#just absolute trash for brains pr thinking there

[smellslikeonedirection]

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[speechlessxx]

Call It What You Want (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

Summary: There’s an unspoken bond between the Reader and Ransom.

Warnings: poorly written SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), soft Ransom (because i love him idc), bad relationship with parents. This fic was honestly so self-indulgent because I love this song. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Loosely inspired by Call It What You Want by (the Queen) Taylor Swift.

Sometimes life felt as if you were playing a Jenga game alone on a table with uneven legs.

For brief moments, everything was normal. Your movements were delicate as you built the tower. Higher and higher it would go, but then you’d stop to admire your work. You would rest your elbows against the surface and accidentally cause the table to shift. The tower would collapse, and you would have to rebuild it again.

However, you never had a stable foundation to begin with. The table was always wobbly. So, time and time again that tower fell. And you’ll have to start over alone.

That was your life.

Your parents were wealthy workaholics. You don’t remember being held or cuddled by your mother or father. You had a revolving door of nannies. None stayed too long so you could form any connection. Your mother would catch them in bed with her husband and terminate their employment. Even through your father’s infidelity, your mother refused to leave him. You remembered her drunkenly admit to you, her 7-year-old, that she stayed because she was afraid of what others would think.

When they weren’t working, they were fighting. You spent nights crying alone in your bedroom as you overheard endless arguments throughout the night. Your parents’ voices would echo through the large house and you’d hear every single insult, threat, and slur.

Your family was sitting upon a tense string that refused to break.  

You had no stability – no constancy. You had no siblings either. Your school friends – whether they were from grade school or high school, it didn’t matter. They were all the same – were too self-involved to pay you any mind. You had no shoulder to cry on. No one to kiss the bruises and the scars away. No one to lean on when your life itself felt like it collapsed.

You only had your parents who both resented you because you were the result of a love that they no longer had.

Perhaps, that’s why you and Ransom Drysdale got along so well. Trust-fund brats who were neglected by their wealthy parents. Maybe it was a good thing that you at least had each other.

The closeness between you was surreal. You read one another like an open book whereas others had difficulty even pronouncing your titles. You were each other’s confidant, best friend, and rock. You found in comfort in each other’s mess.

It would be easy to mistake you two as a couple.

Both of you were once touch starved children, so you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. It was in the grazes of your fingertips and the tight embraces where you would snuggle your face in the crook of his neck, and he’d bury his into your hair. Ransom often kissed your wrists and fingers as he toyed with your hand in his. Every time you sat down next to each other, your knees were touching, or you’d be playing an unconscious game of footsies. It didn’t matter what your bodies were doing or where you were – you were always touching.

Strangers, and even those who knew you, often did think that you two were together. And when confronted, both of you would always scoff and say no. You were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

But behind closed doors, there was something. Something more that ignited your skin and set your body on fire. Something more that left Ransom – the talkative asshole – speechless and panting as he tried to catch his breath.

You both agreed only to have sex when it was absolutely necessary.

“It helps us blow off some steam,” Ransom had explained to you while you just nodded in agreement. You couldn’t find your words. Your wits had been fucked to silence and your brain felt like jelly.

You have your shared struggles and frustrations. Sometimes a simple lay was all you needed to let out your bottled-up emotions. It made sense when you established the agreement in your late college years.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you agreed breathlessly.

You didn’t do it often. It would ruin the friendship. You even established a “no kissing on the lips” rule. You said it made everything all too real.

But as the years went by, something else began to blossom. Something else established itself. But neither of you would ever dare speak of it.

It would ruin the friendship after all.

-=+=-

You hated coming back to your childhood home. Haunting memories were the only keepsakes you had there. You had moved out right after college and would only return for holidays – upon your mother’s demand. You always felt as if it were empty. The house was massive and for many years was only home to three people, excluding the help.

You sat at the table alone as you anxiously fumbled with the initial necklace Ransom had given you for your birthday. The dainty gold ‘R’ charm was between your thumb and index finger as your leg bounced while you stared at the untouched feast.

Your father had excused himself, saying he had an emergency video conference for work. You and your mother rolled your eyes as he rushed off. You both knew it wasn’t for work. Enraged, your mother stalked off, glass full of chardonnay in one hand, the bottle in the other.

You didn’t know what you expected. It was like this every holiday – your parents made no exception. You stared at the turkey before you. Your parents didn’t even last to meal itself.

Frustrated, you decided to wrap everything up and packed them into take-home bags. You knew your parents probably wouldn’t eat the leftovers, so you thought about donating the feast to the foodbank. You could drop it off on your way home.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You dug it out and smiled upon seeing Ransom’s name.

Surviving? Because I’m not.

You chuckled. Suck it up, Drysdale. It’s Thanksgiving.

If I have to spend one more minute with these assholes, I’m going to throw myself down the stairs.

No exaggeration.

Before you could respond, you heard your mother call for you. Her glass was empty, and she was staggering into the kitchen, clearly drunk. You wondered if she drank the whole bottle.

“What the hell are you doing? Where’s the food?” She slurred.

You gestured to the packed meals. “I was wrapping them up because no one was eating.” You decided not to tell her about donating them. Lord forbid that you tried to be a decent human and help those less fortunate than you.

Your phone buzzed again. You gave it a quick glance.

Heading home now. They’re gonna give me an aneurysm.

How’s dinner?

“Why would you do that?” Her brows furrowed, but with her Botox, it made no wrinkles appear on her aging face. She put her hands on her his, the glass nearly slipping from her loose fingers. She was an angry drunk. She always was.

You wanted to say that she and your father ruined Thanksgiving. If they’d only just sit down and eat and pretend they were normal for thirty god damn minutes. But every year, that was never the case. You were always disappointed. “I can unpack it if you want.”

“Your father is an asshole.”

“You could’ve left him years ago,” you muttered.

She didn’t hear you. “How’s the job?”

“Good.” You said as you began to unpack some stuffing. Get some food in her since she was already full of alcohol.

“I don’t know why you decided business was for you,” she let out a long sigh. “Just like your father.”

“I don’t like setting up events. PR’s not my thing,” you tried to joke, topping it off with a forced laugh.

She set down her empty glass and flicked her hair off her shoulder. “Could always work for me, sweetheart. I need a new assistant.”

“I’m fine. Thanks, ma.”

“No, for real, sweetie,” she insisted. “I’d love for you to work for me. That’s every girl’s dream. Work for their mother.” You frowned. I don’t think that’s it, you thought.

“I’d rather not be tied to this family any more than I am,” you muttered. This time she heard you.

An exaggerated offended noise came from her lips as she stared at you with her jaw dropped. “Don’t be an ungrateful little bitch.” She spat. “That’s why you never do anything right and that’s why you’re unmarried, unloved, and unhappy.”

“I’m unhappy?” You laughed mockingly. “I’m not the one trapped in a marriage to man that constantly cheats on me. In fact, I’m ecstatic that I’m nothing like you or dad. I’m buzzing with jubilation.” You couldn’t stop yourself. You knew you were worsening the situation.

“You’re a vile bitch that’s gonna end up alone.” They were drunken words. You knew that. But it didn’t stop it from hurting.

You didn’t bother to respond. You chewed on the flesh inside your cheek before turning away and rushing out to your car. You cursed yourself for leaving the food. It would be trash tomorrow. Wasted. Stray tears rolled down your face and you wiped them away aggressively as you drove.

Being alone was something you should’ve been accustomed to already. In fact, you were. You were an only child, had friends that never bothered to ask if you were okay, nannies that cared more about your dad than taking care of you, parents who didn’t even remember your birthday unless they were reminded by their assistants. You knew how to be alone. You were so good at it.

And that frightened you.

You didn’t want to be alone. You craved affection, companionship, love. You wanted that for yourself. But despite all the luxuries you were granted throughout your life, that was one luxury that you desperately wanted but seemingly would never receive.

You felt your anger bubbling inside of you. A pressure started building in your head – steam that needed to be released.

Luckily, you knew where to go.

-=+=-

The holidays were a particularly hard time for both of you and Ransom. Your families demanded your attendances at events, so you both were always forced to come see the very people you loathe the most. Throughout the years of your friendship, it became a tradition to check up on each other as you spent time with your … “loved” ones.

It was a sanity check – something to keep you both grounded. He had a big family, so he could talk shit about them for hours. You loved to read the messages he’d send you.

But this time, he had sent you several messages that you hadn’t responded to. He began to worry until he heard a car door slam in his driveway. You let yourself in. You had a spare key.

“Ransom!” You called out.

“Bedroom!” He responded. He paused the movie he was watching just as you walked through his already open door.

There was something wrong. It was written all over your face. He didn’t need to ask you if you were alright. He knew you weren’t. So, instead he patted the empty side of his bed, inviting you to come lay down with him. But you had a different type of lay in mind.

“How hard is your dick right now?” You asked, bluntly, as you shrugged off your jacket and tossed it to the floor.

A smirk crept its way to Ransom’s face. “Come here and find out.”

You kicked off your shoes and shimmied out of your skinny jeans, leaving your legs exposed in only your plain, black panties. You climbed onto his bed and straddled his lap. You began to grind yourself to his growing erection. The friction stimulating both of you.

Ransom groaned as he watched you. His hands searched his sheets until he found the remote. With clumsy fingers, he managed to turn the TV off and toss the remote to the edge of the bed. He heard it fall, but he was too preoccupied with the gorgeous woman grinding her pussy on his slacks to even care.

“Let’s take this off, hm?” Ransom asked, fiddling with the hem of your blouse.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” you teased, stopping your movements.

“You’re childish,” Ransom chuckled, his tongue grazed the back of his teeth. He gave your ass a sharp slap. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“You aren’t the boss of me, Drysdale.”

He quirked up an amused eyebrow as if to say we’ll see before he pulled your top off your body. You were now sitting on top of him almost nude in your matching bra and underwear. You returned the favor, pulling off the hole-ridden baby blue sweater and exposing his body to you.

Your hands explored his chiseled chest and stomach. Hard as marble, but not nearly as hard as his cock beneath you, begging to be released from its confinements. You shifted down a bit so that you could undo his belt, but his hands stopped you. He grabbed your wrists and you frowned at him.

“What?” You snapped with furrowed brows.

“We’re on the same page?” Ransom asked you. He was concerned. Sure, this almost friends-with-benefits arrangement was years old at this point, but he still wanted to make sure you wanted this. He always asked before anything got too far.

“Please, Ranson…” your voice nearly cracked. He stared into your eyes and despite the lust being evident in your blown-out pupils – he was sure his mirrored the look – he saw the light red lines, an indicator that you were crying. “I need it.”

“Okay,” he nodded and let go of your wrists. Without hesitation, you began to expertly undo the belt and unbutton his pants. With his help, you were able to successfully pull down his slacks and left him in his boxer briefs. The tent inviting. Before you could reach into his underwear and pull out his friend, he flipped you over. You squealed in surprise as your back was pressed into his bed. “You need it, baby?” You nodded. “Okay… I’ll think about being nice.”

“Ransom,” you whined.

His fingers lightly traced the sides of your body. You shivered at his touch. You took it upon yourself to arch your back so that you could unclasp your bra. You threw it away, exposing your chest to your best friend who groaned.

“God, I love these.” He muttered.

His hands cupped your breasts, toying with them. His fingertips tweaking at the nipples as he ground his desire to yours. Ransom leaned down and latched his mouth onto one of your nipples. His tongue swirling around the skin as he sucked it until it pebbled. He then switched to the other. He’d also take a break from your nipples just to leave stray hickeys all over your chest, collarbones, and neck. He loved marking you up. Whilst his mouth continued its assault on your chest, one of his hands slipped into your panties and began to explore your wet folds.

And slowly, Ransom started to make his way down your body, leaving wet kisses on your skin. He kissed right on top of your underwear before slowing pulling the black fabric down your legs. You lifted your hips to assist. Once they were off, you instinctively bent your knees as Ransom pulled them apart and leaned down to give your pussy a broad tongued lick.

You used to be insecure of the stretchmarks on your thighs. When you and Ransom first started having sex, you were afraid he would find them unappealing – that it would turn him off. But your best friend assured you that every part of your body – including the flaws – were beautiful. “Nothing about you could ever turn me off, (Y/N),” a younger Ransom scoffed. The present Ransom, the one who was about to eat you out like a Thanksgiving meal, couldn’t agree more. (He’d often joke and say you ruined other women for him).

You were a moaning mess as Ransom’s fingers pulled your lips open to expose your clit to his tongue. He looked up at you from his position and the sight of you with your eyes closed in a blissful trance alone could’ve made him cum on the spot. His tongue swirled around your button in tiny, circular motions before slipping his tongue into your slickening channel.

“Oh my god,” you moaned. “Ransom, Ransom!” It was music to his ears.

He ate you out slowly, relishing in your taste. Ransom took pride in your reactions. You had one hand clasping the ‘R’ charm around your neck and the other lost in his hair. He smirked into you as he watched you wither in pleasure as he used his fingers to tease your opening. When you began to buck into his face, he used his other hand to hold down your waist, keeping your hips still for his assault.

You clenched around his fingers. “Ransom… I’m close… oh, my god,” you warned. Ransom grunted, taking great pleasure from eating you out. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. He pressed two fingers deep inside of you, curling them and stroking your walls. He buried his face deeper into your dripping cunt and stared up as you came. He wished he could have your reactions of video. The sounds you made were porn worthy and he would’ve loved to have his own private collection.

