to your dorm, tossing your robe onto the sofa next to Mattheo as you do so.

Your robe slides off the sofa and hits the floor, a faint clinking sound echoing through the empty room as you disappear.

Curious, Mattheo looks down at your carelessly discarded robe. He reaches down, picking it up. It weighs heavier than it should be, and Mattheo can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity, He eyes the now empty staircase before reaching into your pocket, fingers brushing against a smooth glass vial.

Not just one, but a few.

Frowning, he turns out your pocket, and four identical glass vials tumble into his lap. Picking one up, his frown only deepens as he reads the label.

“Wideye potion?” He mutters to himself, the confusion on his face morphing into something else as the pieces fit in place.

He had admired you for your intelligence and drive, and now he was confronted with the reality of your struggles. The contrast between your achievements and the seemingly carefree moments he sought with you becomes stark. He berates himself for not having noticed early, for having let you fall down such a destructive path.

Jaw clenched, he gazes at the piles of books you had been working through, rolling the empty vials between his fingers as the sound of your approaching footsteps snaps him out of his thoughts.

You pause in confusion, noticing the scrutinising depression plastered on his face as he looks up at you, rolls of parchment bundled in your hands.

"What's the Wideye potion for?" Mattheo questions, his voice cutting through the silence with an uncomfortable heaviness. He holds up the empty vials as evidence, his gaze piercing through the exhaustion in your eyes.

Caught off guard by the confrontation, you glance down at the vials and then meet Mattheo's eyes. A brief moment of silence hangs in the air, the crackling embers of the fireplace filling the empty silence.

“Research. For uh, potions.” You respond, internally berating yourself for coming up with such a weak excuse.

Mattheo's expression remains stern, a mix of frustration and genuine concern etched on his face.

"Don't bullshit me," he says, his tone direct and uncompromising. "I found these in your pocket, and 'potions research' is a shit excuse. I’m going to ask you again. What’s the wideye potion for?"

You shift uncomfortably, feeling small under his scrutinising gaze You clear your throat, speaking.

"It's just to stay awake, you know? To keep going. I only take it in extreme circumstances" you explain, your voice betraying the exhaustion that has settled in.

Mattheos jaw clenches, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he looks to the side with a sigh, visibly frustrated.

“Extreme? And what would that be, hmm? Because right now I'm looking at four empty bottles, and God knows how many more you’ve thrown away.” He snaps, his expression softening as he looks at you.

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you struggle to find the right words. Why on earth were you close to tears? Why did you feel like crying?

“I-” You start, trailing off as you stare at the floor.

Mattheo cuts through the silence, his tone still stern but laced with concern. "This isn't okay. You're smart, and you know better. You can't keep doing this to yourself. What if something happens? What if you collapse or get seriously sick? It's not worth it."

After a moment, Mattheo's expression softens, and he exhales deeply. "When was the last time you ate?" he asks, the concern evident in his voice.

Shit.

You pause, hesitating before admitting quietly, "Breakfast...yesterday."

Mattheo's features tighten at your admission, his eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration, anger, and genuine worry. He rises from his seat and strides towards you, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent room.

"Yesterday? Are you serious?" he says sharply, his voice carrying a weight of both concern and disbelief.

You remain silent, unable to meet his eyes, feeling the shame and vulnerability washing over you.

“Seriously? Fuck, what’s wrong with you? Why would you do that to yourself?” He chastises you, and you snap.

“I have to! You don't fucking get it, do you? I don't have anything else to fall back on.” You start, dropping the parchment onto the table in front of you.

Mattheo's expression shifts from concern to confusion as you lash out. "What are you talking about? You have plenty more than just academics. You're talented, you're smart, and people care about you. Why are you reducing yourself to just grades?"

You scoff, a bitter smile playing on your lips. "Talented? Smart? What does that even mean? It's just a facade, a cover-up for the fact that without these achievements, I'm nothing. I don't have friends; I don't have hobbies or interests. What am I without my grades?"

Mattheo tries to interject, "You're a person with-"

But you cut him off, "No, you don't get it! I'm just a number, a ranking, a test score. Everything I am is tied to how well I perform academically. Do you know what it's like to feel like the only thing you're good at is studying, and even that's slipping away?" You snap anger evident in your tone as you spin around to face him, your weary eyes meeting his.

“It’s the same thing every single day. I wake up, bury myself in books, and push myself to the brink just to feel like I matter. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't talk to anyone. I’ve spent my whole life isolating myself and neglecting my most basic needs for this! If I stop now, then what's left of me?”

Tears start to well up in your eyes, and you hate yourself for showing such vulnerability. Mattheo's stern demeanour softens as he watches you unravel.

"I can't stop, Mattheo. I can't afford to. Because if I do, what's left of me?" Your voice trembles.

Mattheo's heart drops at your words, guilt and hurt clawing at his insides. He can’t fathom the idea of you suffering so much, and him being blind to it. How could you not notice how incredible of a person you are beyond all of this? He’d give anything in the world for you to see yourself through his eyes. For you to feel the way he feels when he's with you, even for a second. To know that he’d do anything you asked him to because he cared for you. Not the one who gets outstanding on all their tests.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mattheo finally speaks, his voice softer, genuine concern written across his face.

You shake your head, a mix of frustration and desperation in your eyes. “Because you wouldn’t understand. No one does. They just see the grades, the perfect student. They don’t see the mess behind it all. And I can’t let them. I can’t let anyone see me like this.”

Mattheo moves closer, his expression shifting. “You’re wrong. I do understand. Maybe not completely, but I want to. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You scoff, wiping away a tear. “Why? What do you care? You have everything, popularity, friends, a life. I’m just the study partner, the smart one. I can’t burden you with this.”

Mattheo remains silent for a second, before he speaks.

“Every other Sunday, you go down to Hogsmesde and buy a hamper of sweets form Honeydukes. You take it to the children’s school and volunteer there for an hour. Everytime you visit, you make their day.” He starts.

"You're not just grades," he says, his voice gentle. "You have quirks that make you who you are. Like the way you absentmindedly tap your foot when you're deep in thought. Or how you always carry a small notebook, and I bet it's filled with more than just class notes. I've seen you doodle in the margins."

He continues, "You have a wicked sense of humor, even if you don't show it to everyone. I've heard you snort-laugh during our study sessions. And don't even get me started on your taste in music.How you call that dastardly jazz music, i’ll never understand, but you can’t resist humming along to the tunes of the Wizarding Wireless Network when you're studying. Your fondness for Chocolate Frogs and your inexplicable aversion to pumpkin juice.”

Mattheo's eyes light up, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalls more details. "Remember that time in Charms class when you made your quill dance across the room just to see if you could do it? Or when you brewed a prank potion that turned the water in the Prefects' bathroom blue for a week? You have a mischievous side that not many people get to see." He continues, looking down at you sincerely. He remains silent for a second, eyes scanning over your face before he steps back, sighing.

“I don’t know how to do this emotional, sappy bullshit. I don’t do it. But with you, I do. I want to. Other people want to. That’s what you do.” He says, voice quiet.

You remain rooted to your spot, somewhere between disbelief and gratitude as you stare up at Mattheo. How did he know all that? Why did he know all that?

“You noticed?” You speak up, voice alarmingly quiet.

He looks at you as though you’ve just asked him whether the sky is blue.

“Of course i’ve noticed. It’s impossible not to.” He murmurs, and you know he’s being honest.

Tears prick in your eyes again, and it’s as though all that exhaustion and neglect has come crashing back down on you tenfold after Mattheo had called you out. You try blink them away but alas, you simply couldn’t. Before you can even say anything, Mattheo steps forward, pulling you into his chest as he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. He holds you tightly, not even entertaining the thought of letting go as your tears soak his sweatshirt, tentatively accepting his embrace. His heart clenches at every tear that falls from your eyes, and he can’t tell if he’s horrified or accepting of the fact that he’d give up everything to relieve you of your burdens, even if only for a day.

He rubs your back soothingly, and you can’t help but let it all out.

It’s rather cathartic, really, because you've held onto this weight for so long, and now, in Mattheo's arms, it feels like a moment of release.

As your tears eventually subside, you pull back, both embarrassed and utterly shattered. You look down, sniffling as you wipe away your tear stained eyes when Mattheo hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

People often said that the eyes were a window to the soul. You never really understood that, but in this moment, you felt as though you were gazing into the very depths of Mattheos being.

With a tenderness that betrays the boundaries of ‘just friends’ , he wipes away your tears with his thumb, looking down at you.

“Come on. Let’s get you up to rest, yeah?” He hums, quietly. You nod, having to tear yourself away from his touch.

He leans down to pack away your stuff, not letting you handle a thing as he throws your stuff over his shoulder.

“You can stay in my room, if you’d like. Theodore’s out for the night so I can take his bed.” Mattheo says.

You consider it for a second. You didn’t particularly fancy heading up to your room with Mattheo, for fear of your roommate awakening to see you in such a state. You nod, speaking.

“Yes please.” You say, voice embarrassingly hoarse from having cried so much. You pray Mattheo didn’t notice.

Of course he did. But, he chose not to draw attention to it, instead resolving to run down to the kitchen to get you a cup of tea.

You follow Mattheo into his room, which you were no stranger to. Having projects together meant endless hours of collaborating, and opting to avoid being pestered by your roommate and her friends (who had a rather amusing infatuation with Mattheo), you worked in his room instead.

“Help yourself to some clothes if you’d like. They’re on the right.” He says, carefully draping your school bag and robe onto one of the desks. You thank him, smiling softly as he cleans the mess he had left.

“Go lie down. I’ll be back in a second” He says, turning away as he exits his room. Swiftly walking down to the kitchen, his head is reeling with thoughts of you.

He chose not to confront the feeling gnawing at him in light of your breakdown. He didn’t want to deal with that just yet. In no less than 10 minutes he’s carefully treading up the stairs to the dorms once more, a cup of chamomile tea in one hand and some small crackers in the other.

You hadn’t been eating, nor drinking, and the idea of you neglecting yourself so much sent Mattheo into an uncomfortable state where he found himself riddled with anxiety.

Just friends, right?

He clicks open the door to his room with his elbow, precariously walking over with the tea and crackers in hand as he goes to set them down on his bedside table. His eyes flicker over to you, and a small smile tugs at his lips as he sees you already fast asleep, curled up under the covers. The sight of your slumber brings a warmth to Mattheo's heart. He watches you for a moment, taking in the soft rise and fall of your breath, the delicate features that are usually tense with stress now softened in sleep.

The sight brings him more peace than he wishes to admit, and the looming reality that he had to eventually confront only pressed down on him further.

But for now, he didn’t care.

Because in your peace, he found happiness. And he’s sure he’d never find anything else more beautiful.

Possessed by a wave of sentiment that betrays his usual self, he can’t resist reaching out to tuck a stand of misplaced hair behind your ear. Before he can even comprehend what he’s doing, he leans down and presses a soft , brief kiss to your forehead.

He pulls back and finds himself slightly taken aback by his own actions. The quiet room, filled only with the soft sounds of your sleep, almost seems to amplify the beating of his heart.

Mattheo stands there for a moment, looking at you with a mix of tenderness and confusion. Then, shaking off the unexpected surge of emotions, he retreats to Theodores bed , slipping out of his clothes as he goes to lay down. He had to resist the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of you once again, and lets out a small sigh as he shuts his eyes.

Mattheo Riddle was not a man of sentiment. He was not soft, and he most certainly did not go out of his way for others.

You had changed that. And he couldn’t figure out whether the prospect was one he was ready to welcome.

[ilyrafe]

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅'𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: ex-boyfriend!rafe cameron x ex-girlfriend!reader

warnings: angst

word count: 1k

“hi, rafe.”

just your voice is enough to decentralize him entirely. he didn’t expect to see you at sarah’s party, only because he didn’t know you were back to kildare.

you look beautiful as always. your hair is shorter, but that’s the only thing that has changed about you, at least, it’s what he can assume. the flower crown you’re wearing adorns your sage green dress beautifully.

“hi.” he takes a sip of his mock tail, trying to pretend he’s cool with you there, as if he knew.

“how have you been?”

“good.”

you know rafe too well. his short answers tell you he’s not at all amused by your presence, and that breaks your heart even more. he looks so handsome with a buzzcut, and it’s like he knows it.

“i guess you didn’t know i was coming.” you chuckle quite awkwardly. “sarah convinced me to come, she said it wouldn’t be an issue, but... if you want me to leave, i will.”

“i really don’t care what you do, y/n.”

you sigh, defeated. he’ll never forgive you for what you said. you thought that maybe he would have changed, or at least, understood your point, but you see that he hasn’t done either.

“okay, um... i’ll see you around, rafe.”

he watches you leave, and you’re not even pretending to be happy. he ruined your mood and he knows it. rafe sees sarah comforting you, and she shoots him a glare, making him roll his eyes and leave his spot at the bar.

he should probably leave, too.

when he turns his back and makes his way inside tanney hill, he doesn’t look back. he goes straight to his bedroom and plops down on his king sized bed. the music is muffled, thank god.

he’s been trying to make amends with sarah, even letting her come back home and be with john b in peace. sure, he doesn’t get along with the pogues, but if accepting them is what it takes for him to have the smallest sense of peace, he’ll do it.

rafe has also decided to get sober. after almost dying of an overdose, he was really scared and decided to quit. he wants to make ward proud. staying away from alcohol is a lot harder than quitting coke and marijuana, it turns out. the mock tails aren’t as enjoyable.

as if doing all that isn’t hard enough, you’re back. and with you being back, all of the feelings he’s successfully repressed are coming back up again, stronger than ever.

he hates that he’s given you this amount of power over him.

rafe never did feelings before, and the one time he did, you left him because of himself. rafe is his worst enemy.

he really loved you. well, scratch that. he never stopped loving you. you took care of him, you improved his relationship with ward and sarah. you asked him to quit drugs and selling it. you listened to him and you took none of his bullshit. you held him accountable while giving him grace.

deep down, he knows he fucked up. he wasn’t ready to grow up, but no one likes to say they’re wrong, do they?

“i just think it’s funny how you really believe this little island is an entire world for you.” you snorted. “but i know why you don’t wanna leave this shit hole. you’re a nobody outside the outer banks. there is no “kook versus pogue” once you step out of this place. you’re just another trust fund baby with drug issues to everyone else, rafe.”

he never understood your incessant need to “explore the world”, it’s so childish. you always talked about how you wanted to live in paris, toronto, tokyo, london, seoul, or berlin or whatever (honestly, you have mentioned so many cities, he has lost count), and you always said that you would be happy anywhere else, but rafe doesn’t see himself being happy far from north carolina. from kildare. from tanney hill. it’s where he comes from and where he wants to die. it’s what he knows.

a knock on his bedroom door interrupts his thoughts. rafe huffs and rolls his eyes. when he opens the door, he comes across you.

“what do you want?” he questions, irritated.

you enter his room and close the door behind you, drowning out the noise of the music once again. you’ve missed his bedroom. his bed.

“i think... i think i owe you an apology,” you say. “i shouldn’t have been so mean to you that day, it wasn’t right.”

rafe remains quiet, sitting on his bed, just listening to you talk.

“i just… i never liked it here, and i end up projecting that onto others, and i did that to you. i’m sorry.”

in theory, hearing you apologize should be gratifying, but rafe can’t identify any sign of regret in you. it’s not that he doesn’t think your apology is insincere, it’s that the regret he wanted to see doesn’t exist. you don’t regret leaving kildare nor leaving him.

“apology accepted.”

“thank you.” you smile.

“y/n, are you happy?” he asks.

“hm?”

“are you happy there?”

your smile and small nod tells everything he didn’t want to know. you are happy. in fact, you’re happier than ever.

“i am.”

rafe has vivid memories with you, and your smile has never been so wide, your eyes have never been so bright. maybe this will take him to hell, but he hates that you’re genuinely happy away from there, especially because he isn’t happy. and if he is not happy in where he feels he belongs most, there is no place in the world that makes him happy. 

maybe happiness isn’t an option for him, and the most upsetting thing about this is that money really can’t buy happiness. not the one rafe really needs anyways.

you want to tell rafe how you’re enjoying life for the first time, how being independent is amazing, but also sucks, but it’s still amazing, how the feeling of achieving something on merit is indescribable... but rafe would never understand.

it’s funny how two people who are so similar at first are so different in the end.

“that’s all that matters to me, then.”

i love feedback! let me know your thoughts! <3

[exeggcute]

interesting links roundup #2

reading

America’s dairy farms are disappearing

The Canary (forgive me for sharing a michael lewis wapo piece but it's about mineshaft engineering safety which is super neat I promise!!!)

‘The data on extreme human ageing is rotten from the inside out’

Diving lizard’s built-in ‘scuba tank’ allows it to breathe underwater

The Empathy Punishment

The Final Penalty

Gold Treasure Worth a Fortune Was Just Hidden in a Forest. The Hunt Starts Now

How a Scientific Dispute Spiralled Into a Defamation Lawsuit

How to succeed in MrBeast production

How Weed Strains Get Their (Amusing, Provocative, Downright Wacky) Names

Human cases of raccoon parasite may be your best excuse to buy a flamethrower

I sell onions on the Internet

Jawbreakers

Man Called Fran

Moral progress is annoying

The optimal amount of fraud is non-zero

Planet of Person Guys

Real-Estate Shopping for the Apocalypse

Some Notes on Attunement

U.S. overdose deaths plummet, saving thousands of lives

Why Is It So Hard to Go Back to the Moon?

Why We’re Turning Psychiatric Labels Into Identities

You are not a commercial for yourself

tools/reference

archive.is (this is the paywall remover I've been running all the paywalled links through (you're welcome) and pairs nicely with the news aggregators below)

Microsoft Activation Scripts

Radio Garden

Tom Paine Today and The Brutalist Report (both of these are news aggregators that let you quickly see what's in the headlines and how different outlets are reporting on it, although the latter is a bit more tech-focused)

Unclaimed Baggage

other

Observations - Journey (YouTube)

Shouting in the Datacenter (YouTube)

This American Life #839: Meet Me at the Fair

[venusbyline]

Smart ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 17, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Cat Adams x female!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: gun play + dubcon

— summary: Cat Adams manages to escape from the restaurant and kidnaps you as a way of emotionally torturing the other members of the BAU, especially Spencer Reid.

— word count: 2.2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 17th day, BAU agent!reader, dark!Cat, gun play, dubcon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, degradation, rape/non-con elements, non-consensual bondage, non-consensual drug use, dry humping, dry orgasm, dacryphilia, crying, sadism, curse words, ambiguous/open ending, implied reader death, Spencer Reid mentioned, Maeve Donovan mentioned, minor Spencer Reid x reader, past Spencer Reid x Maeve Donovan, dom!Cat, sub!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

"I guess I overestimated you, princess..." Cat purred in your ear, her velvety and husky voice tickling the back of your neck as you tried to move away from those red lips. Away from the handcuffs and ropes that kept you trapped on that bed improvised in some abandoned and hidden basement. "To be honest, I expected more when I chose you."