He stroked you as you rode out your high. You were breathless as your eyes slowly fluttered open, staring up onto the ceiling. “You with me?” Ransom smirked as he stripped his underwear and stroked his hard cock. You nodded. You reached out for him and he gladly leaned down to let you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“I want you to fuck me until I’m stupid,” you whispered. “Only thing I wanna remember is your name.”

Ransom almost frowned. Your parents must’ve really done a number on you this time. In the years that this arrangement had been established, Ransom would – 9 times out of 10 – be the one to initiate the stress relieving sex. But he was more than happy to oblige.

“Your wish is my command, baby,” he muttered, nipping at the skin of your neck before pushing into you.

In one hard thrust, he pushed his entire length into you. You winced when you felt him brush against your cervix. His thrusts were sharp and hard. You’ve had enough sex with each other to know the various spots that made one another tick. Ransom was eager to give you another orgasm – he got off on it.

The shifts of his hips were deliberate, bringing your legs up to drape over his shoulders. He hit spots deep inside of you that you never knew existed before you had sex with him. Your hands were searching for something to hold, something to occupy themselves with. Ransom leaned over, folding you in half, as he took your hands in his, interlacing your fingers while he pounded into you.

You gushed around his thick cock, another orgasm being pulled from you unexpectedly. You moaned his name over and over. “Yeah, baby? Only I make you feel like this, huh?” he grunted. “You take my dick so well. Only you do that, baby.”

You moaned in response, no tangible sentences could even form. His name was the only thing you could say. Your brain effectively melting as you requested.

“I’m gonna make you cum over and over for me.”

He made good on that promise. You lost count of how many times Ransom had made you cum. You had no idea where he got the stamina. But he fucked you through orgasm after orgasm. You fell apart so many times only for him to put you back together.

The obscene sounds that came from your heated core were accompanied by a symphony of moans and the slapping of skin.

“Ugh,” you moaned after what felt like your 6th orgasm of the night. “I love you, Ransom,” you moaned out, and it was the truth. In your fucked-out state, you confessed the three words that you both were too afraid to tell each other. But Ransom smiled, his thrusts becoming less rhythmic. He was about to cum.

He leaned down and captured your lips, groaning into you as he found his release inside of you. The warm feeling spreading throughout your body as you kissed back. Your lips melting into each other, eager and hungry. It was years in the making.

Ransom pulled away first and pulled out of you. You winced and whimpered upon feeling the emptiness. Your mixed fluids slowly trickled out of you and onto the bed, but neither of you minded. You were both too tired.

Ransom slumped beside and you naturally snuggled into his side. By this time Ransom would’ve offered to help clean you, knowing your legs would be like jelly, he’d walk you to the bathroom. But he wanted to enjoy your shared afterglow as he pulled you over his body so that you were resting on his chest. Both of you were panting, lungs trying to pace themselves.

You slowly began to feel the fear settle in.

Ransom was your best friend. The one constant thing in your life. The only stability you had. Your place of comfort. And you’ve ruined it. You said it. The three words. The feeling that’s been building up for years. You scolded yourself for saying it so recklessly.

You’ve done it. You’ve toppled your tower again. Your fingers played with the ‘R’ charm on your necklace again. A nervous habit it seemed.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered in the darkness. He kissed the top of your head as he wrapped his arms tighter around you.

And then a feeling of ease settled upon you. A smile on your face as you realized the tower didn’t fall… not yet. But even if it did, Ransom would be there to help you rebuild. You weren’t alone.

[bleached-d-soul]

Capes and Cowls and Romances

Commission for @bunnykingrules!

Jaune was never an adventurous person. Sure, he could easily spend days dreaming of living through some amazing adventure but, at the end of the day, he fully realized that those were just hypothetical situations that he would never take part in. He wasn't a knight who would slay the dragon or the tough-as-nails badass who would put an end to some crazy tytant's rule.

He was just Jaune Arc, a mild-mannered reporter from a small farm town trying to make it in the world of the big city. He expected it to be hard. Everything was way more expensive than back home. The air was heavy and smelled wrong. And he still had yet to go a day without getting called a "fucking idiot" by someone on his way to work or back home. But that was nothing that he wasn't prepared for.

Catching the eye of the country's most infamous supervillain though? How was he supposed to prepare for that?

Cinder Ashen AKA Miss Fall was not your everyday supervillain. She didn't go around yelling out her evil plans and schemes. Neither did she dress up in tight spandex or a mask. No, instead she was the face of one of the city's most influential and powerful companies, the QueenCorp. From food to weapons, her company had a finger in each and every pie. Even when that involved cutting other people's fingers off.

When Jaune first arrived in Vale, he wanted to keep his head low and just live his own little life. But as time passed, he grew tired of writing the same meaningless articles on romances on set or horoscope tips. He wanted make a difference. Why become a reporter if you are not going to change something in the world, right? Expose a dirty politician. Reveal the conspiracy behind the city's damaged infrastructure. Or, in case of Miss Ashen, reveal her as the mysterious mastermind that supplied gangs all over the city with bleeding edge tech to fight heroes.

It was all by pure chance. A small tip from an anonymous source led him to the warehouse full of high-end tech. Some more digging landed him the hard witness evidence of Cinder being behind numerous villain attacks on her competitors, actual or potential. Jaune finally felt alive. He finally felt he was making the difference.

When Mr. Port canned his story, Jaune ignored the warning of a man about how guys like him tended to disappear. He continued to ignore hushed whispers and warnings from every publisher that rejected him. Finally, he was done with it. Tired and annoyed at how everyone seemed so eager to ignore the woman's double life, Jaune did what he thought the best option and published it on his own blog.

By the morning, the story had spread throughout the city and then the state. As people talked more and more about her, Jaune couldn't help but feel the sense of accomplishment.

He expected a lot of things. PR team of QueenCorp. coming after him. Being silenced by some of Cinder's gangsters.

He never expected an invitation to have a dinner.

"You are not eating," she stated in amusement. Jaune had yet to touch his utensils. "Afraid I ordered your meal poisoned?"

"Maybe I am just not hungry," he smirked, trying to play it off cool. Too bad that he hadn't eaten anything the entire day. His stomach growled before he could even finish the sentence. The fact that the steak before him looked and smelled absolutely delicious didn't make it better. "Look, is this the part where your men give me cement shoes and drop into the river?"

Cinder genuinely laughed at that. It was quiet and small, barely above the whisper. But it was there. And it was frightening. Them being alone in quite the spacious room of the restaurant only added to the dreadful feeling in his gut.

"Cement shoes? Sure, after all it is such a practical way to kill somebody," she took another sip of her wine. "I believe you will starve way before I could do anything to you. Trust me, Jaune, if I wished you dead, I wouldn't waste money on the restaurant. A simple bullet and a fake suicide note would be much more efficient."

The way she delivered that line - as if she was explaining the simplest most common stuff - made Jaune feel both worried and relaxed. He could tell she didn't poison his food. But he could also tell she woulkd get rif of him as easily as one would be disposing of trash. With that in mind, he took the first bite of juicy and tender steak.

If she planned to kill him, that was one hell of a last meal.

And yet the death had yet to come. Their conversation stayed far away from him exposing her. No veiled or direct threats to his life or family. No attempts to bribe or coerce him into calling his story fake. They talked about their own pasts and experiences. How he grew up in a small town in the family of eight. How she grew up alone in the giant mansion with only servants and tutors for company. How he paid his way through college. How she had been left to save a multibillion dollar company after her father ran it into the ground.

Was she trying to make him sympathize with her? Why was he sharing his past with the woman who could kill him that very night? As their desserts arrived, Jaune had enough and asked her straight-away:

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing."

There was no lie in her words. But why?

"Why though?" Jaune's eyes narrowed. "I have literally exposed your shady arms dealing operation for the world to see. Your company's stock has been dropping like crazy for a whole week and-"

"- none of that will affect me as bad as you think," Cinder smiled. Not a fake smile she put on every time she opened a new hospital or school. But the real one that reminded Jaune of the cat that caught a mouse. "So my company sells weapons to the criminals and? If you honestly believe that will stop people from buying my products or services, you clearly overestimate the general public."

She took another sip of her wine and continued with the same serene expression, "Trust me, Jaune, the whole thing will be forgotten the moment some celebrity couple break up or my company announces a new phone. What you did was no more impactful than throwing a glass of water into the burning house."

"Then why am I here? If it is so small and insignificant, why did you invite me?"

She put down her glass and smiled. Before Jaune knew, the woman grasped him by his chin and looked him dead in the eyes. Two golden spheres stared straight into his soul, something wicked and powerful brewing in them.

"Because you interest me, Jaune."

He tried to back away only to find himself completely paralyzed. Was she one of the Auraborne - the people with special abilities? Or was it just the power a woman of her status had?

"That anonymous source that gave you a lead... You never tried to find from whom it came, did you?" She saw the shock in his eyes as the realization came down on him like a hammer. She was the anonymous benefactor. But why? What could she possibly gain from all of this? "I see you are confused. Allow me ask you a simple question then, Jaune: Why did you publish the story?"

Her eyes bore further into his soul.

"Honestly, why would you do this? Not only you risked your career and lifelihood, but your very life as well. When your employers refused to publish, you must have realized just how far my reach went. So why?"

He could feel the power in her gaze. The power to crush him if she wanted to. To crush him and everything he cared about and walk away without any punishment or even reprimend. And yet, he couldn't help but glare back as he snarled in defiance, "Because it was the right thing to do. I don't care how rich or powerful you are, I am not letting you hurt others."

He could have sworn something changed in her eyes. A small current of the power too outside of his world to comprehend. He expected to be burnt into ashes or have his skull crushed. And yet, once again, Cinder surprised by planting a hot wet kiss on his lips. Her tongue invaded his mouth, forcing him into submission as she desperately searched for something in the gesture of intimacy.

His mind was on fire, neurons all at work to try and understand what the hell was happening. Cinder deepened the kiss and all the brain activity died as he melted into it. Just what the hell did this woman do to him just now?

Finally, she let him go, looking no worse for the wear whereas he was out of breath.

"Not quite as innocent as I expected from a farm boy," Cinder chuckled. "I can tell we are going to have some truly fun times."

"I answered your question..." Jaune groaned after he finally gathered his thoughts. "So why not answer mine in return? Why did you send me all that info? Is that some sort of game? Or a way for you to prove just how untouchable you are?"

Cinder smiled - that damned cocky half-grin half-smirk.

"Because I wanted to find someone like you, Jaune," she said sincerely. "I have sent the same lead to several new reporters. But none of them proved themselves worthy of my interest. Some were too lazy to follow up on the lead. Some were to afraid to investigate any further once my name popped up. Some were too arrogant or greedy, barging into my office to try and blackmail me. But you? You actually managed to pull it off. I am impressed. I really am."

"And why do any of this? Why risk it all for a thrill?"

Cinder smiled.

"Because I wanted to."

She delivered the line with the same sincerity he delivered his, mocking how simplistic he must have sounded to her.

"Once you reach the top of the world, few things can excite you. I have no equals or rivals. I have no one to challenge me," her gaze fell on him. "Not until now, at least. I hope you will find this new relationship just as enjoyable as I do."

Relationship?

"When did I agree to become yours?"

Cinder smiled. Her eyes were like two burning suns as she bared her teeth.

"And when did I leave any room for discussion?"

S

Two years had passed since that fateful dinner and Cinder's declaration. Two long years of trying to stay sane in the world that no longer made sense.

Despite what many might have thought, Jaune wasn''t one to roll over with whatever came his way. He would fight, weakly and unsuccessfully. But he would fight. With every door to the news publishing cosed out of fear of QueenCorp. retribution, Jaune had little holding him back from his next step. He joined the Atlas - the world's elite taskforce. Quite the jump from a mild-mannered reporter.

Training was harsh and brutal. The lack of trust from his superior officers didn't make it easier. But Jaune refused to quit. And now here he was, the field agent of Atlas, armed and ready to take on anyone.

Anyone but her.

"You have strayed away from the herd, my little knight," the woman purred, fire dancing in her palm. "Came here to put an end to our game of cat and mouse?"

Jaune raised his taser gun only for it to burst into flames. Before he could pull out a stun baton, the woman was onto him. her lips burned against his neck as she hungrily ripped off his suit. It wasn't new or even rare. At this point, it was just the way things happened whenever the two ended up on the same battlefield. When he joined Atlas, the new villain appeared on the scene.

Fall Flame as the media christened her. She acted different from both Cinder Ashen and Miss Fall. More proactive on the field. More talkative and flirt with her enemies - especially him. He doubted anyone but him realized it was the cold and ruthless CEO and weapons dealer. The woman that traded weapons to every thug without powers. And now she had the powers of her own.

Good thing he picked up a few tricks as well.

"Ugh!" Cinder groaned as Jaune pushed her against the wall. Using the momentary surprise, he attempted to put handcuffs on her. "Kinky today, aren't we? But sadly, Jaune, I prefer to be the one in charge!"

He jumped away just as Cinder burst into flames. He tried to contact the rest of the team but without any success. He was all alone against the Auraborne. And he didn't like his chances. They continued on with the dance, trading blows and kicks. But it was only him who was losing energy as Cinder dodged and blocked all his attacks without any trouble.

Eventually, he found himself out of breath.

"You have improved since our last time. You definitely lasted longer," Cinder purred as she carddled his face. "But you still lost and your companions are now my captives. You do understand where I am going with this, don't you, Jaune?"

Jaune didn't even bother with resisting. Sometimes he wondered if Cinder created this persona solely to play with him. In an hour, his team would be released back and he would be locked up in one of Cinder's safe houses, which one he would eventually escape only to start the same game all over again in a month or two.

"You know," Cinder said as she led him towards the transportation cell. "Things would be much easier if you just joined me and my group. I assure you, our benefits package is quite favorable."

Jaune sighed at yet another attempt by Cinder to recruit him, "Let's just go to your safe house."

He didn't miss the way her lips curved into a smile at his rejection. What was it she said she enjoyed, someone challenging her? One might wonder why he even bothered to resist her if it only made it more fun for her. Jaune wondered about it as well whenever he was fighting her.

Guess he just loved the challenge too.

It was complicated, confusing and twisted. But in a way, he enjoyed refusing Cinder's advances just as much as he enjoyed doing anything against her. Refuse to join her. Always do the right thing when she offered him an easy way out through doing the wrong thing.

Maybe he and Cinder weren't so different after all.

S

The trip back to her safe house was surprisingly trivial. If one were to see the Atlas agent and the infamous criminal chatting about movies, work and food, that person would think they went crazy. But for Jaune and Cinder? It was just the way things worked between the two.

Cinder wouldn't tell Jaune anything that could compromise her plans. He stopped trying to get the information out of her a long time ago.

But neither did Jaune reveal anything about his side and their plans. Cinder had yet to give up on her pursuit of making him into her mole.

"I am going to have a shower. Wanna join me?"

Cinder smiled teasingly as Jaune took too long to refuse. "No thanks, I think I might need get some ice for my leg. No thanks to you."

She doesn't apologize or feign sympathy. Of course, she doesn't. Cinder never apologizes. Because in her own mind, she is never wrong.

The safe house is a lot more of a private house in the woods than one would imagine. No camouflage tech involved. No killer robots on the watch. Just a small piece of property away from the city and wandering eyes.

At this point, he spent more time here than he did in his actual apartment. This fact didn't bother him as much as it used to though, something that he would think on during more relaxed times. He still hadn't come up with an answer to that. He would, in due time.

For now though?

He had dinner to cook.

Cinder had many flaws. She was a sociopath, for starters, with very twisted outlook on the world and life in general. All people either had some use to her or could be discarded without a second thought. And when she was bored, she would stop at nothing to feel excitement. She was also quite stubborn and while always willing to improve, rarely acknowledged some of her more moral failings.

Despite those flaws, Jaune didn't find her company as unpleasant as he should have. Otherwise, he wouldn't be making dinner right now, now would he?

"So what are we having tonight?" Cinder asked as she wrapped her still wet arms around his waist from behind. "One of your classics? Or something new?"

He didn't bother to try and remove her arms despite the water seeping into his shirt.

"I was thinking of some stew and miso soup. I tried it a few weeks ago at the new place near my apartment. The chef was rude as hell but the taste I got out of it was worth it."

Cinder smiles before leaving to change. Jaune leaves the food to cook for a few minutes and changes into something more domestic as well. He had yet to get used to having his own room in here.

By the time he changed, Cinder was already at the table waiting for him to serve the food and drinks to her. It wasn't the same as when she waited for her minions to present the results of their work. Or when she awaited the CEO of some other company to surrender the controls over to her.

Instead, it was a more expectant but warm atmosphere that greeted him. It reminded him of the all the times he came back home from college to be greeted by one of his sisters. It felt comforting and peaceful. Not something you'd expect from the current public enemy number one.

They enjoyed their dinner, trading quips and jabs at each other. She commented on how the Atlas needed to better train its agents. Jaune pointed out that she was slipping up with her guys - after all, Roman sang like a bird once they got him.

There was no heat in their words, however. Not even the slightest bit of animosity that was present whenever they fought. As if the two of them were actors and their roles - a Hero and a Villain respectively - were taken off the moment they were here.

Jaune didn't hate the idea as much as he should have.

"You ever get tired of this?"

He breaks the question when they are done washing the dishes. It is something that has been on his mind for a while. And he no longer wanted to wonder on that.

"Whatever do you mean, Jaune?"

"I mean... This whole supervillain thing you got going on," he gestured vaguely around the place. "Building weapons, fighting heroes and et cetera... Since when was this a thing for you?"

Cinder reached for his face and smiled.

"Since I decided to have you for myself. The bond between lovers is strong... But the bond between the opposites? It is eternal, Jaune. Light and Dark. Life and Death. Good and Evil. One cannot exist without the other. And so cannot we."

Her eyes burned as he felt himself entranced.

"Which is why..."

They left the table.

"I am never..."

They were in the bed. Their bed.

"Letting you go."

The Light and Dark.

Good and Evil.

Agent of Order and Mistress of Chaos.

In that night - and many nights after - they were together as one. 

[timeagainreviews]

The Doctor visits Villa Diodati... Again

It’s rare that an episode of Doctor Who can upset the fandom before it ever airs. Even rarer is the fandom actually having a valid reason for being so hacked off. The reason for this week’s outrage? That would be none other than the inclusion of the famous writer Mary Shelley into the story. If you’re a fan of Big Finish, you may know already that Mary Shelley acts as a bit of a companion in the Eighth Doctor audios. So when she shows up with the Doctor on the same night when she meets the Eighth Doctor, you start to wonder if anyone thought to actually check.

There’s a really great thing called the TARDIS Data Core. It’s a wiki maintained by the type of meticulous nerds (see: me) who care about this sort of thing. And it’s absolutely free to use. So if you want to throw in someone like say, Houdini, you can read up on the many instances when the Doctor met the man. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again, Doctor Who writers have a bizarre fascination with that man. I won’t fault Maxine Alderton for having not listened to the audios with Mary Shelley. I’ve only listened to one of them. But hell, check the damn wiki.

The world of Doctor Who gets its mileage out of perception filters. They play a huge part in the mythology of the show, and especially tonight’s episode. Maybe this is why the Thirteenth Doctor doesn’t remember her travels with Mary Shelley, it’s filtered out. And maybe that’s why when Lord Byron answers the door to Villa Diodati, he reacts with shock despite the massive windows with a clear view of the Doctor and her companions. Was he shocked by the fact that literally nothing changed? Pro tip- if you’re going to show someone surprised by who is on the other side of a door, wood is more effective than glass.

The Doctor and her companions have arrived at the Villa Diodati in the rain-soaked summer of 1816. The very same rain that has relegated Lord Byron, Mary Shelley, Claire Clairmont, and John Polidori housebound, has also forced the TARDIS crew to seek shelter at the villa. The episode wastes no time reaching for cliches as the Doctor says to her companions to brace themselves for meeting some of the greatest minds of human history, only to have the door open to a room of drunken buffoons. They did the exact same joke when the Tenth Doctor met Shakespeare. It’s not egregious, but it’s played out none the less.

Rebounding from cliches, director Emma Sullivan gets some great horror movie vibes as the appearance of a skeletal hand stalks through the house like a spider looking for prey. Clips of ghostly apparitions flicker in and out of existence. I was already very excited about where this was headed. Lord Byron is quite taken by the Doctor, who pays him very little mind. But this doesn’t stop the sleepwalking Dr Polidori from getting jealous when Claire appears to be flirting with Lord Byron. Much of the information about these four is conveyed by their proclivity to gossip, which I thought was a very clever way of sneaking a history lesson into the story. Once again, they’re making better use of edutainment moments by incorporating them into the story.

However, it is Lord Byron who has Claire’s eye. Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t stand a chance against the Doctor, or whoever catches Lord Byron’s attention that week. Claire laments Lord Byron’s mixed signals in a conversation with Yaz, leading Yaz to convey her own issues with someone she fancies. She never outright says it’s Ryan, but I’m guessing it’s Ryan. I’m also guessing we’re still doing that? She also very well could have meant the Doctor. Meanwhile, Graham is lost in this labyrinthian house whilst searching for the loo. I love that Graham is the companion that thinks about eating and going to the bathroom. I’ve always wondered why there weren’t more action movies where someone needed to take a piss. You never see Ethan Hunt stop a bullet train while needing to poop. Now that’s an impossible mission.

With Dr Polidori being a sleepwalker, his demeanour is anxious and agitated causing him to take Ryan’s playground trash talk as a major slight on his character. He challenges him to a duel, but before he can put a cap in Ryan’s backside, they’re interrupted by the presence of the skeleton hand. I really have to give it up to Tosin Cole here. His comedic chops this series have been spot-on. Watching him try and fight off a flying hand was just as funny as watching him try to impress Mary Shelley with a stumbling rendition of "Chopsticks," on the piano. After a bit of hot potato, the skeletal hand is taken out of commission by the valet, Fletcher with the serving tray assist. The hand smacks into the ground in a fine powder.

The Doctor reveals that she believes the house is giving off really evil "vibes," and they set about looking for answers. It’s at this moment that the perception filters begin toying with their minds. Stairwells lead down to their tops and exits lead to their entrances. It’s a very wibbly-wobbly moment that leads you to wonder what exactly is going on. Is the house haunted? Does it have anything to do with the bones Lord Byron is keeping at the villa? Why are vases breaking against the wall? Who is this apparition that keeps blinking in and out of existence? Who are the woman and child that supply Graham with a sweet plate of sandwiches?

Stuck in what seems like a time loop, Mary begins to panic as she hears her infant son William crying from a room she is unable to reach. It is then that the sleepwalking of Polidori actually comes in handy as he is able to walk through walls as he is unaffected by perception filters while asleep. This allows everyone to navigate the house by closing their eyes. The Doctor assumes that whatever is happening has turned the villa into a sort of panic room to protect it from something horrible. Perhaps this something has to do with room they’ve discovered which is covered in mad writing scrawled in an alien language. I’ll forgive them the cliche of the madman furiously scrawling walls as at this point, I am fully invested in the story.

It takes them almost no time to discover who the house is protecting them from, as the Lone Cyberman as warned about by Captain Jack arrives looking like Frankenstein’s monster. I absolutely loved the horror movie visuals. The decision not to reveal exactly what the Cyberman was at first, really amped up the anticipation. I knew he was coming at the end of the series, but I didn’t expect him so soon. His image cut like a hunched monster in the darkness of the hallway portrayed a man or monster that has clearly travelled a very long distance to get here. We’ve never had a chance to see a Cyberman look so fatigued and battle-worn. This concept is driven home as we’re able to see the human underneath the mask. One of his hands is left exposed calling back to the Cybermen’s first appearance in "The Tenth Planet."

The Doctor kicks into Doctor mode as she commands her companions not to follow her. The Cyberman goes about looking for "the guardian," which doesn’t pan out too well for poor Fletcher or the maid watching William. However, the Cyberman spares the baby because, after all, this is a family show, and we are still pre-watershed. The Doctor confronts the Cyberman who is unable to attack. Noting his emotions are still intact, the Doctor tries to negotiate with him. This is a rare opportunity for the Doctor to do something more with a Cyberman than exploding his head. However, it would appear this lone mechano man is the cause of all of the freak weather happening, as he recharges himself with a very Mary Shelley style lightning.

Meanwhile, the companions and their new friends have discovered Percey Shelley in the cellar. The Doctor reads Percy’s mind to discover he had found something shiny in the bottom of Lake Geneva, like some sort of sexy Smeagol.  Upon picking it up, it begins seeping into his skin, connecting to his mind where it would attempt to hide from the Lone Cyberman. The object is a sort of intelligent liquid metal known as the Cyberium. Within it resides all of the knowledge and history of the Cybermen. In its attempt to hide, Percy returns home to discover nobody can see him no matter how many vases he throws against the wall. The Cyberium puts up a series of perception filters that obscure him from sight. Who sent it back in time, and why it wants to hide from the Lone Cybermen is left a mystery.

The Doctor is forced to make a decision- ignore Jack’s warning not to give the Lone Cyberman what he wants, or allow the Cyberium to destroy Percy’s mind. Ryan tries to make like this is a simple decision as one life weighed against billions is an easy choice. However, the Doctor’s curt response shows the situation to be far more impactful. I loved her speech about being the lone person at the peak of a summit. That was some "curse of the Time Lords," level pontification which I have yearned so much to hear from Jodie’s Doctor. She almost seems disgusted with Ryan here. She doesn’t hide her contempt for always having to be the strong one. This may be one of my favourite Thirteenth Doctor moments as she seems genuinely pissed about being the one to make the big decisions.

Mary Shelley has a moment that clearly sounds like she was working out the basis for what would become her book "Frankenstein," as she tries to reason with the Cyberman. She sees the monster made of disparate parts, but she also sees the man within. But it would appear that this man within has the brain of a criminal as he thrashes about wildly looking to harm. Percy passes the Cyberium to the Doctor. Once again they touch on cliche by claiming the Doctor is the perfect host for the Cyberium. I found this odd considering they have always said the Doctor is not compatible with Cyberman technology, but whatever. The Doctor makes her decision which is to give the Cyberman the Cyberium. That’s step one of the plan, step two is to fix the problems she created with step one. I’ve never heard Doctor Who so succinctly summed up. The Doctor just keeps putting out fires until the problem is solved. Brilliant.