"Let me out. Right now, Cat Adams!" You screamed with all your fury, as if hoping that the echoes could attract the attention of someone passing by, even though your recent entry into the BAU was enough for you to know that no Unsub would be so stupid as to hide somewhere within easy reach. No Unsub would do something stupid like that, much less the smart and manipulative Cat Adams, her cruel smirk pulled from ear to ear when she watched you squirming, trying to free yourself from all the bonds that held you there. So vulnerable and at her mercy.

Your half-naked body arched upwards as you remained with the insistent exasperation, before shouting angrily again, stopping moving when you realized that every movement worsened the discomfort in your skin. You had trained for so long to become a BAU agent, you had trained so much to be prepared for possible kidnappings... And yet no theory or practical test did justice to the true panic of being half-naked in front of your kidnapper, a dangerous killer.

"Why I'm almost naked, Cat? Are you also a rapist now?" The questions came before you could rethink whether they could put you at more risk than you already were. Annoying Cat was not a smart strategy and you knew it.

"I'm not a rapist. And I haven't touched you without your consent while you've been unconscious for the past two days."

Cat's words left a bitter taste inside your mouth. Two days? You were unconscious for two whole days and did not even realize it? What the hell... That did not make any sense. You remembered chasing Cat and suddenly feeling something being jabbed into your neck, but then you could not remember anything else. It was like something or someone had put you in a deep sleep like a fucking Disney princess.

"You drugged me?"

A laugh came from her thick lips, colored by burgundy red lipstick. "That's my good girl. See? It wasn't so hard." She said, running her hand over your face and making you squirm, while you thought of something to curse her with, but could not get past stupid stutters. "It's nothing too intense, I promise. It won't give you an overdose."

You looked at her in disbelief. No matter the amount of dose, she had drugged you and kept you there for two fucking days as if you were the perfect fucking victim for her. A little dog, tied there and receiving a pat on the face, content with so little that it was depressing. "You really drugged me? B-but... Why? You could have just killed me or-"

Cat interrupted you with an obvious answer. "Okay, but where would all the fun be if I did that? If I didn't emotionally torture the BAU team with your kidnapping and make you suffer during the process?" Thinking from the perspective of a crazy psychopath, it was a valid point, but you could not help but keep your eyes wide, the words feeling like daggers in your chest, your confused mind still trying to assimilate the situation. "When I changed the plan to focus on you instead of Doctor Reid, I thought you were more... Smart."

The look on your face as she ran her hand across your neck made her laugh once again. Cat could feel how her breathing quickened, your chest moving up and down, your breasts pressed against your white bra. She saw how dilated your pupils were, despite the mental fatigue and sedative effects of the drugs. "But I still think you can be of great use. From what I gather, Reid's quite shaken due your kidnapping."

You frowned at what she was saying. You did not want to worry Spencer. You did not want to worry your friends. And you knew that was exactly what Cat Adams was causing. Using your ties to your co-workers to probably bargain for her own freedom. Or almost so.

"And what's your plan? Keep me trapped here forever? No one's going to give you what you want, Cat. No matter how hard you try to bargain with my team. You know the law doesn't work like that." You mumbled tiredly, but looking at her with contempt. Cat's sarcastic gaze disappeared for a few seconds, while she took a deep breath, now looking at you with a certain anger.

It was scary to say the least. You took one more look at her. She was still sitting on the free part of the bed, her big eyes analyzing you from top to bottom, just like you were doing too. Even though Cat was wearing a black dress that highlighted her perfect curves, your attention shifted the moment she bent her body to get something from under the bed, close to her.

"You're right... I can't play house with you forever." She scoffed, voice hoarser than before.

Your chains rattled as Cat stood up. If it were not for that disturbing situation, you might have gotten aroused by the sight of her ass in the tight fabric, but you could not think about anything else, you could not do anything other than struggle as you watched Cat place a camera resting on top of the chair that she had used to sit on most of the time she watched you during your sleep over the last few days. "Why are you gonna start recording?"

"Are you scared of me?" Cat said, finally turning to you, the smirk returning when she picked up the gun that was resting on the floor. Stupid fucking question, you thought. But you did not find yourself able to say anything for now. Anything you tried to say would come out more like whimpers or pathetic stutters. You would not be able to utter any decent sentences and looking even more stupid in front of Cat Adams was out of the question. "Don't be so fragile, princess. Where's all your smart ass that I witnessed after I managed to trick the BAU and escape from that restaurant? Where's all that angry screaming when you finally woke up?"

Cat continued, not waiting for an answer. "You look pathetic like this. I don't usually kill women, but you're annoying me... If I had known about that, I would have kidnapped your pretty boyfriend instead of you."

Your eyebrows furrowed, both at the insults and her obvious interest about Spencer. "He's not... He's not my boyfriend." You argued, deciding to add when you noticed Cat's curious face. "Not officially, at least."

Her giggle echoed through the basement. "Good to know. He'll like knowing you specified me that..." She pointed at the camera that was recording the two of you, the angle perfectly catching your vulnerable form tied to the bed. The realization of this made you try to bend your legs to avoid further embarrassment. It was ridiculous that you were shy for the members to see your underwear. You would probably already be dead by the time they could see that recording, it was not like a dead person's dignity was taken into consideration. "He loves you?"

Her question caught you off guard. It was random and invasive. Just no more invasive than the way she sat down next to you on the mattress again, her long fingers playing with the skin of your thigh and the other hand occupied with a gun, sliding it around your waist and giving you goosebumps.

You did not know what to answer. Yes? No? Maybe? Sometimes you thought so, when he was venting to you, letting you stroke his hair after cases, when he brought you coffee to your desk or fucking you hidden in the office...

However, sometimes you also thought not. When he still talked about Maeve all the time, when he distanced himself after a nightmare, when he refused to name how he felt about you...

Spencer was complex as hell. And that was exactly why Cat's question had destroyed you. If she asked you about your feelings for him, you could tell her that you had fallen in love with him at first sight, ever since you joined the BAU team a few months ago. But Cat definitely already knew that too.

"I... I think so. At least I choose to think so." You muttered after a while, finding the strength not to sound as pathetic as you feared.

Cat's gun moved down a little further, finding the front of the fabric of your panties. You did not move at first, trying to ignore the sudden urge to rub yourself against the cold barrel. Your clit was so sore, so...

"So needy." Cat scoffed as she watched how you bit your lip and closed your eyes to deal with the whole situation. "He hasn't fucked you in a few weeks."

You hated how right she was even when she was having fun at your expense, at the expense of your suffering. The answer was right in front of her... the way your thighs shook, your mind wandering between anger and self-loathing, your eyes squeezed shut in a weak attempt to distract yourself and not show her how affected you already were. Cat did not need to ask if she was right. She knew she was. And that was the worst part.

Even if you did not want to admit it, your body was needy. Ever since you and Spencer got into an argument before he went to the restaurant undercover as a potential customer and to try capture Cat Adams. It was supposed to be the perfect plan, but Spencer was so deep in thought about you and your stupid argument that he could not focus on the case. He could not focus on the Unsub in front of him. Cat had messed with his mind as well as yours. She had already found out enough about the BAU to know that there was something going on between you and the other agent. Knowing that Spencer would move mountains to try to find you, even if it was too late.

He could not lose you like he had lost Maeve. He could not go through all this again. He would not take it. Not after being so cruel with you.

"Why did you guys fight?" Cat increased the pressure of the barrel against your clit, making your back adjust upwards with an almost desperate cry when she suddenly changed the circular movements to movements from top to bottom, the chosen rhythm being a little more intense than the previous one.

You could lie. Make up any excuse, any fake outburst to avoid letting her know so much about you or your situationship with Spencer. But what would be the point? You were already having your first and last dance with the Devil. If you were going to die at the hands of Cat Adams, what mattered least was whether or not she would know your vulnerabilities. Nothing mattered anymore, she was going to kill you anyway, even if you confessed or not.

"Maeve." The name of Spencer's ex-girlfriend caused an instant chuckle from Cat. It was obvious. It was obvious that she would find this funny. She remembered Spencer telling her about the woman's murder. "He... He said he wished-" You cut yourself off as Cat slid the fabric of your panties down, the cold air of the room hitting your core before she went back to stroking the swollen bud, another giggle echoing between the walls when she heard the moan coming from your lips after she lowered the gun to your hole, not enough to fuck you completely. She was just teasing your wet pussy.

"What did he say he wished?" The question came in a mocking tone, her mouth moving down to your neck, leaving you with purple hickey marks and the red stains caused by her lipstick.

"Spencer said he wished he could trade my life for Maeve's. He would rather I die if it meant Maeve could come back."

Cat was silent for a while, despite raising the object until it was on top of your clit again, rubbing the gun against your pussy as new thoughts invaded her mind. Your moans became louder and more desperate, your back writhing and your legs shaking when you moaned in the most tearful, needy way she had heard in her entire life. No one had ever sounded like this before, so hungry for any touch that could distract you from the reality of what was happening. That you were kidnapped by Cat Adams and might not have long to live.

While your body contorted with Cat's kisses moving up from your neck to your jaw, you finally turned your face to look into her eyes, seeing her pupils dilated, her gaze now cold. Not with you, you could feel it. She did not seem that much crueler than before, at least not directly towards you. As if a switch had turned in her mind for some reason. "He'll regret his words, princess. Don't worry." Her free hand caressed your cheeks and an almost soft smile appeared. "I promise I'll make sure your death haunts Spencer until the end of his days."

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[deeppenguinstudent]

I wonder about if the Foxes ever found out about Kevin and Jean. Like how would they react when Kevin who had scoffed when Seth had overdosed and said it wasn't a lost to the team but turns around and makes Jean promise not to kill himself because he couldn't live without him. What would they think about Kevin who always had his head up in Exy not even talk about it once with Jean in detail (a.k.a. push him into it)? Only to talk about his transferring to another college.

The amount of exceptions he has with Jean is a jarring juxtaposition. Like Kevin who was seen by the Foxes always cowering behind Andrew actually protecting someone else? I'd argue and say that Jean is one of the few people that Kevin actually sees off the court but we don't really know much about Kevin's feelings towards him

Maybe it's guilt for leaving him behind but when you think about it, Kevin didn't have to do all the things in the Nest. He didn't have to learn French. He didn't have to protect Jean from the other Ravens. He didn't have to give him postcards or letters. He certainly didn't have to transfer him to USC - to personally request Jeremy. He could have just let Wymack handle it.

I just need someone to realise that whatever feelings Kevin has for Jean isn't in anyway platonic and the only reason he hasn't figured it out was because of the nonsensical ideology that the Ravens had placed on love.

[redrose10]

Part 2 of three… Thank you for all the comments and messages!

CEO Yoongi x Female Barista/College Student Reader

Title: Cold Brewed Love

Summary: When you begged the owner of Jin’s Java House to hire more employees you didn’t mean for him to stick you with the cold, rude, arrogant CEO Min Yoongi. Over time something begins to brew between you both and you end up forced to make decisions way above the pay grade of a cafe barista.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, hints of smut(nothing explicit), Yoongi is mean but we all know he’ll turn fluffy later, violence, kidnapping, mention of a gun, drug references, gang activity, murder, overdose

Word Count: 3,824

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You woke up confused and alone in a room you didn’t recognize. Your throat hurt, but your head hurt worse. You looked around trying to make out your surroundings to get some idea of where you were. The room was empty except for an armchair in the corner with a small side table next to it. The only light in the room came from a small space between the curtains of what you assumed was a window. It seemed like you had been out for quite some time judging by the amount of sunlight.

You tried to stand up, but you felt too weak immediately falling to the ground. You tried once again, but froze when you heard the door handle begin to jiggle. The door swung open and a light was turned on making you squint from the change in brightness.

“Good morning Y/N, good to see you’re finally awake. Can I get you something to eat or maybe a coffee?”, a deep unfamiliar voice spoke.

“Who are you and how the fuck do you know my name?”, you spat not in the mood for pleasantries.

The man walked in and took a seat in the chair across the room. You took noticed of his expensive looking suit that was tailored to fit him perfectly. His hair was slicked back. A strong cologne followed after him. He reminded you a lot of Yoongi.

“Is that anyway to speak to the man that saved your life and took you away from that monster?”, he said while lighting a cigar.

You scoffed, “You saved my life? My life was just fine until you kidnapped me and threw me in this room.”

“Oh dear Y/N. You really are too good and naive for Yoongi.”, the man chuckled.

The mention of Yoongi made your breath hitch.

“How do you know Yoongi?”

“Well Y/N…I am glad you asked. You see me and Yoongi go way back. We met when we were just children. We used to be very good friends, actually like brothers. We ran a little side business together. The largest drug manufacturing and distribution organization since the 80’s, you know… nothing too extreme. Then one day Yoongi’s parents decided to finally give him the reigns to control the business and suddenly he didn’t need me or our organization any more. I agreed to let him walk away because he was my brother and I loved him as such. I wanted him to have a good life either way.”

The man paused to take a long draw of his cigar before continuing, “But it turns out that wasn’t good enough for Yoongi. He was selfish. He wanted to take everything we had worked for while also making sure his past life would never get out to the public. He lied to me. He deceived me because he knew I trusted him. He took all of our assets, every cent. He destroyed any evidence that could be linked to him. And then to top it all off he went to the police to get the whole operation shut down to make sure this could never come back on him. But..unfortunately for him I’ve been able to build back most of what we had even though it’s nowhere near what we once had. It took a lot of time and cost me a lot of money and many of my men all while I’ve had to watch him live the life of luxury in his comfy office, going to galas, being praised and awed by strangers around the world that don’t know how evil he really is behind the facade of expensive suits and sultry looks. I vowed that I would get my revenge against him and make him pay for what he did to me…to us. I was starting to loose hope that I would ever get my chance.”

The man suddenly stood up and took a few long strides to kneel down in front of you. You pushed yourself back against the wall as far as you could while trying to conceal your whimpers.

The man poked his finger against your forehead, “And then I saw the photos of your little date. I could see it in his eyes…just how in love with you he is. I knew this wasn’t some random hookup like the others. And I knew that my time had finally come. Min Yoongi took everything from me and now I will take everything from him.”

“So what are you going to do? Just kill me to get back at him?”, you scoffed.

“Oh no no no Y/N. Not yet at least. I’m going to have some fun first. I want him to suffer for a while. I want him to worry about you until he’s sick to his stomach. For him to know your pain is all his fault. Then I want to kill him.”

You watched as the man walked over to the door before he turned to look back at you, “At the end of the day Yoongi doesn’t care about anyone or anything except himself, his image, and his money. You’re going to learn real soon about the real Min Yoongi.” The man stood up and left you speechless as you watched the door slam shut behind him.

“Fuck fuck fuck”, Yoongi chanted as he drove around trying to figure out his next move. He knew he never should’ve asked you out. He scolded himself for being weak for you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you and how he developed an immediate crush on you. Something he’d never experienced before. He saw you behind the counter of the coffee shop. You were definitely new. You kept eyeing him before quickly turning away every time he’d try and make eye contact with you. He knew you liked him. He wasn’t stupid.

Unfortunately he liked you too. Your cheeks flushed from nervousness and the heat of running around in behind the counter. Your hair wet from sweat and plastered to your forehead. You bit your lip in concentration as you poured the coffee. You looked so cute to him and he wanted to get to know you. To date you and make you his.

Then you shakily handed him his coffee only to knock it down on the counter spilling all over his favorite custom made shoes. Sure he had three other pairs so it really wasn’t a big deal, but he took it as the opportunity to scold you hoping to make you hate him. Selfishly hoping it would keep you away from him so he wouldn’t fall for you even more.

But it didn’t work as he had hoped and he quickly fell more madly in love with you every time he saw you. Then his parents made him get a job at Jin’s Java House. He knew it was a bad idea from the start. He tried to argue with them, pleaded for another option but to no avail. He thought he was strong enough. He started off trying to be rude while working together to make you hate him even more then he already knew you did, but it only made him feel guilty and left him wanting to make it up to you any way he could.

Then he tried distracting himself with other women, sometimes as close even ten minutes before he came down for his shift at the coffee shop with you. But even when his secretary was topless and moaning underneath him as he thrusted into her on his office couch all he could think about was you and your beautiful smile and how he wished it was you below him instead. As he was burrowed deep inside someone else he fantasized about how he would take his time and do everything possible to pleasure you until it was you screaming his name over and over. He knew it was a lost cause at that point because he was a man in love. And now here he was driving around the city while you were God knows where because of him and his weaknesses.

Yoongi regretted his past life. He wasn’t proud of what he did. He had gotten in a little trouble at school so his parents had told him he was a failure and they would sell the company before allowing him to take control. He felt hurt and useless and desperate to prove them wrong.

So as a teenager he turned to crime. Him and his best friend started dealing drugs. It started small with just some weed or pills here and there to other friends and their acquaintances. Then it got bigger and bigger until next the thing he knew they were moving thousands of kilos of various drugs every year worth hundreds of millions of dollars. They had bases in Seoul, LA, New York, Tijuana, London, Rio, Moscow, and Beijing as well as dozens of smaller ones he couldn’t even remember any more. Money was rolling in like he’d never seen even though he already grew up wealthy. He had a new woman every night and said goodbye to them before the morning with no strings attached. He was on top of the world and the best part was he was doing it all with his best friend.

Then he got a call. His dads health was deteriorating. The generational family company was falling apart. His mom was coping by drinking and popping pills, probably from his own supply unbeknownst to her. They were proud of him for becoming so successful in his “pharmaceutical business”, a lie he told when people started questioning his job or where his money came from. His parents had changed their minds and wanted him to take over the company. Become the ceo and bring profitability and success back to the family name and business.

At first Yoongi told them to fuck off. He wasn’t going to give up what he had worked hard for after they tossed him aside like he wasn’t their own flesh and blood.

Then days later he got another call from one of the few people in the world that he respected, his grandmother. She asked Yoongi to take over the company that her and his grandfather had fought so hard to build and turn into an empire. She didn’t want to see it given to someone outside of the family or worse have it shut down completely.

Yoongi tried to politely decline, but then solemnly she begged him. She begged him to take over not only to save the company, but so that he could escape his life of crime before he ended up in prison or worse. She cried reminiscing about how many times she stayed up all night worried about him and what he was doing out in the world. How every phone call made her heart skip a beat fearing the worst. How she saw families being torn apart thanks to him and his business’s product. She begged him, even referring to him as her little dumpling, a nickname she had often used for him growing up that he hadn’t heard in years.

Yoongi didn’t ask how she knew about his secret life. He didn’t want to know to be honest, but he knew he didn’t want to be the reason for her tears any longer. So he called his parents the next day to accept the position.

His friend had been kind and understanding, offering to let Yoongi just walk away from everything and leave him in charge.

At first that was fine. Then one night on his way home he found out that his neighbors daughter overdosed. She was just sixteen. A star student and respected ballerina already being scouted by some of the biggest dance companies from all over the world. Yoongi knew the drugs were from his prior organization. There were no others around at the time.