For now, we’re left to ponder the future of this Lone Cyberman. How will it play into the Timeless Child if at all? Is this the beginning of storyline spanning three different episodes? I’m hoping the answer is yes. That would be really cool to see not just the Timeless Child and the Lone Cyberman come together, but also the Master as well. If Chris Chibnall can actually find a through-line with all three stories, I would be very impressed. There’s a lot to like in series twelve, which makes it almost sad that so many people have been tuning out. I’ll admit I understand the trepidation people may have after series eleven. There was a sort of aimlessness that series twelve definitely does not share.

I wouldn’t sit here and say the entire series has been home run after home run, but I’ve not hated a single episode. Even the weaker efforts like "Orphan 55," and “Can You Hear Me?” were completely watchable. Even if "The Haunting of Villa Diodati," does mess with the Eighth Doctor canon, it doesn’t waste its time. That Cyberman reveal was so effective that I audibly said "Woah!" as he beamed his way into the house. And it’s still too early to say what is and isn’t canon at this point, as the Timeless Child could play into it. We could be dealing with pocket realities or alternate timelines. All could very well be revealed in the end. If not, well, it just gives Big Finish a chance to do what it does best- retcon the shit out of something until it fits. It’s Doctor Who, it can take the strain.

[astrologysvt]

Did you see Seventeen in teen vogue? After reading your natal chart readings in the members I could see some traits shine through. Especially jun 😂? Thoughts?

tbh gotta love our 6 foot tall gemini baby 😭 lmfao this is where you guys get an idea of how much of a weirdo i am and the kind of stuff i’m paying attention to. keep on reading if you want to see how weird i can make things…

big mood everyone thinks mingyu can keep them alive, and tbh he probs can. i really can’t say it enough he’s so reliable and that virgo influence just makes him such clear/strategic/thorough thinker in stressful situations, and that aries sun would make him bold enough to make quick decisions. the issue is is that you’re putting ur life in the hands of an aries so accidents are bound to happen as they like to have the freedom of messing up, and don’t necessarily like the idea of planning and executing, so dunno. if luck is on your side, by all means he’s absolutely qualified to keep you alive. if you’re gonna die it’s either gonna be a freak accident or just something super super super stupid.  

i was trying to keep track of the types of snacks they were eating??? like sweet, salty, sour???? like uhhh??? is this really what astrology is made for?? i dunno probs not. i have a theory aries/gemini placements like STUPID candy. they’re the type of kid who eats 50 warheads in one go doesn’t even know why. i noticed jun and woozi just go at those sour patch kids so my theory hasn’t been disproven yet.

i’m trying to figure out what in dino’s chart possessed him to just like, eat a plain marshmallow. that’s just ridiculous. like once, fine. but twice? i was also legit screaming at jeonghan WHAT ARE YOU EATING. he was eating like legit the entire time but i could not see i just wanna know what american trash he likes.

i have a feeling vernon’s idea of secrets is not the typical idea of secrets. scorpio influence is bound to have a private side to him, but his aqua just doesn’t have shame over what most people find embarrassing so he thinks he’s an open book. and like he may be one by most people’s standards, but i imagine there are plenty of things he just prefers to keep to himself that don’t “feel” like secrets but like. with aquas sometimes you really just gotta explain to them that like…. that’s what secrets are…… if you don’t wanna tell people…. even if it’s not embarrassing or shameful…. like…… that’s still a secret my dude….

jeonghan pointing out there are no weird truth or dares is a huge mood. that aqua moon wanted to go straight to the weird stuff and was SO OVER IT when it turned out to be generic. also power move being asked truth and dare and just saying “it doesn’t matter.” ehehehe he’s such an aqua/scorpio guy. he’s so naturally charming thanks to that libra but i wouldn’t be surprised if the pr part of his job was his least favorite (even tho he’s good at it). he’s too blunt, too weird, and too straightforward. i’d bet he doesn’t like beating around the bush and the formalities that pr requires. they can make him feel overly restrained which can cause him to inadvertently disengage his super clever, charismatic part of his brain.  this can be why he may not to be as active during some interviews as he struggles to call on this part of him on command if his aqua moon isn’t as intrigued. not that he’s bored or doesn’t want to, it’s just if he doesn’t have anything significant to offer he doesn’t feel the drive to get involved for the sake of getting involved. but it’s also what makes him so funny when he has it in him, and why you see his brain just click into action the moment a twist is introduced.

i’m sorry this is the most unfiltered reading(????) ever and i hope i didn’t just completely expose myself lmfao 😂

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

The wrong girl, pt. 9 (E.D.)

Summary: Unlike Ethan who is done with life, Grayson who is calling every lawyer they have on retainer, Y/N is actually prepared to do the work and make this nightmare end, before it ends her and Ethan’s chance at love.

Warnings: angst, violence, swearing, slight fluff

The Wrong Girl - Masterlist

Defeated, the three laid in different positions all over Ethan's room, each doing their own thing.

Ethan desperately searched for all possible information on what his ex spilled, shocked to find Jack joined in, accusing him of assault.

Grayson argued with their lawyers, going overtime on strategic plans for resolving the issue.

Y/N, however, didn't search any information about anything. She sat with her knees drawn to her chest, head tilted to the side as she stared at Ethan Grant Dolan, wondering just how much more catastrophes can they survive before they break. She watched the boy she loves - a little bit broken, a beautiful disaster, just like she is. And that's when she hatched a plan.

Texting Jack, she pushed herself off the ground, determined not to let anyone hurt her turtle man.

"I have to go. Do something. Just, uh, don't do anything stupid." She leaned down, letting Ethan grab her forearm as he pulled slightly, wanting to keep her with him.

"I don't want you to go." Mumbling, Ethan stopped breathing altogether once Y/N pressed her lips against his and unlike him, it felt like she breathed him in, overwhelming her senses with Ethan and the vanilla musk that he loved to drown himself in.

"I won't be out for long. Okay?" Brushing her nose against his, she smiled, pecking his lips once more as her hand moved down his cheek, sensing his nod more than seeing it.

"I love you." Ethan whispered meekly, wanting more than anything to keep her at his side and protect her from the world especially since her name is dropped in the media more than once as his long term fling...even the name itself contradicts the statement because no fling is long-term, that's already a relationship, a love without bounds and he was certain it could survive this disaster. He had to believe it could.

Without saying it back, Y/N pecked his lips once more for good luck, walking away as his heart fell. He didn't exactly expect her to say it back although she told him she feels the same way, but he knew he has to earn her trust, to truly know she can count on him. He has a lot to make up for, but it doesn't mean it didn't sting not to hear her say the words when he did. Even as a small mercy now when he is in a disastrous position.

Y/N on the other hand is a woman with a purpose much too big to think about the I love yous or who has to rectify their past mistakes.

On her way to a meeting point, she texted Kyle and the crew, checking they're in position as she couldn't have Jack suspect anything.

Once confirmed, Y/N walked with her heart in her throat, hoping this works out. There’s a lot riding on her plan, more than she’d like to admit. She and Ethan deserved a chance at a real relationship, a proper attempt to be who she knew they could be.

Upon arrival, she noticed Jack to already be in place, not alone as she assumed it would be.

"Oh, look! Trash is here!" The annoying shrill tone of Ethan's ex girlfriend already made her skin crawl more than words. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder how the hell did Ethan force himself to listen to this plastic human being talk, let alone scream in the bedroom - he must have been seriously off his rocker to be with her for a year.

"Don't talk about her that way." Jack grumbled under his breath, wanting to protect Y/N even if she's not his anymore. He might have chosen to go back to his ex, cheating on Y/N in the spur of the moment but Jack really did love Y/N. He spent a year absolutely enchanted with every little thing she did, the good and the bad. She was like that song you always smile to, the one that lights up your spirits without a fail. And it hurt like a bitch when she left him for someone else...even if he did cause that himself.

"God, is her vagina magic or something?" The obnoxious girl rolled her eyes in disgust, her lips pursed and her arms crossed.

"I'm here to help you take Ethan down. He deserves all he gets." Y/N smirked, reaching out for Jack's hand, shamelessly holding on. He doesn't fight contact. In fact, he intertwines their fingers and smiles, feeling his heart flutter.

"He already fucked up, huh? That was fast." Jack chuckled, turning toward Ethan's ex with a smile. "Told you she's cool."

"Yeah, so, what lies do you have out there on him and what truths that can damage his reputation?" Y/N moved closer to Jack, leaning her head on his arm like she used to do when she's tired, expecting the brat before her to speak.

"Well, I have a DNA analysis that says he's the baby daddy. Took me months to fake this, but it will pay off. Also, told the fans he cheated with you, but it was me who did, hence the baby. Oh, and Jack told everyone he hit him, but Ethan only told him to stay away from you. Did I get everything?" She giggled to herself, cradling her pregnant belly, as if showing it off. Y/N had to stop herself from actually rolling her eyes at the woman, hating every moment spent in her proximity. If she wasn’t pregnant, Y/N would gladly slap the smirk off her face.

"I wanted to bury him, but I'm not so sure he deserved all of that." Jack said gruffly, seemingly disgusted by the woman he took up an alliance with.

"So those were all lies? Ethan isn't the dad?" She turned from the pregnant witch toward her ex, "and Ethan never hit you?" Y/N repeated for good measure, not knowing if it was clear the first time.

She didn't know Ethan, Grayson and thousands of fans all sat down in shock of the news, watching the live stream Kyle and the camera crew all broadcasted on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and Snapchat at the same time, making sure the truth is spreading just as fast as the lies.

"And I'm Ethan's girlfriend, not his fling." Y/N smirked victoriously, stepping away from Jack, giving him a disapproving look, shaking her head in disappointment.

Ethan screamed back home, unable to hide how happy and proud he is of his girl, but most of all, freaking out about the fact she called herself his publicly. All he could think about is not being free of the PR mess that loomed over his head like a knife ready to strike, but about the fact she truly does love him.

"I've been his best friend for years. I've loved him for years. And he is my boyfriend now. I suggest you talk to the real baby daddy and Jack...I have no words. I can't believe how wrong I was about you." Turning on her heel, Y/N wanted to leave. To return home and curl up with Ethan after asking him to fuck her brains out so she stops thinking altogether. She just wanted to feel Ethan, hear his voice and have his hand run up and down her back as she felt his heartbeat under the palm of her hand.

But Jack reached out, grabbing her by the elbow, his eyes screaming hurt and desperation as he yanked her toward him, his free hand latching onto the back of her neck, pushing his lips onto hers without permission. Desperate people do terrible things, but so did those cornered without a way out. However, no matter how hard Y/N tried to push him off, struggling to get away, she was no match for a man of Jack’s statue.

Kyle didn't even hesitate, rushing out from behind the bushes, forcing him to let her go, landing a sickening punch to Jack's left cheekbone, effectively dropping him to the ground.

"Don't you ever come near me again!" Y/N cried out, wiping her mouth furiously, feeling sick to her stomach before running in the opposite direction.

"Are you okay?" Kyle rushed after her, the other guys joining them as she tried her hardest not to cry. It felt as if her lips are burning, poisoned, still dripping with invisible blood he caused her mentally more so than physically.

"Just take me home, please. I don't think I can drive." She asked, knowing Kyle is a kind soul and he would save her if she asked him to. And she wasn’t in a state to drive, her entire body shaking, turning numb as she scratched at her skin, feeling like his hands are all over her, dreading what would have happened have they met somewhere private with less prying eyes.

All she wanted was to be away from prying eyes, thinking how at least the truth is out there now and they can't touch her man anymore. Not without a public nightmare.

"Just take me home. Take me to Ethan."

Tags: @accalialionheart @fallinginlove-16 @xalayx @heyits-claire @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @ethanhes  @peacedolantwins @blackpinkdolan @dolandrabbles @softiegrant @inlovewithethandolan @graydolan12 @reblogserpent @dominantdolan  

[sassy-starker]

Talk Too Much

Caffeine, small talk

Wait out the plastic weather

When Tony Stark talked to Peter Parker for the first time, the first thought that ran through his head was, ‘He talks too much.’

The second thought that ran through his head was, ‘I should kiss him to make im shut up.’

The next thing he did was reel back.  He tuned out of the boy’s talking and retreated into his own mind, telling it to shut up and reminding himself that the boy was fifteen.  When he tuned back into the real world, he realized that the boy had stopped talking. He attempted to play it cool by jumping back in and sitting next to the boy on his tiny, twin-sized bed.  He didn’t know if Peter realized that he wasn’t paying attention, but the hero-worship in the boy’s coffee-brown eyes assured Tony that it was fine.

For the entirety of the Germany trip and the entire homecoming incident, Tony Stark had tried to repress all his feelings, pushing them to the back of his brain and yelling at his supposedly genius brain that the boy was too young to have some old, eccentric billionaire pursuing him.

Mmhmm, uh huh, discussing current events

I'll take my time

The month after the homecoming incident, Tony Stark gave into his mind and invited Peter Parker to the lab.