He watched the girls parents standing in the pouring rain until their knees gave out and they hit the concrete and sobbed as the stretcher carrying their daughter was wheeled into the back of a waiting van. After that night his grandmothers voice started playing over and over in his head often keeping him up along with the screams of the parents he heard that night.

Yoongi decided he wanted to erase that part of his life like it never happened.

Because he was still trusted by his friend he had access to the bank accounts which he wiped clean. He destroyed every document he could find that would tie him to the organization. Anonymously he contacted police in every city he could think of and helped them to track down all of their operations getting them all shut down. Multiple people were arrested and a few even killed. He did his best to convince himself that their blood was not on his hands.

And when the few that were arrested tried to snitch and implicate Yoongi there was no significant evidence and the little the police could find was quickly swept under the rug thanks to a little cash swung their way.

Yoongi was able to walk away without anyone knowing of his past life. His friend left to pick up the pieces of a once great empire. And now here Yoongi was paying the price for something he thought was long behind him and could no longer keep him from happiness.

You walked around the room as you looked for an escape. The window had bars around it. Of course the door was securely locked. There was nowhere to go. You didn’t have your phone any longer. You resigned to taking a seat back on the floor trying to come up with a plan.

You weren’t sure how much time had gone by but at some point later in the day a woman appeared with a tray carrying a bowl of soup and some toast as well as an apple and a bottle of water. You thanked her even though you had no appetite at all.

As you sat under the window staring up at the little bit of the sky you could see you wondered what was happening in the outside world. What happened at the coffee shop when you didn’t show up for work? Did they call looking for you? You were going to fall behind in your classes if that even mattered any more. Was Yoongi even looking for you or was he worried this would get out in the public and ruin his image? It was all becoming too much and you began to cry fearing the future and the unknown.

After a while of crying and dozing off you decided you were getting a little hungry. Remembering the tray from earlier you decided against the soup which was now cold and gelatinous, but the toast still seemed okay so you picked it up taking a bite.

It was slightly stale but passable. As you mindlessly chewed you noticed a small piece of paper on the plate where the bread had been.

With your brows furrowed you unfolded the paper finding a hand written note. The writing was barely legible as it appeared quickly scratched down and was written in some kind of lipstick.

“I’ll come back tonight. When you hear three knocks at the door be prepared to run.”

Your mouth went dry. Your heart began to race. Quickly you chugged down the bottle of water as you contemplated if running was worth the risk. Surely if they caught you then you would be killed. And who is this woman and why is she helping you? What if it was a test?

You had a million different thoughts going through your mind, but they were cut short.

*Knock…Knock…Knock*

Slowly the door creaked open and the same woman from earlier peaked in the room. She motioned for you to follow her. What did you have to loose you thought so you did.

The two of you tiptoed down the hall and some stairs before you heard shouting after you.

“Run!”, the woman shouted so you sprinted not far behind her. You ran down hallways and and stairs. Looking for any exit door.

Just when you saw your hope, a door with a large window facing the outside world just down the hall from you, you were grabbed and harshly thrown down on the ground. You looked up seeing Yoongi’s friend breathing heavily.

“This is what I get huh? I tried to let you stay upstairs in a warm room. I gave you food. Yoongi always said I was the soft one out of the two of us. I guess he was right, but not any more.”, he spat dragging you down the hall by your arm.

Frantically you searched for the woman from earlier who tried to help you. You hoped she got out or was at least safe, but you quickly realized that was not true. A blood curdling scream rang through the air followed by a single gunshot. Your eyes widened in horror.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m not gonna kill you just yet. Not before you’ve gone on a final date with your Yoongi.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as the man threw you in a cell, the iron gates loudly clanking shut. It looked like you were in a dungeon. It was cold and there was zero light coming through.

Without speaking the man tossed you an old dirty towel to use as a blanket before heading back upstairs leaving you down there alone.

Days went by. You were barely fed and barely slept. You had accepted your fate at that point. Unsure if it was the delirium setting in or what but you often found yourself chuckling at your situation.

You missed the days of going to college. You missed your friends. You missed the smell of coffee and the warmth it brought. You couldn’t believe how your life had turned around in the matter of hours all thanks to you falling in love with a lier, con artist, the devil? You weren’t really sure how to view Yoongi right now. He was probably leading a meeting right now without a care in the world. He’s probably going out to dinner later with some woman he met on his way to work with the sole intention to get in her pants by the end of the night. A small part of you hoped he was worried about you. Looking for you. Doing anything to help. Because a small part of you still loved him.

You hadn’t heard anyone walk in until you heard the iron gate slide open ending in a loud clank.

“Put this on. And use these wipes to clean yourself up.”, an unfamiliar voice said.

You sat staring at the items in front of you not moving.

“Bosses orders”, the man growled.

Slowly you grabbed the wipes and began wiping down your face and arms. It actually felt kind of nice.

You reached for the other items, a black cocktail dress and hair brush. You took the brush and ran through your hair a few times until the knots were out.

You looked at the dress and then at the man in front of you. He rolled his eyes and sighed before turning around and facing the wall. Quickly you removed your clothes and put the dress on before the man could turn around.

Just as you finished, the familiar smell of cigars entered the air and not long after Yoongi’s friend appeared.

“Wow don’t you look nice. I can see why Yoongi likes you. I think he’ll appreciate that you dressed up just for him.”, he said before blowing a cloud smoke through your cell.

“Now go ahead and stand up against that wall.”, he pointed towards the other side of the cell.

You crossed your arms in defiance refusing to move.

He chuckled, “I like you Y/N. I really do. Too bad I’m only giving you twenty four hours to live.” Your face dropped in realization at his statement.

A bright flash lit up the cell for just a moment before you realized your photo had been taken.

“Thanks sweetheart. I’m sure Yoongi will love it.”, he laughed before leaving you alone once again.

Yoongi was back at his place pacing back and forth. He’d ignored call after call from Hobi. He’s sure he’s wondering where he and/or you are and he doesn’t have the brain power right now to come up with a believable lie.

As he stared out at the river below his apartment he heard a new notification on his phone. A text message from an unknown number came through showing the preview of a photo.

Clicking on the message he instantly dry heaved sure he would’ve fully vomited had he consumed anything today.

A photo of you in a black dress. Your hair frazzled. Immediately Yoongi noticed the bruising on your body. The cut on your lip and welt on your forehead. What killed him the most was the look on your face. The look of fear, of despair. He could see you were holding back tears and it was all thanks to him.

Seconds later another message came through, “Y/N’s a beauty Yoongi. I always did think you had good taste when it came to women and it seems like even after all these years nothing has changed. You have 24 hours to find us. If you involve the police I’ll kill her instantly. If you even care…”

You had changed back into your old clothes giving yourself a little more coverage from the cold. The floor was made of stone but you were so exhausted you were able to drift off to sleep quite quickly.

You fell into dreamland. Dreaming that you were on a beach. The warm sun shone down on you as a breeze rippled through the air. The ocean waves crashed gently against the sand next to you as you walked along the edge. Looking up you saw Yoongi just down the beach waiting for you. He flashed you a gummy smile showing you the two drinks he had in his hands. Just as you began to walk towards him the sky turned dark and a giant wave came crashing down on you dragging you out to sea. You screamed for help unable to get yourself out of the current as the waves kept you down. Running out of fight you felt yourself slowly drifting under water father and rather. The last thing you remembered was hearing Yoongi screaming your name.

You jerked awake sweaty and out of breath with your hand clutching to your chest.

Sitting up you did your best to try and calm yourself down taking deep slow breaths.

Faintly from a distance you swore you heard your name shouted. You brushed it off thinking it was just a residual memory from your dream.

Then you heard it again, a little clearer this time and you were a little more certain.

“Yoongi?”, you whispered to yourself hearing a familiar sound as the door slammed open.

[honkytonk-hangman]

Take Care Of Business

40s!Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Mechanic!Reader

gif belongs to babyrooster

Summary: The last time you met Lieutenant Jake Seresin, the war was still ongoing and you’d been in a floundering engagement. Back then you’d seen the possibility for more in his eyes, and now? Well, now you could explore it.

Warnings: mentions of period accurate sexism, mentions of a cheating fiancee. copious amounts of fluff, seriously you may overdose

Notes: OMG ITS HERE ITS ACTUALLY FINISHED!!! thank you so sosososososos much to @hangmanssunnies for your endless endless ENDLESS love and encouragement during the last year writing this, and also to @ussgallifrey, who was super supportive during the earliest versions of this fic <3 i can't believe its heeerrreeee

1946

You can’t help but let out a laugh as you’re guided through the busy dance hall, barely missing a waiter with a large tray of drinks as you go. You try to call back an apology, but the hand wrapped around your wrist is already dragging you away, weaving in and out of the crowds of dancers and party-goers.

You’d almost forgotten what the atmosphere in a place like this could be like, exuberant and daring, and now that the war was officially over, lacking in any sort of melancholy.

Bea, your well meaning, but a little over-excited friend, finally seems to be slowing down, though she has one last surprise in stall for you, using your momentum to swing you around to her side with a strength such a small woman certainly shouldn’t possess.

“There she is!” a male voice, deep and pleasant, greets from somewhere in front of you, and you give your head a quick shake, attempting to get your bearings now.

“Sorry we’re late, sugar! Had a lipstick emergency!” Bea says only half truthfully, stepping away from your side momentarily to allow a handsome moustachioed man to lean down and kiss her cheek.

You can’t help but smile at the sweet display. Bea had been telling you all about Bradley Bradshaw for weeks now, and if even half of what she’d told you was true, you already liked him immensely for treating your friend so well.

“And this must be the famous Ducky I’ve heard all about,” honey coloured eyes swivel away from Bea and land on you, making you remember yourself.

“It’s so good to meet you at last, Lieutenant Bradshaw!” you shake his offered hand warmly.

“Please just call me Bradley– or Rooster!” he gently corrects you, before he hums, and shoots Bea a suspicious look.

“Do you think she’s adding us birds to some sort of collection?” he asks conspiratorially, the question making you laugh genuinely at the absurdity.

Bea huffs, shakes her head, and smacks his arm, trying her best to fight off the grin on her lips.

“All I’ll say Rooster, is that you’d best treat her right, or she will hunt you for sport,” you lean in and reply, receiving your own smack for your trouble. Rooster’s face turns bright and he laughs, pulling Bea near with his arm around her.

“I can believe that, yes ma’am,” they look at each other with barely concealed adoration, and it makes your heart clench a little in your chest. You’re quickly distracted though, with the sudden and rowdy approach of six other people, all dressed to the nines like everyone else around you. Rooster seems unfazed by their appearance, though he tears his eyes away from Bea to glance around at the now much larger group you were in.

“Fellas, you all know Bea already, and this is Bea’s friend, Ducky,” he easily introduces you to the six newcomers, all men except for a tall, beautiful brunette woman who looked like she could eat every single one of them for breakfast. A flurry of handshakes and names are exchanged, and you’re surprised by just how quickly you feel totally absorbed by the group of Naval Aviators, like you’d known them all for years and were just catching up again.

“I’m spotting a free table, north west!” the man who held the youngest looking features of the group, Fanboy you believe he’d introduced himself as, pipes up, pointing over everyone's heads to the large round table that was currently being cleaned up. Before you can even process it, the entire group is migrating casually toward the table, Rooster catching the arm of the waiter before he leaves, putting a round in, you assume.

You find yourself next to Bob, who sends you an adorably awkward little grin as he pulls out your chair for you, and you thank him sincerely. Despite the gentlemanly gesture, the moment you’re comfortable, he’s taking his own seat, and once more totally absorbed by the woman you’d learn was named Phoenix, or Nat. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, too distracted by all the new faces, and their excitable personalities, but Bob was clearly, utterly enamoured by Phoenix, and it looked like the feeling was returned, if perhaps a little less obviously

“Hey, Javy, where’s your other half?” Bea is sat a few places down from you, her hand wrapped through Rooster’s arm. A man on the opposite side of the table waves his hand over his shoulder.

“He’s coming, probably caught his reflection in a glass,” Javy snorts.

“I wanted to introduce him to Ducky!” Bea pouts, and her words make you frown.

“Pardon?” you say pointedly, leaning around Bob and Phoenix to look at Bea with a frown. Rooster seems to be matching your expression, and he cocks his head at his partner.

“Ducky is far too nice for him,” Rooster says, but you get the feeling he doesn’t really mean it.

“Oh come off it, Ducks, you could do with meeting someone new!” Bea rolls her eyes, but her voice is imploring.

Your frown deepens just a little bit, but you aren’t too angry. It wasn’t as if she’d tricked you into a double date or anything. There were plenty of other seemingly solo people around that you’re sure any awkwardness could easily be avoided if you managed to stick by Bob and Phoenix.

“I’m afraid that I won’t be able to help you there, Honey Bea,” A smooth male voice purrs from behind you, and you almost jump at the hand that comes to rest warmly on your shoulder. You turn quickly in no small amount of surprise at the person apparently so close, but any further thought is cut off when your eyes properly take in the handsome face smirking coquettishly down at you.

You’re so surprised, you gasp daintily, fumbling to your feet so that you can greet him properly.

“Hangman!” you welcome him excitedly, happily accepting the hand he offers to help you up.

“Jake,” he corrects gently, and you feel foolish for laughing.

“Jake!” you repeat fondly, caught up in staring at him.

“You two already know each other?” Bea sounds put out, but intrigued, and you manage to tear your gaze away from Jake for a few moments to focus on her.

“Oh, Ducky and I go way back,” Jake tells her, at first offering no more explanation.

“We met during the war,” you explain to her, opening your mouth to continue on that he had been a friend of your fiance’s, but you stop yourself. Jake had been your friend long before you’d found out he knew your ex-fiance.

“Best damn aircraft mechanic I’ve ever had,” Jake adds, sounding proud as he brings your hand that he still holds up to his lips. Phoenix jerks then, blinking quickly around the other’s and then up at Jake with a growing smile.

“Wait, you’re the Ducky?! Jake’s Ducky?!” She questions in no small amount of disbelief. There’s a quiet chitter of understanding and awe that briefly overcomes the table, and you’re about to ask what it is she means by that, when Jake squeezes your hand and draws your attention, all the while shooting Phoenix a dirty look.

“Stop interrupting,” he scolds needlessly, and draws you closer.

Your chest flutters, but you’re distracted from the butterflies caused by being described as ‘Jake’s Ducky’, and instead distracted by an odd look on the blond’s face. It quickly turns a little darker, and you can’t help but notice the brief flicker of his eyes down to the hand he still holds.

“Where is the old man, then?” Jake tilts his head at you, and then quickly around at the crowded club, seemingly a little stiff now. You suck in a breath, realising now what he’d been confused by.

Clearing your throat, you take your left hand back from him with only a small amount of effort, before smoothing down your frock primly. Suddenly his closeness was nerve wracking as you feel him studying your features.

“Probably with his new wife. I haven’t exactly been keeping up,” you can’t help but scold yourself for the sass and bitterness in your tone. It just wasn’t classy. Jake seems to jolt as he processes your words, and for several more moments he stares down at you with an unreadable expression, before at last a tiny crease pulls between his brows, and his lips purse.

“I never liked him, anyway,” Jake says the words flippantly, and you know it’s supposed to be a joke, but his still taut expression and lack of humour in his voice tell you otherwise.

“Never good enough for you. To you,” he goes on quieter, so no one else can hear but you. You look down at your skirt, heart thumping away rapidly in your chest even as you shrug.

“Well, it’s probably for the best,” you do your best to shake off any residual foul mood and nerves, straightening up. Your lips curl back into a smile as you look back up at him once more. It felt nearly impossible to be melancholy when you knew Jake was around.

“It’s so good to see you again,” you tell him earnestly, and watch as Jake’s face softens. He takes your hand again, keeping eye contact as he lifts it to his lips and kisses it once more, this time, right where your old engagement ring would have been.

“I imagine,” he smirks, bouncing an eyebrow at you. You scoff, but grin even as you roll your eyes.

“You’re supposed to say ‘you too’!” you scold with no conviction as Jake rounds your seat, not even releasing your hand when, helping you back into your chair before he quickly folds himself into the empty space beside you. He simply shrugs at you, making a point of pulling his chair closer to yours, before his eyes flicker past you to land on Rooster and Bea.

“Sorry to ruin your little setup,” he doesn’t sound very sorry at all, though you doubt Bea was feeling too upset, not with the way she was looking between you and Jake with glee in her eyes.

“Hey, wasn’t my plan. I think she’s too good for you,” Rooster chortles, catching the fist Bea attempts to sock him with, and kissing it instead.

Jake ignores Rooster, and instead cuts his gaze down at you, leaning in so only you’ll hear him.

“How long have you been in San Diego? Are you staying?” he asks, sounding excited by the idea. When you turn to face him fully, his nearness is so much that if only for propriety’s sake, you’re forced to pull back from him as you talk.

“Six months now. I met Bea on the boat coming home from London, she convinced me not to go back to New York after… everything.” you tell him, realising suddenly what incredible luck you must have that you just so happened to run into one another when you’d resigned yourself to never seeing him again.

“I’m glad.” he says, pinning you in place when you feel his hand reach out and take yours from where it rests on your lap. Your heart thumps heavily at his brazenness, but it also sets you alight with a hopeful flame that in recent months you had come to realise you always had, but never allowed yourself to take notice of or indulge before.

The thoughts make your face boil, and you avert your gaze, your free hand shaking just a little as you reach for the glass of water that had been poured for you earlier.

“Oh, Ducky,” Jake sighs affectionately, leaning away from you at last, but tightening his grip around your fingers. You finally get the courage to glance up at him sheepishly, only to find him grinning down at you cheshire-like.

“My little sitting Ducky,” he continues, his smile only continuing to grow.

You know you should probably feel more trepidation about his sudden forwardness, but the only thing that you feel pumping through your veins is the exhilarating thrill at the thought of Jake calling you ‘his’ anything after so long of secretly wishing it to be true.

The way he looks at you feels positively predatory, and under his blistering hunter’s stare, you really are his sitting duck.

1942

The rain batters down against the airfield in what you knew would only prove to be ugly flying weather tonight, and you quickly send out a prayer of luck on behalf of the pilot you know by handwriting alone. Your time as an aircraft mechanic had officially come to an end, not for any good or decent reason, mind you, but for the sole fact that someone had suddenly decided that an active airfield was no place for a woman.

Nevermind that you were the best mechanic in the hangar, your colleagues had stroppily resented your presence from day one, and your true purpose as an additional engineer was forcibly concealed. Instead, you’d had to pretend you were a secretary around any actual personnel, especially the pilots, and once the hangar was clear for the day, you would be at last allowed to perform your actual job.

You’d gotten the impression fairly quickly that your coworkers shunted off the hardest to please, fussiest pilot, onto you, hoping you might fail at the first hurdle under the sheer amount of work this ‘Hangman’ seemed to demand. Unfortunately for them, you’d had no problem meeting the brief, and day after day that the planes were towed into the hangar for repairs, the stack of memos detailing Hangman’s complaints that always accompanied his aircraft grew smaller and smaller.