“This is insane!” Peter exclaimed as they entered the lab.  Tony had a friendly hand on his shoulder, guiding him inside.  He tried not to notice the absolute, unfiltered joy in the vigilante’s eyes, but he couldn’t help but notice.  He was too far gone.

“Go crazy, Pete,” he said, reluctantly pulling away from him.  The teen rushed around, not bothering to hide his excitement.  Tony sat down and began working on an emergency Spider Suit, but couldn’t find it in himself to focus.  He kept glancing up at Peter, a fuzzy feeling filling up his chest at how amazed he was by the lab.

Eventually, Peter caught sight of Tony watching him as he had been observing Dum-E and tried to mask his emotions, embarrassment filling up his coffee-colored eyes.  His face flushed, the pink traveling all the way up to his ears.  Tony decided at that moment that he wanted to make Peter blush like that every day for the rest of his life.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled out, gaze falling to the floor.

“Don’t apologize,” Tony reassured him. “I’m glad a genius like you finds my tech interesting.”

Tony wasn’t lying about the genius part.  He had seen what Peter could do with some junk technology he found in the trash or some chemicals he got from a high school science lab.  The teen had made a computer and his web-shooters from practically nothing.  He knew he wouldn’t regret giving the vigilante full access to the lab.

Tony watched Peter perk up again, lips peaking into a grin and blush fading away but still slightly present on his milky white skin.  Peter started walking around again and Tony kept watching, not even trying to hide it anymore.  He thought he couldn’t be anymore gone with the boy when he spoke up.

Peter was looking at an unfinished project for Stark Industries.  It was a leg prosthetic that Tony was having trouble with; he couldn’t get the ankle to bend as well as a human ankle would.  He looked on as Peter observed it with focused eyes and a tongue stuck out in concentration.

Without looking up, Peter simply stated, “This would work better if the bolt for the ankle was lowered about a third of an inch. The ankle could bend at a more natural angle then.”

Tony got up, stool making a scraping noise against the ground as he did.  Peter looked up, eyes widening and face morphing into one of guilt.  Tony bent down to observe the prosthetic while thinking about what the boy had said.

“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to say that out loud.  I’m probably wrong anyway.  I shouldn’t have tried to correct your tech.  I’m sorr-” Peter rambled on and on, but Tony cut him off.

“You’re right,” he said, turning his gaze to Peter and standing straight again.

“What?” Peter replied, voice small.

“You’re right. It would work better if the bolt were lowered.  You solved the problem I’ve been working on for a month and a half in a minute and a half.  You’re a genius.”

Peter flushed pink at the praise from Tony.

Yeah, Tony was gone.

I'm not the forward thinker

You read my mind

On his sixteenth birthday, Peter was invited to the lab.  Tony had been working on tech with him for a while and a good amount of the teen’s work had gone onto the market for Stark Industries.  When Tony tried to pay him part of the profits, the vigilante had refused.  He had even decided that he didn’t want to put his name on the products, humility on full show for Tony to see.  Out of options, the genius had instead decided the shower the teen in presents, giving him one almost every time he came over to the lab.  Peter always tried to refuse them, but Tony never let him.

That day in the lab, they worked together instead of on individual projects.  They were sitting right next to each other as they wired put together the Mark XVIII Iron Man suit.  The lab was silent except for the slight whirring of machines and their breathing.

The only thing going through Tony’s head was, ‘He’s a kid. Don’t be weird. He’s a kid. Don’t be weird. He’s a kid. Don’t be weird He’s a-’

“How’s school going?” Tony asked, desperately trying to make small talk.  If asked, he would’ve said that he preferred the lab to be lively with chatter, but he knew deep down that he just wanted to hear Peter’s voice.

Tony wondered if his father was looking down on him from heaven in shame, but his father’s sins far outweighed his own.  His judgment, even if justified by every melodious angel in heaven, meant nothing to him.

“Same old stuff as always,” Peter told him without looking up from their project. “Classes are easy, which is nice, but it’s still pretty boring.”

“You could always leave high school early and go to MIT,” Tony told him.

“Yeah, but I really wanna have the senior year experience,” Peter admitted.  Tony gave an understanding ‘hm.’

“You got somebody special you wanna spend your senior year with?” the genius teased.

It sent pins and needles into Tony’s heart.  He wanted to kiss the boy and shower him in compliments and take him around the world and make him blush.  He wanted to love him and be loved right back, but he knew that it wasn’t going to happen.  Peter would fall in love with another kid in his grade and go to prom and get his heart broken.  Peter was going to love someone and be loved right back, but it wasn’t going to be Tony.  That’s how it went.  The man knew that --  oh, he knew that -- but he loved and loved Peter anyway.

Peter sighed and tore his eyes away from the project, sitting up straight.  His shoulders slumped and his face fell slightly, helplessness filling up his expressive eyes.  Tony watched as the teen ran his hand through his hair, wishing he could put an arm around his shoulder and run his own fingers through the fluffy flop of hair on his head.

“Well,” Peter mumbled, “I like this guy, but he’s way out of my league.”

“I doubt he’s as far away to reach as you think,” Tony replied as he pulled himself away from the project as Peter did.  The teen snorted at the man’s response but didn’t meet his eyes.

“He’s never gonna think of me like that but I just keep dreaming that he does,” Peter admitted, a blush painting his cheeks pink.

Tony wanted to say, ‘I know how that feels,’ but replied with “I’m sure you’re just doubting yourself.  Tell me about him.”

“Well,” Peter says, a small smile on his face and his gaze resting on his lap, “he’s handsome and a really good guy.  He gets so much negative attention from everyone, but they just don’t know him like I do.  I’ve talked to him so much and I could keep talking to him for hours on end.  He’s so sweet and a genius.”

“He couldn’t be as much of a genius as you,” Tony complimented the boy, which made his blush grow darker.

“He’s known for being a genius.  He once called me one and I said I couldn’t be as smart as him, but he told me we’re on par.  I nearly died of happiness.”

Tony put a friendly hand on Peter’s should, which made the boy look up at him and finally meet his eyes.  He gave him a fierce look and hid his disappointment at how much the teen liked his crush.

“You just gotta make a move,” he told Peter.

Peter never brought his crush up again.

Better to leave it unsaid

Why can't I leave it unsaid?

Peter was invited to the lab on his seventeenth birthday too and he was just as happy to be in the lab as he was the first time he was invited.  That was one of the millions of things Tony liked about Peter: he was enthusiastic about small things.

This time around, the only thing running through Tony’s mind was, ‘Make a move. Remember what Rhodey said. Make a move. Remember what Rhodey said. Make a move. Remember what Rhodey said. Make a move. Remember what Rhodey said. But maybe you shouldn’t and-’

And then he looked at Peter smiling at him with rosy cheeks and joy-filled eyes.

He had talked to Rhodey right after Peter’s sixteenth birthday and the man, as always, was the only reason Tony hadn’t fallen apart.

Tony let out a long and dramatic sigh as he flopped onto the couch in the living room.  Rhodey, who was on the chair next to the couch, chose to ignore the genius and continued reading his book.  Tony gave out another overly dramatic sigh and Rhodey knew he would keep doing it until he paid attention.

“What?” Rhodey asked as he placed a bookmark between the pages and set his book down on the coffee table.

“I have a problem,” Tony informed him.

“I figured.”

Tony turned serious and sat up correctly.  He had a concerned and anxious look on his face, replacing his mask of confidence.  Rhodey rarely saw this side of Tony, which made him instantly worried.

“I’m in love when I shouldn’t be and it’s going to fuck everything up,” Tony told the man, forcing the words out of his mouth.  Rhodey raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to continue, but the genius cut him off.

“I shouldn’t even be attracted to him.  It’s wrong and disgusting!  I’m an awful person and my mom is probably looking down on me in shame.  I can’t believe myself, Rhodey!” Tony got up and walked behind the couch, starting to pace back and forth.  “He doesn’t deserve to have me wanting to date him.  It’s awful and I’ve been trying to repress it for almost a year, and I should distance myself!”

Tony paused in his pacing and buried his head into his hands, mumbling out, “But, cara madre Maria e signore sopra di, I am selfish.”

“Well,” Rhodey said nonchalantly, “I’m glad you at least know you like Peter.”

Tony’s head shot up and he whipped around to face his friend. “How did you know?!”

“It’s obvious on your face,” Rhodey told him, picking up his book again, “and it’s obvious on his too.”

The genius just stood there as his friend began reading again.  He was in a trance of shock and fear and, most of all, hope.

Peter was sleeping over at the tower for the night as it was his birthday and Tony, knowing Pepper would be mad if he and Peter stayed up all night working as they had done several times before, decided that they would have a movie night.  They were sat next to each other on the couch with ‘Me Before You’ playing on the TV.

You know I talk too much

Tony couldn’t stop thinking about how close they were.  He watched with loving eyes as Peter rambled on about the differences between the book in the movie, declaring the book much better than what they were watching.  Tony couldn’t focus on the movie, partly because of his crush’s talking and partly because of how distracting it was to watch the boy talk on and on with drooping eyes and messy hair.  Peter turned to him once he noticed Tony watching, but didn’t stop rambling on.

Honey, come put your lips on mine

Finally working up the necessary courage . . .

And shut me up

Tony leaned forward and placed his lips on Peter’s.

We could blame it all on human nature

Tony pulled back and looked at Peter, who had a blush painting his cheeks and ears pink and a shocked expression on his face.

Stay cool, it's just a kiss

“What was that for?” Peter said with a smile before backtracking. “Not that I didn't like it! I really did! It was nice! I liked it a  . . . I liked it a lot.”

Oh, why you gotta be so talkative?

“You talk too much,” Tony told him. 

“Do you not like it?” Peter asked in a small voice and looked down at his lap in embarrassment.

“I like it a lot,” Tony told him.  Peter leaned forward quickly and gave him another kiss, the two moving toward each other until they were shoulder to shoulder.

I talk too much, we talk too much

[r0semultiverse]

Calling contrapoints a fascist is a scorching hot take

Indeed it is, but one needing to be taken? Taketh??? You get the idea.

As far as I can see, the specification of “cryptofascist” or whatever other terms people want to coin really doesn’t change the fact that yes she is indeed a fascist. Also, as far as I’m concerned “fascist aligning” might as well be fascist. You align yourself with them, get treated like them. Siding with the enemy really does make you the enemy when you think about it.

Another note: Kind of seems like these days, people don’t want to admit their idols are trash especially if they’re trans. If any cishet person was putting the shit out that Contra is and having the associations she has, they’d be launched into the sun by now (this is an exaggeration, obviously).

One last thing I find very strange: Even Natalie herself doesn’t claim to be a leftist and has various times referred to “leftists” in the context of her feeling she is not a leftist, yet her cult following jumps to claim that she is one. I think this is just because she’s buddy-buddy with popular youtubers who’s cult followings have referred to them as leftists and by association people consider her a leftist. Now we have this shitty amalgamation of racists, transphobes, and antisemetic fuckers who are all considered leftists because they’re held to the American standard of leftism by just saying “nazis/fascists are bad and wrong” and just leaving it at that because it’s good PR for them. Maybe some of them really do follow that mindset, but the problem is as a whole sort of group they absolutely enforce many things that modern day fascists and even historical fascists would hold as ideals.

I just want to end this use of my brain cell for today with one final statement: We don’t need “left” tube, we need left tube. We don’t need to be marketable, we need to be advocating.

[legionnaireslover]

Hater Stupidity (Part 2)... The "Enty" Connection!

Shyster-in-chief, the so called "Enty" seems to know where his bread is buttered, so now the question is... Has he decided to go blatantly full on "Skeptic" and work hand in hand with Tumblr Haters to spread LIES about BC?

Or is it that he just has been recently exposed as being just stupid as the Haters and can't (or won't) be arsed to make even a pissant, halfhearted attempt at basic reading comprehension when he lifts crap from other tabloids and regurgitates it in posts on CDaN?

He's got a goldmine in the addicted Haters who will gladly keep shelling out more cash for the vile podcasts each month to hear their own lies read back to them. Yeah, we know it's only a fiver for each sucker, but when you are a "nickel and dimer" site like CDaN every penny counts.

And I guess it is SOME kind of validation of sorts (even if it is just your OWN voice in the echo chamber!) for the Haters, but relying on "Enty" to make you feel "righteous" does sort of speak to the fact that they have absolutely NO other forms of REAL EVIDENCE from ANY reputable source! So if some clickbait, gossip-monger site is all you got... you go with that!

The trouble is, in the REAL world there aren't many people (with actual BRAINS, that is!) who would swallow what "Enty" is trying to sell about Cumberbatch. Common sense and reality guide most into coming to the conclusion that sites and publications like CDaN, National Enquirer, OK!, and others are just useless, sensationalist, lying rags/sites that fabricate stories to titillate gullible, ignorant folks who want to feel better about themselves by reading about fictitious misery in others.

The LIES that CDaN publishes may be a constant source of "red meat " sustenance for the Haters, but those posts are easily seen as laughable, transparent bullshit to the rest of us!

Let's look at the latest blind and spot all the Hater "triggers" and inaccuracies that are easily exposed as lies (which come BTW directly from the Hater blogs)...

The "few less-than-reputable outlets" actually turns out to be just ONE site called "Gossip Cop" (the EconoTimes blurb was just a copy and paste lifted from GC). It's really rich CDaN calling "Gossip Cop" less than reputable after seeing what kind of trash CDaN deals in!

BTW, "Gossip Cop" is run by a KNOWN person NOT SOME COWARD(S) HIDING BEHIND A PEN NAME LIKE "ENTY"!

Here's what Wikipedia says about "Gossip Cop " -

... so, I think it can't quite be characterized as "less than reputable"! That phrase seems more suited for CDaN.

As for the "referred article" that couldn't be found, it was a piece from the gossip rag "OK!" Magazine which was found on a site called "Readerpress"...

"Enty" makes a big fuss (because the Hater blogs did!) about the "May 27/19" date on the OK! Magazine's "trouble in paradise" story, claiming that Gossip Cop jumped the gun on the denial on "orders" from BC's PR. Utter nonsense!

Tisk, tisk, "Enty" are you perhaps using this term as an ACTUAL FORM OF PROJECTION expressing SELF-LOATHING and is YOUR SITE the "less-than-reputable" one???

The "Readerpress" service ROUTINELY puts up rebuttal stories BEFORE THEIR DISTRIBUTION ON NEWSSTANDS! Here's one on a similar ludicrous story from the May 27/19 issue of Star Magazine about another couple -

They didn't get any "marching orders" from Karon - they simply read the article on Readerpress and decided to address it.

And the early rebuttal wasn't embarrassing by any means - it was ROUTINE for Gossip Cop to do this!

The Readerpress version came out WELL before the newsstand date of May 27th. And it isn't hard for Gossip Cop to subscribe to Readerpress (in fact since they are in the business of keeping an eye on the lies the tabloids churn out I would say it is essential that they have a service like Readerpress to use!).

BTW, if you actually read the OK! article, you will see it DOESN'T actually make any "outright declaration of trouble in paradise" at all. It's MUCH more careful and only quotes the supposed "insider" as saying that although BC has a very busy workload ATM, there is NO DOUBT THAT HE WANTS to spend more time with his wife. Never in the quoted part is there ANY DECLARATION OF TROUBLE IN THE MARRIAGE!

The ending sentence about the "internet boyfriend" is pure Hater talk! Just ask Annashipper how this relates to the concept of stalker entitlement put forth by BC (from that VF interview). The fact that he called them on this still sticks in Haters craw! So referencing it is the ultimate in mocking him!

Sooooo, "Enty"/Haters are the ones exaggerating this into a "declaration"? Yup! Why? Because that is their nature!

And of course, "Enty" finishes up with two more LIES (courtesy of the Haters naturally!) with claiming this has brought about a "tempest online" while BC was "LIVING IT UP" in the south of France "without the so called wife".

The implication is clear with that choice of words - Cumberbatch cavorting and holidaying without his "fake wife" while the internet explodes about his marital troubles. Complete bullshit (but favourite "themes" pushed by the Haters ALL THE TIME!).

BC was in Cannes with his business partner and friend AA for their company SunnyMarch. AA wasn't with his wife either - is his marriage in trouble too? It was a business trip. One afternoon apparently was spent with a photographer around a pool. No scandalous events happened. Just some professional shots of BC ALONE SWIMMING! He wasn't "living it up" - he went swimming! But this was twisted by the Haters into something nefarious of course! And so "Enty" followed suit!

And now "Enty" has dropped a new podcast and the Haters are all excited and in a flutter about what new "juice" will emerge!! But who cares really when you realise it all just fantasy - a cruel, vile moneymaking scheme to put pennies in the coffers of a slimeball. Haters are STUPID... what else is new?!?

[lettersfromleslie]

SUMMER HEAT / EMPTY STREETS / JUSTICE NOR PEACE IN SIGHT / BUT STEP RIGHT THIS WAY FOR THE ONLY SHOW IN TOWN

Hello again from the belly of the beast!

It’s been a weird, hot, bittersweet summer. The new abnormal has made itself at home, the phases of the ‘rona have been swimming by, and one way or another life’s gone on living… Just wanted to put down a quickish sketch of what that’s been like in our lovable ol meatgrinder N.Y.C.

The lil lady and I spent the three months from mid-March to June in lockdown. I talked about all that plenty in my last post. It was a very surreal and foggy phase for us and looking back it’s hard to form a clear picture of what we did or how we felt. I think that fogginess has a lot to do with the mood swings, the phases of the news cycle, the ever-evolving picture we had of the world and our place in it… I kept my sanity by working on the album. It was good to have a mission in that. It was good too that I’d done the crowdfund and people had already paid for the damn thing, which kept me from slacking off too much. When I wrote my last post on May 2nd I was feeling quite blocked-up and discouraged because I wasn’t getting my takes, but then towards the end of May things started falling into place and before I knew it I had the whole album on tape. And whaddaya know, I think it’s a pretty good one! Probably the best one I’ve done. It was the first time I deliberately set out to write and deliver an album on a schedule, setting my dates without having the material in place, and I think that led to it being a very tight, compact statement. Of course the songs wound up being a bit more introspective and quarantine-y than planned, but that’s just how she goes, eh?

I wrapped up recording work around the beginning of June. That coincided with the period that Ariel and I started really venturing out again - starting on May 29th when we first joined the BLM protests against police brutality. I have to admit it doesn’t come naturally to me to talk about the protests online - not because it’s not important, but because I’m unsure if my voice would be as meaningful or articulate as the voices of those who are speaking from a lifetime of experience. Everyone’s feeds are already flooded with this stuff, and being a vaguely foreign white boy with an escapist bent there seems so little use in me going up and taking the mic. I'd just be repeating what I'd had to learn from others.

But that said - taking part in the protests was absolutely eye-opening. The energy and anger and emotion were relentless, and the demands for fairness and justice were so obvious, so simple to understand, and just so plainly the right thing to do. Which made it all the more incredible that it didn’t seem to affect those we were protesting in the slightest. I naively thought that the NYPD would at the very least be eager to put it out there that they, too, were against the indiscriminate killing of unarmed people, black or otherwise. I thought they’d take a knee with us. Not out of the goodness of their hearts, necessarily - but still, maybe just for the sake of PR. Intead we got to watch them go out of their way to perform live demonstrations of what we were protesting against over and over again… That’s to say my skinny white ass got a real crash-course in the harsh realities. We got kettled, intimidated with helicopters, we watched people get rounded up and beaten with batons for violating the 8PM curfew, we were there when that cop car rammed into a group of protesters on Flatbush Avenue… We also saw the looting, and the cop cars on fire, and the trash fires all along Broadway and on Union Square.

What can I say about it? It was fucked. It’s fucked. To be treated as an enemy by the police for protesting police violence. What else to assume than that they were taking the side of violence? They acted more like heavily-armed counter-protesters than peacekeepers. And of course it all led me to examine my own life and the advantages I’ve had. If you’ve been following me over the years you know I’ve always made a point of organizing my life in such a way that I have room to kinda detach from modern life and dream. And I used to think everyone could just do that. I was always proselytizing about it when I was a kid. “Just go live it!” All the while unthinkingly accepting the free passes that society would give me. Playing the free-spirited ragamuffin, simply expecting the world to recognize me in my role - and the world did! - while in a different body I wouldn’t have been recognized. That’s clear enough. So what kind of hypocrite would I be if I wasn’t out shouting for the same freedoms for my fellow humans? It’s something of a karmic debt at this point.


While all this was going on I also had to be dealing with my money situation, which was getting pretty bad. For reasons you can imagine I wasn’t in a place where I could apply for unemployment or any other kind of government assistance. My album crowdfund, the livestreams, and a little help from family and friends had seen me through the worst of the lockdown, but by the end of June I really had to start busking again. Sink or swim.

So, back to old Wash Square. That park has been through some phases in 2020, lemme tell you. It started out seriously mad. When I first started busking again the protests were still going full blast. March after march would weave in and out of the park, speeches were held, kneel-ins, sit-ins, you name it. I’d play the lulls. Around mid-July that righteous energy started making way for some seriously weird craziness. The NYPD had by this point stopped enforcing any of the usual small stuff and the Weird Ones had taken note. A squatter who called himself Jesus built a permanent home for himself and his followers in the fountain. Noise complaints were a thing of the past. Fights and brawls galore. Drugs, nudity, raves, and a riotous fuckitall feeling in the air, masks off, hands on, summer of mad recklessness. Me and my quarantine brain weren’t quite equipped to join the fray. I just kinda nervously skitted around the edges of it, yodeling here and there. Bit absent I was, maybe, but how can you go carefree gonzo when doing so means constantly risking killing someone’s granny by accident? I kept my social distance. There were some bad encounters. Bottles thrown at me while playing. Got assualted by some nut outside the W4st subway station, yanking me by the hair, punching me in the noggin. It was clear to anyone out there that the police had thrown their hands up at the situation and were letting people find out what life was like without them. As far as I could make out this unofficial police strike emboldened both the bad guys and the protesters without getting the cops anything. They might’ve been hoping the resident bougies would put their foot down one way or another, bark up the food chain some, but forget about it. There wasn’t much backlash or pushback from these upstanding, tax-paying pillars of society - they all just skipped town and headed for greener pastures. This mass exodus of wealth which had seemed temporary back in April started really accelerating around this point and by now the absence has started to feel permanent. If there’s any force of NIMBYism left in the Village I haven’t seen it. Those who have stayed on seem to have adopted a live-and-let-die approach. Aside from the fairy-lighted open-air restaurant patios with their potted plants and plexiglass dividers the streets belong to the people again, for better or for worse.

Personally, I don’t mind at all. Why should I? The money’s tough, but hell. I’ve always been broke. I’ve spent all my seven years in this city staring up at the rungless ladder which is Manhattan. If it can stop being a playground for the rich, it might become a place where I could actually hope to live someday.

Anyway, the last month has seen a sort of stabilization of the status quo. Some of the park regulars are back. R&B Lee, who used to be stuck down underground in the W4st subway station, has made a permanent place for himself and his giant PA on the western corner of the fountain. Jimmy the drummer is out all the time with a revolving cast of players. There are DJ sets on weekends and they get loud as all hell. So music’s back, but it’s a different world, and a much louder one. I’ve taken to playing in the small circle of benches on the western side of the park. There’s really not much space for unamplified music; the regular acoustic jam sessions have moved to other, more private locations and Colin Huggins, the park’s much-beloved pianist-in-residence, has more or less given up for the time being. Johan the living statue is out again much of the time. The portrait artists and street art sellers and fortune tellers are back, but the park poets are still in absence, probably conferring with their muses. Check out this article by Charlie Crespo with photos of some of the characters who are out and about.

Meanwhile the atmosphere out there is weird, anarchic, and sorta wonderful if you’re into that sort of thing. I guess I am. You won’t get bored hanging out on Washington Square in the summer of 2020, that’s for sure. Different threads of activism and action going on in every corner, friendships forged, love-ins, creativity, occasional bad chaos and ill energy, along with a good helping of just regular old hedonism in radical trappings. For a while there were great crowds of activist kids sleeping on the lawns and yakking all night about the revolution… The cops put a stop to that one, started clearing everyone out of the park again at midnight. Honestly a lot of it feels like what I always imagined the sixties might’ve been like. I’ve often looked at it a wee bit wistfully wishing I could be twenty again for it, with a head full of hot air and a fabulous tolerance for risk, instead of with bills to pay, dwindling resources, and a partner & a cat to look after. Oh, but I’ll be alright.

To everyone who’s still in NYC and has been worried about going out in public: if your health & conscience permit, come to the park sometime & let me sing a song for ya. I mean, do it responsibly - don that mask, bring your hand sanitizer, observe that distance - but New Yorkers have been knocking it out of the park when it comes to beating the virus, and that means the risks are lower and going out is almost as safe as it used to be. The park has plenty of room to socially distance. No one will bother you about it if you bring a picnic blanket and a bottle of something. The subway is safer to travel on than you might expect. The nights are hot and humid and saturated with all the great unknown we’re traveling through together.

And as far as I can make out, it’s the only show in town!

[cristixntm]

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭  𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧.