And then one day, instead of a plane to fix and a list of notes, you had a letter shoved into your hands, the contents of which was a written apology from one Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, informing you that he’d he’d been shot down, and all your hard work over the past weeks was now engulfed in flame somewhere in Italy. You’d immediately penned a reply, not caring at all about the state of his aircraft, and expressing your relief that he had made it out safely. You’d had to sign it off using a pseudonym, your own name would have gone against your boss’s wishes, and a fake name would be easily found out on an active military base.

You’d gone with ‘Ducky’, the callsign your father had used during the Great War, and from then on out, it had stuck.

Lieutenant Seresin had been sent back to the airfield eventually, and you’d both gone back to business as usual for several months. His battered bomber would be towed into the hangar for repairs, but gone were his blunt instructions, in their place he left short personal letters usually detailing his most recent flights, and only sometimes with requests about fixtures to be made. You would then leave your own reply for him to find when the plane was returned back to the runway, and so on, so forth. 

At least, that's how things had been carrying on until this morning, when you’d been abruptly dismissed by the airfield’s second in command, a snivelling man who had informed you they had ended your auxiliary work here, as it was apparently no place for a woman to be.

You’d wanted to shout and demand explanations, to demand your colleagues defend your worth, but they'd all remained silent, and you’d quickly been escorted off to pack your things with tears stinging your eyes.

You can’t help but wonder if your secret somehow got out, by the doing of jealous coworkers, and if perhaps Hangman hadn’t been so pleased with you upon finding out that you’re a woman.

The heavy rainfall makes it difficult for you and your bags to get across to the waiting transport plane, but the war stopped for nobody, so you’d wound up in the back of the empty aircraft, your clothes and things all but totally soaked. You’d been told the plane wouldn’t leave until the storm died down, so you’d huddled onto one of the benches miserably and tried to get warm, but you felt yourself filled with a deeper coldness than simply the biting european air.

You sit and stare out the back of the plane’s fuselage, simply taking in the distant ebb and flow of the airfield, a flurry of activity that wouldn't stop just because of some rain. It comforted you in a way, to know this place would carry on, but there was a deeper part of you that worried for them. You weren’t a braggart, but you knew you were the best mechanic here, taking not just pride in your work, but joy and passion too. It concerns you what may happen to the pilots in the future.

But, it was much too late for you to do anything else now. Perhaps if you’d been brave enough from the start to demand your recognition all along, this wouldn't be the case, but you think that perhaps they’d have just gotten rid of you sooner.

And then you notice something very odd.

All of a sudden out of the pouring sheets of rain, a covered military jeep comes tearing into sight, its driver in some kind of rush despite the slow lazy movement of everything else in this weather. You blink in surprise as the car skids right up to the plane you’re in, and jump up when it at last comes to a full stop only a few feet from the ramp. You can’t help but take a step back when the door flings open, and you watch as a tall, handsome man bounds out, clearly with urgent business to attend.

The man quickly moves up the plane ramp toward you, ducking out of the rain and taking a moment to fix his hair briefly before he straightens fully again. You stare at him with widened eyes, taking in the aviation uniform he wears, complete with gold wings that seem to glint blindingly despite the lack of sunlight on them. He pauses at the top of the ramp, and you almost jump back again at the intensity of his gaze when his bright green eyes narrow at you.

“Now, now, Ducky, don’t you know it’s rude to leave without saying goodbye?” the lazy southern drawl to the man’s voice surprises you so much that you almost don’t notice the familiarity with which he speaks to you.

“I’m sorry?!” you blurt dumbly. The blonde nods acceptingly, and steps forward, placing his hands on his hips.

“I should hope so! You think Kirk is gonna send me letters the next time I get shot down?” he asks scoldingly, but his casual mention of what would have been certain death for any other pilot is what finally snaps you from your shock.

“You'll get more than just a letter from me the next time you’re shot down!” you say crossly, finding yourself none-too-pleased by his nonchalant attitude toward the subject. Your threat makes a smirk form on the blonde’s lips, and at last he seems to stop his baseless tirade in favour of giving you a very blatant once over. You’re more subtle in your own assessment. A quick glance at the name pinned just below his gold wings confirms your suspicions about who it is you talk to, and when you snap your eyes back to his face, you find he’s already watching you closely.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve known you’re a woman for quite some time,” Hangman says, somehow both seriously and flippantly at the same time, waving his hand dismissively. Your brows furrow and you open your mouth to defend yourself, but shut it again quickly when you realise you’re unsure of what you’d say. “I first suspected when the repair hangar suddenly had a secretary who made terrible coffee. They aren’t sending anyone who makes shitty coffee this close to Italy. No offence.”

You feel like you should be insulted by his words, but truthfully, you’d made the joe that bad on purpose out of pure spite, until they stopped asking you to fetch it. The two of you continue to stare at one another for a few seconds, before you shift your eyes away from him, swallowing thickly as you begin to fidget with your still damp sleeve.

“The other’s thought it best that the pilot’s didn’t know a woman was working on their planes…” you try to explain. Hangman immediately scoffs at your words, and you eye him cautiously as he flings a hand out behind him, toward the entrance of the transport plane and in the vague direction of where the bombers are lined up on the tarmac, their bright colours obscured by the heavy rain.

“Ducky,” he begins dryly, “We paint our planes with women, we name our planes after our women,” he tells you, his smirk tipping up into pure amusement now, an eyebrow following. “Besides, I ain’t ever known a pilot who’s intimidated by a little skirt, especially around our machines,” he purrs, lowering his voice flirtatiously. Your face immediately heats up at his insinuation, and you can’t help but tut disapprovingly at him, even if you did appreciate his other sentiments. You fold your arms over your chest in disapproval while Hangman chortles at your clear bashfulness.

“I mean it, Ducky, please don’t go,” the pilot all but begs you then, his tone suddenly serious. He steps closer again, forcing you to look up at him  in the gloomy dark of the plane.

“I– I’m not leaving because I want to, Lieutenant,” you tell him somberly, dropping your gaze again when you find his stare too intense. “I was told to leave.” 

Hangman scoffs again, and adjusts his stance.

“Right, and I’ve just come from dangling my ass in front of a court martial, or seven, to make sure that order is belayed.” he informs you much too casually. You sputter at his mention of possible charges on your behalf, your arms falling unfolded again as you take a half-step forward in panic.

“W–what?! What did you do?!” you demand, half worried, half furious. 

Hangman grins widely at your clear exasperation, and tips his chin up cockily. You get the sudden feeling he enjoys ticking you off and making you nervous.

“Well, they can’t expect me to remain their best pilot if I don’t have my best girl working on my other best girl,” he tells you slowly, as if it should have been completely obvious already. Your face gets even hotter at his clear flirting, guilt strumming in your stomach at the way your chest flutters despite your relationship status. However, before you’re able to rebuke him by pointing out the ring you wear, the handsome blond makes a show of digging into his breast pocket, and pulling out a crumpled, coffee stained letter, holding it out towards you.

You hesitantly step closer to take it from him, feeling his bright, intense gaze return to yours, as you unfold and quickly look over the typed missive. It’s only a few lines long, and signed at the bottom, so you find yourself hurriedly meeting his eye again.

“You did this for me?” you ask, voice now watery. Hangman stares down at you, looking suddenly less cocky and sure of himself, taken aback by your clear emotional response.

“... Technically, I did this for me.” he corrects unconvincingly, voice lilting to sound dismissive, but you barely hear him, and certainly don’t care for his posturing.

“Thank you!” you gush, feeling a massive weight lift form your chest for the first time all morning. The pilot blinks down at you, stiffly taking in the tears that you try to wipe away with the back of your hand.

“How’re you supposed to drag me back by the ear the next time I get shot down, if you’re not here?” He changes the subject slightly, but only earns a small laugh in reply, not a further telling off, which he’d hoped might distract you from your tears.

“I think that will be the least I owe you after this.” you sniffle. The pilot shuffles uncomfortably, and raises a hand to scratch nervously at the back of his head, unable to sidestep the emotional centre of this interaction like he’d wanted to, but he chooses to wade through it, for you.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing, Ducky, really,” Hangman sighs, speaking tiredly, but firmly. “You’re the best aircraft mechanic I’ve ever had, probably that any of us have had. Shouldn’t matter if you’re a woman.” he hopes he sounds sincere. You hold the belayed order to your chest, and with a wobbling lip stare up at him like he was the sun itself.

You don’t realise this is the exact moment Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin falls completely in love with you, but as he eyes the shiny engagement ring you wear, he does.

1946

You try to ignore the way Bea stares at you and Jake for the next half hour as you catch up, and eventually, you are able to brush off her pointed looks and coquettish smiles. The other Daggers, Rooster and Phoenix particularly, show no such subtly in the way they seem to watch Jake interact with you. Phoenix had even grown a smug little smile in the last few minutes and had begun teasingly questioning Jake about the tender way in which he had taken up your hand and absolutely refused to let it go.

You get the feeling they know something you don’t, but you don’t feel that poorly over it, not when Hangman, Jake, has his hand in yours, his thumb caressing back and forth in little circles everytime you seem to go quiet.

Eventually, tiring of the clear teasing at his expense, Jake rolls his eyes and clears his throat. Fixing you in his gaze fully, he squeezes your hand and gets to his feet.

“I think we’ve both answered more than enough of your questions, Ducky, dance with me?” he doesn’t wait for your answer, but you would have said yes anyway, and, with a final glance back at the table as if to apologise for the sudden exit, you’re tugged gently away and almost immediately find yourself wrapped up on the dancefloor.