[ XAVIER SERRANO / POLYTROPOS / CAERUS / MUSE 36 ] / [ CRISTIANO MONTERO ] is a [ TWENTY-ONE ] year old [ BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION ] major. [ HE ] is known for being [ CHARMING & CLEVER ] but [ INSOUCIANT & INSENSITIVE ].  when i think of them, i imagine [ A CHEEKY WINK FROM ACROSS THE BAR, LATE NIGHT ‘U UP?’ TEXTS, THE CLENCH OF A JAW BEHIND A COCKY SMIRK, RICH BOYS DON’T HAVE HEARTS ]. and even though they’re a proud HU student now, we all have our roots. theirs run back to them being a [ MHP ( AQUA ) ] graduate.  i asked around and it turns out they [ AREN’T ] an AOP student. in their interview, they managed to woo the admissions team by [ PRESENTING A FIVE-FIGURE INVESTMENT PORTFOLIO THAT WAS STARTED FROM $10 ]. i guess that’s all there is to know! unless…

howdy hey frands! i’m jocey ( 24, she/her, est ) & this is my trash son, cristian. not me reusing an old intro and still getting this up late……. mmYEP luv that for me! if you would like to plot, hit that like button & i’ll come your way or feel free to hmu on discord ( jocey#9154 ).

full name : cristiano javier montero de barra nickname : mostly goes by cristian age : twenty-one sexuality : heterosexual hometown : madrid, spain / los angeles, california high school : marble hill prep ( aqua house ) HU house : polytropos major : business administration extracurriculars : eleusinian circle ( legacy ), soccer ( centre forward )

cristian is the second and youngest born to javier montero and alisa de barra. his dad is the CEO of montero properties, the developer behind many big name casinos and resorts around the world, while his mom is an actress who starred in several spanish telenovelas and hollywood films.

originating from spain, the montero family had always been a familiar face in the media, with both cristian and his older sister having large followings on social media. the montero’s had a reputation for living extravagantly and lavishly, and often flaunted their 1% status.

out of the whole family, arguably the one with the most controversial reputation was cristian — one of the heirs to the montero fortune, fuckboy extraordinaire with an impressively long list of ex lovers, and all around entitled trust fund brat ( whEW hate that!! ). taking full advantage of his family name, he was always seen at the exclusive events and partying, even hooking up, with some well-known names.

but with the family name also came the expectation to be the picture perfect son and the responsibility to carry on the family legacy. unfortunately, parents never quite get exactly what they hoped for from their children, do they?

if there’s one thing you should know about cristian is that he will never do anything if he felt forced into it. his parents learned early on that hiring a good PR team and shipping their son off to a boarding school ( marble hill prep ) was easier than forcing him to behave. the fact that cristian’s dad was a MHP and HU alum and the montero’s family were big donors might have helped to keep him from getting expelled on one or two occasions.

still, to some extent, cristian did the bare minimum just to keep his parents off his back and his bank account essentially bottomless. he got good grades ( whether it was completely based on his own merits was a different story ), showed up to important events ( granted he was always drunk and late ), and charmed the pants off of interviewers and his admirers ( sometimes quite literally ).

attending hatchett unversity was just another thing that he did to keep his trust fund ( or so he says ). and who was he to turn down the good ol’ college experience? it was also the perfect way to keep his side business ( read: drug ring ) going.

running a boarding school turned college drug ring was never exactly something he’d planned on doing. like with most things in cristian’s life, the opportunity sort of just fell into his lap and he decided to run with it. call it a bored rich kid thing, but there was just something about earning his own cash in such a risky way that made it that much sweeter.

while those who know cristian may be aware of his connection to this drug ring, most assume that he’s just dealing and/or using his rich boi connections to bring in customers. only a select few know that he’s actually the brains behind the surprisingly well thought-out operation, and he prefers to keep it that way.

cavalier fuckboy with a heart of gold… ( underneath a shit ton of asshole layers, that is ) basically summed up cristian. he always puts out this very lazy, devil-may-care image of himself, and acts like someone who could not give two shits about anyone other than himself. call him a selfish asshole and he’d probably agree with you. but when it comes to his closest friends, the ones he considered to be his real family, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them.

most write cristian off as this spoiled, reckless and directionless loose cannon, who maybe had one braincell on a good day. but underneath it all, he’s a lot smarter and more calculating than many people give him credit for and believe it or not, actually does think things through. but he believed that expectations just led to disappointment, so it was better to not have anyone expect anything of you. hence the perfected facade he’s kept up for as long as he could remember.

he is, however, not so smart when it comes to his love life and is notoriously bad at juggling his booty calls. as in, getting all their names mixed up, and running into a booty call number three, who he’d ghosted, when he was with booty call number five. but then again… could it all just be an act to get out of any and all potential relationships? who knows?

WANTED CONNECTIONS. most connections are open to multiple people filling it, unless it’s crossed out. and ofc i’m always open to any ideas not listed here!

RICH BOI SQUAD ━  they’re those guys. the popular, rowdy bros who are always seen together, they throw the best parties and cause a bunch of mayhem together. honestly just a bunch of obnoxious alpha dudes who think they’re hot shit.  taken by kennedy king

#1 SINCE DAY 1  ━  cristian’s best bro since the beginning of time ( or close enough ), who’s been there through all of his constant shenanigans and wild times.  taken by felix könig

BEST GAL PAL  ━  probably one of the few girls cristian’s managed to not try to hook-up with, or constantly flirt with. someone who helps him remember the names of all the girls he’s hooked up with plz lol. it’s rare that he’s protective over someone, but he’d absolutely throw hands for her if needed.  taken by caroline fitzgerald

CONFIDANT  ━  someone who actually knows cristian very well and sees through his lazy rich boy act. one of the very few people who he’s completely opened up to and genuinely cares about not fucking up their friendship.  taken by florence trask

MOM FRIEND  ━  basically a mama bear who looks out for cristian and may be one of the few people he actually listens to. doubles as his moral conscience/good influence when he wants to do dumb rich boy things.  taken by giada vitale

PSEUDO SIBLING  ━  they have a sibling-like relationship, where he’ll annoy them sometimes and they mom friend him. but they’re always looking out for each other.  taken by odette könig

CHILDHOOD FRIEND  ━  someone he grew up with. they could still be friends to this day, maybe they grew apart, or maybe they never really clicked.

UNLIKELY FRIEND  ━  the last person you’d expect to be friends with cristian. possibly met during a school project or something, and they realized that he’s… actually… not that bad?? despite what everyone says about him and his reputation, y/m sees that he’s not really as big of an asshole as he comes off and is actually kind of tolerable one on one. kind of.  taken by dorian garcia

FAVOURITE ANNOYANCE  ━  they got on cristian’s nerves at first, but eventually, they grew on them. whether he admits it or not, they do have some kind of friendship and deep down, he does enjoy their company.  taken by astrid mae

DEALERS  ━  basically dealers who work for cristian, who is the supplier. he may seem like a clueless hot mess, but rest assured, he takes care of his own. as long as that loyalty is returned.  taken by felix könig

ON & OFF  ━  cristian has had a lot of flings and hook-ups, but this person has been the one constant in his life. their “relationship” ( if you can call it that ) is kinda messy because he ( and maybe she as well? ) won’t commit, but is also surprisingly chill.

HOOK-UPS / FWBS  ━  whether you like cristian or not, people can’t really deny that he’s good-looking rip. he’s known to have a bit of a roster of girls that he hits with those late night booty-calls/texts.  taken by diana radcliffe

PAST HOOK-UPS / FWBS / ONE NIGHT STANDS  ━  homeboy has been around the block and back more times than he can count on two hands, so he’s definitely got a long list of ex-luvas. especially ones who hate him cuz he’s the worst™.  taken by isadora banks, daphne moon

ENEMIES  ━  cristian’s the kind of guy who easily has a lot of people who don’t like him. he practically has no filter, so his big mouth and careless words are bound to rub some people the wrong way. or maybe he screwed y/m over to save his own ass.  taken by belinda torres, camille jung

[jujywrites]

More @polyshipprompts headcanons! This time for *gulp* Sphinx OT4 (OT3 still bigger but this one’s catching up im such trash)

“Imagine your polyship as a band. Who plays what instrument? Who gets ‘fending off paparazzi’ duty? Who bluntly answers ‘I’m dating all of them’ when an interviewer asks if they’re dating anyone in the band?”

Since my brain is weird, a little explanation: I listen to rock cover of video game music sometimes and got into the Minibosses, The Advantage, Black Mages, etc and for some godforsaken reason I imagine the Sphinx gang playing the songs idfk. on to the headcanons. ps i have thought A LOT about this be warned

Who plays which instrument: so the band started as a three-piece with 9/12/5; Nine’s on bass, Twelve’s the drummer, and Five’s the lead guitarist. They need a co-guitarist(?) and find Lisa who plays guitar as a hobby in her spare time and also thinks they’re fantastic (part of the reason she got into guitar tbh) so jumps at the chance when they put out a call for auditions. she’s already hella good when she auditions for them, even though she doesn’t think much of it bc it’s just. a thing. she does for herself. so they’re all like “perfect ur hired” and… yeah she wanted to join them, it’s her dream, but she didn’t think they’d actually pick her so she’s like “b-b-but playing with other people? In front of an audience???” Twelve latches onto her right away of course so she feels a bit less nervous having a friend, but it’s Five who takes Lisa under her wing, being the lead guitarist and all.

(I imagine 9/12/5 already have a thing going or are working out a thing ya feel)

this got loooooong and is all over the place so

Cliffnotes ver of how they get together(lol sure): Twelve and Lisa are glued to each other pretty much. the time comes for Lisa’s first gig with them, small and local. so they end with a song  that Lisa really likes (this one), trading lead parts, and Lisa does so well and has such fun, and Twelve’s so happy he outright kisses her after, unplanned. 9/5 are like, “it’s about time” 3/12 are embarrassed but kinda happy bc it’s been moving that way for a while. they become an item but not much changes regarding band dynamics.

bla bla time passes. here’s the thing: Lisa’s been lowkey crushing on Nine since she knew of the band bc he’s so “cool” and also unattainable and therefore safe (or so she thinks ;D) but now that she’s actually in the band those feelings are harder to ignore. even though she’s with Twelve and really likes him. also whOOPS she’s developing feelings??? for Five and– okay. she cares for all of them deeply, got a nice new thing going with Twelve, but with the others she can’t figure out if she’s romantically interested or just admires them and it’s confusing. she notices there’s something among those three but chalks it up to band closeness and nothing more. except one day she and Five are talking and Lisa gets this urge to kiss her and “omg why did I do that what have I done”, she nearly books it but Five stops her, kisses her, and says, “I think there’s something we should talk about. All of us.”

The trio sit her down and explain, with varying degrees of coherence, that they’re together. Lisa didn’t want to believe it, didn’t know that was a thing, but suddenly stuff makes more sense. She’s picked up signals from 5/9 toward her, sometimes, but figured that was wishful thinking…

“Do you want to be with us?” Five asks.

“Y-Y–” Lisa looks at Twelve who just beams at her and– “I do, but I don’t know…”

Nine says they’re still figuring it out too, and of course it’s a process. With her in the loop they can all do the figuring. and Lisa smiles, and tries not to cry bc that’s weird but she’s so happy she can hardly stand it.

Who gets ‘fending off paparazzi’ duty: not Lisa. she is a smol who the others protect and honestly is a deer in headlights about that stuff. Nine and Five split the job bc they’re both intimidating in different ways, plus Five’s good at getting the good PR spin when necessary and Nine is… not. (actually he’s decent at it but hATES it so yeah)

Who bluntly answers ‘I’m dating all of them’: the first time they get asked this, Nine does. They’ve recently gotten big, he’s absolutely had it with inane questions and it’s the truth so why not. Twelve thinks it’s hilarious, Lisa’s mortified, and Five is amused but not sure it was a good idea. That question keeps popping up of course, whether in individuals or various combos or the whole group an eventually they all are comfortable answering; one time they all say it at once, to the joy of their growing fanbase.

[vaulthigh]

Wait… Olympians need pep talks…?

Writing. It’s something I have always loved to do. I have kept a journal since age 10, and began occasionally blogging a few years ago. I really love to keep a journal because it allows me to express emotions when I really don’t want to share them with a human.

I specify “human” because I often share them with my dog.

Ok, back to the journal thing…

Journals will always listen. Journals are always there for you. Journals will never agree or disagree, they will only hear what you want to say, then tuck it away quietly to never be seen again. The only problem is, if you write something moving, its very likely it will go unread for many, many years - that is if it’s ever read at all.

And thus, the beauty of blogging becomes apparent. I feel I have experienced enough in my life my words could make a difference to someone, no matter how small. Maybe they could inspire a young athlete, or encourage a parent to help their child chase their dreams. I put content out there, and I never know who might end up reading it. That is the beauty of blogging.

I often don’t like to write about bad experiences. I find myself going back to read old journal entries or blog posts, and sometimes I think things are best forgotten. On the contrary, it’s nice to write about good ones. This time around, I think writing about my struggles this season could truly benefit any athlete who might read this.

Note: it might be difficult for non-pole vaulters to fully understand everything… but please read anyway…)

(I find the obnoxious GIFs hilarious, soooooo….)

This season has been far from glamorous in comparison to last year. 2016 was absolutely amazing. The stars aligned. I overcame a wrist fracture from a broken pole, and turned it all around, vaulting my way to an Olympic Silver Medal and the second highest mark in outdoor history. I became only the third woman all-time, indoor or out, to break the 5-meter barrier. I cannot even put into words how that felt. I accomplished things I had dreamt of since I first picked up a pole vault pole at age 13. This season has felt minuscule in comparison. 

My first consolation to myself is, this is pretty typical. Many athletes come off of a their absolute best seasons ever and go into a slump for a bit. Like anything else in life, sport has its peaks and valleys. I will say, indoor season was rough mostly because I was fighting with some ankle and back issues. Long story short, I couldn’t train the way I needed or wanted to in order to be my best. We are now in the thick of outdoor season, and my body feels pretty darn good. It has just been annoying to modify my training in order to keep my back from flaring up. With tweaked training, my body has felt great! And really, this outdoor season I have felt like my jump is mostly “back to normal”. (Note: “normal” is fine temporarily, but even my “normal” has a lot of things needing fixed.) What really dampens my spirit is even though I feel pretty good, the heights just haven’t been there. I will clear a 4.65m/15’3” bar my a mile, but then not put together a make at the next height. At one small meet I put together a 4.84m jump, which I was very happy with given everything I have dealt with this season- but it is extremely frustrating to clear a 4.90 bungie in warmups and not be able to put it together when the bar goes up. My run and jumps have just not been consistent this year.

As I said earlier, this is how I feel “so far”… but truly, I know I can push through. The important thing is, my body feels good, and I know the heights are in me. I just have to coax them out. As I like to say, you have to be more stubborn than gravity to be a vaulter. And believe me when I say I am extremely stubborn, and also driven. I believe those two qualities will guide me to breaking the world record someday.

I am not undermining how big of a feat that is. 

Putting together a world-record jump in a competition, when the bar is up, is very different from jumping that high in practice. I know I have jumped world record heights in practice before! I also know I am not the only one who has done so. But the reason the WR is so hard to break is because you only get so many chances to even attempt it in a competition. 

Think about it like this: as a pole vaulter, you might get three attempts at a personal best in a competition. MIGHT. You have to clear all of the bars leading up to that height before you even get to attempt it. If you get more than three attempts at a PR, that means you probably already jumped a PR and are going for the next one. Compare this to other events. In many other field events, the athletes are not held back by the mark of something they are attempting. They just go for it. Take long jump and the throwing events for example. They give each attempt all of their effort, and each one is a possibility to hit a new PR. In the vault, it doesn’t matter how much you clear a bar by. The bar has to be SET at that record in order to be able to achieve it! Well, I just rambled a bit, but… all I am trying to say is getting to the point where you can attempt a WR means you have to have a clean day up to that. You have to be ON. You don’t want to go into those attempts with dead legs from jumping at way too many bars beforehand. Also, don’t take this as me undermining the other events. That is not my intention. I am just trying to clarify how few shots vaulters get at big performances.

So wait… where am I going with this? Well, basically I am trying to describe my mindset. Last year was phenomenal, and I was spoiled with amazing performances. I guess part of me thought I would pick right back up where I started. I thought at this point I would be taking some solid looks at that WR. Instead, I jammed my ankle the very first meet of the year, and experienced intense back spasms beginning the second meet of the indoor season! I have never really had to deal with injuries before, aside from the wrist fracture last year, so those nagging issues indoor season were a bit of a wake up call. I know I just need to listen to my body and find ways to train without hurting it (more than pole-vault already does, by nature). I guess this blog is a bit of a pep talk to myself, but also I wanted to show the world that even the best of the best experience slumps. You have to pick yourself back up off the ground, and keep on moving.

I am not defining 2017 by what has happened thus far. Last year, I broke my wrist and was out for weeks. It was difficult to clear 4.75m when I came back to make the Olympic Team. Just a few weeks after that, my rhythm just clicked and suddenly bars in the 4.90’s were easy. The Outdoor American Record was just… easy. It felt so effortless. I know that if I keep on fighting, my rhythm will come back. I know it will. I have faith in myself, my abilities, coach, and my training. I know I still have time to turn things around and make dreams come true. Man, becoming World Champion this summer would be quite nice. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

And things WILL come together with persistence and health. Even if it’s not this season, I know it will happen in the near future. I know I’ll continue to be a force to reckon with as long as I keep at this thing with a strong mental outlook. And I am so excited because it’s not only me, but a handful of other women, too. I feel like the women’s pole-vault is about to be taken to another level in the next five years. I just really desire to be the one to lead on the pack!

My biggest goals for my career are of course a world record, an Olympic Gold Medal, and a World Championship Gold medal… but honestly, if I am even able to achieve one of those I would be happy. But what I want the absolute most is to then turn around and help the next generation realize their dreams. I want kids to see their talent and utilize it. Or maybe realize they might not be the most naturally gifted with athletic ability, but see how much they can accomplish if they persist and focus on technique. There have been countless athletes from sports across the board to surprise people. Athletes whom were looked down on and disregarded as harmless. You truly never know how far your body can go until you just allow it to. Stop letting the doubts in your mind get in the way. Stop letting people talk you down. Stop letting the trash talk get to your brain. Let that nonsense go in one ear and out the other, then go out there and let the performances do the talking.

So, I wanted to write about my frustrating season full of performances I see as inadequate because 1. it’s a great way to help myself see the big picture, 2. I want my young followers to see they are not alone in any struggles they may be experiencing in sports, and 3. because sometimes, forgetting the bad isn’t such a good idea - then we wouldn’t know when to appreciate the good. Right? Right.

FAST FORWARD…

Well, a few days ago, I wrote what you just read above. Now, on June 30th at 9:42p.m. central time, I begin by saying this: five days ago, I won my first USA Outdoor title. Quite the turn-around, I would say.

This is the beauty of sport.

This is a true testament to persistence and self-belief being the key to success. It truly is. Although I have had a few meets I wish I could completely forget about this season, all of that feels like it has been erased after this past weekend. Isn’t it amazing how a single competition can completely turn things around for an athlete mentally… emotionally? I was down on myself, but I had not, for a single second, forgotten what I was capable of. You always have to remember who you are, and not let a few “bad” performances erase things you have accomplished in the past. Society is very quick to forget. We (athletes) already have enough pressure on ourselves to perform well at each and every competition we go to. Here is some advice: don’t add to it. We already have to deal with pressure from everyone else. Why put more on yourself for no reason at all? Nobody but you can turn things around. 

On Sunday I walked out with my head held high. I was predicted to take second, and I was out to jump right over those predictions. You can’t achieve your goals each and every time, but you do have to set out to achieve them EACH AND EVERY TIME. I let the predictions be my motivator.

I stepped out on the runway and said in my mind, “ok then, watch this.”

I also decided to have fun with it. I have always been an exuberant person. My emotions radiate from me like rays of sunlight. Lately, this season, I have been less bubbly after each jump, because I hadn’t been hitting the heights I wanted. I realized that not being happy with each make was holding me back. If I start each competition with a smile, and make every single height with a smile, the happy emotions uplift me. I am much more likely to jump high if I cheer and have fun with every bar. So that’s exactly what I did.

I made almost every single bar on my first attempt. I jumped 4.80m on my first shot, and a few moments later I knew I had it won. I wanted to cry tears of happiness. I proved to myself that I could endure a crappy first half to the season, then turn around and win a national title.

It’s funny. I think athletes often think we have something to prove to the world, yet we really only have to prove it to ourselves. I may have been out there thinking “watch this!”… but the “watch this” wasn’t for the crowd, it was probably for myself. “Watch this Sandi - you can do this. You can overcome everything you have been through this season.”

I really don’t know what else to say. I am just happy.

I may elaborate on some of these thoughts later, but for now…

NETFLIX.

:)

Thank you so much for reading my babble.

xo

-Sandi

[simplemlmsponsoring]

New Post has been published on http://simplemlmsponsoring.com/attraction-marketing-formula/list-building/gratitude-schmatitude/

Gratitude, Schmatitude

Friday, 1:08pm Reno, NV “Something is happening here, but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones…” (Bob Dylan)

Howdy…

Lots of talk about gratitude these days. There are entire movements (run by schmaltzy guru’s in nice suits) centered on getting folks to feel the gratitude, to embrace and become it.

Like it’s magic or something.

It ain’t.

Knowing how to appreciate the important stuff in your life is a good thing, of course. Being grateful for what you have should be a daily moment, part of being mindful about what’s going on around you and within you (and around and within those you love, deal with, oppose and haven’t met yet).

Early in my career, while devouring self-help books — I read one Og Mandino for every biz book I read for awhile, just to keep my heart and soul moving forward along with my brain — I even went so far as to acknowledge the non-living things around me.

I would thank a keyboard, for example, for serving me so well when I replaced it. And mean it. Give it a decent burial in the trash, introduce myself to the new keyboard and get back to work.

Same with my shoes, my thrashed car (which needed the encouragement, I can assure you), my favorite pens, and so on. It doesn’t even seem silly now… it makes sense to be mindful of the tools that help us do what we do. Astronauts name their shuttles, sailors name their ships, and I assign my beat-up leather coat a personality.

So I’m an old hand at thanking the universe and the things and people around me as I move along.

But a little perspective, please.

For too many business people, there’s no real thought given to the notion of gratitude.

They act like just saying the word creates a magical forcefield of wonderment and power.

So we get airline flight attendants urgently crooning over the intercom that if there is ANYTHING they can do to make our flight more comfortable, just ask.

Which is, of course, pure bullshit.

The things that would make me more comfy — like more leg room, wider and plusher seats, and maybe a mickey in the drunk’s beer next to me so he’ll shut up — are not within their toolkit.

I mean, a foot massage would be nice, too, but even mentioning it would have the air marshals on your butt in a heartbeat.

So why do they even say it?

Sometimes it’s just habit, from the old scripts they used to read. The job requirements included big smiles, friendly demeanor even in the face of rudeness, and a steady stream of patter to calm folks down while the jet screamed through the heavens eight miles high.

So even in towns like Reno, you still get the pilots schmoozing about “we know you have a choice when you fly”… when we absolutely do NOT.

And every passenger on the plane knows it. If you’re headed anywhere on the beaten track, it’s Southwest or the highway.

And AT&T robots love to drone while you’re on hold, about how grateful they are to have you as a customer. It’s all please and thank you and yes, sir. The gratitude practically drips from the phone…

… but they aren’t grateful enough to hire more operators to handle your complaint.

I mean, c’mon, people. Get real. Those 30-minute hold times are planned…

… to cull the mob down.

Just part of the biz strategy created by evil fuckers with big smiles all bubbly with gratitude for your business.

Yeah, get real.

Which is what I always advise entrepreneurs and biz owners to do when crafting their business plans and operating scripts. Don’t use the drivel doled out by big corporations when you’re creating pitches to your prospect and customer bases.

Get Real Truth #1: Be real, tell the truth, and don’t make promises your ass can’t fulfill.

The worst are businesses that hire some PR firm to write up a “mission statement“. This is all the rage every so often, as the MBA schools recycle old tropes on doing biz. Not understanding what a USP is, and possessing no clue on how to actually deal with a prospect or customer, dazed biz owners will spend a lot of time and money positioning a statement out that is supposed to “define” the “culture” of the joint.

So we get lots of vague “the customer is king” and “you’re the boss” crap… which sounds great, but is just blabbering babble if not put into action.

Just like your old drinking buddy who would swear on his mother’s grave to pay you back for the ten-spot he borrows when he needs it…

… but, of course, has no ability to bring that promise along with him into the future, because he spends every dollar he makes, can’t plan to save his life, and gets offended when you become that asshole who wants his money back.

Being true to your word is a vague concept without real meaning. Stop bugging me, man.

Get Real Truth #2: If you decide you want to shine at customer service, then DO IT.

Don’t talk about it.

Don’t slime me with your bullshit sincerity and grandiose promises.

Just be really fucking good at customer service. The word will get out, trust me.

Think about this, and about your relationship with gratitude.

Yes, you’re VERY thankful to the grubby dude from the garage who drove out to fix your car in the rain. At the time he’s getting things done, and you’re sensing you’re gonna get out of this ordeal after all, you want to hug him. And you say, over and over again, how grateful you are that he exists.

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

You’re not grateful enough to invite him over for Thanksgiving dinner, are you? You gonna help him move to a new apartment next weekend? Go watch the big game with him at the garage?

No, you’re not.

Your main tool is expressing your gratitude, by saying it over and over.

But once you’re off on your way, he’s a distant memory.

A nice twenty buck tip gets oodles more mileage than another heartfelt handshake.

He may even go out of his way to rescue you the next time you run into a tree, remembering how monetarily grateful you were.

On the other hand, he may demure and not come at all, if he’s all creeped out over your slobbering hugs of impotent gratitude.

Get Real Truth #3: Lying is lying.

The small lies in life set up the big ones.

Nobody trusts nobody these days, for good reason — trust is and always has been earned, one act at a time.

You can’t just announce that you’re trustworthy and have it mean anything.

In fact, one of the old street maxims is: Take whatever the guy says, and figure the opposite is true.

In biz, the client who brags about money not being a problem… has a cash flow problem.

The colleague who talks big about trust is screwing your spouse.

The accountant who has a mission statement centered on “serving the client” is embezzling.

The joint is filled with liars.

This means there is always one darn good way to stand out in even the most crowded, cutthroat market out there.

Just be honest, without making a big damn deal about it.

In fact, don’t even bring it up.

Don’t bullshit your audience, and don’t try to front-load your reputation with promises you can’t fulfill.

Your audience will let you know what your “real world” reputation is, soon enough.

Don’t be like that pilot blabbing about choices when there aren’t any. He is announcing to everyone that he is, at best, a mindless corporate shill. And if he wanders into the cabin during the flight and tells you something about not worrying, everything’s just dandy…

… you will be excused if your next act is to look for a parachute.

Get Real Truth #4: Consequences matter.

Stop lying to yourself, to others, and to your business.

Yes, to your business — it may not be a living, breathing thing, but it still operates in the corporeal world, just like the rest of us.

Don’t turn yourself into a lying shit-heel, just because you want to sound all corporate-like.

It matters.

Real gratitude has teeth, and is connected at the hip with action. Not bluster.

Thanks.

No, really, thanks.

Stay frosty,

John

P.S. Make sure you check out all the goodies available on this page. My books and courses make excellent Christmas gifts, you know…

Read more: john-carlton.com