“I’m sorry if I’m rusty, it’s been a while since I danced properly,” you say nervously, feeling slightly lightheaded as Jake’s free hand moves to take hold of your waist firmly. His lips flick up, but he fakes a frown anyway, lowering his chin at you. You’re so close now you can feel yourself pressed right against the front of his pristine dress whites, feel the gold buttons through the tulle of your dress.

“I would have thought you’d be out dancing all the time now, fiancee or not,” Jake replies smoothly, making you shift your gaze away from him for a moment.

“It’s hardly wise to spend all my time dancing when I can barely find a job…” you say quietly, chewing on your lower lip, before you finally look back up at him. “If I’m honest, I hadn’t thought I’d still be working, once the war was over.”

Jake’s features lose any of their humour and he purses his lips.

“No, I’d have thought not… you should be being looked after by a good man, living a good life, taken dancing whenever you’d like and you’d never be rusty.” he tells you seriously. You can’t help but smile warmly at him and shrug a little in his hold.

“I think what I should do is adjust my expectations,” you say, inhaling sharply when his hold on your tightens, and he seems to pull you even nearer, if possible.

“I’m afraid that is absolutely unacceptable,” he tells you with a vehement shake of his head. “I think we’re going to have to do something about it, aren’t we?”

Butterflies errupt in your stomach, and unable to bear looking at him any more, you gently pull your hands from his, and wrap them around his neck. Your head rests softly on his chest, Jake quickly adjusting to meet your new stance in a way that suggested to you he’d imagined holding you like this for some time. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a soft sigh.

“Thank you, Jake.” You say quietly, only knowing for sure that he’s heard you by the way he gently squeezes your waist in response.

“For what, darlin’?”

“For everything. For always coming back like I asked, despite your terrible habit of only ever  returning with about half as much plane as I sent you out with, for believing in me, and fighting for me, and always being there for me, even when Grey wasn’t.”

Jake stays quiet for a beat, his grip on you never wavering, and for a few moments the two of you just sway.

“It never felt right, knowing what I did about him, how he behaved, and keeping it from you… I… I felt so guilty all this time thinkin’ you’d been married to a man I knew didn’t deserve you, knowing I should have said something.”

It’s your turn to stay quiet, though eventually you shift your face up so that you can look at him. For the first time ever, Jake struggles to make eye contact with you, but when you begin gently smoothing over the hair at the back of his neck he meets your gaze. You smile sadly and shake your head.

“I knew,” you tell him, watching how his expression shifts from guilt-ridden to pained, and he opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “I didn’t want to believe it, and if you’d tried to tell me, I wouldn’t have believed you.” You continue stroking the back of his hair as if to comfort him. “And now I can still look fondly back on that time. In my mind, I will always think more of you looking out for me on his behalf, more than I think of him.” you admit.

Jake purses his lips and frowns.

“He never once asked me to do that for you, I couldn’t believe it, even when he knew we were stationed together. I woulda made sure you had someone you could trust, rely on, especially given how the other mechanics treated you.” He sounds so angry, and you can’t help but blink up at him in surprise.

“Grey never asked you to look out for me?” you ask, a fresh sting cutting your heart. You were long over your cheating, good for nothing ex-fiancee, but occasionally on nights like tonight, you felt the hurt once again. Jake takes in your surprise and hesitates for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. I won’t give him credit for that, I’m sorry sweetheart.”

You stop swaying, pausing for a moment to stare up at him, and then you can’t help yourself, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Jake.” you say once more. When you pull away, Jake studies you for a while, before he slides his hands up to take yours, suddenly spinning you out, and then back in, where he catches you seemingly with his entire body, hands quickly wrapping you up securely again as you gasp.

“Why so surprised, honey? I’ve never made a secret of how much I adore you?” He teases you, making you stutter.

“Y-yes well, you were usuaully far more subtle about it!” you attempt to defend. Jake’s face breaks out in a grin, but he eyes you sardonically anyway.

“I’m glad my restraint didn’t go unnoticed. I could easily have seduced you away back then,” he tells you wryly. You frown.

“I don’t think that’s true…” you argue, but Jake only smiles.

“Let me believe, honey,” he implores, making you laugh.

You fall into a comfortable quiet then, and happily let Jake twirl you around the dancefloor, shaking off any rust you may have obtained in the months since you’d last been out like this. After once more spinning you away and catching you again, you meet together with your faces much too close to be proper, but you hardly care with the way he looks down at you.

“The moment I saw you sitting in the back of that transport plane, I knew for sure you were my dream girl, you know that?” he tells you breathlessly. “I spent my entire recovery when I was shot down daydreaming about you, rereading every letter you wrote me.”

“You’re just trying to charm me now!” you accuse playfully. Jake chortles, and shakes his head.

“I told all my nurses about you, how I was going to marry you when the war was over,” he says, making your heart skip several beats.

“And all because I fixed your plane up real good?” you ask, unsure how else to respond. Jake raises an eyebrow and fixes you with an amused expression.

“Clearly you don’t grasp how attractive that is.”

“Clearly I don’t.”

“I hope my being unavailable didn’t hurt you, back then,” you say softly, surprised when Jake only shrugs minimally.

“Other than curbing my ability to seduce you, I knew one way or the other things would work out,” he tells you, sounding oddly serious. You blink at him, but cock your head slightly.

“I suppose they have, haven’t they?”

“I knew you liked me,” Jake says teasingly, leaning his face even closer to yours so that your noses almost touch. You roll your eyes, but don’t move back.

“How could I not? I’ve spent the last year feeling like a fool because I thought I’d never see you again!” you reply, lamenting the wasted time.

Jake hums, making you suck in a breath when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve been looking for you, but I didn’t even know your full name, or if you’d had it changed… But I’d never have left you, not when you never left me, no matter how many planes of yours I got shot out of.”

“Please don’t ruin this moment by reminding me,” you scold him, making the blond laugh. After a few beats of swaying together, you wrap your hands back around his neck and lean into him. You feel Jake’s head come to rest on yours, the both of you looking out at the dancefloor, where you spot Rooster and Bea dancing alongside Pheonix and Bob.

“Who do you think will have the wedding bells ringing first?” you ask wistuflly. Jake takes a moment to answer, humming briefly before he replies.

“Us.” He tells you matter of factly.

You can't help but giggle, and blindly smack his shoulder lightly.

“You’re hopeless!” you say, shaking your head where it lays against his chest. Jake only tightens his hold on you.

“Can’t let those nurses down, can I? They told me I had to marry you if you still hadn’t left me after the amount of times I was shot down.”

Against him you grumble, and poke his neck a little more forcefully.

“I wouldn’t recommend tyring that again,” you say darkly. You feel the man straighten ever so slightly, his head bobbing as he nods.

“Yes ma’am.” He affirms. You stay dancing closely, wrapped up in one another until he speaks again. “Will you come down to base tomorrow, look over my plane?” He asks quietly, and you can’t help but grin. Pulling back from him, you gaze into his green eyes, finding pure hope and adoration there.

“Only if you kiss me first.”

[alphajocklover]

I’ll cut right to the point. I want to be huge.

I have always dreamed of being a huge bodybuilder since before I can even remember. I remember watching hulk cartoons and wishing that could happen to me. The older I get, the bigger my desires seem to grow. I want to become the ultimate brute. Completely massive, completely covered in body hair, and with the brain of your average henchman.

Can you work your magic on me? I’ll do anything to live that big dumb brute life.

As cliche as an opening as this is, based on what you’ve told me I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that you’ll soon be transformed just like how you’ve dreamed. Your muscles will grow humongous, your mind will dim, and you’ll get to live your dream of being a big, dumb, bodybuilding brute. I won’t even have to do a thing! See, you’re experiencing a Big Dick Energy overdose. If you haven’t read my past post on BDE, it is essentially a nickname for a type of Masculine Energy humans naturally produce. When someone who produces this energy does not dispel it by doing manly things, it builds up inside of them as an urge, until bursting out and transforming them temporarily into a straight stud full of toxic masculinity. It sounds to me as though this energy has been building up inside you for quite some time, so your transformation will definitely be impressive and may even be permanent from the start.

The bad news is that from what you’ve told me, you might have built up too much masculine energy. I know that sounds obvious, since it’s literally an overdose of masculine energy, but this is when you have even more energy built up. Sometimes instead of building up the energy and expelling it by transforming, like in a usual BDE overdose, the energy is blocked and keeps building up until the dam bursts and the transformation gets… really intense. This might not sound that bad at first, but the details are what might trip you up.

The first problem is actually your lack of control over details. While you’ll most likely become like the dumb brute you’ve been imagining, as desire does change what kind of jock a person becomes when they overdose on BDE, you won’t have total control over the details. I’m not what's transforming you this time afterall, you’re basically transforming yourself. It’ll probably work out, since usually those transformed by BDE are changed into their ideal manly self, but… we can’t be sure. Transformation is always a lottery, especially with more powerful transformations.

The second issue is that due to the unique way you’re transforming, you’re going to be… well, contagious. Literally. You’ve built up such a large amount of masculine energy that for a couple ays after your initial transformation, those around you will be transformed as well. Most woman and nonbinary people will just act a little more butch and masculine for a while, and some men will simply have an urge to do more manly stuff for a couple days, but for some of the people around you the energy you give off will be a spark that starts their own transformation. Some will only be transformed for a bit, but a lucky few will be transformed permanently, just like you. This might be a good thing, since now not only will you be transformed, you’ll get a small group of manly brutes to bro out with. The bad part is that you won’t be able to control who you infect. Here's hoping you just infect your friends and not your grandpa or something. Not that buff grandpas don’t have their own charm.

Despite the possible complications, you’ll definitely get your wish. To be a big and dumb brute. I hope you enjoy it, because there's no turning back.